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3-2-whump · 10 months ago

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Escape Attempt One

One of How Many?

Set five days after The Auction Floor

Reference floor plan here

TW/CW: minor whump, threats of violence, though if there's anything else that should've been tagged, don't hesitate to tell me!

Thud

Thomas groaned as he rolled over to the nightstand by his bed to view the alarm clock. It was 6:30 AM on a Saturday. He didn’t even get all that drunk the night before. So, where was that incessant pounding coming from?

Crash!

The sound of breaking glass launched the man from his bed as he ran to the closed door of Khaled’s bedroom. “Boy? You alright in there?” he called. No response. He tried the door handle, but it was locked. “Open the door!” Still no response.

This better not be what I think it is, he thought. Muttering a curse under his breath, Thomas gathered his strength, charged with his gathered momentum, and broke the door down.

The first thing he noticed after stepping into the threshold over Khaled’s door was the gaping hole in the boy’s broken window. Birdsong and faint noises of traffic filtered up from the street below as a gentle breeze blew through the room. He stepped past the broken glass and looked out the smashed window. A makeshift rope made of torn bedsheets knotted together hung conspicuously over the rooftop railing. "Oh hell no!" He ran out of the bedroom to the living room, threw open the sliding door to the rooftop, ran over to the bedsheet rope, and leaned over the railing to meet Khaled’s big doe eyes looking up at him in terror.

Honestly, if it wasn’t his slave pet companion whatever he was this was happening to, then the situation might’ve been funny. He schooled his face into a neutral expression and asked, “What do you think you’re doing?” Thankfully, the boy didn’t make it too far down. His bare feet rested precariously on the windowsill one story down, and he held the sheet in a white-knuckle grip. He let out a squeak as he broke eye contact and began to shimmy faster down the rope. “Hey, no! Get back here!” Thomas scolded.

Khaled shook his head, still climbing. Thomas got an idea. “Well, if you insist…” He grabbed a shard of broken glass and started cutting through one of the bedsheets. The boy yelped as he felt the tension slacken in the rope. He stopped his progress entirely, hugging the rope for dear life as he looked up to his master and pleaded in a language Thomas didn’t understand. “You’ve got a choice, boy; you either climb your ass back up here, or I will collect you from the pavement!” He made a show of sawing away at the bedsheet until it was almost cut in half. Though Khaled himself didn’t weigh much, the pull of gravity on the torn sheet served only to rip it further. “Either way, you’re coming back in here, you just decide whether you break a few bones along the way!”

Khaled lowered his eyes and faintly nodded as he slowly climbed back up. “Good choice,” Thomas muttered as he pulled him up and back onto the rooftop. He wasn’t nearly as careful about the broken glass scratching the boy as he helped him. “Are you okay?” The boy nodded. Thomas slapped him. Khaled staggered back from the impact, catching himself before he could fall. “Go wait in the living room until I decide what to do with you. Don’t move, don’t speak, just wait for me,” he ordered sternly. “Go. Now.”

The boy shuddered as he scurried back inside. Meanwhile, Thomas sighed as he gathered up the bedsheet rope and kicked aside the glass shards. What do I do with this boy? He hardly even wanted this kid in the first place; it was all Luca and Jaime’s fault for goading him to place a bid on the poor wretch! Yet, a tiny part of him –a tiny, sympathetic, haunted part of him –remembered why he caved. This was penitence, absolution, a way to show he could do more than just hurt and kill and destroy people like him.

If only my brat would make it a little easier on me, he thought to himself.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump

#whump #whump writing #whumpee #whumper #escape attempt #failed escape attempt #tw minor whump #even though nothing bad happens to him I'm tagging this anyway for age #no beta we die like my protestant upbringing

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direwombat · 1 year ago

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happy wip wednesday and first day of nanowrimo y'all

tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton (tysm~ <3)

tagging @trench-rot, @cassietrn, @strangefable, @voidika, @madparadoxum, @aceghosts, @adelaidedrubman, @josephslittledeputy, @inafieldofdaisies, @g0dspeeed, @simplegenius042, @miyabilicious, @strafethesesinners, @confidentandgood, @jillvalentinesday, @poetikat, and anyone else with something to share! (also to be added/removed to the taglist, please like/unlike this post here)

here's the intro to the scene directly after this halloween treat i posted of syb getting bit and her transformation. she's havin' a normal one. tw for emetophobia

Sybille comes to consciousness to the light of dawn filtering through the canopy of leaves overhead.

Her head is pounding, a throbbing pain trapped inside her skull, and she winces as she hesitantly cracks her eyes open. She lets out a groan. The world is overwhelmingly bright. Most of the trees in the county are still changing colors, but here in the mountains, a good number have started to shed their leaves. What little shade they can provide, it isn’t enough to spare the burning to her eyes.

She lies on the ground, naked as the day she was born, and covered in dirt and blood. She sits up and presses her palm to her forehead, and the second she does, her body is set alight with pain. Every muscle screams at her with an ache so deep that it goes down to the marrow of her bones. Shallow cuts and scratches are littered across her body, from the soles of her bare feet to the blood trickling down her cheek. Yet, while the pain flashes white-hot through her, she’s also fucking freezing. The hair on her arms and back of neck stand on end and through chattering teeth, her breath comes out in visible puffs in front of her. A violent shudder rolls through her, her body desperately trying to ward off the chill.

“Jesus Christ,” she moans, and she runs her hand through her hair, knocking loose leaves, twigs, and pine needles. The sweet, coppery tang of blood sits heavy on the back of her tongue and in her throat, and as she runs her tongue over her teeth — normal teeth — she finds sinewy bits of meat stuck between them.

Her stomach clenches and heaves at the realization and she rolls over onto her hands and knees to expel the rising bile. Only it isn’t just her own stomach acid that splatters onto the forest floor below her. An inordinate amount of blood and chunky pieces of partially digested meat and viscera splash below her. Her throat burns and her eyes sting, prickling with tears, as more and more blood erupts from her mouth. Jesus Christ, this all can’t be hers, can it?

It ain’t. Just deer’s blood.

She gasps her way through the dry-heaves once she’s expelled the last of it from her stomach, grimacing at what appears to be flecks of bone floating in the pool beneath her. Her belly aches, empty and cramping, and she spits a thick, foamy pink wad onto the ground. Wiping the blood and spittle dripping off her chin, she takes a moment to catch her breath. Ragged pants eventually even out into deeper, rasping inhalations that actually fill her lungs.

“Okay,” she wheezes. “We’re okay…we’re okay…”

She lifts her head — to take in her surroundings and get her bearings — but as she does, she’s met with the bloody carcass of an elk right in front of her. Its belly is ripped wide open, with its entrails spilling out onto the ground. Dead, milky white eyes stare back at her, and a fly crawls right over one of them, pausing directly on the eyeball to clean itself of the blood on its little insect legs.

The kill is fresh. No more than an hour or two old. The blood and body are still warm, and the distinctive stench of rot has yet to set in, although she can definitely tell that it’s beginning to sour.

It’s almost a shame to let so much meat go to waste.

And then she catches the chunky bits of meat sitting in her vomit-blood and the color drains from her face. All signs point to the poor elk being killed by an animal — wolves — but why would they abandon their prey instead of bringing pieces back to their pack? And why would they have let her get so close to such a fresh kill? Why the fuck did she, in what she can only assume was a fugue state, feel compelled to partake in feeding off this kill?

