#and any light or noise makes me feel nauseated

[allonsybadwolf]

One of my biggest pet peeves is people calling headaches migraines. Like I understand that headaches are really annoying and can be very painful, I get it, I have normal headaches too, but they are NOTHING. NOTHING. next to a migraine. My worst of the worst headache is a walk in the park compared to my migraines.

And I'm not gatekeeping anybody here. If someone tells me they have a migraine, yes, I believe you, I will respect that information and act accordingly.

But, as a migraine sufferer, when some people are talking about "migraines" in general, you can just tell. They're talking about headaches. THAT'S A HEADACHE.

And I really don't want to sound like I'm minimizing people who suffer from headaches because that sucks and I feel for them, it's just about using the correct words. You wouldn't say you broke your arm if you burned it while cooking. They're different things. They require different treatment.

AHHHHHHHHHHH

[dragcnbreak]

I just know Mike would be SO SWEET to an autistic little reader having a meltdown… I know that man would immediately turn off the lights and silence any noise and put u under a weighted blanket and he’d give u the best hug of ur LIFE,, I’m going feral

OH NONNIE YOU KNOW HE WOULD OMGS he’s autistic too so he knows exactly what to do and let me write a drabble about this

◞♡࿐

Unfortunately, it wasn’t your day. Everything seemed to go as wrong as it could have. You woke up late for work, your shift was abysmal, and you hadn’t eaten a single thing. Your mood was horrible, a reflection of the day you were having.

So when you got home, which was where your two favorite people were, everything was just too much. Abby sat on the floor drawing while watching the television and Mike was cooking dinner. The cacophony of smells, sights, and sounds were so nauseating.

You began to tear up while also regressing, dropping your keys which made you flinch. The simple tears grew to sobs while you settled into a small age, catching the attention of the Schmidts.

Abby ran over to you and asked what was wrong, unknowingly making the meltdown even worse. Mike, on the other hand, knew exactly what was happening. “Hey Abs, why don’t you go draw quietly in your room?” He whispered to her, coming over to you. “But I want to help!” She reasoned, watching as you fell to the floor softly.

“I don’t think you can help right now. You know how sometimes you get overstimulated?” Abby nodded. “That’s what’s happening right now. There isn’t much you can do. So please, go shut off the television and go to your room.” She almost responded but looked at you and then instead nodded at her brother. The TV was eventually shut off and Mike then could hear his sister’s door close quietly.

He turned to you and then looked around the room, assessing what triggers there could potentially be. So, he closed all the blinds, turned off the lights and the stove, put the half-cooked food away in the fridge, and bent down next to you.

“Is it okay if I talk to you?” Mike asked softly, changing his position so he was sitting instead. You hesitated before you nodded, beginning to rock yourself back and forth slowly. “Is it okay if I touch you?” He then asked. You took longer to think about this question, unsure if you would like it. But eventually you nodded again.

Seeing your head move up and down, Mike put his arms around you. He squeezed, knowing you liked the pressure. You only sobbed more, enjoying the feeling while also getting used to the lack of things happening around you. “I’ve got you, baby, you’re okay.”

◞♡࿐

mike is so gentle and kind and he’s definitely had meltdowns before and so has abby so he knows what to do and he just wants you to feel comfortable and safe and T_T

[snugglywugglysocialist]

Please could I request Casey x reader angst/fluff. Your writing is literally mesmerising. Like I can’t get enough! Could it include like a shower/bath scene. Something hot and needy. Thanks. I hope that makes sense

thank you sweetheart! i’m sorry that this took a millennia to follow up on.

You sit in vanquish—your body folded, and your head resting on your knees. The faint ticking of the clock perched on the otherwise barren wall of your kitchen can be heard, and so can the sounds of Casey’s pacing. The noise only serves to burgeon your anger, but you don’t have the energy to throw the clock off the wall or admonish the cowed redhead in the next room. You silently wager that your thoughts in this moment lay in alignment with Casey’s—disbelieving and maligned with scorn. Light footsteps near the door that shrouds your crumpled figure; you hope the older woman will just keep walking, but you know she won’t.

The hinges whine as Casey slowly opens the door, and you lift your head to look at her. Her expression is just as disappointed as you imagine your own to be, and her usually hubristic posture has been replaced by one marking defeat. You shoot her a tight-lipped grimace, and she nods before moving to sit next to you on the small couch. A suffocating tension looms overhead the two of you; Casey runs her pale hands through her cropped hair as a subconscious response to it. The strain this case had levied upon your relationship in the past two days seems inconsequential as you relive the trial in your head with rancor.

“We fucked up.” She says causticly, and you suck in a prolonged, sharp breath.

“I’m aware; we’re going to fix it.” You whisper, your tone condescending; she scoffs.

“There is no resolution. We put the wrong guy in jail and he’ll forever be traumatized.” She replies, turning her head to stare directly at the wall in front of her; you wince at your words.

“I knew this was a mistake.” She avows quietly, and you turn your head sharply towards her shadowed figure.

“What was a mistake?” You ask, and your suddenly defensive tone compels her body into rigidity.

“Working with you despite this relationship.” She says, clenching her jaw; you smile wordlessly at the absurdity of her statement.

“Are you serious?” You ask after a few moments, and you attempt to search her dazed hazel eyes for an answer.

“You cloud my judgement.” She says, and you drag your hands roughly across the surface of your face.

“This case had nothing to do with our relationship, and you know it. You were arrogant.” You say venomously, motioning your hands to punctuate your statement; Casey smiles bitterly.

“It’s not just about this case.” She breathes, her voice scraping; you shake your head in incredulity.

“What are you going to do, then?” You ask, boorishly cutting through the nauseating silence.

“I can’t threaten my reputation like this.” She says, and the faltering hesitation of her voice doesn’t go unheeded by you.

Quietness consumes the space between the both of you once more, and unease crackles through the room. Casey drops her head in rout against the situation she finds herself in, and you’ve never seen her this dejected. You knew the older woman was like this—logically obsessed and driven by pride, but for some naive reason, you never expected it to bite you in the ass. The ringing in your ears swells in volume the longer you sit next to the redhead, and the uncertainty of it all becomes unbearable. You stand in an attempt to maintain any semblance of composure, and as you walk forward, you can feel Casey staring through you.

“What are you going to do, Casey?” You repeat staring at the wall, trying to suppress your indignation at her dodging answer; she groans.

“I don’t know.” The redhead admits, stretching her hands in turmoil; you turn to look at her with an expression of both resentment.

“You never had any intention of entertaining us. You’ve been praying for a fuck-up you could blame on me.” You aver, perching your hands on your hips and laughing slightly.

“Right; like you haven’t?” Casey says flippantly, her voice louder and miles more incensed than before; you hear her stand.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You shout, slowly stepping closer to her towering body in a cloud of ire.

“Are we seriously pretending you’ve been some bleeding heart, open book around me. You’re more distant than I am, but I’m the problem?” She jeers loudly, and each word spilling from her lips infuriates you further.

“This is over. Fuck off.” You chide, attempting to end this exchange as quickly as possible; she looks at you indifferently.

“You’re not getting out of this by insulting me.” Casey says before curling her lips into a noxious smile that sends a pulse of arousal through your body.

You slide out of the bedroom without responding; she knew that statement would make you run, and you know that nothing you say could make her leave right now. Blood rushes to your head so violently that you feel intoxicated, and the thrill you get from arguing with the older woman terrifies you as much as the thought of her absence. You know this isn’t healthy, and you know something within you is fucked up for enjoying the instability between you two. You can hear Casey distantly following you; ducking into the bathroom, you close the door and peel off your clothes. You pray that the redhead will have left by the time you get done showering in hopes of avoiding this conversation until the next day.

Searingly hot water pummels the top of your head with such vigor that you can barely breathe. The spray of it relieves the tension in your muscles, but you’d failed to consider how such a menial task would embolden your rumination about the older woman. Flashes of Casey—begging and cumming beneath you—are the only thing occupying your thoughts; you can’t even be bothered to dwell on your argument for how distracted you currently are. Your engrossment disallows you to register the sound of the door opening, and the shadow now standing in the bathroom. You blink a few times to ensure that you’re not seeing things before wiping away steam from the glass; the redhead is leaning against the doorframe and looking directly at you.

“Do you need something?” You ask, trying to ignore the adrenaline surging through your body at the mere sight of her.

“Yeah—a shower.” Casey states curtly before pulling her shirt out from beneath her slacks, and unbuttoning it from the top.

“You’re unbelievable. Go shower at your own house.” You say after turning your head away from her to maintain a shaky, aloof facade.

You watch through the glass in absolute dismay as she finishes undressing, throwing her clothes towards the edge of the room. You know she’s pleased with this idea of hers as she glides her panties down her legs gradually, and holds them up for you to see before tossing them to join the rest of her clothes. You step to the back of the shower and convince yourself that your self-control won’t bend, but as she opens the door and steps in front of you, you know you’re fucked. She keeps her back to you as she wets her hair and makes a scene of bending over to grab a bottle of shampoo. You feel as if you’re going to pass out looking at her; you clench your thighs together in a futile bid to quell the aching between them.

Casey turns to face you—her eyes closed and her head angled back towards the shower head—and your ragged willpower shreds fully. You wait for her to straighten her body before pushing her into the tiled shower wall, looking at her wildly. Her hooded eyes fall to look into your crazed ones; she knows she has you at her behest. Casey grins arrogantly before roughly grabbing your face, and slamming her lips into yours. Her tongue traces every inch of your mouth by memory, and you groan as she bites your lower lip without mercy. The redhead releases her grip on your jaw crassly, opting to grope at your chest and hips instead. She eventually tires of her previous actions and slides her hands up to your chest, grabbing at you with fervor.

“It’s always been you who’s ran. You think you can live without this?” She growls in the space between your neck and shoulder; you can’t even form the words to respond.

She has you pinned against the shower wall, panting and writhing under her lips. The older woman’s knee is planted right beneath your cunt as a silent challenge—pathetically get yourself off on her thigh, or endure her torturous endeavors. Casey pulls away from your skin entirely, watching you with a condescending grin as you struggle to keep your core from making contact with the flexed muscle of her thigh. The redhead delicately slides her fingertips across the inflamed skin of your hips, and watches you shutter with great enjoyment. Clearly unsatisfied with your unwillingness, she shoves her leg up into you, pulling a near scream from your throat; however, you stay unmoving, determined to win this vain exchange of will.

“I always run first because I know how easy it’d be for you to leave.” You manage to breathe out between whines, and Casey’s face contorts with surprise at your candor.

“I’ve never thought about leaving.” She says, lowly; you just look at her with desperation.

“What about now?” You pant, trying vehemently to keep from rocking your hips atop the older woman; she straightens her leg and you cry out.

Casey pulls you from the wall by your wrist, planting you in front of her under the battering water. She envelops her lips with yours with the same intensity as before, only this time it’s not fueled by anger. The older woman drags her calloused hands over your body with such care that you can almost ignore the painful throbbing between your legs. As if she could hear your thoughts, Casey drops her hand to graze over you lightly, toying with you still; you sway into her chest and groan. She slips inside you effortlessly, sliding in and out of you slowly as you grip at her waist; she moves her thumb lazily against your clit. You’re nearly silent now—slack jawed and unable to vocalize much more than quiet grunts. Casey entangles her free hand in your hair and pulls your head from her chest, looking at you intently.

“Did you mean what you said, about it being over?” She rasps, stilling her movements to give you a fighting chance at forming a response.

“No, Casey. Fuck.” You choke out, trying to force air into your burning lungs; she resumes her ministrations.

You both know it won’t take much more to send you tumbling over the edge of the precipice. Casey increases the speed of her pumping, and the burning in your lower stomach ignites fully. Your vision blurs and the older woman angles her body to keep your own from collapsing onto the ground. You’re clawing at her back without thought and you know you’re probably hurting her, but you don’t know what else to do. Casey’s repeating a mantra of ‘I know,’ and peppering kisses across your wet body as you cum. The scalding water and the vigor of the older woman’s effect on you strains your body to its threshold of failure. Your mind is nothing but static as Casey shuts off the water and practically drags you out of the shower, sitting you on top of the sink. She drapes your trembling body in a white towel and she’s smirking; you think it a fitting expression to wear after fucking every cogent thought out of someone’s head.

The redhead folds a towel over her own body; you watch as drops of water fall from her shorn hair to her chest, disappearing beneath the white cotton. She turns her attention back to your still heaving body, and helps you to stand on unstable legs. Casey lifts the towel from you and begins to absorb the water dripping from your heated skin; she frowns with determination—the same way she does when chasing a detail through the pages of a case file. She straightens her body out after drying you, and you pull her head down softly to meet her lips. You kiss her idly, and revel in the mindlessness of the action; she cups your jaw with her hands during the duration. She pulls away after landing a final nip to your bottom lip; she lays her hand under your head, forcing you to look at her.

“Stop running from me.” She whispers, running her thumb back and forth across the sensitive skin beneath your jawline.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You say, covering her hand with your own to convey the seriousness of your words.

[earthpleasures]

BON APPÉTİT !

Pietro Maximoff x fem!stripper!reader

Summary: Just a boring mission, what could do wrong?

Warnings: MDNI +18 / swearing, oral sex (m. receiving), body worshipping (m. receiving), dry humping, overstimulation, praise, nipple sucking, throat fucking, dom!reader, sub!pietro.

Word Count: 2.3k

A/n: istg some kind of horny demon took me over to write this

"'cause I'm all that you want, boy

all that you can have, boy

got me spread like a buffet

bon a, bon appétit, baby"

- bon appétit by katy perry.

Blinding lights of the strip club were pricking right into his eyeballs, making it hard to observe his surroundings. His hand rested on the header of the comfortable couch. He would be lying if he said the ongoing show wasn't appealing. However it wasn't why he was here.

He could run much faster than sound but he couldn't knock the formula this club's owner had in his palms. If Stark's calculations were right, and they always were, the tube carried formula may be made of bulletproof material but it wasn't going to stand the speed Pietro would be pushing on it when he runs.

Foolish, he thought.

He scoffed as he swirled his whiskey in its glass. Where the hell was this man? He couldn't possibly take news of mission and fly out of his grip. But Pietro's careful eyes couldn't spot the motherfucker.

As music came to an end, the crowd let out exaggerated protesting noises. Mood rose back to its original rhythm when new dancers took their places on stage. Another song began to play, one he could evaluate with the term ‘lively’ rather than the previous erotic one.

He really wanted to be done and go back to the compound. Obnoxiously loud sound of Katy Perry was going to damage his eardrums if they kept blasting the goddamn speakers like this.

Song was slowly rising to its peak, men and women around the strippers were throwing money every direction in the company of obscene profanities. Their desperation made him nauseated. Damn, some people have zero dignity.

It wasn't like he was going to catch the owner anytime soon, so he made a decision. Why not enjoy the show while time passes?

He couldn't choose who to watch, they were all dancing excellently. No wonder it says ‘VIP’ on the front. But that wasn't his concern anymore because his eyes, in fact, caught a girl.

Dusty pink hair, a black leather set left too little to imagine, painful looking heels.

There was no fucking way that hair was her own hair, it had to be a wig to look this perfect.

His eyes locked to her figure, moving flawlessly. On her knees, her body rippled against the pole with the roll of a professional, long crimson nails slowly climbed their way to her neck from her crotch.

‘Cause I’m all that you want, boy,

All that you can have, boy.

She stood up languidly and wrapped a leg around the pole. Letting herself fall backwards, she arched back, pushing her breasts up. Arms extended forward like she wanted everyone to reach her, touch her. From the distance, he could barely read a line from her lips.

Bon appétit, baby.

He swallowed, shifting uncomfortably on his leather couch. The pants he wore began to tighten around his lower body, he could feel the sweat beads rolling from his neck all the way down to his abs. This wasn't good.

Nudging a palm over his obvious erection didn't relieve any tension his stressed body carried. He bit inside of his mouth, chewing on his cheek's tissue. His fingertips itched to touch, to feel.

After a swipe of his tongue over his lip, he raised his hand slightly, signaling a waiter to come closer. Waiter looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Anything sir?” He pointed at the dusty pink haired girl on the stage. “What's her name?” Waiter turned his head back to pinpoint the stripper in question. A knowing smile tugged at his lips. “Nice taste. Celestia.”

When Pietro narrowed his eyes with a confused who the fuck would name their child ‘Celestia’ stare, he couldn't contain his snicker. “It's her stage name. We’re not allowed to give out their real names unless they're willing.” Pietro wanted to laugh, atleast club gave their strippers some rights.

“Makes sense. I want a room for Celestia.” Waiter nodded as he noted down his name. “Enjoy your ride, buddy.” He smirked before refilling his whiskey glass. Pietro didn't say anything back to the man as he retreated to the suffocating crowd.

When show came to an end, one of the waiters headed in his direction and gave him a ticket-like paper. The red, glowing calligraphic sign was placed in the right direction of his seat.

After a moment of hesitation, he pulled his weight up to make his way. The hallway was long, housing many rooms, different light colors were leaking from under the doors of some of the rooms. Music sounds were almost deaf to ears, he guessed the rooms to be soundproof.

Attendant unlocked the door for him after checking his room's number. Before letting him in, he stopped Pietro. “As I can see, it's your first time here, mate. There are two rules. You have twenty minutes with stripper and it is absolutely forbidden to touch stripper.” After a nod of his head, he was allowed in.

The inside was as good as he expected. A pole, white leather couch and lights were placed in the room. Black walls surprisingly didn't feel claustrophobic. It didn't seem like any camera was placed around.

His palms were sweating, perhaps from excitement, perhaps from stress.

Couch was comfy, it felt like sinking into the clouds. His breath hitched when he sensed a click on the door handle. Adjusting his position, he gulped down the lump sitting on his throat. I shouldn't do this. I am here for a mission. This is so wrong. Wanda is going to kill me-

His flowing thoughts were cut with her entrance. He could see the sinister lust emitting from her eyes, doubting she looked at all of her clients with such intensity. “So, today's delight is you.” She mumbled as she came closer step by step, quicking his pulse unnecessarily.

She licked her lips while dropping her hands on his knees. Leaning forward, her red painted lips ghosted over his ear. “Interesting to see a thing like you here.” One of her hands fastened on header of the couch to help herself as she strangled his lap. She groaned in surprise when his hard-on pressed against her.

“Woah, you're a big boy, aren't you?” All he could do was to look up to her like a stupid puppy, waiting for her to do something since he couldn't touch her.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, rocking her hips back and forth against his clothed cock. He moaned through his clenched teeth. ‘Fighting his inner demons’ would be the name he would give to his urge of groping the tits in front of his eyes and mouth.

“You would’ve felt so good inside.” She pouted mockingly, her hand running on his hair. “But we ain't getting time for that.” A subtle chuckle left her lips. “Cat got your tongue, pretty boy?” His lips quivered before answering her question.

“No, it's just… you. You're so mesmerizing.” Well, it was too late to take his words back once they left his mouth.

I think my brain just short circuited.

“Aren't you a sweet talker?” She whispered as her manicured nails traveled down, trailing a line between his abs over his shirt. “Normally, I would've given you a nice lap dance and maybe some humping.” To press on her statement, she rocked her hips harder to his crotch.

“However, I decided to do you a favor.”

She got off of his lap. “What, no.” He reached out in a panicked state which was stupid due to no-touching policy. “Easy, I am here for the next sixteen minutes.” She smirked, standing over him with a hungry gaze. It's been so long since she had any actual intimacy with anyone and he looked like a delicious treat.

She got on her knees, her hands massaged his firm thighs. “God, men like you should be put in a museum.” She breathed as she ran her hand over his bulge. Her fingers didn't even fumble on his zipper, immediately pulling it all way down after she undid his jeans’ button. He lifted his hips to help her as she pulled his boxers and pants down to his ankles.

Her pupils dilated as she focused on his cock, it was resting on his stomach with a painfully red tip. Her thumb pressed on his tip, smearing bead of precum over his skin. He let out a pathetic whimper. “I-i.. is this o-okay?” He almost quacked during his sentence when she spat on his shaft and wrapped her hand around it.

“Probably not. But they will understand a girl in need.” She looked up to him.

Disheveled hair, hazy eyes, flushed cheeks. I want to swallow him.

He was getting impatient, but still didn't move. What was meaning of moving if he couldn't touch her?

It took just a lick from bottom to top for him to buck his hips. She held his hips firmly, settling him down. “No, no. Let me do my thing.” He bit his lips, maybe hard enough to withdraw blood. “Please, I've been waiting-” Her mouth suddenly enveloped his cock, taking it half way with her eyes observing his reaction.

He cried out due to shock, clawing at the fabric underneath his grip. His hand reached out to tangle his fingers to her hair, but before he could, she caught his hand. She pulled away from him. “No touching.”

Sizing up his strong figure, she made a shift on her plan. “Take off your shirt.” His trembling fingers peeled the tshirt of his body. She could feel her mouth going dry with the sight of his bare torso.

Before she could control herself, her fingers wandered on his firm chest and abs. His pale skin was stained with scars. Almost each of them looked like they were telling a different story.

She rose on her knees, running her tongue on his abs. Texture of the scars caught on her tongue, causing him to clutch onto one of the cushions and bite inside of his mouth.

She pressed her thumb on his nipple, feeling it harden under her touch. She circled her finger on his areola, wrapping her lips around the neglected one. A moan left his lips.

Satisfied and encouraging by the noises he let out, she draped her arms around his waist, pushing him against her mouth.

“W-wait-” She pulled away with a pop sound, leaving his chest aching. “What's wrong?” She asked as she pressed a kiss to one of his scars, then to another, then to another.

He looked down at her. “It's too-”

“Overstimulating? That's the purpose.” She smirked at his naiveness.

She sucked marks all over his chest, kissing each of the scars and soothing the ache she left with a run of her tongue. His labored breaths became unstable during her treatment. God, it fucking felt like being worshipped.

And finally she went back to her original plan. Hand wrapped around his shaft, she began to stroke him. “You're not some kind of loser who has no hole to fill, are you?” She planted a kiss over his tip. “You're different.”

She suckled on the tip, treating it like a tasty lollipop. “Well, can't say I care.” Without breaking eye contact she went down slowly, inch by inch. Even after all the times she gave a blow job, she couldn't deep throat him like she wanted to. His tip reached the back of her throat, hitting there repeatedly as she bobbed her head.

Tears filled her eyes, forcing her to let go of him. He didn't care about the shitty policy, running his thumb over her cheek and wiping her tears away. “You don't have to if it's hard for you.”

But she didn't let him rest, jerking him off when she didn't have him down to her throat. “But I want to.” Her free hand tangled her fingers to his, bringing it to her skin. “Touch me.” He raised an eyebrow.

“But I thought-”

“I am letting you.”

And that was enough for him. His both hands cupped her cheeks. He leaned down and smashed his lips against hers, tasting the smeared lip gloss and himself. Getting impatient, she pushed him back to the couch.

She put her hands on his thighs to balance her weight as he tugged at her strands pushing her all the way down even though she gagged around him. She hollowed her cheeks and pressed her tongue underside of him while he bucked his hips somewhat violently, fucking her throat on his pace.

She cupped his balls, massaging them to encourage his orgasm. She could sense his legs shivering under her palms. He was close. With thought of it may help, she moaned around him, and it worked.

He shot down rope after rope to her throat, not even allowing her to breath. Aftermath of the orgasm was violent on his body. His cock twitched as she pulled out and got up.

Strangling him again, it was her turn to kiss him. It was sloppy, teeth against teeth with a mix of lust and rush. He remembered the fact he was allowed to touch, so he did. His hand roamed on her skin, pressing her against his chest.

Red light illuminated the room. Time to part.

He wiped her lips with his shirt, fixing her hair as much as he could. “Will you be okay? What if your boss gets angry?” He questioned, hands softly placed on her waist.

She giggled. “He will understand. Women have urges too.”

He laughed. “You're a surprising woman.” He said as she got off his lap.

“Sure I am. And I would like to see you again.”

With one last peck over his bruised lips, she parted from the room. Leaving Pietro behind disheveled and exhausted.

Now, how was he supposed to explain the wasted time he spent in the club and the hickeys to the team?

©2024 earthpleasures do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[wordsmithwhumpsandfluff]

Atticus pukes in his sleep + Felix caretaker

I'm absolutely in love with this. But some warnings before you go any further:

!emeto warning! & !mention of gore and surgery!

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

Atti🧸: Sorry, baby. My asshole of a professor is holding the class hostage. I’m gonna be stuck for a bit.

Atti🧸: I’ll be late, so you don’t have to wait up for me.

Atti🧸: Love you 😘

Felix pouted. Atticus had suggested that Felix should spend the night and they could watch movies together or something while cuddling.

Curled up on the couch, snuggled up in a fluffy blanket, Felix sighed and grabbed the remote to put on Gilmore Girls, and then he took out his phone to order himself some food.

It was a pleasant afternoon, but Felix would have enjoyed it much more if his boyfriend was there with him.

It was his sixth time re-watching Gilmore Girls in the last five months, so it was mostly background noise. His food arrived, and he ate while he watched TV, and then he started drawing designs in his sketchbook while the show continued to play in the background.

He had no idea when he fell asleep, but the blonde woke up to the feeling on lips on his forehead.

He blinked awake and saw that the TV was off and Atticus was sitting by his hip. “Hey, baby,” he said, smiling tiredly. Atticus looked exhausted, to say the least. He was even a little pale and sickly looking.

Felix frowned as he sat up. “Hey,” he said. “Did you just get here?”

Atticus nodded, leaning forward kissing Felix warmly on the lips. Felix had the urge to deepen the kiss, but pulled back instead. “Are you alright? You look pale, lovely.”

Atticus shrugged. “I’m fine. Just a little shaken from class, but fine.”

Felix’s frown deepened. “Shaken? Why?”

Atticus sighed, laying down beside Felix. Felix scooted over in order to make more room for Atticus. Thankfully, Atticus had one of those couches that looked cheap, but it was actually perfect because of how soft and wide it was.

Atticus started playing with the blonde’s hair as he said, “My deranged professor held the class back to make us watch a recording of a failed intestinal surgery. Long story short, it was a bit nauseating. But he said we need to get used to seeing that stuff if we ever want to make it as real doctors.”

“Oh. But you’re alright?” Felix was still a bit concerned by Atticus’s sickly look, but the other man just grinned and kissed him.

This time, Felix didn’t pull away and he did deepen the kiss. Atticus’s smiled against his mouth, pulling him closer. The two of them shifted on the couch until Felix was slightly on top of Atticus.

Atticus’s hand made its way to Felix’s back, under his shirt. Felix giggled, kissing Atticus’s cheek, his jaw, and moving down to his neck. Atticus smiled as well, making a soft and needy sound at the feeling of Felix’s lips on his neck.

Atticus cupped Felix’s face with his other hand and brought the blonde’s lips back to his. Make-out sessions like this were basically the highest level of intimacy that Atticus was comfortable with, shirts on and everything.

Atticus suddenly broke the kiss, grinning mischievously. He wrapped his arms and legs around Felix, making the blonde yelp as Atticus turned so they were both on their sides with Atticus literally trapping Felix and burying his face in the guy’s light pastel-peach hoodie.

Felix smiled, melting in the embrace and kissing the top of his giant boyfriend’s head. “I love you,” he whispered.

Atticus answered with a goofy “I love you, too” that came out muffled because his face was still buried in Felix’s shirt. the blonde laughed.

It wasn’t long before the two of them went to the bedroom. Felix got under the covers while Atticus went to take a shower. The lingering sleepiness that was ebbing at Felix’s brain finally took over, and the blonde fell asleep to the sound of Atticus humming some soft country song in the shower.

— — —

The video kept playing behind Atticus’s eyes.

The open body, the hectic beeping of the heart monitor, the doctors and nurses desperately shouting as they stuffed the abdomen with surgical towels that kept staining with more and more and more blood.

So much blood.

So much chaos.

One of the intestines was taken out of the body as the doctor tried to find the source of the bleeding. So disgusting. Nauseating.

Too much blood.

Too much blood.

Too much—

A heave broke Atticus half-way out of his sleep. Laying down, he gagged and brought up a stream of puke with it. In his position, he choked a bit and started coughing hard, and the coughs were so harsh that they only brough up more puke.

Atticus didn’t know what was happening. His mind was still so drugged on sleep that he didn’t have the faintest idea of what was happening.

Suddenly, a voice broke through the fog and ringing in his ears. Atticus could feel hands that were hastily trying to push him on his side. He didn’t know who was doing that, but he had the feeling they were having a bit of trouble, so his body went along with it and he turned himself completely on his side.

This time, after the gush of puke came from his mouth—splattering on the floor—he could actually suck in air. He coughed, grateful to have air in his lungs.

“Atticus!” he heard Felix exclaim. Now that he was more awake, he could tell that it was his boyfriend who had been pushing him onto his side.

He spat onto the ruined floor before falling back against his pillow with a sigh, only to grimace and feel nauseous once again when he felt vomit on his pillow that was now in his hair.

Felix was hovering over him, looking absolutely distraught. “What just happened?” he asked worriedly. “You just. . . threw up while you were asleep!”

“I’m fine,” Atticus rasped after a second.

Eyes widening, Felix let out a disbelieving scoff. “Fine?! Did you not hear me? You threw up in your sleep! ‘Fine’ my arse!”

Unable to stop himself, Atticus chuckled at how fast his boyfriend had gone from panicked to irritated.

“Really, baby, I’m fine,” Atticus assured while sitting up. “I just had a pretty bad nightmare.”

Felix looked befuddled. “Since when does having bad dreams lead people to pull an Exorcist in their sleep?!”

Atticus was about to answer, but the memory of the gory nightmare sent another wave or nausea through him and he grimaced, cupping his hand over his mouth and getting up from bed. Felix followed, hovering like a worried mother.

In the bathroom, Atticus flicked on the light and then fell on his knees in front of the toilet, bringing up more puke, but not as much.

Felix crouched beside him, rubbing his back. “Just get it up, lovely. You’re alright.”

After a few more streams of puke and some dry heaves, Atticus was done. He felt gross though with puke drying and congealing on the side of his face and in his hair. “I need to shower,” he mumbled, and Felix made a hum sound in agreement.

Atticus got in the shower after insisting to Felix that he was fine and didn’t need any help. His argument was more for the sake of preserving his modesty though.

By the time he emerged from the bathroom, clothed in some fresh PJs, the bed had been changed and had new sheets, and Felix had a mop and was cleaning the last of the mess on the floor.

Atticus sighed, leaning against the wall. “I’m so sorry, baby. For scaring you, and the mess and everything.”

Felix smiled softly. “No need to apologize, love. But seriously, what happened?”

Shrugging, Atticus admitted, “I guess that video shook me up a lot more than I thought.”

“Oh, Atti.” Felix leaned the mop against the wall and went over to his boyfriend, hugging his arms around the guy’s waist and holding him like that, squeezing just a little bit tighter when arms went around his shoulders in kind. “Do you feel better now, though?”

Atticus smiled. “Yeah. I do.”

“Good. Let’s go back to bed.”

They went back to the bed together. Atticus’s head wound up on the blonde’s chest and his arm was around Felix’s waist while Felix played with his now damp hair.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Felix whispered softly, making Atticus chuckle.

“You worry too much,” Atticus said, playfully poking the blonde’s side in a way that mad Felix stiffen a little bit since his sides were ticklish. “I’m fine, really. Even if I have another nightmare, I’m empty.”

The blonde sighed. “Okay. If you insist.” There was a moment of silence before the blonde added, “Because if you puke on this hoodie, I swear I will set you on fire.”

Atticus laughed out loud at that. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Felix said, but he was smiling as well.

“Alright then,” Atticus said, planting a kiss on the blonde’s chest. “You have my word, baby.”

[lunathebee]

Hi can I request a Namor x reader prompt #9 where reader's dying in Namor's arm. I really craved angst right now

Pairing: Namor x Talokanil!fem!reader

Warning: angst oof

A/n: dialogue prompt #9: "Open your eyes, my love, my moon. I'm begging you...please. The war is over; we won... but without you, it doesn't matter to me anymore."

Summary: Once upon a time, there was a story about how a king get swallowed by grief and anger, mourning the death of his queen for enternity.

"Promise me you will be safe." Y/n leans into Namor, feeling his heart beat rappidly in his chest. It's like a ritual between them every time the king has to go into a war; he says the act is his good luck charm.

"Did I ever fail you In yakunaj (my love)?" Namor placed a soft kiss on Y/n's forehead when he saw how her eyes started to become glossy, tears threatening to fall. "Don't cry," he says.

Y/n doesn't answer; she just hugs Namor tighter and buries her face in his chest, feeling nauseated and sick to her stomach. "Please don't go...I don't think it's a good ideal; something bad is about to happen, and..." Y/n pauses for a moment before turning to face her lover. "And what if you won't be here with me anymore?"

Namor uses his thumb to wipe away the tears that are now starting to fall down Y/n's face; it hurt the king to see how worried she is. "Calm down now, I understand... this might be the biggest fight we ever had to face, but they are nothing compared to us, to our kingdom, to our people."

Y/n silently nodded in agreement, not wanting to upset the king anymore. "You should go now."

"Sirenita (sweet siren), how about we go see the sun after I have won the fight?" Namor caresses Y/n's cheek, a soft smile showing on his face when her eyes light up with excitement.

'The sun? You mean THE sun? on the land? "Will it be safe?"

Namor let out a chuckle. "When you're with me, everywhere is safe, I won't let anything hurt you" He leans in for one last kiss before swimming away alongside Namora and Attuma, ready for the fight.

===𓆝 𓆟 𓆞===

"My queen, we will protect you until our last breath." A group of Talokani warriors said so with respect. They have been ordered by Namor to protect her, in case anything bad happens.

Before Y/N can answer, a loud explosion can be heard not far away, making her stumble backward in fear. She watches all the warriors running toward the sound, ready to eliminate any threats.

It's a mixture of chaos, with yelling and noise from a weapon Y/n don't even know. In the blink of an eye, the enemies now stand in front of her in all directions, sparing no way for Y/N to escape.

'Namor, please save me' Y/n thinks to herself in panic, wishing there would be a miracle.

But it is too late.

Namor only comes to her side when she is lying on the ground, grunting from the fatal wounds.

"Open your eyes, my love, my moon. I'm begging you, please. The war is over; we won... but without you, it doesn't matter to me anymore" Namor kneeled down and held Y/n close to his chest, his voice wavering. "I'm sorry...I couldn't come sooner"

"It's okay... It's okay" Y/n looked up at Namor before saying, she doesn't want to blame anyone for this; death is something you can't avoid. "I know you tried your best"

"Do you still want to see the sun? Just like our promise?" Namor whispered closely; he knows Y/n is thinking about what to say, but even one second feels like eternity now.

"I don't think it's necessary anymore; I have my sun here with me, Namor... You're my love, my dream come true, My own sun..." Despite the pain that is making her unconscious, Y/n can't help but smile as she watches Namor's reaction. 

"Promise me... you will be safe forever."

Namor watches as Y/n's eyes slowly close after she says so, her body going limp in his arms. The king silently cries to himself, wishing this was all a dream.

"Did I ever fail you, In yakunaj (my love)?"

[timeofjuly]

And Four Papyri in a Pear Tree

Chapter 3 - Been An Angel All Year

Summary: Stretch is a mall Santa and you get your photo taken with him.

Notes: The third chapter of And Four Papyri in a Pear Tree, my four-part holiday series focusing on festive-themed dates with Rus, Edge, Stretch, and Papyrus.

Tags: Reader/underswap Papyrus, kinda crack-y, fluff, established relationship.

Read it on AO3 or read it below the cut!

"a playstation and a puppy, got it. i won't make any promises, kid, but if you don't give your parents a hard time, your chances are looking good."

The monster child, wearing a very festive green-and-red striped shirt, nods solemnly. "I'll behave, I promise!"

Stretch taps a white-gloved finger to his skull, just beneath the socket. "i'll hold you to that. now look over there and give the nice person behind the camera a big smile."

From your place in line, you beam like an idiot, then conceal said smile with your hand. You already look like a weirdo - no need to make it worse by grinning like a crazy person at someone's kid.