And why does she have the urge to press her fingers into the gaping wound and lick the thick, clotting blood off her fingers?

She shakes her head to free the thought. The dizziness is enough of a distraction to drown out the intrusive thought, but not to quiet it entirely. She’s so thirsty. She’s so hungry.

She was hungry last night, too, wasn’t she?

Her head throbs again, and she crawls over to a nearby tree to lean against as she shakily rises to her feet. Pressing her hand to her forehead again, she screws her eyes shut, trying to recall the events of last night. The fuck happened?

She remembers dicking around at the office with Joey.

She remembers Nancy patching a call through to her desk phone.

She remembers Jacob’s voice on the other end. “One of my workers didn’t show up for the final check-in…no one’s been able to get a hold of him…we rounded up a search party…he’s stew meat now.”

She remembers driving up to the Veterans Center, only to find the place empty. And then…

And then…

Christ, what happened after that? Her jaw clenches, trying to focus on her memories, but all she gets is a blur of emotions. Fear, pain, rage, and then, eventually, hunger.

Hunger…

God, she’s so hungry her gums ache.

But her stomach can wait. She needs to find her way back to the Veterans Center and get back to her cruiser. She needs to let the Sheriff’s Department know what’s going on. Let them know about last night.

She needs to let Eli know she’s alright.

Shit, where are her clothes?

#wip wednesday #wip: the horror and the wild #everything subject to change yadda yadda #for what it's worth this scene does end in syb getting comforted by eli (who she eventually calls to come get her)#but also this will not be the first time she wakes up in the woods. naked and covered in blood and missing memories

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ennaku-sirri-da · 2 years ago

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I’m as busy as a spider spinning daydreams,

I’m as giddy as a baby on a swing.

I haven’t seen a crocus or a rosebud

Or a robin on the wing,

But I feel so gay—in a melancholy way—

That it might as well be spring…

It might as well be spring.

[ ID: Traditional art that has been colored and edited digitally, featuring Kamal Bora and Dr.Habit from Smile For Me the game.

In the artists interpretation Kamal as a kid is much shorter than Habit. He has short straight hair. He wears a oversized dark purple sweater. Then he has a frilly red skirt which sparkles. Ending with light blue socks and pink crocs. Blue-magneta headphones are worn.

Here Habit is a really tall kid. He has a muppet-like appearance with yellow-greenish fur, very long rose-pink curly hair, pink blushing cheek patches with three freckles, ears stuffed with cotton fluff , deep red nails. His eyes are orange, circled below by red ruffles and have some pale purple eyeshadow. He wears a teal buttoned shirt with wavy darker pants that have yet darker stripes on them. Basically it's Kamal’s outfit from the game. His feet are bare.

We are viewing them from above. Kamal is braiding lillies of various colors and shapes- multicolored, freckled, painted- into Habit's huge hair, now he's at the end of it. He sits with folded legs. Besides Habit's ear lies a Tooth Lily. Habit lays his head back, supported by hands on the ground, and looks at the viewer with a devilish smile-a glint in his eye, one blue snaggletooth showing. His feet are thrown about casually. Between them lies a half-open book titled 'Science Of Constipation' in loud colors and fonts. It shows a page titled 'Importance of taking a dump by Bob Smith' that has been absolutely vandalized by Habit. Bob Smith's photo now sports a hat, devil horns and a mustache. ' Preface' has been struck out and replaced with 'Peeface'. Skull, flowers, star, eyes, and a silly emote with its tongue out have been doodled with a red sketch which lies nearby.

Nature surrounds them. Most of it is springtime flowers that can be found in Boston, USA. Daffodils, crocuses, peonies, roses, azaleas, pansies, tulips, black-eyed susans, trailing arbutus. Among this lush greenery- snails, ladybugs can be seen underneath while dragonflies, butterflies, bees fly above. Some young black sheep graze. One looks ahead, with a white heart-marking on its head. Beside Habit's left leg is a large light orange-brown rabbit, curled up and sleeping. Somewhere among the flowers are two small white red-eyed rabbits nuzzling.

To the far right swaying bushes of cattail grow. Beside them is a clear stream running, host to a male and female mallard duck leading their ducklings, bladderworts, white waterlilies with their pads. Among these waterlilies, a brown frog and tadpoles in various stages of life can be spotted. One duckling catches a tadpole in its beak. To the very front are Habit and Kamal's paper boats engaged in a race-- Kamal appears to be winning. One is pink and crumply, heavily decorated, a submerged tag attached to it reads ' B.H'. The other is neat and streamlined with a little teal flagpole announcing it as 'KB'.

The first version of the drawing is overlaid with a very warm orange filter, the second is unedited. End ID]

Talk below the cut!

PLEASE LOOK AT THIS I WORKED ON IT FOR MONTHS NO JOKE THIS IS MY CHILD WHOM I WAS PREGNANT WITH AND NOW I HAVE PAINSTAKINGLY BIRTHED AND CLEANED HIM FOR ALL OF TUMBLR TO SEE

[ Plain text: Please look at this I worked on it for months no joke this is my child whom I was pregnant with and now I have painstakingly birthed and cleaned him for all of tumblr to see]

🥸[ Glasses-and-moustache silly disguise emoji ]

aNYWAY this is part of a series of drawings where Habit and Kamal are just playing as kids really LOL

I listened to Vashti Bunyan's 'Just Another Diamond Day' album a LOT while coloring and drawing this HAHA also some vintage springtime songs! They were so lovely!!!

This also taught me a lesson to plan out my drawings more I guess but also WITNESS THIS BEAUTIFUL CHAOS AND MAY YOUR HEART BE OPENED TO ALL THE JOYOUS POSSIBILITIES MY FRIEND

[ Plain text: Witness this beautiful chaos and may your heart be opened to all the joyous possibilities my friend]

----

A stranger would not have noticed the change, but Molly could see that the withered earth was brightening with a greenness as shy as smoke. Squat, snaggly trees that had never yet bloomed were putting forth flowers in the wary way an army sends out scouts; long-dry streams were beginning to rustle in their beds, and small creatures were calling to one another. Smells slipped by in ribbons: pale grass and black mud, honey and walnuts, mint and hay and rotting applewood; and even the afternoon sunlight had a tender, sneezy scent that Molly would have known anywhere. She rode beside Schmendrick, watching the gentle advent of the spring and thinking of how it had come to her, late but lasting.

"Unicorns have passed here," she whispered to the magician. "Is that the cause, or is it Haggard's fall and the Red Bull's going? What is it, what is happening?"

"Everything," he answered her, "everything, all at once. It is not one springtime, but fifty; and not one or two great terrors flown away, but a thousand small shadows lifted from the land.

Wait and see."

-- From The Last Unicorn by Peter Beagle

:-) [ smile emote ]

#my art #YQKAJSMMS #fanart #dr habit #kamal bora #roseverse #AU #s4m #smile for me game #How I toil for thee; Smile For Me!