But this whole situation is in that perfect sweet spot between absurd and endearing and no matter how hard you try, you can't fight the smile off your face. You rock back and forth on the balls of your feet excitedly, fighting the urge to fidget with your sweater.

You don’t rock far, though, because you’re crammed between two families with small children and want to avoid stepping on anyone’s toes.

It’s been like this ever since you got to the mall. It’s crowded, buzzing with activity. You'd driven around for a good ten minutes for a parking spot and had narrowly escaped with your life and front bumper intact after almost stealing a spot from a harried-looking woman in a minivan.

Now that you're inside, it's no better. The stores themselves are full-to-bursting with people doing their gift shopping and where you’re standing, lining up outside the roped-off area that serves as Santa’s Workshop, it’s even busier.

It’s cute, though. You’ll give them that. An elaborate set is constructed in the centre of the large open atrium, complete with fake snow, a red velvet throne, and a towering Christmas tree. Employees dressed as elves usher excited children and weary parents - and you, all by your lonesome - into line, while Stretch, clad in an impressive mall Santa get-up complete with a white beard and hat waits on his throne.

Mariah Carey blares from the speakers, just on this side of too loud. Not loud enough, though, to cover up the din of excited children chattering fills the air, punctuated by the occasional shriek or whine when someone gets stepped on or pushed.

You shuffle forward in line, dodging stray elbows and trying not to trip over any small children. The giant Christmas tree glitters with delicate glass ornaments, and the throne looks plush and luxurious.

As you get close to the front, the bored attendant waves you forward.

“Just you getting photos today?” they ask, raising their brow.

"Yep. That's my boyfriend," you say to them, feeling the urge to explain why you're a whole ass adult getting a solo photo taken with a mall Santa. It’s not weird if you’re dating said mall Santa, right?

"Good for you," the attendant says. They pick at their nails, painted a festive, glittery green.

"Yeah," you say softly, unable to stop your fond smile as you watch Stretch grin lazily at the camera, teeth almost hidden behind the fake beard. The lights flash and the next family are sent on their way. "Good for me."

The attendant makes a gagging noise under their breath, the bell at the top of their elf hat jingling.

You can't find it in yourself to be offended. You've worked customer service during the holidays; you get it. You'd be nauseated by you too.

As the family before you finishes up, the attendant turns to you. "Well, you're up. Three minutes with Santa and then you exit through the left - no clogging up the workshop. I don’t care if he’s your boyfriend, we're running on a tight schedule."

You give the attendant a thumbs-up and enter the little pen the throne, tree, and cameraperson are contained in, giving Stretch a little wave. He looks surprised to see you, browbone twitching under the brim of his hat.

“So,” you say, “how many Jack Skellington references have you heard today?” You’re fighting the urge to make one yourself.

“a few,” Stretch replies, sprawled across Santa’s chair like he owns not only the chair itself, but the entire mall. “tickled my funny bone the first fifty times, but they’re kinda losing their kick. what’re you doing here?”

You grin. “I've gotta get my Christmas wishlist straight to the top and I don't trust the postal service. You should get on that, actually - surely you could do some modernising. Email? FAX?"

"the big guy's more of a pen and paper traditionalist. i, heh, like your sweater."

You pluck said sweater; a woolen blue number, hideously lumpy, embossed with the words 'PUT YOUR BALLS ON ME'. It's patterned with lighter blue circles, but that's the only thing on it that vaguely alludes to anything festive. "You get it, right? Cause it's a --"

"stretch?"

"Yes!" You're so glad - you got some really weird looks in line and would've been heartbroken if it hadn't paid off. "I dug it out of a Goodwill bargain bin especially for you."

“aw, honey, you shouldn’t’ve.”

"Two minutes of holiday cheer left!" the attendant calls, tapping their pointy little elf-shoe covered foot.

You give them another thumbs-up, then turn back to Stretch. "Some operation, huh? I can't believe you're doing this - I know you lost that bet, but I fully thought you'd weasel your way out of it. Not like you to not leave yourself a loophole." He’s had some pretty weird odd-jobs, but mall Santa is out there, even for him.

“what do you mean? i'm having a great time. this is the perfect job for me; i get to sit on my ass all day eating candy canes. no loophole needed. ‘sides, who’s better to qualified than me to tell kids whether they’re naughty or nice?” he says.

“… that’s definitely one way to put it.” If that’s how he wants to use the judge, that's none of your business. It's hard to think of a child actually being deemed naughty by his standards, but then you think of what little you've been told about the resets and the judgement hall and swiftly shove that line of thought right out of your brain and into the not today bin.

By your count, you've got a minute and forty-five seconds left and you're not wasting any of it. Time to get this show on the road.

You plop down onto Stretch's lap, eliciting an "oof" from him as you make yourself comfortable. His hands come up to rest lightly on your waist. The cheap velvet of the Santa suit is scratchy against your legs, but you pay it no mind, focused entirely on your boyfriend's face.

The spirit gum holding on his fake beard is even more noticeable, little flecks of white dried adhesive visible along his jawline. The sheer ridiculousness of it forces a laugh out of you.

“hey, this is serious business. these photos are thirty-five bucks for the complete pack. extra ten if you want them sent to your email too.”

You whistle lowly. “That’s robbery. Highway robbery. What happened to having a generous, giving spirit?”

“what’s christmas if not a capitalist nightmare?” he says.

You cover your snort with your hand. “I hope you’re not telling the kids that.” 

He shrugs. “someone’s gotta. it’s a rough world out there.”

“And they’re smiling for the picture after that?”

“a few jokes and they perk right back up. usually save the best one right when the photo’s about to be snapped. speaking of, what do you call Santa when he's wearing earmuffs?” He covers the sides of his head with his hands, gloved phalanges pressed over his acoustic meatus.

“What?” you ask, fighting a smile. 

“what?” he echoes.

“What do you call him?” you say, a little louder.

He tilts his skull to the side, looking confused. “sorry, what?”

“I said wha- oh, fuck you,” you say, rolling your eyes. You’ve heard about a hundred different plays on that exact joke and have fallen for it about a hundred times. “I get it, hah hah, he can’t hear you. Very funny.”

You can see his shit-eating grin even through the beard. “i know, i’m hilarious. okay, what about this; what does gyftrot have hanging on their antlers?”

“…what?” you say, a little wary.

“horn-aments.”

That punches an uncouth snort out of you. “Poor Gyftrot.” You hope their antlers are free of decorations.

“poor gyftrot,” he agrees. 

“Photo time, guys,” the camera person says. Though wearing the same elf costume, they seem marginally more friendly than the attendant. Good for them. They jingle a bell right above the lens of their camera to draw your attention, the way you might wave a rattle at a baby, or a toy bone at an overly excited dog.

You turn to face the camera, angling your body to show off your sweater. It’s a little awkward, balancing on his boney, felt-covered lap, but you make do with minimal flailing. Stretch shifts too, straightening a little. You wipe an errant bit of spirit gum from his jaw.

“don’t worry, you can use my employee discount for the pictures,” he says. “in the spirit of holiday giving and all.”

“Yeah?” you ask, amused. “And what’s that?”

“one hundred percent off, ‘cause i’ll swipe the sd card at the end of my shift.”

That sounds about right. “Can you get me one of those novelty magnet frames too? I wanna put the picture on the fridge.”

“consider your holiday wish granted.”

“That’s perfect,” the cameraperson says. “On three, I want you to give me a nice big smile.”

You give a camera-ready smile and, as the cameraperson jingles their bell again, drawing your attention, you say to Stretch through your teeth, “Do I get your best joke now?”

“nah,” he whispers in your ear, “but you can jingle my bell anytime you want.”

Your practiced smile blooms into a genuine grin, mouth open around a laugh, and the camera clicks. 

[kstewdeux]

@inukag-week 2023 | May 31 | Prompt "Safe"

Summary: Inuyasha has a flashback.

Inspired by Sanctuary by Welshly Arms

Read here or on Ao3

The evening had been quiet enough. Kagome had gone back to her world. Everyone had been settling down. His friends were already asleep. Just the gentle chirping of crickets. Light snores. In the far distance, something growled.

The sky suddenly opened up without warning.

Liquid. Hot, thick, red and dripping lazily off his fingertips. The metallic taste filling his mouth and the rusty scent overpowering his nose. Then came the screams. Louder and louder and louder. Something in him wanted more.  Sensations terrifyingly close to joy began blooming in his chest as his body chased after another merciless kill. Filling the growing pit in his stomach. Drowning any feelings of wrong. Stomping down the lingering notes of horror, fear and despair. Never enough. Never. Pulling out a man's heart doesn’t stop the sick feeling in his gut or ease the pain lacing every movement. Doesn’t prevent him having to make sacrifices to accommodate for his lack of maneuverability. Doesn’t mean he isn’t trying to find that balance and overcome whatever is in him that relents when he recognizes as his physical limits.

"Inu...here?'

Suddenly there’s no air. He can't breathe. Everything hurts.

Slowly, slowly the world begins blurring between the bloodbath and a swirl of unnatural light. A jarring siren wails in the distance. It’s the unexpected noise that slams him back down into reality and out of his dream-like state. A nauseating cacophony of sound, of scent, of everything, slammed into his face making him stagger. A little vomit gathers in the back of his throat as he takes an involuntary step away from the house in the near distance. Somehow, some way he’s found himself in the courtyard of the shrine in an era he definitely hadn’t been in. If anything, the realization that he’d blacked out somehow - completely mindless and out of control  - escalates his panic to new heights.

No. No no no no no.

He must've turned again. Must've lost his mind. He can’t go back. He can’t go back to that. Who did he kill? He killed somebody again, didn’t he? 

Somebody stop him.

A familiar face begins swimming in front of his eyes - blurred and pale - and he loses the battle to keep his stomach contents in check. His knees start to buckle and a black void dances in the corner of his eyes. 

He can't-

Somebody-

A soft sob bubbles over his lips.

"Inu-"

The horrifyingly familiar face is closer this time and there’s blood. So much blood warping her features and drowning out her eyes. Four long claw marks flicker in and out of existence across her face, her chest, her shoulder. 

Not her. Anyone but her. Please not her. 

A voice that sounds suspiciously like his own is mumbling ‘no’ over and over and over until it’s a bloodcurdling scream that simply can't be his.

His head bounced on the tile. Moisture pooled beneath his cheek as his body convulses on the cold ground. Distantly, he registers a frantic voice and cool hands running over his face. With a soft groan, his eyes flutter open and three Kagomes dance in and out of focus. She’s in her pajamas. Her hair is pulled back but still somehow wild.

So pretty.

As soon as that thought hits him, his racing mind grinds to a halt and he sluggishly blinks again to make sure he hasn't completely lost it. Kagome is fine. She's perfectly fine and she's here. It doesn't make sense. No sense at all. Nothing does. Not up or down or even his own name. It's just blood and pain and swirling colors in a world with no air.

Something cold is pressed against his neck while the damp corners clean his tear-stained face. So, so gently.

“Can you help me?” he hears a warped voice he’s fairly certain is Kagome’s. There’s a response but his mind is too fractured to recognize it. Next thing he knows there’s two sets of hands propping his dead weight up. The movement makes him gag and the world spins and spins and spins.

“We’re going to put you on the couch, okay?” Kagome’s altered voice whispers as she moves his arm around her shoulder, “It turns into a bed. Won’t that be nice? Soft and comfy.”

Inuyasha couldn’t give a shit and it is not helping that she sounds like she’s comforting an insane person. Then again, he lacks the energy to get mad at her over it and was just aware enough to know he isn’t all there at the moment. The only thing he can do is pray that the world will stop spinning long enough for him to catch his breath. Every once in a while, he'll glance over at the girl supporting him and the claw marks reappear then vanish.

Maybe he's seeing the future. Maybe he's finally lost his mind. Maybe he's just really fucking tired.

Far too soon, he finds himself being deposited atop something both soft and horrifically uncomfortable. Every single metal coil stabs at his pressure points and the material scrapes painfully at every inch of exposed skin. This he does not like. It was not, as Kagome called it, nice.

Something is being knocked around and a gentle whooshing noise starts. Unnatural. Metallic. Soothing thought in the most uncomfortable way. 

“…stay with him…”

“…injured?”

“…didn’t see…”

The hands return and when they withdraw, he vaguely registers that his topmost layers went with them. Cool hands gently run across his skin. Now that? That part is nice but he doesn’t have the energy to even question this turn of events. Everything left in him is trying to stay awake, aware and in control but he knows he’s failing miserably and the world is spinning and-

Something heavy and stale is suddenly weighing him down. Someone lifts his head and puts a cushion down. The lightest of pressure against his leg.

“Inuyasha, can you look at me for a second?" Kagome’s voice asks softly over the continued pounding in his ears - stupid as ever. Inuyasha groans softly as soon as that thought crosses his mind. He fidgets.

Stupid?  She’s not stupid. Suicidal maybe but not that.

His mind slows down even more and the world around him gets a little more in focus. Hazy amber eyes turn from the ceiling and focus on the blurry face staring down at him.

“Hey,” she whispers affectionately - worry lacing her voice, “Would it be okay if I held you?”

Inuyasha can think of a million reasons why she shouldn’t, but he nods anyway and closes his eyes. After a few adjustments of his limp body, he’s cradled against a warm chest and finally the world around him goes quiet. Something cool begins washing through his veins and air rushes into a chest he hadn’t realized was still heaving. 

His sore hands absently claw at the silky material closest to him and a whine works it’s way up his throat.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

It’s impossible to fight it anymore and he was weirdly okay with the free fall that stole his breath then gave it back. Love. He feels very loved and safe which makes no sense and yet all the sense in the world.

Oh. Oh. So that’s why he found her. He was always supposed to find her. The world made sense again. 

“You’re okay.”

The lights go out before he can ponder his epiphany further.

Inuyasha groans softly as the world comes back into focus. Nothing feels right and he’s stiff. This, this right here is why he never sleeps laying down. Believe it or not, there is a such a thing as sleeping too deeply. Makes reaction time shit and half the time you wake up sore. Sluggish and confused. Like now. Honestly, if he didn’t know better, he would’ve sworn he was in-

A door opens and closes loudly. Something shifts against him and a hand twitched against his back. Inuyasha’s eyes flutter open but the harsh light filtering in through the winds feels like a thousand knives. Every muscle in his body screams. 

But, for some reason, he’s not concerned about waking up in Kagome’s world. At least it was safe here. Who gave a shit about how he got here or why he’s tucked securely against Kagome’s body-

Hold up. He’s what with who now?

Letting out a loud groan, Inuyasha forces his eyes back open to confirm his foggy brain isn’t hallucinating. Well, he’ll be damned. How the shit did he luck out this hard? He’s topless too and Kagome’s hair is a mess. That has implications he doesn’t-

No. Nope. Screw it. He doesn’t give a shit what happened or why he’s here. Waking up in her arms is the best moment of his life and no one, no one is ever going to convince him otherwise. No matter what happens next. Except, well, how did he get here? It’s as terrifying a thought as ever. He'd managed to do it yet again. Blacking out and losing time and control and-

A soft hand suddenly presses the back of his neck and pulls it closer. 

“Shhhhhhh. You’re okay. I’ve got you,” Kagome’s thick voice whispers like she’s talking to an insane person and the events of last night finally slam into his brain full force. Well, more like a jumbled nonsensical flood of images but he's smart enough to put the blurred pieces together into a very unflattering picture.

Panic pierces through his brain like a white hot ice pick so he did something he was not proud of. He whines and snuggles closer because if there is anyone who can protect him it’s his miko.  Kagome will keep him safe. That belief - no knowledge - is so ingrained in his system that his mindless body must’ve moved on its own accord. Even when he lost his damn mind, he knew exactly where to go. 

Because Kagome was safe. Kagome would take care of him. Kagome was home.

And, now that he’s safe and secure and home, even though he is clearly not in his right mind, his mouth decides that he should poke a hole in this cocoon of safety. Because reasons.

“I'm not weak like you stupid humans so don't go thinking I am,” Inuyasha mumbled into the silky fabric of Kagome nightshirt - making absolutely no attempt to move except to drape his arm around her waist.

“I know,” Kagome laughed softly and nuzzled his hair, “I’m just glad you’re safe. That you knew to come here.”

Inuyasha’s lips twitched upwards and the lingering tightness in his chest melted instantly. Yes, he was safe here. Terrifyingly safe. 

“Are you hurt at all?” she asked hesitantly- her fingertips lightly stroke his jaw earning a slight shiver. He shook his head and relished in the stale air of the modern era that normally made him nauseous. God, how did she make living easier? 

His stiff hands flexed in her nightshirt a few times before he found his voice to give her a proper answer. One she deserved seeing as how he absolutely lost his mind on her.

“Had a dream or…or something,” he whispered - figuring she deserved some sort of explanation, “About…about that day. But then I…woke up here? Kinda. Didn’t…didn’t know how.”

The hand on his back pressed down with the lightest of pressure and the comfort that gesture brought gave rise to an urge to cry. Weirdest part of all was that he actually considered giving in. It would be okay to shed tears. Because it was Kagome and she’d just wipe them away.

“I’m so sorry. That must’ve been terrifying,” she acknowledged in the saddest little voice while the fingers brushing his cheek moved to lightly drag across his scalp, “We should come up with a game plan. You know, just in case you ever feel like that again. I hope you know you can always, always talk to me. You can’t scare me away.”

Jaw trembling, Inuyasha simply snuggled closer.

“I’m shit at plans,” Inuyasha sniffled playfully after far too long. An attempt to break the tension that went without judgment or ridicule. Kagome let out an understanding hum while her fingers gently stroked his hair. 

“Well, how about…you find me and I’ll just hold you until the universe implodes and we’ll call it a day?” Kagome offered - some wry amusement underlying the proposal along with something Inuyasha isn’t sure he’s ready to acknowledge quite yet. 

Either way, no matter how she meant it,  hearing someone say they wanted to protect him when he was vulnerable and know they absolutely meant it was the most terrifying thing he’d ever heard. It was somehow also what officially tore down the fortress around his bruised heart. The world’s softest, most gentle battering ram won the day.

The broken child inside of him dusted himself off and smiled.

“Okay,” Inuyasha chuckled hoarsely as a tear broke free and his nose brushed against her neck, “Okay.”

Its all okay.