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blurredout10 · 2 years ago

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Cupcake

Cyberlife Tower/ RK800-60 | Sixty/ GN!Reader fanfic

Rating: Mature

Chapters: 1/1

Wordcount: 3036

Additional Tags: Fluff&Angst, Mental Health Issues, Self-worth issues, Life lessons, Sixty isn't well, and he needs to get well, smut (kinda- enough to tag), Sub!Sixty, Character Growth, GN!Reader, this whole one-shot is to get the wiggles out

Link to AO3 or continue below cut:

What does it mean to be alive? To breathe and beat organic matter? And to feel its emotional consequences?

What is condition without choice, as is change without sacrifice? Pain without root? Love without a heart? Is it to exist without reason, tracing over printed tracks, following the route of something else, someone else?

Is being alive a desperate imitation? An effect without a cause?

Why?

Hollowed knowledge itched for its answer; the reason for the existence of life, his life, but answers were infinitely futile. Was that what was expected? To spend the rest of your life helplessly in search of a hope? It was a daunting truth but made so much worse in light of what he was.

An android. Immortal.

“Time will heal, right?” A taste of static flared into the mockery, but his words held their weight, heavy and vulnerable.

He’d rather be anything but such. You were an exception.

“Not always. What is broken may be glued back together, taped and tarnished, but it is still broken. Some pains are just lessons. Funny, isn’t it? To spend lifetimes avoiding the very thing you need to move forward. To grow.”

The lift of your cheeks creased into pulp folds of skin, a romantic pink kissing the apples and sparse on your lips, a colour of cold carried by pushing winds in the park’s breeze. Curled small but as effective as everything else you did, he lined the shape of your smile and encoded them for safekeeping.

Sixty followed the movement of your lips, forming letters he only imitated with artificial anatomy. It took a steady moment to process what you added, “you know a little something about that, don’t you?”

Your hand lifted, the pad of your thumb meeting the centre point of his forehead, and you rubbed as if to fade the mark away like a stubborn stain. A little patch of blue, what had broken of him, repaired in glued synthetic caulk— he recalled your words— yet had broken past cranial framework, straight through to thought and consciousness. Sixty blinked, yellow meeting his peripheral, but your gesture was far from discomforting.

It was grounding.

Layers of sadness glazed your eyes, pupils narrowing at the messy outline of Sixty’s scar, the imperfection paired with a lone brown curl as if arrowing to give his damages attention. The rest of your fingers spread, catching the stray hair, and caressed his scalp with a drag of fingernails, a motion that repeatedly had the android melting into your touch. To see such a machine, strength unmatched even to a dozen of you, become undone in a simple display of adoration.

Vulnerable in all forms.

Cinnamon scanners fell behind eyelids, his face uncannily pulled of emotion, but you knew better; the ease of brows, twitching upwards as if chasing the contact. The subtle flex of orbital tendons, a visual precursor of manic emotional processing, caught in the wind of too much and not enough, this was Sixty’s version of steady.

Spiralling, but steady.

Whistles of wind grew irrelevant: stubborn hairs filtered in and out of your vision, dancing irritating tickles on fine nerve endings like a feather itch. A biting cold feeding off compensatory warmth, your nasal exhales puffing visible clouds, but none barely made it to your list of priorities. Passersby weren’t spared a glance, conversations in the carried breeze; the trees above huddled closer, eating away at the sky with its wooden tendrils, showering the pair of you with weak leaves.

The world went on. The world didn’t matter.

There, right under your thumb, lay the mark that had changed him. A gunshot wound that had him silently helpless when it tore through fizzling wiring, detaching him further into some corner of his metal chassis, victim to a ravenous gnarly substance that latched onto his ankle and consumed him limb by limb.

Fear.

You lifted slightly from the park bench, pressing gentle lips on his patched wound. The android tensed, though didn’t open his eyes, letting you prolong the kiss with a heavy heart.

Fear had twisted through components, cancerous to each of his senses, feeding from the mere conduction of thirium in vessels and drying the android to a manikin of plastic. Fear left him stilled, and had stolen his last breath along with the newfound, foreign urge to live.

Fear drew into cooling systems, doubling his breath and making him reflexively cough out. In his next blink, he was alive, repaired, and flat on a wheeled autopsy table. Newborn eyes awoke alone, only to greet the clustered mess of some Cyberlife repair room. No indication of who had birthed him. No knowledge of what was to be of him now.

Alone.

“Never abandon the things that have hurt you,” you watched him blink and find you again, honeyed eyes flickering between yours, “or you’ll forget all that you’ve survived from. All that you’ve fought and won.”

Sixty mirrored a sliver of your smile but left lingering of its emotion, placated in that he understood but didn’t believe. Deviants talked about truly seeing for the first time as if revitalised with a wash of electricity, every patch of skin prone to feeling. Deviants spoke of spreading wings, euphoric in tipping off the cliff’s edge, flying.

Sixty felt, surely, but it burned.

Sixty had wings, spread in the wind.

But he couldn’t stop falling.

“I’ll catch you,” you’d say, blinking pretty eyes with nothing but a loyal truth. That, Sixty had no problem in believing, but you’d caught him time and time again, each spiral worse than the last. A cycle that would inevitably crumble. A plastic dent away from turning inside out, despite desperate baker’s hands kneading them away.

“I’ve got you,” and you’d cradle him once again, clutching him tightly, a ray of red blanketing your vision when his forehead would take comfort on your shoulder. Only on yours, did he let the faucet run, breaths hitching in wet breaths, dampening your jacket to share the burden of tears.

“I’ve got you.”

It didn’t take long to figure out what worked for him. Your shoulders may have swallowed waterworks, but never the words that caused them. Witnessed the ruffles of sleepless bed hair, though never know what kept him up at night. Pain without knowing root, seeing day without sun. And Sixty hid behind clouds.

You learnt to communicate through sex.

“I need more,” a sight solely for you. Lax to meet the whims of your demands, doe-shaped and coffee-coloured, eyes waiting, pleading.

Who could deny such a pretty face?

“Not yet,” sweet and supple, you’d honey his bitter thoughts, taking his jaw slack in your grip, at the mercy of your manoeuvring. He’d wait, obedient, because, amidst his mind’s chaos, you would gift him order. Someone to follow. Someone to please.

Edging the bed, knuckles tightened into balls of bedsheets, his shirt lost in the mix, he’d gulp in anticipation, the thrill of letting loose the reins of control leaving a ghost of a prickle in pent-up wiring. The touch of your fingers, caressing every bony prominence on his face, would leave him half overwhelmed, driven insane to suppress the impulse to pin you and have his way.

But this is what he wanted. To give in. Or to give up.

“What do you want?” you’d speak in velvety undertones, like buttercream icing on android-friendly cupcakes you’d made him. Thick in the air, he had become conditioned to relaxing in the smell of your baking, as if a cleanse for his day, and you, all things sweet and sour in a world so tasteless, he grew to relax into you.

Sixty shifted minutely, his lips parted in a blush pink, the warm tones of your bedside lamp kissing the surface of his cheekbones.

“I want to see you,” he blinked, hushed low, “and I want- I want you to-“

Your fingers tightened on his chin, a tease curling the corner of your mouth, “don’t go shy on me now, cupcake.”

Sixty would’ve scowled if you called him that even remotely within the earshot of anyone else, but you’d cracked enough eggs to break through the shell of his pride. Still, his jaw clenched under your fingers, but he spoke.

“I want you to punish me.”

And under the mask of a tightening grip around his throat, the other pulling brown locks up and aside for a wet tongue to curve the shape of his ear, you knew what he was feeling.

Alongside the whimpers that’d leave his lips, the groan that’d he'd sound with your palm massaging his groin, you understood the true root of his emotions.

Self-loathing.

The attention you gave, laying him flat on a clouded bed, crawling on him with a glare that pinned him down, he basked in it. Whispering prayers with a lick down his neck, 'I love you, you know that?', and you'd smack his hand away when he would try to touch you, solely focused on making him feel good.

'You and your perfect body. Do you know what you do to me?" You'd breathe, pinning his wrists in the bounce of mattress when you’d grind on him of your own accord, the fabric of underwear being the only barrier from slipping him inside of you.

He'd be needy, desperate, because as he'd feel the crushing weight of insecurity, you'd make up for it with acts of love. Kiss him where he felt hurt. Touch him where it stung.

He made such pretty sounds.

“Look at you, whimpering and whining,” open-mouthed kisses lining his pecs, dotting from freckle to freckle like a game of connect the dots. And as you’d venture further, kissing the skin pulling over his thirium pump regulator, his chest would fill, frozen, silently begging for the contact.

“Do you want me to touch you?” You would linger, breaths drawing the attention of fine sensory hairs, but caught in the breath, Sixty would respond with a ripple of skin, flashing fading blues to a clinical white undershell, his knuckles victim to bitten moans.

Right under you, would be the regulator, blinking a thankful blue around a triangle. You’d rarely seen one before Sixty.

“I want you to take it out.”

-.—.-

He really did love you, more than he did anything else.

Yet, with every loving gaze evident for such, did he start to realise that that was the problem.

“I- I don’t know,” he stumbled, tripping over hurdles formed of thoughts, speaking without the aid of his social module, damaged ever since he’d acquired a headshot.

‘You don’t deserve this.’ A voice hissed, nipping wickedly per biocomponent, seeping poisons to taint insides an icky black. Squirming, crawling limb for limb.

‘Miserably pathetic. So weak, it’s pitiful.’

“Stop! No! No- I just- I can’t...” but he’d try again, caught between fighting you or the inner voice.

“Sixty,” you sighed, hands running down your face, “please, just- talk to me. Tell me what’s going on, please.”

‘You’re a disappointment,’ Its strings of tar gained purchase on his vocal output, the ring of Sixty’s temple giving voice to internal conflict.

“I- I-”

Sixty loved you beyond quantity, transfixed on every perceivable part of you. Coloured lips pulled down, a tension wrinkling the skin between your brows, Sixty could spend millennia consumed by all things you.

Deviancy had shaken the ground beneath his feet, every crack of Earth turned into a valley emotion. What was rejected returned tenfold, flooding the grounds to its peaks.

Despair, fear, guilt. Love.

But that was just the problem.

Fear, unfortunately, had never left him, ghosting in the distant world he now lived in. A silhouette that prompted Sixty to hold you tighter, whether to protect you or to dig into the safety of your embrace, he wasn’t sure.

Fear controlled him, an inviting paranoia that urged him to look over his shoulder, LED barely giving a rest to see blues again.

Sixty opened up through requests of a sexual nature; 'I want to fuck you' would be code for 'I need control'. 'Hurt me', would mean 'give me the pain I deserve'. He believed it was his kinks talking, but you knew the difference between arousal and emotion.

And you drew the line where he had implied you put him out of his misery.

'I want you to take it out.'

It wasn't that he didn't trust you; you'd done it before and it had struck him with a thrill of wakefulness, a glimpse of feeling alive. But on that day specifically, his eyes watered with a touch more sensitive than usual, this was the wake-up call. He needed help beyond your capabilities.

He loved you, surely, but not more than he loathed himself. And in the face of your shaking head, stepping forward to take his face into your hands, you verbalised the daunting truth.

“I can’t love you more than you hate yourself.”

Tar eroded his vocal patterns to dust.

“You know what that means, Sixty, don’t you?”

He blinked away tears, but they fell, disobedient.

You smiled, small but just as beautiful, just as perfect even in a goodbye.

“I love you, cupcake. I always will.”

He loved you too, there was no doubt about it. But was it truly measured if its reciprocal was torn into fractals? Shards meaningless if he stood in the way of everything you gave him?

‘Deviancy has made you weak, but such was to be expected from a failure.’

‘You don’t deserve love. Happiness.’

‘What is left of you is a bitter nothing, and it is only a question of time until it consumes you.’

-.--.-

Your bakery was crowded with congratulations.

You’d fed their stomachs homemade delectables and therefore won their hearts; the public cheered for you when you won the ‘Detroit Baker Awards– Cupcake Championships’. Many of your regulars rooted for you on the scene, but it wasn’t hard to miss the set of chocolate eyes watching you from a distance.

The moment you had locked eyes, Sixty was stunned for a moment, but smirked in noticing your piping bag.

Thirium blue icing. You’d come up with the recipe with him.

“Taste it,” you gestured to the spoonful of blue icing before taking a mouthful for yourself.

Sixty stared confused, and grew concerned by your careless thirium consumption. You stepped up to him, grabbed the back of his head and kissed him hard, tonguing sugar into his mouth. He moaned in contentment.

Pulling away, he licked his lips, pupils darkened like chocolate buttons, “tastes delicious.”

That had been the winning card, earning you applause as the city’s youngest baker to win one of the awards. The trophy made a home on the counter of your bakery, many passing you a second congratulations at the sight of it.

But there he was again, Sixty, greedily taking two of your android-friendly cupcakes from its stand, lost amidst the crowd and biting into one straight away. Your little cupcake.

“Too shy to approach me?” You confronted him. He had barely reached out since the both of you decided on the distance. Though, that didn’t mean you weren’t there for him, as you sternly reminded him that you’d help him by any means, as long as he helped himself too.

Sixty had spent the following months in recovery, allowing the space to properly work through his biting negativity. That and talking to his predecessor, attending rounds of therapy, and recalling lessons you had given him, ultimately made him a better person.

Eventually, the voice faded away.

Sixty froze, a mouthful of spongy cake and pretty blue icing. He chewed slowly and turned to you, trying and failing to bite away a smile.

But the smile perked into a smirk, a glint of energy sparking between the deep browns of his eyes.

He stepped forward, closing the distance, hand behind your head, and kissed you harshly. You flinched at the intrusion of icing lathering from his tongue to yours, but couldn’t help break out into a smile.

“Tastes delicious.”

Months had passed, and there had been many occurrences you’d seen him. The DPD personnel loved your baking, and Sixty would occasionally accompany them. And with each new drop-in, he looked happier, healthier.

He looked steady. Not spiralling, just steady.

You never stopped loving him, not when you’d spent thinking about him every time you iced a cupcake, and cupcakes were your best sellers. He plagued your mind and you invited it with all of its happiness and all of its pain.

Sixty pulled back, a chuckle lost in his bright smile, “congratulations.”

Your palm cradled his face, the touch a nostalgic fulfilment, a desire that longed to be. He melted into it.

“You’re better,” you breathed, taking in the sight of him, expressive, as if he had accepted the turmoil of emotions. As if he had grown, despite android anatomy doing anything but.