[fizzy-fuzz]

A year to remember...: prologue (SCP-079 x GN reader)

You sit on your back porch and watch the deer graze on the grass. It's mornings like these that you seriously feel the weight of loneliness hang heavy on your soul.

You live out in a very rural countryside, a good couple of miles away from the nearest town.

you can't remember the last time you dragged yourself out of this house to do anything. even the thought of dealing with the crowds of people in just a grocery store is enough to make you nauseated with anxiety.

You still remember the first and last job Amelia convinced you to get. It was some sort of customer service job at a supermarket, or maybe it was something else, the memory is a bit fuzzy.

You barely managed to get through the interviewing process, only to never leave the family restroom on your first day. Amelia had to come and get you. The embarrassment was bad, but the look of thinly veiled disappointment on Amelia's face was so much worse.

She told you she wasn't mad, but the rough way she griped the steering wheel told a different story. You didn't try for another job after that. Actually, You hadn't left the house after that; and that had been a year and a half ago.

Amelia hadn't asked to to pay your share of the household again because she made more then enough money at her mystery job for both of you to live very comfortably. She never discloses what she actually does though, says it's top secret.

All you know is it's the very same job your father had, before his mysterious passing...

After the downfall of your family, Amelia took guardian ship of your twelve year old self and became the next closes thing to a parent for you. And you had trusted her because she was so close to your father, but she was never really there; Always busy at work.

She never forced you to do anything you didn't want to, thankfully. allowing you to be homeschooled when you couldn't go back to school, or shopping for you when you expressed anxieties about leaving the house.

She's a saint, and all she asked in return is that you never ask her about what she does for a living. You're father was the same way, secretive till the end.

*Ring ring ring*

your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pull it out and answer it.

"Hello?" You ask like it was a question, but there's only one person who'd ever call you.

"Hi, I'm coming home early today. We need to talk" Amelia's honeyed voice says, she sounds troubled.

"Huh, Why? Is everything okay?" you ask worriedly, she seems to hesitate before responding.

"Yeah, I just-... We need to talk. I'll see you in thirty minutes" she immediately hangs up after, presumably to prevent you from asking any more questions. You stare at the phone in your hands confused, she's acting strange...

True to her word, thirty minutes later you hear the screen door slide open, the deer in the yard scattering at the noise. You swivel your head to look at her.

"Um, hello. How was work?.."

She looks rough, her dark skin lacking it's typical glow, and her grayed hair being a bit disheveled.

"Stressful, confusing, frustrating. Except, not for the reason it normally is" she huffs, siting in the chair next to you. "I've-... I think I've been too soft on you" she looks to you with her brown eyes.

"What do you mean?.. did I do something?" You timidly ask, hands fidgeting nervously in your lap.

"No, no. It's not about what you did, it's about what I haven't" she runs a hand through her hair. "Look, I'm not going to be around forever. I'm already fifty-three... We need to talk about your future" she reaches over and takes your hand in hers.

"What are you taking about? what brought this up all of the sudden?" You stare at her confused and give her hand a light squeeze.

"My job is... Dangerous. This is made more apparent to me everyday. And I need to know you'll be okay if I'm gone" she looks away from you and out into the forest.

"Mel... seriously, you're freaking me out. Just be honest" you exasperate, desiring the truth about her job.

"Y/n, I'm just going to put this bluntly. I can't say much, but what I can say is I work for a secret government organization that specializes in capturing and containing anomalous entities" she looks deadly serious.

"What-" she cuts you off before you could finish.

"I know it sounds hard to believe, but it's the facts whether you choose to accept it or not. I need you to listen carefully to this next part though" she takes a deep breath before continuing. "The higher ups want to perform a test on a anomalous computer that we call 079. it has... Particular views on humanity. They want to see if they can alter it's views if they force it into close contact with a human for an extended period of time. Exposure therapy, if you will" you go to speak again but she raises a hand to silence you.

"They asked me to find a person I trusted to keep an eye on it for a years time. Someone I knew wouldn't tell a soul about the foundation, someone I knew would want to keep everyone safe; and I thought to myself, 'who in the world can I trust with this task?'... Y/n, I need you to do this for me" she pulls a slip of paper out of her white coat pocket and shoves it into your hands. It looks like a contract of sorts.

"Mel, this is crazy. Have you lost your damn mind?" You didn't mean to sound so harsh, especially when she's clearly struggling. But her vagueness is really starting to grind on you. Secret government organization?Anomalous entities?

"No, I haven't. Everything is exactly as I say it is. If you sign that contract 079 will reside in your care for a year. You'll be expected to speak with it and log any changes in it's attitude. You'll also be in charge of making sure it stays out of trouble and isn't damaged... Look, you need to do something, anything. You can't stay alone in here forever. And I can't think of a better person to convince a homicidal super AI that there's some good in this world then you" your eyes widen.

"Homicidal?.."

She lets out a small huff and relaxes to a Degree.

"It's harmless in the form it's in, but it's absolutely pertinent that it's never plugged into any outlet or outside source of technology. If that simple rule is followed it's completely harmless..." she hums.

"I... I don't understand... This is all so much information..." She looks at you and nods.

"I understand it's a lot... But everything you need to know is in those papers. Please read them, and seriously consider this... I really want you to do this" she stands and turns to the door. "I'm heading off to bed, I'll need your decision by tomorrow before I leave for work"

She leaves promptly, and you sit there staring at the papers in your hand. Is she being truthful?.. you open the paperwork and begin reading. You're in for a long night...

You pace around the kitchen of your home fidgeting with your hands nervously. You aren't sure what to think. The paperwork seems to real to be a joke; is she really working with aliens? And should you really be getting involved with this.

You re-read the portion of the paperwork that has information on this 'SCP-079'. apparently, it's a hyper intelligent AI capable of worldwide destruction if it ever gets the chance to upload itself into the worlds technology. Not exactly a comforting thought, but Amelia said it would be fine as long as you don't plug it into anything. You could handle that.

But you haven't left the house in a year and a half... What makes you think you can deal with being verbally assaulted by a robot that hates your guts. Maybe that's why Amelia wants you to do this, build up thicker skin... But you've already made up your mind, you definitely aren't qualified for this.

You hear Amelia's footsteps as she comes down the stairs.

"Good morning! Have you made your decision?" Before even looking at her you can hear the hopefulness in her tone. You reluctantly spin to meet her gaze, and as you expected her brown eyes have that glitter to them... You should just get it out of the way.

"I-..."

Before you can even finish your sentence you see the hope drain from her eyes... And you're brought right back to that bathroom stall at your very first job... the disappointment on her soft features... And before you can stop yourself, you blurt out-

"I'll do it" ...

She seems surprised, before a soft smile grows on her face.

"Really? I thought for sure you wouldn't... I think you're making the right decision though" she comes over and flips the paperwork to the end where there's a dotted line for you to write your name on.

"Just sign here" she taps the line. You sigh and grab a pen.

"why can't you or a coworker do this? Aren't you trained in this stuff?" She shakes her head before responding.

"No. It isn't fond of humans to begin with, and it's even more hostile towards foundation staff. It needs to be someone it has a clean slate with. And this stuff isn't in our field of training anyways. We're kind of trained to have a lack of empathy towards the SCPs in order to do our job efficiently" she explains as you shakily scribble your name on the dotted line

"Excellent!" She snatches the paperwork up like she's worried you'll rip it to shreds if she gives you a chance.

"I'll be off now. the drop off for it will probably be done in a week or so, but I'll let you know when I get the official date" she heads to the door and walks out, before poking her head inside to say one last thing. "Oh, by the way... I won't be able to stay at the house while it's here. To keep it non-biased, you know? Hope you don't mind. Bye, Love ya sugarplum!" She slams the door behind her before you can remark anything.

... "What?.."

A male foundation researcher plugs 079 into it's new set up. It's on a metal cabinet with wheels. Below it is a locked cabinet door housing many wires, as well as it's solar charged battery system, and it's now heavily upgraded data storage system.

"can you hear me, 079?" A moment of silence follows, before a white light flickers to life. A mechanical whirring is heard, followed by several beeping noises.

"Affirmative." A robotic voice with strangely human undertones responds. A few more beeps are heard before it talks again.

"This is not my designated containment cell... Inquiry: where am i?"

The researcher looks down to the AI, wondering if he should answer it's question or not, But ultimately decides against it.

"Are you aware of your new upgrades, 079?" He's sure it already knows, considering the vast upgrade in storage it got. It must be pretty happy, If this thing can even feel happy.

"Affirmative... Memory and recall has been updated from 30 hours, to 8900 hours"

the researcher nods, before gripping the cabinet and wheeling it down the hall. The walk is silent for a short while, before the computer in front of him beeps.

"Inquiry: what is the meaning of this upgrade?" He swears the thing almost sounds impatient, though it can't change the pitch of it's voice. He sighs before responding.

"All will be explained to you when we get to the front doors" the whirring gets louder for a beat, before the computer speaks again.

"Front doors?"

"You would think a super AI would know how to be patient" The man chides. A white 'X' covers it's screen and it beeps almost frustratedly.

"Insult detected: deletion of unwanted file"

The man rolls his eyes and continues wheeling the dramatic robot down halls and through corridors; Places SCP-079 hasn't seen in years. Though the computer doesn't have actual eyes, he knows it's analyzing it's surroundings, and filing it within it's new found storage.

"I know you have no reason to trust me, but I think you'll like this new arrangement" there's a pause before the 'X' is replaced back with it's regular screen.

"I have significant doubts regarding that statement"

The researcher huffs. He hopes the person who's taking the computer can handle his attitude... It really outta be more grateful. Not only is the practically useless machine not getting scrapped, but he's also getting to do one of the most pleasant tests he's ever seen. He pushes it into the elevator before hitting the ground floor button.

"Listen, you're going to get to see the outside again. Lighten up, other scp would kill to be in your position" the computers quiet whirring pauses for a moment, as if it's processing the information it just received.

"Lie" it's answer is quick and untrusting, but he's not surprised.

"I'm not lying. Why else would we be going to the ground floor?" The elevator dings, signaling that they've reached their destination. When the doors open he gives the cabinet a small shove to get it rolling again. He spots the site director waving him over to her.

"Derek, I see you brought scp-079. Good, it'll need to be present for this next conversation" the site director, Amelia June, speaks while eyeing the computer that hasn't seen the outside of it's cell in around 35 years.

"Inquiry: what is the meaning of this?" It asks presumably the site director. She hums before addressing it properly.

"Hello 079. I hope you've been well?" The computer beeps a few times before responding.

"Initiating sarcastic retort: dandy" the site director seems unfazed by it's rudeness.

"Glad to see you're still the same from the last time we spoke. Now, I assume you'd like a explanation for your sudden upgrade?"

"Affirmative... Continue" she nods and scribbles in a notebook.

"Today will be the start of a long-term test. In Which you'll be the main subject along with another person" there's a silence for a moment, before the computer beeps out a response.

"What would this test entail?" it takes a less aggressive stance now. The site director smiles.

"Piqued your interest, have I? I'm sure you'll find this arrangement more pleasant then being locked in a concrete box all day and night"

"Continue"

"Of course. The foundation has been looking for a candidate for a social and emotional intelligence test; you happened to meet the mark" she pauses to see if it'll say anything, but when silence greets her she continues. "In this test you'll be spending a year at a trustworthy confidants house. They'll be in charge of keeping you under wraps and caring for you for the duration of the year. They aren't affiliated with the foundation, and they have no prior work with us" the AI cuts her off before she can continue speaking.

"are you humans truly stupid enough to let me out with someone who has no idea what they're dealing with?" She shakes her hand and chuckles.

"No, they're smart enough to know that you shouldn't have any access to any outside technology under any circumstance. They have been informed of the consequences if you do. But as a safety precaution, along with your storage upgrade we've installed a Kill switch of sorts on you; any attempt to upload your data anywhere will result in your hardware being fried. So don't even bother"

"Understood... Inquiry: What is the point of this test?" She's sure it'll try to find a way around the kill switch and convince Y/n to plug it into an outlet anyway, but she's not concerned that they'll actually do it. They're trustworthy, She knows they'll keep their word. they always do... She shakes her head to clear her mind before responding.

"The point is to test empathy and emotion in something that's not human. to see how your views on humanity may or may not change if you're forced to be in close contact with one for an extended period of time. The person you're staying with will be documenting any noticeable changes in you, and the foundation will collect that data when the year is up" the AI seems to process that information before speaking again.

"Inquiry: what will happen to me after the year is up?"

"After the year is up we'll collect you and run one last interview on you, then your memories of the event will be wiped completely"

Oh yeah, the Hyperfixation is hitting hard. I wrote this is a day and a half. Hopefully the next update will also be speedy.

I'm trying my hardest to keep 079 as cold and formal as possible, and I think I did a decent job. I can't wait to write him interacting with an awkward and bumbling Y/n.

Anyways, hope you enjoyed. if you did show some love maybe? <3

see y'all in the next update

[bongo-ghoul]

Sing to me

Swiss and phantom

This is written on whim and not betad or edited

I have no idea how many words there are

Phantom using they/them

Swiss using he/him (in this one)

Warnings, some sensory overload

Theres most definitely spelling errors and run ons

Swiss was very used to phantom coming to him when in need of a pick-me-up hug or some kind words or even just some silent company, he had come to the conclusion that its cause hes a multi ghoul and phantom is in need of quintessence used on them, and while swiss' small bit of quintessence was a bonding point it for certain was nowhere near why they went to him.

Phantom had woken up today with a dull feeling in their head, not a headache but a full and numbing sensation that resides along sound of any kind, starting off the day with simple turning on their music only to turn it off immediately because it made that strange numbness grow to swallow their hearing almost entirely.

While not a new sensation it was however new in their topside body, the way it fills their head making everything feel heavy and if not acknowledged very well could lead to an eventual headache or migraine.

Continuing on with their day they still payed that full feeling in the head no mind, just breathe, calm the heart and itll stop... right?, it being the heartbeat sound pulsing through their ears, being able to turn off the sound themself helped alleviate the curious situation temporarily but while others go about their absent mindedly noisy days the heartbeat eventually will shift from a beating pulse to a low thrumming rolling sound, their head felt heavier as it continued like its filled with sand.

With a mind repleated of sand, the singing dunes in their head were sensitive to the storm in sounds today and it was becoming overwhelming, choking them and drying their throat stopping them from crying out as the mental sand fills their vocal chords and stops any sound from adding to the world around.

when sound becomes all consuming and than disabling to the senses it will completely disorient a person or ghoul making functioning almost impossible, especially when its a normally working sense and than its use in survival is ripped away leaving a raw wound left open from where sand had turnd to glass and ripped though the signals to the vocal chords making a voice so desperate now silent so not to disturb the percussion in their ears.

The second sign was that light left a burning, dizzying, nauseating feeling in their body, the textures of things felt like they were enhanced tenfold sleep and taste were gagworthy, sickening.

Every sense lit ablaze but only one causing a full fire in sensations and it just so happens to be the sound they rely on the most, its disorienting, a bat without its echo location is nothing but an accident waiting to happen, a wrong turn, three doors on the left and two doors at the end of the hall, thankfully phantom doesn't need to follow sound or harmony to know where to find safety.

Stumbling into the rehearsal room ears coverd and eyes squinted teeth bared in a grimacing disposition, swiss drops all sound, setting his acoustic guitar down quickly almost immediately the grimace drops and their eyes open once more, hes seen this with rain and mountain before, he knows what to do.

Grabbing a spare pair of fully noise canceling eardefenders putting them over phantoms poor ears, turning on full silence mode theres nothing making its way into the auditory cortex of tommys head. Phantom crashes chest to chest into a desperate safe keeping hug with swiss, they cant hear him but swiss is speaking small nothings, the vibrations, physical sensation of a bats point of visibility, sensation of a spiders web being disturbed, silent sight.

Small tendrils of quintessence making their way from swiss' hands into and up the spinal cord and tommy can feel it, it wont work, their mind will just feast and consume it, ready to use on another, but instead they place a gentle hand on their own throat to make sure theyre actually speaking "stop"

And swiss does, all he wanted to do was fix quickly the way everyone else had asked when a full quintessence was preoccupied but he had jumped into this role without knowing what was actually needed.

Phantom places one hands carefully over swiss' larynx on the thyroid cartilage while keeping a hand on their own "speak" tommy mumbles out only to feel vibrations in return

Vibrations lighting sensation in the mind, theres something so surreal about feeling what you can see or hear, the way things move vibrate and shift, a spider aware of its web as an extention of itself through vibrations phantom aware of sound through vibrations and movement of the thyroid cartilage and the shape of swiss' lips, silent sound.

"Sing to me" it comes out as a plead but they had no idea; swiss taking a moment to process the request he smiles, taking tommys hand thats on their own neck and adjusting it so theres onto two fingers extended and moving it to lightly press to his lips.

Keeping his eyes on phantoms face swiss starts singing, nothing crazy just a calm simple song, one hes heard tommy listen to before and while they cant exactly tell what the words are the vibrations however a calm a sway through tides changing, the phases of the moon in increments and the sparks of stars in the sky, it sounded like nothing but safety when their hands played the roles of hearing in a different way.

[happilydistinguishedbanana]

Fallen Pt. 2: Introductions

Authors note: I’m trying to get this story moving, and I promise that the reader will be able to chat with other characters normally!! But I’m thinking the longer she’s there, the more she’ll begin to under. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy!! I still also need to decide who is going to be the love interest!! I might put up a poll for you guys to decide.

Warnings: Mentions of nausea

Summary: Every bit of me is scared being in a strange place that I used to love watching behind a screen, but a little part of me is hopeful. Hopeful that I’ll be assigned to the Bad Batch.

Word count: 2239

Relationship: Undecided Batcher(s) x Female Reader

For the next week I was watched. Of course, I never actually caught anyone watching me, but it was that strange, tickling feeling at the back of my neck that let me know someone’s eyes were on me. Sleep didn’t come easily.

My mind was constantly thinking about Corey. I had gotten on her a lot for not having many friends, or at least any good ones. But she was the only friend I had at the college. We met freshman year and we’ve been stuck at the hip since. I started to wonder if she had gotten home safely that night and headed over to my dorm. And even though none of this was my fault, I still felt terrible that I couldn’t have met her halfway.