He dipped down and kissed you again, a taste chaste with a side of sweet and sour. Your fingers were lost in his hair, dragging fingernails just how he liked it.

And when he pulled away, breathy and affected, he gave you the comfort that would weigh your heart for a lifetime.

“I’m better.”

What did it mean to live?

Instead of answering it, Sixty chose to experience it.

To savour the memories he’d made with you, to swallow every one of your tears and make it his own. To cherish the taste of your smiles and to hold you against him whilst you’d ride him euphorically, head thrown back, his lips meeting your neck.

To be a part of your happiness, grief, pride and despair, and relish in sharing his with you.

Time didn’t heal. Time taught.

Some pains were lessons, and Sixty kneeled ready in front of you, as the obedient student he was, awaiting the teachings you’d whisper whilst you tested his limits.

An android. Immortal.

But you capped him. Because life was about sharing it with others, so he’d live to the fullest so as long as you did.

He loved you. Just as much as he loved himself, maybe even a little more.

But it was progress. And he had time to grow.

#dbh fanfic #sixty x reader #sixty x you #dbh sixty #dbh

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sunlessys · 1 year ago

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Sunless/Sol 🌕 he/him, ey/em

🌑 Plural system of 15+ with median tendencies that make counting hard

Collectively we are mostly men, with exceptions.

NO HOSTS NO GODS NO MASTERS

Frequent Fronters: 🫀 Angel, 🔥 Bren, 👁️ Loid, 🌿 S, 🩷 Nobody Flinch

Other Fronters: 🌌 Asch, 💜 Tal, ⚔️ Nicky, 🐦‍⬛ Mo, 🌹 Orpheus

This blog is a catch-all for anything we as a system want to put on it! This includes fandom stuff, personal posts, writings & ramblings, things we tag each other in, things we relate to, & system positivity!

Angel has its own blog @angelsaspect!

Follows from @streetsandsodiumlights, which started as Asch’s blog but which we use as a general catch-all!

More info below the cut!

About us:

Queer, aroace, polyam, 26

Autistic, ADHD, psychotic

Out as a plural system offline

Functionally multiple

Fairly private about any details we share with people who aren’t already trusted friends. These things include names, introject sources, trauma, mental illnesses, exact number of system members, etc. We may choose to never share some things, even when directly asked.

Unfamiliar with 99% of the terms people use to describe their systems online >.>” as a result the words we use for ourselves might seem vague or strange to you. These words are still important to us, and we won’t be changing them to be more specific.

We prefer not to use system roles or label people too heavily, though sometimes individuals choose to identify with a role for their own reasons. We’re trying to abolish “host” as a role at all in our system because of the power imbalance it causes, so we don’t refer to anyone as a “host” publicly!

Interacting with others:

Open to DMs, conversations, and friendships! Plurality is a fascinating topic to discuss with likeminded people. We are also disability advocates and passionate enjoyers of so many forms of art. Maybe we have interests in common! We would love to find out 💖

Friends can have our Simply Plural if they want! We do a good job of keeping fronts updated there and nowhere else.

We might not follow back! It’s not personal, we just curate our dash carefully <3 syscourse in particular, and any topic that suggests syscourse, is something we’re very sensitive and careful about. If we see too much and can’t filter it out, that’s not gonna work for us.

We are 26 years old and prefer not to interact with people under 17! You can follow if you like, but we won’t follow back or have any conversations.

byf: we are a traumagenic system, but we are extremely endo-friendly. we block any syscourse we see on our dash and will not hesitate to block friends or mutuals who put it there too frequently to avoid. this is a hard boundary.

we do not interact with “endos dni” content because we don’t want to see even the vague shape of syscourse in the water. the most we will say on the subject is: the world is a vast and beautiful place and science barely understands the mind. what gives me the authority to say something different from myself can’t exist? who am I to decide that someone else’s lived experiences are or aren’t real? how could I live with myself if I walked up to strangers on the internet and told them they were doing irreparable damage by merely saying “I exist, and I want to exist, and here is what that means to me”? I won’t do that and I won’t get along with people who do. thank you in advance for respecting this.

#pinned post #plural system #pluralgang #updated: 9/23/24

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carrionwithoutme · 2 months ago

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Reverie ⟡ 21+ adult ⟡ any/all pronouns, including neos ⟡ queer, furry, plural, alterhuman

while this is not specifically an NSFW/18+ blog, minors please do not follow

more info (blog politics, triggers we tag, other tag organization) below cut

politics stuff:

we intentionally try to keep away from politic or discourse posting on this specific blog for our mental health¹, but

we support and love trans women, intersex folks, disabled folks, people with PDs, psychotic or schizo-spec folks, systems of any origin, otherkin/therians/alterhumans, objectum and POSIC folks, and so on

do not support callouts or dogpiling people (esp trans women)

will block TERFS/transmisogynists/babyfurs/nazis/anti-endogenics and so on

not a technical DNI, but if you don't agree with the above points its better to leave & its likely ill make you unfollow and/or block

¹ this includes not rb'ing d0nation/fund raiser posts; i do my active political contribution in other spheres of my life and don't feel the need to posture myself as morally 'worthy' of existing online

tagged triggers:

in general, we try to be as clear and to the point as possible. no censoring letters.

#blood, #gore, #body horror, (and specifically #face gore and #hand gore when necessary)

#transphobia, #homophobia

#suicide, #suicidal ideation

#self harm could be for talk about sh or photos with characters featuring self harm scars

images that might cause seizures are #flashing lights and #gif/#gifs, sometimes #flashing gif (we try to tag these with a bunch of variations so filters catch it well)

#current events is for any kind of serious recent news, tends to be biased towards USAmerica news

#us politics is usually about the USAmerican election/officials

I struggle to remember to tag these all the time, but #nsfw is any post that would get you in trouble if a boss saw it over your shoulder and #artistic nudity is for nude bodies existing/drawn. Kinks are sometimes just #kink or #bdsm but I try to be specific if its a specifc thing. I don't usually RT porn but if i do i usually try to tag #genitals as well as the specific kind of bits pictured.

We do not tag cannibalism, food pictures, bright colors/eyesearing, eyes or eye contact, or trypophobia. We do not tag "queer" "fag" "dyke" or words like "stupid" "crazy" "insane". (We will never rb something with the r slur.)

Due to memory issues, we cannot guarantee we can always tag things followers request, and so for your own safety we'd recommend you unfollow if you need us to trigger tag things for you.

Misc

Original Post tag is #reverambling, Asks are just #asks

Fandoms are irregularly tagged, don't depend on it lmao. We rb Touhou, Dungeon Meshi, MLP, Mouthwashing, Half Life but mostly in the HLVRAI vein, furry/weirdfur, cats, old technology, kink jokes, some aesthetic posts, and tumblr funnymen

We like horror, psychology, disability advocacy, art & art history, heian era japan, and more! We tend not to answer asks, but are better with replying to DMs.

Last updated: 10/30/2024

#reverambling

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crystallizsch · 11 months ago

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HI HI!! Welcome to this blog!! Hope you enjoy looking around 💖 |✧| my name is ian!! (or "crystal" from my url if you prefer!) |✧| she/her |✧| 20yrs

[ links ] |✧| strawpage (for anon doodles/messages!) |✧| color my tree (for holiday messages!) |✧| blog masterlists (tags, posts, ocs, etc.!)

[ quick notes about this blog ] |✧| mainly a general TWST blog |✧| also oc x canon (ok sharing!) + multishipping |✧| only plays twst EN but also follows twst JP content |✧| this blog is NOT spoiler-free (tags to block below the cut!) |✧| some multifandom-posting (usually honkai star rail & obey me) |✧| i generally just post whatever i want tbh |✧| no NSFW but stuff may be more dark/mature/unhinged |✧| a lot of rambling (and lengthy tag commentary) |✧| and i do art too i guess |✧| asks & dms are also OPEN 🫶

[ other fandom interests (+faves) ] |✧| honkai star rail (aventurine • boothill • tingyun • kafka) |✧| obey me! (simeon • mammon • asmodeus • satan) |✧| stardew valley (shane • sebastian • haley • sam) |✧| the arcana (asra • julian • valerius • nahara) |✧| our life: beginnings & always (baxter • cove) |✧| etc.

[ more detailed info below the cut! ]

[ main blog: @scint1llat3 ] |✧| i follow and interact from here! |✧| basically just reblogs tho -

[ other art blog: @llizsch ] |✧| i post non-fandom art here! |✧| i barely use this -

[ credits ] |✧| twst intro template by ruggiegucci on twitter |✧| used game assets by alchemivich for dividers |✧| yuu name headers by 0honeybones0 <3 |✧| yuushroom design by viperbunnies <3

🌺 - This is primarily a TWST blog with occasional posting of other fandoms. 🌺 - I am mainly based on twst EN because that's what I play, but I also catch up with JP stuff. So my knowledge and preferences about TWST are very mix-and-match.

🌺 - This is also an OC x canon blog!! 🌺 - I don't mind others who ship their ocs with the same canon characters as me! I genuinely enjoy seeing them!! 🌺 - (But if sharing is not your thing, I completely understand that as well, so feel free to block 🫶) 🌺 - The previous points go for canon x canon characters as well! I'm just a multishipper at heart.

━━━━━━✦

🌺 - This blog is not spoiler-free. And I tend to post things as soon as they come out whether they're in EN or JP. 🌺 - I will still tag JP content with #twst jp / #twst jp spoilers, so please filter those out if you do not want to see those posts! 🌺 - Those tagged with #twst jp are just general jp updates only revealed through announcements. The ones with #twst jp spoilers have specific story spoilers. So please filter those out if you do not want to see them! 🌺 - EN content that is already released won't have specific spoiler tags, but they WILL be tagged with the books/events they're based on (so you can filter those out instead).

🌺 - I also don't care about being spoiled in general (unless I explicitly state so, which will be rare/unlikely) so feel free to yell about anything with me!

━━━━━━✦

🌺 - Lastly, I am an adult but this blog will never contain NSFW. 🌺 - Please keep in mind, though, that I can still choose to post things that are considered more mature. They will be tagged accordingly or put under a warning! 🌺 - Also my posts are usually in a joking, over-exaggerated manner and I usually specify if I'm serious about something.

🌺 - And on that note, if anything else just rubs you the wrong way or makes you feel uncomfortable, it's okay to suddenly block/unfollow, I will not take it personally as I do the same thing for my own sake. Please prioritize your health/safety/comfort online!

🌺 - Tagging me and spam is absolutely fine!! 🌺 - I read all reblogs and replies even if I don't respond to all of them! 🌺 - I also appreciate even you silent lurkers, likers, and rebloggers. You are all hella valid too 🫶 🌺 - Also also, I can be incredibly slow at responding (and sometimes I forget or just miss notifs), so please forgive me on that 🙏 (I don't mind nudges if I haven't got to it in a while!)

Asks/DMs are always OPEN! In both cases, all I ask is to be patient with me (as I can take forever to respond + tumblr DM notifs are horrible to me;;;).

💌: Please keep this in mind if we don't know each other well. Otherwise, I love to chat with people!! 💖

💌: Feel free to send anything my way! (anon is always available if you prefer!) 💌: I welcome thoughts, questions, ideas, etc, and I'm always looking to chat or just gush about anything of interest! 💌: I'm also okay with things that aren't fandom-related like silly random asks :3

#[ last updated: 12/18/24 ]#constantly getting updated because i'm indecisive of wording and layout </3

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neochan · 3 years ago

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GENRE | smut, idolverse!

WARNINGS | smut

WC | 2.6k +

A.N | this is a repost of my older work. i hope you enjoy it <3

You could still hear the unintelligible screaming of thousands of fans as the boys filtered off the stage and into the greenroom. Another successful concert in the long string of tour stops. You couldn’t even remember what state you were in because the days of traveling, unpacking, setting up, and doing it all again the next day ran together.

The boys were dripping sweat, immediately grabbing bottles of water and towels to wipe themselves off. They had worked harder than normal today since during one of the sets the microphone cut out and they had to perform acapella. Someone was getting fired for that.

Taeyong flopped onto the leather couch dominating the center of the room, water in one hand, phone in the other. “People are already uploading photos.” He outstretches his arm so the others could view the pictures pulled up on his screen.

“Johnny you look ridiculous,” you point out, laughing as a fan had caught Johnny in the act of wildly waving his light stick.

“I was having a good time, okay?” He chuckles and walks into the dressing rooms to change out of his stage outfit. Half of the group filtered out to change and half stayed to peruse through the gifts left by venue staff and play on their phones until told otherwise.

You were wondering where Hyuck was when you heard his voice from the hallway. He saunters in and gives you a kiss on the cheek, “Enjoy the show?” His golden skin was tainted pink, hair matted to his forehead by the sweat that was trickling down the side of his face. He grabbed his shirt and lifted it to swipe at his face, revealing his cute tummy. You had to resist the urge to poke it.

“I enjoyed hearing thousands of pretty fans scream your name” You give him a smirk knowing that he hates when you downplay your relationship.

He nudges you with his shoulder, “You know I meant the songs,” his doe eyes look into yours, his long lashes brushing against his cheek when he blinked “Besides, you know I love you and only you.”

Mark began to nervously giggle in the corner while Doyoung made fake gagging noises from the vanity he sat at. “Oh, shut up.” You say, throwing empty water bottles at the two, “And hurry up I wanna go swimming before it gets too late.”

The ride home was peaceful once the swarms of fans cleared a path for the bus. Per the managers request you slouched down in your seat so know one could see you through the window. It didn’t make much sense because the windows were tinted, but Haechan had to argue for his life to allow them to let you tag along on the tour, so you didn’t question them. Once you were on the road, you sat back up and snuggled close to Haechans side. He rested his hand on your thigh, absentmindedly stroking you with his thumb. His head leaned back against the seat, eyes closed, listening to music. It was so loud you could almost make out the words but you didn’t say anything – you let him stay in his post concert utopia for the whole trip.

The hotel was about an hour away from the venue so that no one would find them, and they’d be closer to their next destination. It was nicer than the others because it actually had a pool. You and Haechan made an agreement to go swimming after the concert, and you couldn’t wait. The staff also rented more rooms, so instead of four people to a bed, it was just you and Haechan.

After checking in everyone filtered off to their rooms leaving the both of you to freely do whatever you wanted - within reason of course. You both got changed, your gaze admiring the hard lines of Haechans back. “Don’t stare.” He blushed, wrapping a towel around his upper body.