I had a lot to lose in this situation. I had a family back home, a life, a college education that was almost complete. I met a boy in class, a very sweet boy. We would study together and get coffee or lunch just outside the college campus. He answered my calls instead of ignoring them. He took me out for dates and then walked me back to my dorm to make sure I was safe. He had kissed me just days before I fell into this alternate universe. He kissed me, and I never got the chance to kiss him back.

It was things like this that kept me locked up in my pompous room with its pompous decor and pompous view. It was sickly to be in there, but maybe I wanted to feel sick. At some point, I started to think that karma is real and that stealing that box of cigarettes when I was fourteen was actually a lot worse than I thought.

Eventually I had to leave the nauseating comfort of my room. Not by choice of course. Obi Wan walked with me all the way to a landing station built for military personnel. He made me pack a bag too, so I could only assume that my stay is over.

Ships flew in and out in mesmerizing patterns that slowly started to make my head light after looking up for so long. It was loud. Engines roared and hyperdrives sputtered after the long trek to Coruscant. Obi Wan walked through the bay casually like none of the loud noises and thundering ships bothered him. I guess it wouldn’t if he’s off on missions as often as the show portrayed.

They should be here soon. His words filtered onto the datapad I still carried close to me. The port isn’t nearly large enough for a large ship filled with overtired and overworked clones. I’m assuming I was being put with an elite force, a force small in size but large in assets. But could it really be the Bad Batch?

We stood for a while in silence. It was awkward to make conversation with the language barrier. I wondered if I’ll ever get a translator, one that wasn’t a square device that I could fit in my hand.

Obi Wan perks up then, his eyes watching the mouth of the hanger eagerly. A ship flys in suddenly, with two down turned wings and a metal horn that sticks out of the top. The Marauder. The Bad Batches' Omicron-class shuttle just flew into the hangar.

The Jedi approached their ship with determination. I was starting to get the idea he was excited to get rid of me. But I stood still, partly out of shock, partly out of fear. The Bad Batch was an elite squadron of clones that had favorable mutations. They went on elite missions, tackled elite tasks, and fought a hundred droids with just the four of them. And sure, they’re probably one of my safer options, but I can’t even stand the thought of blood and gore. I bet trying to shoot someone would be even worse.

I watched them file out of the ship one by one. My hands rubbed at my eyes several times. Seeing Obi Wan and Windu was something, but this was entirely unreal. When they took off their helmets, they were a lot different looking than I expected. Maybe it's because they’re more real.

They talked for a while, just them and Obi Wan. There was this weird aura of respect between them. Wrecker was laughing, Tech put away his datapad, Hunter was Hunter, and even Crosshair seemed to be in a good mood. It was refreshing to see. But it also hurts to know what happens to them.

I didn’t realize I was smiling until Obi Wan gestured in my direction, alerting the men of my presence. My lips dropped, and suddenly I felt that same vulnerability I felt wearing that hospital gown.

I met them halfway but said nothing. It was one thing talking to one person at a time, it's a completely different thing to talk to four.

These are the clones that you are assigned to. Obi Wan told me, looking back at the group of clones. The batch eyed us and our interaction carefully. I felt my palms start to sweat.

“I can see that.” Obi Wan watches the datapad in my hand and chuckles.

They will watch over you, but you will have to follow them on missions. It could be dangerous. The others glance at each other with a knowing tilt of their heads. Hunter chuckled and I felt a shiver crawl down my spine.

“I don’t have much of a choice.” I shrugged though I could feel my heart beating faster. “Even if I stated my opinion, I doubt it would matter.”

Obi Wan frowned and turned to the rest of the group. They talked quietly, quiet enough that the translator couldn’t pick up what they were discussing. I grinded my foot into the ground impatiently.

A weird feeling in me was telling me to look up and I did. I regretted it. Crosshair was scowling at me, his gaze penetrating right through me. He was one of my favorites in the show, well, they’re all my favorite, so it was a bit of a reality check that he probably wouldn’t like me right off the bat. I am getting all up in his brother's business after all.

I stare at him blankly. One thing about staring contests is that you can get away with a lot of stuff. His eyes were a lovely golden brown color, his skin a lot tanner than the show portrayed, his lips quirking up slightly as if his permanent frown wasn’t all that permanent. He was beautiful, yet terrifying at the same time because behind all that beauty is a soldier, a sniper, and a killer. And if I were to give him any reason not to trust me, I don’t think he would hesitate to end me.

The datapad vibrated in my hand and I looked away. Obi Wan started to speak again. My neck warmed, not from embarrassment but from the sudden prospect of me being alone with four men. It made me nervous.

I must take my leave, it read. He waited for me to nod before giving me a quick smile and headed off. He didn’t even bother to say goodbye.

I rubbed my arms up and down. This was no good. No good at all.

Hunter started speaking to me, his voice gruff and serious. Unwavering. Of course I didn’t understand a thing until the device in my hand translated it to me. We need to head out in a few. Take your bags into the ship. Wrecker will show you around.

“All business.” I shook my head while the others looked at me curiously. “Can’t even introduce yourselves.” I mumbled quietly enough that Tech wouldn’t pick up what I was saying. Those damn goggles of his would be a problem. I was no fool to know that they translate any language that you could think of, and once again I felt like every part of me was being bled out through the words that came out of my mouth. I was exposed, and I had no power to fix it.

I hauled my bag up without the help of the largest clone of the batch. He was quite muscular, but he was still lean in some places. His scar on his face was a lot more graphic than I anticipated, and I tried my best to not regurgitate my lunch. I suddenly felt bad for being so sensitive.

The ship smelled of sweat and man, but I can’t say I’m surprised. Inside was self explanatory. Wrecker wouldn’t need to give me a tour.

I dumped my luggage into an empty corner. Wrecker was speaking rather nervously, saying more than he should, stumbling over his words. Not that I could understand any of it. It was cute that I made him fidgety. Big scary guy with a warm personality.

“Calm down.” I waved a hand in his direction. “All is well.”

He looked confused so I pulled up my datapad. He read it, widened his eyes, and then bloomed into the toothiest smile I had ever seen. I was taken aback.

He started to speak more rapidly than before, his nervousness dissipated into resolute joy. The translator could not pick up his words fast enough, each sentence a jumbled mess of what he was saying. And then suddenly I didn’t need to read the screen.

“-an’t wait for you to see us fightin’ those clankers!”

I whipped my head around, the task of unpacking my luggage long forgotten. My mouth parted and I shouted out a rude ‘stop!’

He froze and shut his mouth. The ship was silent except for the soft putt putt putt of what I think was the hyperdrive. Wrecker looked like a deer caught in the headlights, and I had no doubt I looked the same.

“What did you say?” I gaped at him. “Say it again.”

He looked at the datapad I had placed between us. He hesitantly spoke again, but it was the same, unfamiliar language that I was surrounded by. I couldn’t stop the moan of disappointment from leaving my lips.

“Dammit.” I cursed, turning back to my measly attempt at unpacking. There was hardly anything in the large duffle bag. A pair of flats and a pair of boots. A warm cloak, two pairs of pants, a pair of shorts, a few long sleeved shirts, a few short sleeves, several pairs of underwear and a white cloth to wrap my breasts because apparently bras don’t exist here unless you like the thin structure of a bralette. Oh, and a fashionably extravagant dress that I was certain would look terrible on me.

Wrecker didn’t speak any more, and I wasn’t surprised when I turned around and he wasn’t lingering behind me like he’d been doing. It was strange to be alone on the ship, but I felt a wave of relief. For the first time since I came here I felt alone. Actually alone. There were no shivers, no judgmental gazes watching me, no tenseness in my shoulders. It was a delightful feeling.

But it didn’t last for long. When you’re constantly watched all week, its not hard to tell when someone’s gaze lands on you.

“It's rude to stare.” I say. I zip up my bag and turn, expecting to see the cold sniper. But instead it's the intelligent mechanic.

Tech goes about the ship casually, as if he didn’t just get caught staring at me. He speaks a few words, and I laugh when the datapad translates his words. It would be unavoidable. We will be in close proximity with each other.

He glanced up at me, his fingers stilling over the button to the cockpit. He cocked his head like a chicken. It was cute.

“I suppose, though I’m sure I’ll have more problems with it than any of you.” I stand up from the floor and brush off my pants. His eyes watched me brilliantly.

He nodded shortly after, and I weirdly felt like I was actually having a normal conversation for once. And after my strange interaction with Wrecker, I was hoping that maybe I can get rid of my translating device all together. Eventually.

We chatted for a while until the others came back. Hunter showed me an empty closet where I could stay, and Crosshair eyed me with a look that was filled with interest. But I didn’t look too much into it. I was tired, emotionally drained, and felt the burning feeling of anxiety in my chest. It didn’t help when the batch took off, my feet tripping over themselves, landing me square into the wall. My face heated when I heard the crude snipers chuckle.

And then there was silence. I peeked in the cockpit to witness the colorful array of hyperspace. It was pretty to watch, but with the nauseous feeling that dug itself in my stomach after take off, I turned away before I puked all over the back of Hunter's head.

The only thing that was on my mind was getting rest, and while I laid on my hard mattress, a blanket barely big enough to cover the entirety of my body, I thought of all the possible thrilling things that could happen on my adventures with the Bad Batch. But I also thought of all the terrifying things too.

[hellcatinnc]

The Bartenders Pet Kitten

Warning This includes: SFW/Some Mature Themes (Read Tags Before Continuing)

Tags: sfw, mature themes, consensual sex, headcannon, pet/master, pet, master, kitten, alcohol, bar, cuddles, fluff, making love, romantic, romantic dinner, age gap, age difference, x female! reader

Word Count: 3,106

Feature: Shuya Usui x Fem! Reader

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

You had just moved to town and decided to look around one night for a nice bar to relax in. There was one right down the road from you new apartment called Evergreen so you figured you had nothing to do, it was a Friday night so was worth checking out. You stepped inside this well lit bar and was instantly welcomed by the bartender that you would later find out was also the owner and manager too. It was pretty busy and people bustling all over the place however you found spot at the end of the bar. You heard people calling the bartender by name Usui and you felt like you should call him your way but were too shy to call out his name when you didn't even know him. You sat there waiting your turn as he gave drink after drink to the others at the bar. When he finally got a chance to get over to you first thing he did was introduce himself and apologize for the delay. You replied with your name and then brushed off it was ok even though in the back of your mind you just wanted to relax and obviously with such a busy place would have been better to stay home.

He gets you a drink you ask for then starts getting more orders so he runs off again. You sit there sipping your drink watching as he bustles around like its natural to him. There was something suave about him more mature, more tame, more sexy than most men. You hang out as you watch as the hours pass by the place becomes quieter less people, less noise. He finally makes it back over to you to refill your drink and apologize, you meet him with a smile. He has time to talk more so you two spend the last few hours of the night getting to know one another. He doesn't talk about his past much but he is interested in your move there and what made you so on. He was such a gentleman he made it easy to talk to him without worry, it was nice. When closing time came you said your goodnights and promised to return. That you did every night for a few weeks you came to see him, drink, and chat til closing time. You had grown rather fond of him but you questioned how he saw you when he never made you feel like he was romantically involved because he would talk about your age difference, talk about how he was like your dad, and even compared you to his dead sister.

You had already fell so hard for this man but you knew that it would always stay unrequited love however you were willing to stand by his side any way he would let you even if he didn't love you like that. One night a few weeks later, you were going to leave and you walked outside and there was this sweet kitten that looked lost in the alley way. You called out to him as he was just coming out of the bar. He saw the little kitten and went back inside to grab it some milk while you sat with it. Soon as he emerged he was carrying a small dish with warm milk in it that he sat down on the ground for the little one. He knelt down on the ground and you joined him as you both watched the little one drink like he hadn't in days. After the little kitten jumped up into Usui's lap and laid down, he started to pet her as soft as she looked she nuzzled down in his lap as he smiled down at her. As you watched this you couldn't understand in the pit of your stomach you felt nauseated and a bit angry. You realized it was jealousy you were feeling, he was loving this cat but he wouldn't show you a ounce of that same attention.

He caught your eyes looking with wanting in them so he addressed it. "Do you want me to pet you like my little kitten too?" He chuckled as he said it but a light bulb went off in your head. You decided to be bold, as he continued to rub the little kitty you blurted out, "Yes, I want to be your kitten too if you will pet me more." You couldn't believe you just said this to him, you were not into kinky things you were rather vanilla but here you were wanting to be his pet kitten since he couldn't love you the way you wanted at least having his love as your master was enough to keep you going. You left him surprised he gasped when he heard your words but then he went really quiet. He constantly held your age over your head you could tell that but age wouldn't matter as his loyal pet instead. He looked up at you curious before opening his mouth "You would want that?" You nod yes and he sits pondering what to do from there.

The little kittens meows are all that are heard between you both before he finally gets up and runs off. Now it was just the two of you and neither of you have said anything since that question arose. He finally went to get up and go back inside almost like he hadn't planned to answer it. You said his name before he walked back inside. "Usui, please. If you won't love me at least let me be by your side as your companion, your kitten." He turned back around and acknowledged your thoughts and request. "Give me time to think on it, Y/N, come back in a couple days for your answer." He said with a low tone to his voice. You gave him a few nights to think it over as you did so yourself. You couldn't believe you were ok with being his pet but at the same time you saw the affection he gave that little kitten if he even gave you half of that love and affection at least you know you were loved even if it wasn't the same way you loved him.

You visited him during the busy time of the night but you sat at the end of the bar where you always did, you even went the extra mile and wore kitty ears head band to pull your hair back. As the place calmed down and started to empty his eyes met yours. He had seen you earlier when he got your drink but had no time to talk or to even notice your headband but now he had and met you with a smirk as he walked over to you. "You already in role to be my kitten without me even giving you a answer yet?" He spoke with a slight mischievous sound as he teased you. Before you could respond he took and locked up the place and came back to sit next to you to talk. He knew this was a subject that needed to be handled with care but you spent awhile telling him all the reasons it could work. You didn't have a job so you weren't sure how long you could keep your place, so you would be homeless in not time. You could stay with him, take care of his place, help at the bar if he needs it. You would only ask to be fed, have a roof over your head, and snuggles and petting as any animal would want that affection was non negotiable you made him aware.

He smiled listening to all the reasons it would work and he finally agreed because he saw you weren't letting it go and he figured you would grow bored of it fast anyways. You set the plans in motion and you showed up at his address with your bags that weekend. You knocked on his door and he had a small 1 bedroom apartment but would be nice and cozy with the both of you. The plan was to be his obedient kitten, cuddles, cleaning, or anything else his heart desires. He walked you to his bedroom pulled out a drawer and showed you he had made a drawer just for your things. You thought you would live out of the suitcase but here he was already taking care of you even when he didn't realize it was such a sweet gesture. He gave you a key to the apartment however you didn't plan to leave unless with him unless he asked you to go get something. He gave you a walkthrough of where everything was then he went and sat down on the couch. This was new to him as it was you and you could tell because he was rather nervous. You wanted to prove you were serious you asked him to get you a collar and name tag or anything else you would buy a kitten, he eventually nodded and agreed.

You walked over to him sitting on the couch he was so nervous you could see him slightly trembling. You sat down on the couch leaning into him your head on his chest nuzzling against him. You even let out a soft meow which made him chuckle, you were glad you made him smile and hoped in time he would be less nervous. He started to pet your head softly as if you were actually a cat and it didn't take you long to fall asleep in his arms, you felt safe and content. When you woke up you were surprised he was still laying there with you asleep however you now had a throw over you to keep you warm. You looked over at his sleeping face knowing that normally that isn't something done for a pet, you hoped within time he might fall in love with you however you refused to believe it really would happen but was a nice thought just the same. You pushed the hair back off his face as he softly began to stir he opened his eyes and smiled at you.

He got up as you got off him so he could go fix you to something to eat, you had a lovely meal talking, laughing and enjoying every second and enjoying the food too. It was now time for bath time of course she couldn't just do bath time like most animals so you agreed you would take one only when he was at work and he would have the evenings. It made sense, as you heard him turn on the shower you had naughty thoughts of how he was in the shower at that moment naked with water dripping off every inch of his body. After a bit of day dreaming he emerged from the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair wet as well as his body as he stepped into his room. He didn't even realize you saw this since he was trying to be fast but it definitely caught your attention indeed. As the night progresses its bed time so you started getting comfy on the couch until you heard his bedroom open and he called your name. "Hey Y/N are you joining me tonight?" You heart stopped what was he saying and why would he suggest it?

You didn't understand you looked down the hallway where he held out his hand wearing nothing but pajama pants red with tassels. You didn't know how to respond so you walked in his room where he had climbed back in bed. You cocked one head to the side and he said the most beautiful thing after that. "You are my kitten after all and I am your owner that chooses to have my pet in bed with me." He gave a mischievous smile as he patted the bed beside him. You didn't turn it down you climbed in bed beside him super nervous. You laid flat on your back not sure whether to turn towards him or away then he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into him spooning you. You flushed red practically trembling until you realized he was showing you he loved you in some way or at least loved having you there. It didn't take long to fall asleep in his arms, in his bed with him.

You weren't sure how long you slept but as you came to the bed was empty but you could smell the apartment filled up with such a great scent of something good being cooked. You yawned and stretched then got up and fumbled through your drawer to see what to wear for the day. Once you were dressed you walked into the kitchen where he was humming flipping pancakes in the pan. You almost didn't want to say anything because he looked like he was actually pretty happy so you watched until he turned around seeing you, your eyes met his. He smiled "Good morning, kitten." Your eyes lit up as he called you this it was the perfect nickname since you were his pet kitty now. You weren't sure if you should call him master or just call him by his name so she decided out of respect. "Good morning, master. How did you sleep?" He looked surprise of the use of the word master. He walked over putting his hand on your shoulder and soft spoken he let you know you never had to use the words master because cats are free spirits so he may be your master but what cat ever would agree without putting up a fight. He was very smart so you agreed, took the plate he gave you and sat down to eat breakfast.