You pulled on your bikini which made Haechan go silent. You specifically picked this one because it brought out your skin tone well, and cupped your features beautifully. “Now who’s staring?”

It never failed. The butterfly feeling you got in the pit of your stomach when Haechan watched you with loving eyes. You wrapped a towel around your waist, allowing Haechans eyes to roam the tops of your breasts, peeking out from the almost too small bathing suit.

His cheeks turned pink once he noticed he was caught, “Let’s go”.

The hallways were quiet since it was almost midnight, so you wordlessly made your way down the stairs and out into the night air. It had grown considerably cooler than when guys first arrived that morning, but the sky made up for it. Pretty stars pricked the vast expanse of dark blue and black infinity. You could see the moon peaking out from behind a single cloud, casting a shadowed glow on Haechans honey skin.

The gate was closed when you walked up to it so you stopped to read, “Aw man, the pool closed an hour ago,” You set your lips in a pout, “no wonder the lights weren’t on.”

“Hey it’s okay, no lights, no cameras, they probably wont even notice we’re here if we keep quiet.” He moves closer to you, eyebrows raised expectant for an answer.

You hesitated wondering if you really could pull it off, after all you’d been looking forward to this for the whole day, “I don’t wanna get in trouble..”

“You said you wanted to swim and I’m going to make sure that happens,” He gets down on one knee, “step on my leg, I'm gonna help you jump the fence.”

He boots you over, and grabs your arms to help lower you on the other side, but his hand slips and his nails dig into your shoulder. “Ow, fuck.” You wince rubbing the spot he scratched.

“Sorry, sorry” He says giggling, jumping the fence with such quietness and ease that it looked unreal. “Come on, dare you to do a canon ball!?”

He ran ahead throwing his towel on one of the pool chairs and jumping in the water. You cringe away from the loud slap his body hitting the water made. You walk slowly to the chair, deeply inhaling the addictive chlorine scent.

He finally stands up waist deep in the water and pushes his hair back. The blue water reflected against him, making his skin sparkle. “Come into the water y/n” he splashed some water into your general direction, but not enough to touch you.

“Okay, Okay.” You drop the towel and slip into the water. It was cold. Really cold. You gasp and recoil away, but not fast enough, because Haechan has wrapped his arms around you and started carrying you towards the deep end. You struggle a bit in his grip but his arms provide an iron cage that you can’t get out of. “Haechan let me go!”

He presses a warm kiss to the back on your neck but doesn’t comply with your wishes, instead making a curve and bringing you towards the underwater benches. He fixes his hold on you so that now he’s carrying you bridal style. You stare up at him, water droplets falling off his chin. His eyes were already red from the chlorine and you hoped that it cleared up by tomorrow nights concert. His plush lips sat in a pout, strong jaw set. He was so very pretty; and all yours. You smiled to yourself, deciding to keep that image locked away in your memory forever.

Once he gets to the benches he sets you down and glides in beside you. “You know It’s colder than I thought it was going to be.” He lifts a hand and sheepishly rubs the back of heck, “and you look way hotter in that bikini than I thought you would.”

“I don’t know if that’s supposed to be a dig or a compliment.” You scoot closer to him so that your thighs were pressed against each other. Finding his hand underwater, you intertwine your fingers with his own.

“A compliment babe.” He chuckles and slouches in the water so that only his head sat above it. You both sit there for a moment until it becomes too cold to sit still.

“Well I’m going to put it to use and go swim.” You push off from the cement and paddle around. The only way to stay slightly warm was to keep moving. Haechan watched you, eyes crinkled in a smile, bottom lip caught between his teeth. It was fun to watch you play in the water but the bathing suit was making him think of other things you two could be doing.

And that was how it stayed. Haechan watching while you performed for him.

A while had passed, the calm exterior of the pool getting to you, making you drowsy. The cold blue water washed over your hands while you gently skimmed the surface, making your way over to where Haechan was. You hummed a short tune under your breath, trying to keep yourself distracted. it was close to one in the morning now, but Haechan still sat on the bench, slightly shivering from the brisk air, hands gripping his thighs under the water while his mind wandered far away from the present.

“Watcha thinkin’ about” you ask, moving closer to him, hoping to catch some lingering body warmth.

“Fucking you ,” he moved off the seat and dove under the surface, only leaving small ripples in his wake. You stand there for a second wonder how he could be so blunt, so forward in his desires; he was never like this.

He swam a single circle around your body before popping up in front of you, giving you a mini heart attack. He pushes you back against the tiled walls, “I’ve spent the last hour thinking about fucking you. Thinking about how pretty you’d sound.” His head dips down to kiss along your collarbone, and your hands grab the back of neck, holding him there while his tongue sucked bruises into your tender skin. His hands grazed the bare skin of your arms, giving you goosebumps.

He moaned into the side of your neck, biting and sucking away, wanting you to yearn for him like he did for you. He lifted his head so that his mouth hung over yours, his small puffs of breath fanning over your face while he tests the waters. “Can I kiss you?”

Without giving him an answer you pull him closer by the roots of his hair. His kissing was messy and sweet, and while your tongues moved together, his hips began rubbing circles against you, trying to gain some friction in the cool water. Small heavy breaths were the only sound you could hear, aside from the occasional splash as Haechan moved restlessly.

Your hand wandered down his chest and below the surface to where you could feel him straining against his shorts. You began to stroke him over the fabric, his hips pushing against your touch. He broke the kiss to watch as you peeled down the elastic from his hips, his cock freed from the restricting material of his swim shorts. You watched him twitch slightly as the cold water met his length.

“You can’t make any noise.” You place a single finger against his lips.

“No promises.” He whispers, a devilish smirk breaking way on his face. His hands caress you thighs, pushing your bottoms to the side. The cold water hit you, making you gasp and push into Haechan who just whimpers against your touch.

He tried to stay quiet, only soft grunts between gritted teeth and muffled moans as his hips pushed into your own. The water created resistance but it just enhanced how good he was feeling. He hurriedly grabs at your legs, pulling them up so that they sat around his waist. Your back dragged up the tiled walls, scraping your tender skin, but you could only focus on Haechans cock thrusting deeply in and out of you. He stared longingly into your eyes, filling you up completely, wanting to savor the way they fluttered in the back of your head.

“You love the way I fill you up huh?” He groans into your ear, a hand falling forward to grip the cement ledge of the pool.

You couldn’t respond without fear of moaning so you nod your head wildly. He began to bite and suck at your collarbone, pushing you closer to the edge. Looking down he sees your nipples, erect, poking through the wet fabric of your bathing suit. His eyes grow wide, hips stuttering into you. Fuck you were hot.

“Haechannie, I think I’m going to come.” You squeezed your eyes shut trying to focus on the feeling coiling in your stomach.

“Not yet.” He growls, hands moving to pin your wrists against the cement ledge, “Hold it princess, I know you can.” The water began to slosh around faster as Haechan thrusted harder into you. The sound was so loud its no wonder you didn’t hear the keys jangling against the hip of the guard making his way towards you two.