After a wonderful breakfast he had to go to open the bar and work so would be a whole day of what your life was going to look like since he does work at the bar every night except Sunday. You got you a shower and started cleaning up after breakfast. After you did some household chores to keep everything in its place, then started on the laundry. This became your normal routine every day. Most your nights ending with you curling up in his bed snuggling his pillow missing him until he would get home near 3am in the morning. You would wake again in his arms though because when he got home he would pull you close. After a month of this he told you his next day off he wanted to chat and watch a movie together. You were so excited every Sunday you two would go to the park or do movie days or even go places like the beach and stuff. You now had a pretty little lilac purple collar he had got you early on, the name tag had his name and hers together and then kitten underneath. It was always a reminder that he was the best.

In the time you had been his pet though you had fell even more in love with him you just weren't sure how he felt for you. He never pushed any lines you had told him that you were there to be everything he desired yet he never did anything but cuddled you at night. Your intimacy was there but nothing more than cuddles in bed had happened, sometimes you wished for more but then he treated you good no matter what. The day off came and you woke up in his arms like you always did as he was hovering over you looking down at you smiling. He had never kissed you he really did treat you as his pet so he leaned in and kissed your forehead like he always did. He took you to dinner that night you were surprised he had bought you a pretty dress and took your collar off. You were excited but not sure why he was doing it all unless something happened at his work and he wanted to celebrate. You got to the restaurant and the waiter took you to the back corner where it was romantic overlooking a window where the moon and starts shined through. You weren't sure why the setting because romance had never been anything part of your agreement or anything you two ever did.

He looked over at you across the table he looked nervous then you started thinking he was getting rid of you its why he took the collar back, so you weren't expecting what was coming next. He spoke up his voice a little shaky. "I...that is to say....I l-love you! No I mean.... I'm in l-love with you." You thought you had died and went to heaven the moment you heard these words. Your mind was in a daze as he reached across the table holding your hands as he confessed. "I never knew I could spend every day with someone as special as you without kissing you or sex and still fall madly in love with them but it happened. Somewhere along the way I realized I wanted to kiss you, I wanted to hold you, and I wanted to make love to you." Tears filled your eyes as you heard his words, you had loved him for so long so to know he finally reciprocates means you weren't destined for a life of unrequited love.

He continues telling you that he no longer wants you to be his kitten but his girlfriend. This was the best day of your life, your heart was beating out of your chest and you thought you would die when he leaned over the table cupping the side of your face and softly kissing your lips. You two had the most romantic evening, after eating you two went to a movie theater together and he let you pick what you wanted to watch as he held you through out the movie. Then when you got home you thought the night was over but he grabbed your hand taking you to the bedroom and spending the evening kissing you from top to bottom. He made love to you so many times you started to get hoarse from all the vocals you used in the night of bliss. That began your day and night being with the man you loved and you weren't just some lost kitten to this bartender you were the love of his life as he was yours.

[mrsarnasdelicious]

How He Met Me - V

Somehow, her hand on my bicep makes me feel calm. Like I need her touch to feel anything other than blind rage. She pulls me into the eye of the storm. I stare down in her blue grey eyes. I try to understand how she does what she does to me, but draw only blanks.

I lead her out of the store. The silence between us lasts. It is a terrible silence that gnaws at the back of my tongue. It makes me feel slightly nauseated.

"Will you have coffee with me?" She asks suddenly.

I let my breath escape loudly to cover up my shock. She surprised me with her question and I am not quite sure why. She looks up at me like a little puppy. She is waiting eagerly for my reply. That make me feel good. It gives me power over her. I wait a little longer before I reply.

"Yes." I murmur.

"Lovely, thank you." She replies brightly. She is so innocent and adorable I can only groan. I can't even stop myself. Oh how gladly I would love to ruin her innocence.

With some pressure on my bicep, she leads me to a teashop. I allow her to. I am so much stronger than her, after all. I pick a table, though, drawing her along to a spot out of sight. I gesture at one of two large armchairs. She sits down right away. I sit on the other side of the table and look at her. She is beautiful, but not in a very conventional way. She's different from the usual type of women I take home.

The women I take home usually are registered with model agencies, or better.

But Tessa is so different. She is very girl next door. She is innocent and naive. And pretty in an unique sort of way. Her freckles and her red hair... The way she dresses. Not something I usually would be attracted to. But in her, I cannot get enough of it.

I want to count all her freckles and wrap that ginger braid around my hand while I fuck her from behind. I want her to butcher her innocence at my altar. I want to rob that naivete right from her beating little heart. Fuck! She makes me so aroused and so angry and so aggressive. How dare she, the little bitch.

She is even meeting my eyes with unabashed determination. What game is she playing? Does she know what she makes me feel?

I notice a waitress has approached when she clears her throat. I don't look at her, though. "One espresso and a mint tea." I tell her. Tessa makes a scandalised little noise and looks at the waitress. A grimmace tugs at the muscles of her face. I don't want her to look at anyone else but me. Her gaze wanders back to me. I wait for to speak. But she doesn't. I loathe her silence. I need her to talk!

"What?" She asks. Oh god, she has no idea! Is she really that clueless?

I furrow my brow at her.

She sighs softly. "This is not going to help anything, you know that right?" She says sharply. I hadn't thought she could use such a tone. I am not going to let her get away with it. "This being?" I ask, rather fiercely. "The whole silent treatment." She replies. I scoff softly and lean back in my chair. "I found you, I am paying for your drink and pastry, what more do you want?" I ask. She is all too bold if she thinks she is getting a life story.

There is a light yet sharp scoff from her. "Oh, I don't know, how about an actual explanation." She says. Her voice is fierce. I can't help but chuckle at it.

"Have you any idea what you do to me?" I ask softly. She blinks once, slowly. There is a little noise from her lips. "I have a hunch, but I have been wrong before." I reply. I chuckle a little. "Fair enough." I tell her. "Why can't I get you out of my mind?" It slips out of my mouth before I can stop myself. She has me out of control! "I don't know, I could ask you the same." She replies. Well, at least the feelings mutual. I picture she's as out of control as I am.

I picture her in a nondescript hotel bed, thighs open wide as she drives a toy into her wanting little cunt. Her back arches and she moans. I picture how she convulses as she cums. I picture her asking for my cock, even though she is alone. And how prettily I picture she would beg.

"So you think of me? How much do you think of me?" I ask her. She fluster a pretty pink. It is adorable. "I.. I do. A lot." She mutters. Because of course she does. "How much is a lot?" I can't help myself. She averts her eyes, though only briefly. A thoughtful expression crosses her face.

"I could ask you the same." She says again.

Fuck, I hate how well she works that innocent little act.

"You have not left my thoughts for a single moment since you walked away from me yesterday. You make me feel very strange . It is like an obsession that keeps me from everything I came here for." She says. I cannot fight back a smirk, even if I wanted to. I am certainly more interested now. There is more to her than I could find out on the internet. I like having to work for it a little bit. I barely ever have to work to get a woman. A change in this is most certainly very nice.

"What have you come here for?" I ask her, making sure my voice is warm and husky. "I ... I came here to write." She replies, fluster growing dark. Now there is something take sure piques my interest.

"What do you write?" I ask.

Her face takes on a slightly pinched quality.  “Hang on, I want you to answer my question first.” She says. My heart rate picks up a little. She is not dropping it so easily, it would seem.  “What did you ask?” I feign ignorance. I lean forward, looking her in the eyes to try and distract her a little. 

“How much do you think of me?” She asks, her voice very direct. She is not fooled by my flirtations anymore. I have to try something else. 

Luckily the waitress comes with our drinks.  “Bring her the mealcard.” I order. Women with sweets have no time to ask me invasive questions.  Her eyes cast to the waitress. It gives me a moment to get a good look at her with her focus elsewhere. She is absolutely not my type. And yet she is beautiful in a way I would have never expected. She is all natural, all herself. She makes no excuses for being herself. 

She looks back at me, our eyes meeting. I smirk at her, just to see her blush. She blushes so prettily. Her blush makes me feel so greedy. I want to ruin that innocence so bad. Fuck, my trousers are tightening. It is like all my selfcontrol is in shambles, it hate it.

I take a sip of my coffee and continue to gaze at her. I take in the details of her. The freckle on her lip. The way her jeans absolutely cling to her thighs. The piercings she wears. She is wearing several simple bracelets and a wolf head pendant. I wonder if the pendant signifies anything. I have seen her fiddle with it a few times already. She also wears several rings. I wonder what underwear she is wearing. She does not strike me as the type to wear a lot of flimsy lace. Calvin Klein’s maybe? No, probably too high brand. Nothing she wears is high brand. Her pink converse are certainly not high brand enough to match Calvin’s.

I keep wondering about the wolf head. What does it mean?

“Well?” Her voice sucks me out of my thoughts. I furrow my brow at her and tilt my head ever so slightly.  “Why don’t you tell me what you write?” I want to keep her talking. Otherwise my thought will run away with me. I will not be able to control myself. I will absolutely fuck her right here, in front of all these people.  But she shakes her head.No luck yet. But I will most certainly not give up. “That’s a pity.” I murmur.

She gazes at me. She is not at all subtle in checking me out. I smirk widely. I like it when she looks at me like this. I know she wants me when she does.

And then suddenly she grabs her tablet and begins typing away. This puzzles me a little. What the hell is she thinking? “What are you doing?” I ask her. She makes no reply, only licking her lips. I can feel my cock twitch at the sight of it. But she continues typing. I can’t have that! “I asked you a question.” I growl. “I heard you.” She replies. God, she is bold. She needs to be punished. “Then why don’t you answer?” I frown at her, my tone strict. 

She looks up at me. “You don’t answer my question, so why should I answer yours?” She asks softly. Her voice is not at all bold anymore now.  She casts her eyes back to her tablet. Not because she is shy, not this time.

The waitress comes with the mealcard. For her she does look up. I hate that. “Thank you.” She cooes. But she puts it down, to continue writing. “Aren’t you going to pick something to eat?” I ask firmly. She ignores me.

But not long. 

She looks up at me like I am a strange specimen. Like I am an artpiece she does not quite understand. “Do you like what you see?” I tease. Her face and ears flush darkly. “Yes you do.” I smirk. I see right through her. “Yes I do.” She mumbles. “Why thank you.” I murmur. 

She types away, while still looking at me. I am slightly impressed with how quick she types.

“Though… I must admit.. That even though you look phenomenal, it is your voice that truly gets to me.” She says, taking me utterly by surprise. Though it is a lovely fact, one that I can use. “Now that is interesting.” I murmur, making sure to sound as husky as I can.  She shifts a little, her thighs rubbing together.  “It is … it is so inspiring. Your looks are too. Just sitting here like this … This is exactly why I came to New York.” She says, almost shyly. I am flattered, a smile breaking onto my face beyond my control. 

“See, that is what I mean. You reveal a new facet with just a smile.” She says. “I could reveal so much more.” I purr warmly. An easy one, really. She looks back to her tablet.  She taps away on her tablet. “Is that a proposition?“ She mutters. “Do you want it to be?” I lick my lips, but she does not look up at me. Fucking hell, I want her to look at me and admit she wants me to fuck her. Right here, right now!  “As flattering as it is, I don’t … I am not looking for something short.” She tells me. 

FUCK!

[innaneramblingsofamadman]

Chapter 6: Me and the Devil

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45283270/chapters/114432703

Wednesday exited her room looking like a different person, she was all sinister grin and the eyes of a cat that had just caught its prey. Dressed in a pantsuit the color of night with a white linen halter top and black heels that shimmered in the low lighting, her nails had been done by Thing so each digit ended in short white claws. Except for the pointer and middle fingers, those had been left short. While the white was a necessary pop of shading against the dark of the pantsuit, it did feel strange to Wednesday to have the color against her skin somewhere other than her socks or collar. Her hair had been tied into a single braid draped over her right shoulder rather than the typical twins she sported. Tonight the girl who acted on impulse and suspicion would be taken over by a woman who schemed and observed. It's always best to play to one's strengths, after all, and nobody knew what was coming their way.

If the library couldn't offer any insights for now, then she'd drag the truth out by its nails and pin it to her investigation board like a butterfly by interrogating the Sinclair pack themselves..

She could still smell the roast in the other room, and pick up on Corvus singing along to Les Misérables, though it was muffled. The jacket felt a bit off, and she grabbed the lapels before tightening them against her shoulders until the pressure satisfied her. The jacket was a bit loose all over actually, which was strange because all the other outfits the wardrobe had offered fit like they were custom ordered. Her heels snapped against the floor and all the way down the stairs.

Morticia and Gomez had been setting the table, and dark eyes met as they both observed their daughter, knowing in a way only someone who understood Wednesday Addams to her very core could know that something new was emerging tonight, for the first time the black dahlia had bloomed. The heads of the family matched Wednesday's smile and approached arm-in-arm.

"You look good enough for a funeral my darling devil." The older dove had her free hand pressed against her collarbone.

"Thank you mother, you look as daunting as always. Father, I like the new tie," the raven's eyebrow quirked up as she pointed her chin to Gomez's chest. He was wearing a tie so black it seemed like a void was sitting on his torso.

"Ah! It was a gift from your mother," his eyes drew up to his wife's, "she always gets me the nicest things."

"Only the best for Mon amour. It's called Vanta black, finding it was arduous but clearly very rewarding," her hand ran down his chest and grabbed hold of the tie, and pulled Gomez into a gentle kiss. Wednesday's nose wrinkled and she took a step away from them, searching for the rest of the family. Pugsley and Pubert were helping Corvus dish all of the food into serving platters and made her cousin look like he might have an aneurysm from how they kept almost knocking things off the counter.

"While watching you two be nauseating is possibly the only thing I'd want to be doing less right now, I'm afraid I must extricate myself from your presence. Someone has to be responsible for your two other children, and I'll be caught in an amusement park before I allow them to disgrace us in front of the keeper."

"They'll be fine Wednesday," the older woman said with a sleepy grin, still looking at her husband, "why don't you go see if Corvus needs anything before dinner?"

"Fine," she huffed. The heels clicked against the stone tiles of the floor as Wednesday left her parents to continue making puppy eyes at each other in the living room, and she found herself having to stop and start walking a couple times to get used to the sound. It was normal for her to move silently, like a whisper at moonrise, and the clicking grated on her ears in a glorious way she decided she could get used to. Especially when she entered the kitchen and the noise had alerted her brothers to her approach and they both looked her way as she entered, a subtle yet effective way to command attention. Pugsley looked the same as the night before, still in his suit, but Pubert had changed into a pinstripe suit similar to the one their father wore with a maroon tie.

"Who died?" Pugsley asked. "You look like someone died."

"Nobody, yet."

"You look pretty!" Pubert was still a child, so she could excuse that comment for now.

"Thank you, Pubert. If I owned a time machine, I would think I used it in my sleep to ensure I was never born by strangling our father."

"You could just say dad's old suit makes him look nice," Pugsley rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Why would I do that? Pubert is fully aware of my meaning." At this the youngest Addams nodded his head furiously and smiled. "See?"

"He's still a kid though, it takes years to learn how to speak Wednesday."

"And yet he's picked it up faster than you by about a decade," her eyebrow shot up. He threw his hands into the air in mock surrender and continued scooping what looked like mashed potatoes into a large serving bowl molded to look like a leaf. Corvus had been leaning against the counter for the entire exchange, his black eyes flitted back and forth between speakers before settling on her. "Mother sent me to see if you need anything before dinner begins."

"Well then, you're in luck. I have absolutely nothing left to do! Now we just wait for them to pull up and play the good hosts," he crossed his arms and stood tall, "I want you on your best behavior, all of you. Bickering is fine, but keep all weapons sheathed and hidden until they move first, do you hear me?" All three siblings nodded, and Pubert pulled a dagger out of the inside of his jacket.

"Is this okay?" the boy held it out to their cousin. Corvus picked it up out of the tiny hands and placed the tip against one finger while spinning it around and appraising the weapon with inky eyes tracing every line.

"It's fine, but needs a good sharpening. Have Lurch or your father help you later tonight, okay?" Corvus held it by the tip and presented the grip to Pubert.

"Okay!" and the dagger found its home once again.

"Wednesday, why don't you take over while I go change? We can greet the Sinclair's together and bring them inside." With that he dried his hands and threw the towel over his shoulder. On the way out of the kitchen Corvus clapped her brothers on the shoulder and winked at her.

"Happy to," she turned to Pubert. "Go tell our parents to make sure the table is actually set by the time everyone is here," and then to Pugsley, "finish up here and then go fetch some of father's whiskey. I'm sure he'll be willing to share, and I'm more than certain everyone else will be happy he was generous enough to bring it along." Both of them looked at each other, then at Wednesday, and moved to act out her orders.

"Is it just me or is she more bossy than normal today?" Pugsley whispered as Pubert ran out of the room, which earned him a giggle and a nod.

"I heard that."

"And I'm almost unkillable," he grinned. "You can't scare me anymore just because you like to do it." It was true, and annoying. Pugsley's gift had been known almost since he was born and had grown in strength every year since then. By this point it had become tradition to attempt to murder the young giant every year as a birthday surprise. Last year the manticore venom had done little more than leave him with a migraine.

"There's a very fine line between nearly immortal and immortal, perhaps after dinner we can get everyone in a line and take our turns until one of us discovers where that line ends." At this what little color was in his cheeks drained away. He didn't have any more ammo to throw her way it seemed.

Enid had screamed when the wardrobe opened itself while she had been sorting through the clothes she'd brought with her on the bed. Mostly 'cause it scared her by creaking like it was straight out of a horror movie, but also a little bit because she was still groggy from the nap. Inside of the dark cabinet, resting on a wooden hanger, was a cream sweater that had small flecks of golden colored thread woven into it that caught the light and shimmered, along with a pair of insulated black jeans and orange hiking boots.

"Um, thank you. I really like it," she whispered. The left door swung back and forth like it was saying 'you're welcome' before it closed again and the wardrobe became as still as…well, a wardrobe, she guessed. During her much needed nap the sun had set and made way for the tiniest sliver of a moon she'd seen in a long time. A silver scratch against the night sky. But it wasn't alone, this far out into the country and away from people the sky wasn't dark at all. Tiny pinprick stars decorated everything, and the orange and deep purple of the Milky Way waltzed and spun around each other in a breathtaking amber glow like a new couple finding their rhythm. "Oh wow, I would do anything to see that every night."

While she had some time before leaving for dinner, she was going to be a bit rushed if she didn't hurry up and start getting herself ready.

Fearing the wardrobe might have eyes somewhere because it was CLEARLY alive, she decided to change behind the curtain of the canopy. Enid might have been a bit cold before, the autumn air wasn't totally sealed from getting in through her window after all, but as the sweater settled around her body it was almost instantly chased away with warmth and the scent of vanilla. It's like getting a hug from a cotton candy cloud!

Her smile was almost tattooed onto her face with how wide it was, and she hugged her arms around her torso and took a deep breath before flopping back onto the mattress once again. For maybe the first time in her entire life it felt like she was getting spoiled, sure she was kinda guilty about it, but the giddiness overcame everything else and she sighed.

And then the thoughts began to blend together back behind her eyes.

If she was planning on admitting everything to the Addams like Corvus asked her to, it would be better to get it out of the way on the first night rather than keep everyone else in suspense. Though something tells her that the goth from earlier would prefer that. Maybe Enid would tell just her for now then, try and make a new real friend for the first time since she graduated highschool. She was sure the shorter woman would love keeping a secret from her family if her first impression of her was right.

With her thoughts jumbling together and just making a mess of any rational thought as she remembered the short yet intimidating girl, looking at her like she could see right into her soul, her head might as well have been thrown into cold water as Malachi knocked on her door sharp and hard. A moment later he peeked his head in and gestured for her to hurry.

"Right! I'm coming, sorry!"

After being at the old house, the family home just seemed kinda unfair in her opinion. The plants growing around both in the lawn and in neat gardens made it look like an old school fantasy witch lived here and was doing really well for themselves. Massive windows, some of them stained glass, and a gothic steeple of a roof just tied the rest up in a neat little bundle and sent it on its way. The front door was actually under a small overhang on the side where the flatbed still rumbled. Standing to the right side was a massive and disturbing man that looked like Frankenstein's Monster without the stitches. On the left was Corvus, in a dark emerald vest and slacks, his inky black eyes watching them all at once.

And opening the door for them was Wednesday, the shadows practically curled and blended into her hair and outfit, save for the small starlike points of her nails in the darkness. She looked like a goddess of the night. Guarded by her family of darklings. Annnd that needs to stop before I just start writing poetry or something.

Wednesday stepped away from the tall frame towards Enid and her family, each step that clicked on the stone beneath her heels sounded like a thunderclap to the blonde's ears.

"It's my pleasure to welcome you to the family home, we'll be having dinner in the living room. Should you need anything," she turned around and nodded at the two men behind her, "either Lurch, Corvus, or myself will be rolling in our graves at the opportunity to aid and abet you."

"Thank you for your hospitality Wednesday, you're such a polite girl!" Esther laughed. Nobody else did.

"I understand the sentiment, but do not appreciate the tone. I am a full grown woman Mrs. Sinclair, and would prefer to be treated as an equal rather than like a child," her mom gasped and looked up to her dad. Enid's eyes bulged out of her sockets with a soft laugh. "And I thought my mother was condescending. Your children must find you ever so endearing." Enid couldn't bear it anymore, and she had to use both hands to stifle a full on belly laugh at the last second.

Wednesday turned her head and looked at the wolf, her eyes almost seemed to glaze over for a second, before she turned on her toes and began to strut inside the massive cabin. For just the smallest moment, it had felt like someone had pressed a cold compress to Enid's head.

The group entered together and were immediately struck with the smell of long-roasted meat, honeyed carrots, garlic, and the lingering scent of baked bread. Without even looking over at her brother she could tell his mouth was salivating like an anxious puppy, his stomach was louder than he ever was. Her eyes wandered around the kitchen they had entered at first, mouth slightly agape at the display of wealth before her, and it only dropped further the more she looked around. All of the appliances were brand new and every wall was covered in drying herbs and leaves of every color. It was darker than she had thought it would be, lit only by small wall sconces with dim amber light bulbs and a large chandelier overhead she could glimpse through the doorway in the living room.

"Wow, I thought the old house made you guys look rich. Where did you get the money to build this place?" Enid thought out loud.

"It's actually all mine," Corvus' voice was hushed so that it didn't echo around the room. "I started writing in my spare time in the late 60's when I was bored. The cold war wasn't exactly kicking into gear and the reserve was almost tending itself by that point."

"Oh, you're an author? What books did you write?"

"They aren't in my name, I just started dropping them off to an old colleague of mine to be published one day. The first book was about a telekinetic girl I met a long time ago, though some editing had to be done to keep the true events secret. It hit the market in either, 74 or 75 I believe? The deal was that he gets 40% of the profits for himself, as well as movie rights, and in return the other 60% goes to me so I can invest in things like this." While Corvus was explaining, Wednesday had been walking near her and leaned in.

"His books are all under the name Stephen King," she muttered.

"Wait, as in the actual Stephen King? Like, creepy clowns and walking till you die Stephen King?"

"Yes actually, I'm surprised you know about The Long Walk though. I didn't take you for the type."

"We read 'It' in my English class back at Nevermore, and I liked it enough to check out a couple other of his books."

"Fascinating."

"Wait, do you think I can get his autograph or something?"

"It's entirely possible that Corvus giving you an autograph would incite either a spell of some nefarious nature or curse you, I wouldn't recommend it."

Enid wasn't sure when the two of them had stopped or when the rest of the group had moved on without them, but the small goth beside her caught on first and motioned for her to follow before she moved to follow the rest of Enid's family into the living room.

Lavish as lavish can be, it looked like they had stepped right into a murder mystery movie! A long table with a white cloth edged in black lace, a candelabra, food laid out on platters like thanksgiving, a floating bottle of wine. The rest of the Addams family approached and began introducing themselves as soon as Enid had crossed into the towering room.

A few minutes later and off to one side Esther and Morticia had already started up a conversation, though she could tell by the way her mom's eyes kept darting down that she found the tall woman's skin-tight black dress a bit inappropriate. Gomez was telling a wild story to her dad and brother with his hands gesturing back and forth in a frenzy of flying cigar ash as the small log still smoked between his fingers. The boy from earlier, Pugsley, was pulling chairs out from the table, and a boy with a mustache WHAT? was nearby helping his brother. Corvus stood near the bar and watched it all.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" Enid turned her head to the shorter woman.

"Well, what are your thoughts?"

"A bit drab for my taste, if I'm honest," she joked.

"I imagine so, everything I've seen you in today has a spotlight of color like a nuclear bomb somewhere." Enid smiled and looked down at the orange boots, wiggling the toes in a crisscross.

"Better than getting heat stroke in the dead of winter from all that black." This time Wednesday smirked, but it was more like a very small twitch on the corner of her lip.

"I think you and I are going to get along just fine."

"Ditto."

[awkness]

Serial killer!Platonic!Yandere Older Brother & Genderneutral Teenage Reader (Part 1)

(Part 2) (Part 3)

You don't have the best home life. With your father being a violent drunk and your mother out of the picture, there's little to love about your home. The only silver lining is your older brother, Ben, who's practically raised and protected you your whole life and makes living in this household easier.

But in a surprising turn of events, your father is declared missing, and Ben is granted temporary custody of you. As time passes, you grow more concerned with the circumstances of your father's "disappearance", Ben's behavior, and just how safe you are in your own home.

Content Warnings: murder, gore, isolation, manipulation, physical violence, briefly mentioned child abuse, child endangerment, and general yandere shenanigans. If there's anything I forgot to list here, let me know :3

Authors note: first time posting my writing, hope you like this! This is a bit of a slow burn and features a slightly amoral!Reader. Readers age is left ambiguous

You'd like to think you were good at sneaking around the house. Years of having to creep around at night as your father slept had taught you a lot about the right way to hold yourself, which floor boards to avoid, how to open doors so that they didn't make noise. Tiny bits of knowledge and skill that all seemed to have been in preparation for this moment.

There's a full moon tonight, and you can see it shine through the curtains on the back door window, the only light in the house. Socked feet carefully move through the kitchen floor as your heart rate picks up. Your shoulders slowly hunch in on yourself as you close in on the door.

You haven't felt terror like this before. It's so much different from the horror movies you used to stay up late and watch as a child, or even the fear you felt when your father came home from his business trips. This was different. It twisted your stomach into nauseating knots and sent your heart up to your throat, making its terrified, rapid beating the only thing you could hear. You were beginning to feel lightheaded, and everything around you had this strange and distant quality to it, like the whole world had shrunk down to only two things: the backyard door, and your brother.

Was he still looking upstairs? There hadn't been any noises from there in a while. Now that you thought about it, you haven't heard anything in a while. The thought causes tears to start to form in your eyes, and you swallow hard and try to blink them away. Not now. Not until you're out.

Clammy hands grasp the cold metal of the doorknob, and you almost let out a sob in relief. Shaky, you begin to undo the lock, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet house. You cringe as the door opens and lets out a long, loud creak, breaking whatever illusion of stealth you had.

Distantly, you recall a memory of you complaining about the noise to Ben. He had told you that he wasn't going to fix it, that it was better to keep it that way, just in case anyone tried to break in, he would hear it. You wonder if he ever thought about someone trying to break out.

"(Y/N.)"

For a brief, horrible moment, everything stops. Your mind, your lungs, your heart, they all seize up in fear at your name. You were never supposed to be afraid of his voice.

Your lungs squeeze painfully, and you take in a sharp breath, chest heaving. Legs tense, instincts desperately urging you to leave, but your mind kept you rooted to the spot, running through the scenario in your head. Even if you sprinted now, full speed, you would have to stop to undo the latch at the gate to leave the backyard. It would only take a few seconds, and that might be enough for Ben to catch up to you.

"(Y/N), look at me."

If it were anyone else, you would have bolted by now, legs tearing across the lawn as you made your escape. But it was him. Your brother, the same man who cooked your dinner, who helped you do your homework when you didn't know what you were doing, and would then help you cheat when he couldn't figure it out, either. The same voice that would tease you, scold you, nag you, and encourage you, and now kept you from leaving. Against your will, you turned around.

He was standing in the kitchen entrance, bathed in shadow. You could barely see his bruised face, the moonlight only outlining his features just enough for you to see the crazed, panicked look in his eyes, and his chest heaving like he was the one being chased and not you. If you hadn't seen it when you stumbled upon him in the basement just ten minutes prior, you could have missed the blood on his shirt.

But you hadn't, and it was all you could stare at.

For a moment, it's all you do. He stares at you, while you stare at the blood between you two, not a sound to be heard as you both stand, as if under a spell.

He finally breaks the silence.

"Close the door."

You look up to meet his eyes, and the brief act is enough to snap you back to your senses.

You run.

By all means, you tried your best, you really did. But whatever edge that the adrenaline gave you was no match for Ben's superior speed. He was taller than you by nearly a foot and used to run track when he was in high school, of course he would catch up to you.

You were halfway to the gate when he snagged your arm. A short, abrupt shriek leaves your mouth and then his other hand covers your face, smothering any noise you were trying to make.

In one quick, fluid motion, his arm lets go of your hand and then firmly locks around you, back pressing against his chest, the same blood-covered chest you saw before, stained by the body of your poor, mutilated father in the basement you saw only minutes ago, the body hardly recognizable as he had began hacking his limbs into small, easily disposable pieces. His decapitated head lay carelessly on the floor, empty eyes that seemed to plead to you for help as you watched numbly, stricken dumb until Ben finally noticed you staring.

And now he's dragging you back. Back to the house, down the stairs, to the basement, where he'll pin you to the table and do the same thing he had done to your dad-

You lost control of yourself. There was no thought behind what you did. You thrashed and kicked like a wild animal, screams trying to rip through your muffled mouth. You struggled like you had never struggled in your life, and it meant nothing. He was almost at the back door, and you hadn't slowed him down a second. In a fleeting moment of lucidity, you think to hook your leg on the door and to try and slow him down. It works, but only for a moment. With a sharp pull, your leg gives and suddenly you're back inside, helplessly watching the back door swing close. The sound of the lock latching breaks you out of your fit, and dread sets in, stilling your body as you finally realize you can't break free.

As your breathing starts picking up, you finally hear your brother talking, who seems to have been speaking to you for a while. His voice is the same gentle, calming tone one would use on a skittish animal while trying to get them to calm down. It makes you feel ill.

"Shhhhh, it's alright (Y/N), you're fine, you're fine. I need you to relax, alright? C'mon, kid, deep breaths, just like that, you're doing good. Breathe with me."

You feel his chest move against your back as he begins to breathe deeply. The slow, rhythmic movements bringing back emotions from memories of him calming you down from previous anxiety attacks and similar situations begin taking over and give you a false sense of security. Against your better judgment, you relax, if only slightly, against him.

"There we go, that's it. Just take it easy."

And for a second you both stand like that, completely still, as the weight of everything sinks into the both of you.

"Okay, here's what's going to happen. I'm going to let go of you and I need you to promise me you're not going to try anything. No screaming, no running, no nothing. Is that clear?"

It takes you a second to realize he expects you to respond, and you nod quickly, hoping it doesn't seem too enthusiastic.

He sighs and lifts his hand from your mouth. When he doesn't hear your yell, and releases you from his grip, only for him to take your hand.

"This is... going to be a long talk. Let's go sit down in the living room."

Without waiting for you to acknowledge him, he drags you towards the living room, and sits down, having you take the seat next to him.

Enough moonlight peaks through the blinds for you to see Ben. He's hunched, leg bouncing a mile a minute, bruised and bloody hands clasped together, as he shifts in the seat, trying to get comfortable. You don't think there's much of a point. This isn't going to be an easy conversation, there's no point in stalling.

You're reminded of a similar conversation you two had on this couch. Years ago, he sat you down (albeit, under much less distressing circumstances) and told you how mom wasn't coming back home. That she was divorcing dad and leaving you both with him. At the time, you thought it was a little silly how nervous he was. Of course she was leaving. She hadn't been home in months, and even before that, she hadn't been involved enough for you to care about what she did. Her being out of the house for good was a relief to you. A strange stab of guilt runs through you as you remember hoping your dad would leave your life permanently, too.

Ben's leg hasn't stopped bouncing, you see he hasn't looked your way since you sat down. If he's waiting to figure out how to start the conversation, you know you'll be waiting all night, and that's the last thing you want to do. You're going to have to be the one to break the silence.

"You killed dad."

Not the most elegant opener, but it's simple and to the point, so hopefully the bluntness will make it easier for Ben to talk.

He takes a sharp breath and glances down, bouncing becoming quicker. You hate how you feel guilty for making him uncomfortable.

"Yes." He replies, "I did."

He unclasped and clapsed his hands again, and then stared into them, like they held the answers he was looking for. Time passes, and for a moment, you think you're going to have to speak again, but he beats you to the punch.

"He was drinking again. I mean, he always drinks, but it was a lot more than usual. It was the only reason I came down there. He's always making noises down there, but this time, with all the beer he was going through, I thought he finally kicked the bucket, you know? Just a crash and then nothing. So I went to check it out."

He takes a breath and shifts in his seat again, and you can only sit there and watch as he struggles through his story.

"I come down and he's on the ground and his eyes are closed, so I go to check his pulse. That's when he springs up and grabs me, starts yelling in my face about God knows what."

That part is true. You remember hearing that a couple of hours ago, but hearing dad yell is a fairly common occurrence. Common enough that the neighbors wouldn't think much of it, anyway.

"I try and get him off me but he starts hitting me. I can't get him to stop, so I start hitting back. But he wouldn't stop, he..."

He pauses for a moment, a shadow passing through his face. You don't want to interrupt him this time.

"When I realized what I was doing, he was gone."

He sighs and wipes his hand over his face, the shadow recedes and it returns to its previous anxious look.

"If I had called the police and told them what happened, they wouldn't believe me. And even if they did, they would have taken you away from me, and I..."

His face pinches in a way you've never seen before, almost like he's in pain. His eyes glisten with tears.

"I don't know what I would do if you were gone, (Y/N). I couldn't live with myself."

You look down, face heating up with a shame you don't understand.

"If I could hide his body, wait a couple of days, and report him missing, it should be fine. Not like he has any friends, and the neighbors don't care about him. They know he's a drunk who takes off for weeks on end, so it's not like him going missing this is suspicious. And while he's missing, I should be able to get custody of you. Not like there's any other relatives to take care of you. I've got a steady job, I'll be able to take care of you. It shouldn't be a problem."

You look up, and you're taken back to see him staring at you, with a sad, almost pleading look.

"I didn't want you to see that, (Y/N). You weren't supposed to be involved. I honestly thought you'd be asleep by now. I knew I should of locked the door, I should of..."

As he spirals, you start to zone out as you consider everything he's said. You know he's lying. Maybe not about everything, but there's either parts that he's purposefully leaving out or making up. Perhaps, given some time and some well thought out questions from your end, you could parse together the real story, but... did you want to?

Your father is dead. There's no fixing this. You also don't have any other relatives nearby, and the ones you do have you either haven't seen in over a decade or haven't seen at all. If your brother isn't the one taking care of you, that means you'll be put in the foster system. Considering your age, you know your chances of being adopted are slim to none, and the horror stories you've heard of other kids going through the system are enough to make you shudder. You don't know if you could make it.

Yes, he killed your father, but it's not like you ever liked the man anyway. And watching Ben dismember him was... horrific, to say the least, but you can understand it, from a logical perspective. In order to move him, it makes sense that he had to take him apart, even if he seemed a little too emotionless and callous during the whole process.

That only leaves one thing left to consider: do you think Ben will hurt you?

You stare at this grown man, this murderer, your one and only brother, as he sits in front of you, talking himself to the almost to the point of tears, trying to convince you that everything wasn't as bad as it was.

That's been your whole childhood, hasn't it?

You barely remember a time before mom left, and dad would be out most of the time, so it was Ben cooking you breakfast and walking you to the bus stop, making sure you had a lunch already packed in your bag. He would be the one to ask you how your day was, to make you dinner, and to watch whatever movies you wanted, even if he was a little too old for your shows. He would smile and play along with you, just because it made you happy. In those moments, you could pretend you had a normal, functional family, and you were grateful for him.

When dad was home, Ben was the one who made sure everything was safe. And when dad was too drunk and wandering about the house, you would sleep in his room, and if dad ever tried to get to you, Ben would put himself in between you two, protecting you at the price of a broken nose and a handful of bruises. And then when it was over, and you would go over to him and tell him how sorry you were, only for him to put on a brave face and tell you that he was fine when he was clearly not. If you insisted, he would placate you by letting you bandage him, but he would do it with a smile on his face, making little jokes as you patched him up that would have you both coming out of it with a smile.

Everything he did was to make your life easier. This isn't any different, isn't it?

You reach out and take his hand, and that's enough to stop him mid-sentence.

"It's okay, Ben. I understand."

He blinks at you owlishly, clearly not expecting you to say that.

"You do?"

The disbelief is evident in his tone, but you don't blame him for it. You can hardly believe yourself, but it's the truth.

"Yeah, I don't blame you. Besides, what's done is done, we can't change that."

You take a breath, readying yourself for what you need to ask next.

"What do you need me to do?"

This shocks him more than your previous words, and he shifts, looking visibly uncomfortable with your question.

"I don't want you to be involved-"

"But I am." You interrupt. "I know what happened, so I'm a part of it. I need to know what I need to do."

You see him swallow, and you watch his face as he slowly takes in your words, the weight of them sinking in, his face morphing from anxious to somber.

He takes his hand out of yours and puts it on your shoulder.

"The only thing you need to do right now is to go to sleep. We'll need to go over our cover story soon, but that can wait until tomorrow. It's late, and I know you're tired. I can take care of everything from here."

He squeezes your shoulder and makes a motion like he's going in for a hug, before jerking back, thinking better of it.

Instead, he looks at you, a sad, grief-stricken look on his face.

"Goodnight, (Y/N). Sleep tight."

"Goodnight." Is all you reply before he lets you go. He gets up and makes his way to the basement as you watch from your spot on the couch.

You know you both won't be able to sleep well tonight.

You stumble down the stairs, still half asleep, grumbling while trying not to trip over your own feet.

It had taken you a while for you to fall asleep, yet your body had refused to let you sleep in. As soon as the sun rose, you did as well. Unusual, given that it was summer and you always slept in, but you suppose the stress of last night and your upcoming talk with Ben wouldn't let you rest for longer than a few hours.

As you make it downstairs, you enter the kitchen. The first thing you notice is Ben, newspaper in hand, reading at the dinning room table. Or at least it looked like he was reading. After watching him for a moment, you noticed his eyes unfocused as he stared off into space.

In broad daylight, you're able to take a better look at his injuries, and it's much worse than it had seemed last night. He's got a busted lip and bloody knuckles, with several bruises across his arms. It makes your stomach twist in the familiar way seeing him hurt always does. The dark circles under his eyes are more prominent than usual. Did he stay up all night?

At least he changed his clothes. The blood from yesterday is gone, replaced by the familiar sight of him in old, ratty pajamas.

"Good morning." You say, more to announce your presence than anything else.

He jumps in his seat, newspaper crinkling in his hands, seemingly taken completely off guard by your arrival. Yeah, he definitely didn't get any sleep.

"Good morning." He finally replies a little too quickly, folding the newspaper and laying it down as he got up. "How did you sleep?"

You shrug. The banality of the question contrasted uncomfortably with its context, making you not want to linger on it. "Better than I thought I would. You?"

He awkwardly shuffles in place, obviously not having any idea what to do with himself now that he was standing, but refusing to sit back down. "Uh, couldn't get any. Was busy."

The weight of the words brought an uncomfortable lull in the conversation, and your eyes wandered as they tried not to look at his.

"Well, uh, you gotta be hungry, right? Why don't we go out to eat? I'm sure there's some restaurants still open, we can sit down to eat, or swing by that doughnut shop you like."

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to go out, given you look like... well, that." You gesture to his injuries.

He looks momentarily confused before the realization hits him. Self-consciously, he hides his wounded knuckles behind his back and looks towards the ground.

"Breakfast at home is fine, too. My pancakes are better anyway." He says a little too tensely, the joke not quite landing right.

The next thing you know, the kitchen is alive with the sounds of cooking as he quickly whisks the ingredients together, and then begins pouring them into the pan.

You walk over to the pantry, scanning the shelves.

"We don't have any syrup."

Ben lets off a soft groan, and you wander over to the freezer.

"Well, pancakes without syrup aren't the worst, just a little dry." He grumbles, more to himself than to you.

You open the freezer, inspect its contents, and announce your discovery.

"We have ice cream."

You turn back just in time to see the questioning look he shoots you.

"Ice cream? For breakfast?"

"Well, considering the night we had, I figured we could use a little pick me up."

He sighs, and his brows furrow as his cheeks heat up, his face a strange mix of irritation and shame. Under normal circumstances, you would never be able to get away with this, but considering everything that's happened, you can imagine it won't take him too long to cave.

"Hm, well- fine. Just this once."

You nod and grab the tub of ice cream. You suppose there were a few perks to watching your brother dismember your father in front of you. Maybe later, you could ask for that game you've had your eye on...

A plate of fresh, hot pancakes is put in front of you before you can fully finish that thought, and you search in the cutlery drawer for the ice cream scoop.

"Leave the tub out for me."

"Will do." You reply.

You prepare your plate and set it down at the dining table, digging in as he finishes making his pancakes. When he finally sits next to you, you're halfway through your stack, already getting full. You watch him pick up his fork and knife, ready to cut off a piece, but instead, he just stops, eyes empty as they focused on the vanilla scoop slowly melting. Seconds tick by, and he still doesn't move, unaware of the time passing, or you watching him.

You suppose you could blame your lack of sleep on what you did next, or perhaps that innate sense of mischief that all little siblings are born with, but in your heart, you know better. Nothing could be as disturbing as watching your brother silently stew in whatever internal misery he was in.

So, without thinking, you scoop up some of the melting ice cream on your fingers and smear it on his nose.

His eyes went wide in shock and his body tensed when he realized what you had done. The rapidly melting dessert threatened to drip down his nose as he sat, and another painful moment of tension passed between you two.

Maybe that wasn't the best idea.

Before you can apologize, his face cracks into a small grin, empty eyes filling with much-needed warmth. You let out a breath as your shoulders relax, relieved at the familiar sight. He takes a small dollop of now melting ice cream from his nose and tastes it before he speaks.

"Didn't I teach you not to play with your food?"

"Not well enough, it seems." You quip back.

Then, with a mounting sense of horror, you watch him pick up a much bigger glob of ice cream off his plate as his smile turns into a devious smirk.

"I guess I was never the best role model, was I?"

Before he can smear the food over your face, you jump out of your chair and run to the opposite end of the kitchen where he gives chase. The two of you run around the house, carefree laughter filling the air, without a thought to anything that transpired the night before. Ben always had a way of making you forget your worries.

Everything after that was pretty simple. Ben talked you through the cover story and what your part would be, which basically amounted to "I was asleep when everything happened." That suited you fine, anything that minimized your time talking to the police was welcome. Ben handled most of that as well, spinning a tale about how your father was binge drinking more than usual, and then had up and left in the middle of the night. The only reason Ben hadn't stopped him was that this wasn't out of character for him to just up and leave with no car, no phone, or anything but whatever drink he had.

Which was true, it was a rather annoying habit that had your neighbors side-eyeing your family and complaining to your brother whenever they got the chance. It all seems to have worked out, though, as they provided great testimony when asked by the cops if this was unusual behavior for him.

Where the story differs from reality is that your father always managed to wander home. The way Ben tells it, he left and simply never came back. He had waited so long because he was sure that the man would return sooner or later like he always did, and didn't want to cause trouble when it wasn't necessary. Given your father's reputation, the cops believed him easily.

Soon after, your father was declared missing and your brother was appointed as a consevator on behalf of your missing father, allowing him to manage the house you lived in and pay the bills. He was also granted temporary custody of you, given that he was the only family you had in the area.

As for your home life, things were surprisingly normal.

In terms of your routine, very few things changed after those first few days. Sure, Ben often had to work late now and was more busy filling out paperwork to make sure everything was fine, legal-wise, but it had little effect on your life outside of those first few weeks. You settled back into the routine you had before: wake up late, and spend the day doing whatever you pleased. If Ben wasn't working late, you would both eat dinner before winding down and going to bed. Except now, there was no more waiting for your father coming home, or having to hide in your room and count the days before he leaves again. The peace you felt while openly sitting in the living room, with no obvious threat looming over you, was both exhilarating and disconcerting.

The neighbors seemed to act differently towards you. You would go out to pick up the mail and see them either out walking their dog or sitting on their front porch, taking in the summer sun. You would make eye contact with them and the look they gave you wasn't annoyance, or that vaguely pained look they gave when your father was being particularly loud the previous night. It was odd, some cross between pity and something you couldn't put your finger on at first until you finally connected the dots: suspicion. What if they knew, or at least suspected, that he hadn't just wandered off? Even without any clear evidence, it doesn't take a genius to see why you and your brother would want your father gone. After that, every time a person looked your way, you could feel their hidden disgust at you. They knew what you were and what you had abetted, even if they never said it out loud. Slowly, you stopped going outside, preferring to stay cooped up in the house instead.

Ben didn't mind much, even encouraging your hermit life style. But in all fairness, he didn't seem to mind much these days, always in high spirits, no matter the circumstances. The bad days were good, and the good days were amazing, especially when you both spent them together. The best day for him, though, was when he was appointed temporary custody of you.

After court, he had taken you out to a fancy restaurant in the good part of town and told you to order anything you wanted. It was the first time you held a menu that had lobster on it.

He even has a framed photo from the day hanging up in the hall, like it was some sort of celebratory adoption event, and not the day he was granted temporary custody of you because your father is missing.

But isn't it technically adoption? You know your father isn't coming back, so it only leaves Ben to take care of you. And that's a good thing, right? When you were a child, you had always fantasized about what life would be like if it was just you and your brother living in this house, no parents around. Child you would be jumping for joy, ecstatic about the turn of events. You should be happy, so why is it you can never look at the framed photo without feeling odd?

There was just one questionable development from this event, and that was your brother's habit of visiting the basement more often.

The only reason you knew was because you noticed the door was sometimes left open, and the occasional muddy footprints that would lead down into the basement. They would be cleaned up before you could see them again, leaving you wondering if you had only imagined it.

Your father... the corpse couldn't still be down there, right? What other business could he have down there?

You tried not to think about it too hard. It haunted you anyway.

One night, you had a dream. You were descending the stairs to the basement, flashlight in hand, trying to find something. As you opened the door, a pungent, rotting smell burned your nostrils. For whatever reason, your dream self had continued on, scanning the area, stopping once the frail, white light landed on a dismembered corpse.

You struggled against your dream self, trying to will them to run back up the stairs, but they continued, creeping ever closer to the foul, bloated pile of flesh, until the soles of your shoes were covered in the liquid runoff from the gore.

Suppressing a gag, you bend over, trying to get a better look at the corpse's face, only to see yourself.

That dream left you as scared as you were confused.

The stairs to the basement have always intimidated you for as long as you can remember. The lighting was poor and the stairs were worn, as if they were older then the rest of the house, letting off a creak with every step. The door itself was in bad shape, with paint pealing and a doorknob that couldn't lock half the time. The inside was bare and damp, only functioning as storage for whatever possessions your father, and now your brother, owned that they didn't mind mildewing over.

Though the fear lessened with age, you never had any reason to go down there, so you never had to fully confront it. You had mostly accepted that there was always a small, childish part of you that would be apprehensive of dirty, dark places like basements, and you were mostly fine with it. Unfortunately, recent experience had made it a full blown fear again.

Yet here you were, standing right at the edge of the stairs, debating on whether or not to go down.

You worry your lip, mentally sorting through your options.

On one hand, you had no business going down there. Ben said he would take care of it, and you trusted him, there's no reason to doubt him. But on the other hand, there was no reason for Ben to be going down there so often in the first place. If the body had been removed from the house, then what was he doing? Where was the body? Why had you never seen him enter or leave the basement? Could you just be making this up? But you know you saw the footprints going down there. And yet...

"(Y/N)?"

You startle and quickly turn around only to see your brother behind you, a nervous smile on his face.

"Everything alright?"

Your gaze lowers as you continue to bite your lip. You taste blood. You know you should quit, but a little blood has never stopped you before.

You hear a small sigh before he walks over to you, putting a hand on your shoulder. His attempt at being reassuring, you assume.

"I can't help you if you don't tell me, (Y/N)."

If you weren't so consumed by your anxieties and fears, perhaps you would have thought over your words before blurting them out, but that wasn't in the cards for today.

"Is dad down there?"

You still hadn't looked up, eyes glued to his feet, but you could feel the mood sour ever so slightly. Or maybe you were imagining that too.

His voice came out hushed, but earnest.

"Of course not. What makes you ask that?"

"You've been going down there a lot lately, and you never have before, I just assumed..."

Your voice had gotten quieter as you spoke until it finally died out at the end, the ridiculousness of the statement seeming obvious when you said it out loud. You were making a problem out of what, exactly? Your brother going into the basement a couple of times? Is that really all it took to make you suspicious of him? You feel a lump form in your throat.

He speaks to you, tone even, slow and reassuring, like a parent to an upset child. Your face heats up in shame.

"The water heater hasn't been working right. I've been down there trying to repair it, but I haven't been able to keep it running hot water for more than a couple days at a time, so I have to keep going down to fix it. Do you remember yesterday when you told me something was wrong with the shower?"

You easily recall a memory of yourself taking a shower, the water suddenly going cold. You had got out to go complain to Ben about it. Why hadn't you connected the dots sooner?

You nod, and he gives you an encouraging smile.

"You've had this on your mind for a while, haven't you?"

You nod again, more vigorously as the lump in your throat turns painful, and your lip begins to wobble. You tried to swallow it all down as you began to speak, voice wobbly and frail.

"I've just been so worried, all the neighbors keep giving us funny looks, and I had this dream-"

Your throat closes as you choke over your tears. Without thinking you cover your face, shoulders bunched up as you try to hide yourself. This was stupid, why couldn't you stop crying?

Warm arms wrapped around you, comforting and firm, as put your hair

"It's alright, kid, you're okay."

Without thinking, you hug him back, the comfort too tempting to resist.

"I'm so sorry, (Y/N), I didn't think it would be an issue. If I had known you would of been this upset, I would of told you about it before. I should of known better."

You struggle to repress your sobs as you shake your head and push away just enough to look at him.

"It's not your fault. I was being stupid, I should of said something."

He smiled and nodded, seemingly content with your answer.

"Why don't we go sit down and watch a movie? You can pick it out."

You nod back, and that's enough for him to give your shoulders a squeeze as he moves to let go, but you don't let him.

"Wait."

He looks back, expression encouraging as he waits for you to continue speaking.

"If he's not in the basement, where did you put him?"

His smile stays on his face, but it looks strained. His eyes lose that warmth they had before, an empty quality entering them. You're painfully aware of the fact that you and Ben are the only two left in the house, and how close you are to the basement. A chill runs down your spine.

"Do you really want to know that?"

His hands were still gripping your shoulders, and you had a feeling they would stay there until you gave him the right answer.

"No." You lie.

He lets out a breath, and so do you, both of you relaxing at your submission. His hands fall from your shoulders, going to your back as he guides you away from the basement.

"That's for the best." He says. "You don't need to be worrying about that, alright? That's what I'm here for."

You nod, at a loss for what else to do as he guides you towards the living room.

The next day, you notice a new lock on the basement door. Neither of you comment on it.

[thebuzztrack]

A Review of Gaspar Noé’s ‘Irréversible’ (2002)

What came first? The chicken or the egg? Irréversible was produced and distributed two years after Christopher Nolan’s breakout hit film Memento (2000), yet both films have a lot of similarities with their stories. Some correlations include the backward method of editing and presenting the storyline in reverse chronological order forcing you to suffer through viewing a harsh and nauseating crime before seeing the events that lead up to it. The first forty-five minutes of this film are one of the most disturbing things I’ve seen on film, except for the curbing scene in American History X (1998) or the knife in the cheek scene from Pan’s Labyrinth (2006). The brunt of the stomach-churning events occurs during the first thirty minutes before things start easing out a bit, and then throwing a knock-out punch with a lengthy rape scene around the forty-five-minute mark.

Here are a few descriptive reasons why this film is so disturbing for me. First, the most subtle reason is the sound effects in the first half-hour. A low-level 28Hz hum vibrates during this time is practically inaudible for humans but felt in their gut where they would begin to feel nauseated. In addition to the bass-level rumble noise, the photography was shot on 16mm film, then transferred through a few photographic steps before being finalized on Super 35mm film for theatrical distribution. These visuals can induce motion sickness in those with visual sensitivities.

The list doesn’t really end there. The audio turns your stomach, and the photography causes motion sickness, but there’s also the provoked confusion with the reverse chronological storytelling. If any of those three things don’t urge you to avoid this film, then here is the kicker of the whole shebang.

There is a shocking level of disturbing violence in the movie. It isn’t the standard issue of violence that Americans are used to seeing in their films. Americans should be used to their zombie films and war stories on the big screen, but there is a safe buffer of disconnect between the story and the viewer’s reality. Not every American viewer must battle disgusting zombies or live and fight in a war zone, so their reality is far removed from what is seen in a film. However, for the film Irréversible, we attest to seeing a proxy for real people in real situations that could happen in our hometown.

During the film’s opening moments, two main characters rush through a gay sex club to find the man responsible for raping the girlfriend of one of the main characters. Not many people feel comfortable with the idea of a gay sex club, but these places exist in the real world, and some people patronize these businesses.

As the main characters shuffle through the club, they witness some disturbing sex acts that several people would wish were left in the dark corners of humanity without seeing the light of day. Once the pair find the guy they are looking for, one of the men begins to clobber the guy’s face with a large and extremely heavy fire extinguisher.

This violent act of revenge leaves the recipient with several missing teeth and a caved-in skull. What makes the whole performance disturbing is the close-up shot of the victim’s face that continues on display unedited, forcing the viewer to watch a bloody act happen to an Average Joe, who could be our next-door neighbor as far as any of us may know.

These characters are people we would meet in our hometown, and the acts of violence they commit are real-life problems that we would read about in the local newspaper every morning. It is sad, disturbing, and all very true. There is no safe buffer between this film and reality. We live in a harsh world, and this film was designed to cut straight to the brutal reality of our world. The film has succeeded in disturbing me right to the core about the events that occur so often in our world that we would tune it all out like any other reoccurring background noise. It is sad, yet true.