“Hey!,” he shouts running towards you, “The pool is closed! Get out! Are you two-” He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as you and Haechan spring up out of fear and take off. It was easy to push yourself up onto the pool deck. The guard made the mistake of following you two and leaving the gate unattended. You and Haechan ran out, giggling, making your way back into the hotel. You didn’t stop until you got into the room and slammed the door behind you.

With your heart hammering in your chest you lean against the dark cherry wood . “Holy fuck we could’ve gotten in serious trouble.” You gasp out, clutching a hand against your wet bathing suit top.

“Babe we’ll be gone by morning, no one is gonna know.” Haechan paces in front of you trying to catch his breath. His shorts hung dangerously low on his hips, it was miracle he got them up in time.

“We’re so banned from this hotel.” A knock on the door makes you jump away from it, the worst of punishment's filling your mind. What were they going to do? They couldn’t arrest you, could they?

Haechan walks forward and turns the knob slowly, revealing a sleepy Doyoung. His oversized t-shirt hung off one shoulder showing off his gaunt collarbone. He was rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“What do you want Doie?” you ask softly.

“How was getting chased by the guard?” he gives a sleepy chuckle, still half in his dreams.

“How did you-,” A look of realization hits Haechan, “You reported us?” He whined, pushing Doyoungs bare shoulder so that he stumbled back.

“Sound travels over water dumbasses and you guys were loud, I was trying to sleep!” Protesting, he pushes Haechans wet shoulder back.

“Well, now we’re going to be twice as loud.” Haechan slams the door in Doyoungs face and grabs you, throwing you on the bed. You give a squeal, and hear Doyoungs fist hit the door.

“I swear I’ll make a noise complaint.” He sounded more irritated than sleepy now.

“Go ahead, you’re just mad I’m getting laid and you aren't.” You playfully slap Haechans arm, but he nips at your hand. The other side of the door grows silent, Doyoung either going to report you two, or going back to his room defeated.

“Shall we pick up where we left off princess?”

#nct smut #haechan smut #nct haechan smut #nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #nct drabble #nct fic #nct scenario #hyuck smut #doyoung

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thehistoriangirl · 2 years ago

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I’ll Be There For You

Idk what happened, I wanted to write a continuation of some story but instead I got this. Aka I have no excuse for this one

Viktor x gn!Reader----1.3K-----SFW

Summary: Viktor had a bad day, so you console him when he comes back home :)

Tags: A lil angsty| Mostly domestic fluff| Established relationship|

The hallway was deadly quiet at night, all the residents had already come back home and were surely tucked into bed. Except for the apartment situated at the end of the fourth floor. Today, one of the tenants was coming home late. You were waiting for him, distracting the tiredness away by reading and folding up the laundry. Just in time to be half past midnight, you hear the lock clicking.

You stood up and went to open it, because the hallway was badly illuminated, even if the door was near a window, with the moon was full tonight and the dim hue of the streetlamps below. With each step, you could hear mumbling filtering from under the wood, keys clattering against the metallic door, and even falling to the ground. A chuckle left your mouth at the time when, at the other side, someone mumbled a curse that you didn’t quite catch.

“Hi,” you said when you slid off the lock, observing Viktor’s silhouette, with an extended hand still holding the keys towards you before blinking in surprise. “How was your day?”

He answered by hugging you tightly. "Oh—" you exclaimed when your sleepy senses caught the motion, his hair tickling the back of your neck and his face buried against your hair. The cane's end was pressing uncomfortably at your thighs, but you dismiss it while your arms reached for his back, patting, and sliding back and forth in circles.

It was one of those days.

The area was deserted, with no interruption or curious stares, so you two stayed in the embrace for several minutes, until Viktor pulled away, his features somber and exhaustion highlighted in the incipient eyebags, making his gaze deeper.

You moved out the way, closing the door behind you when he got his shoes off and put in some slippers, walking slowly to his designated bedroom, even if most of the time he didn’t even sleep there.

“I’m going to take a bath,” he muttered, closing the door when he entered the room. You could hear the shower going on and off, and the echo installed in the bathroom allowed you to slide inside the room without him noticing until it was too late.

Around twenty minutes later, he emerged with a vapor column behind him. You were already tucked in bed, a book in your lap.

"Come here," you said putting the book aside and taking a little plate that was on one of the night tables before. "I cut you some fruit."

“I appreciate it, but I’m not hungry.” He let of his sleeping gown slid off his shoulders while walking towards you with both a curious and intense gaze.

“You’re going to like these. I promise," you couldn't stop from giggling once he sat at the bed's edge, peeking at the content on the platter. You had cut some apples and put some nuts like they were pupils, banana slices curving as a smile. A single grape was a little nose.

Viktor chuckled slightly, extending a hand to stroke your hair. “Thank you.”

“Can I brush your hair?” He wriggled his body against the bedsheets until his back was next to you, the fruit plate taken from your lap and now resting between his hands. “Eat it, please.”

“Are you not going to brush my hair if I don’t?”

“No, but I’m not going to buy you cookies and sweetmilk when I go for the groceries tomorrow.”

“Very well.” Viktor picked one banana slice with a fork, eating carefully as you brushed and dried his hair. You were biting your lip, thinking about if it was a good idea to ask about today or not. Sometimes he was used to bottling up negative things to not worry you, and you could understand his restraint. But you wanted to make him feel better.

You didn't want to push him too hard, either.

“What are you thinking about, hmm? You’re quieter than usual.” He half-turned his face towards you, a concerned look in his eyes.

“I’m thinking about you.” You smiled when a light flush colored his cheeks and nose with pink. Leaning against him, you kissed him on the cheek. “Are you okay?”

He left the empty plate on his nightstand, tucking his legs inside the bedsheets and turning his body so his head was comfortably laying in your lap. You were little by little stroking his slightly humid hair. Viktor sometimes made little noises when massaging his scalp, like if he were a purring cat, but not when he was sad.

“I… couldn’t make my project work,” he talked slowly, a sigh mixed between the words. His hands were absently playing with the fabric of the blankets. “I can’t sign it up for the Progress Day’s exhibition now.”

You furrowed your brows, a quick movement you didn’t want Viktor to see. That’s why he looked so defeated, a sad grimace governing his beautiful features.

“Do you remember when you found me crying in my bedroom because I couldn’t meet the deadline for my research paper?”

“Of course I do.”

You were brushing his hair with your fingers, massaging in gentle circles his scalp. “You told me that my worth isn't measured by the times I fail, but for the moments where I decide that my mishaps aren’t going to define me.” Leaning, you kissed his brow. “I think you should know that.”

Viktor looked at you. “But I’m an inventor, if I can’t create new things to help people, then I’m a failure.”

You frowned. “You’re never a failure, Viktor. Look at you! You have come so far. You’re not perfect, but you do not have to be.” You slide off the headboard, letting Viktor lay at your stomach while your arms hugged his chest under the covers. “You’re not your inventions, Viktor. You’re worthy of love and praise even if they fail.” Pausing, you let him readjust so he could be practically on top of your body, his right leg resting comfortably above yours. “I still love you all the same.”

Pausing, you let his eyes wander around the room, unsure of locking gazes. “…do you?”

It was your turn to snuggle against his hair, kissing his temple and knitted eyebrows. Viktor hummed happily when you almost reached the corner of his mouth. “I do. Even a little more because you trust me enough to tell me these things. Besides,” you whispered and kiss him, even if it was just a tempting peck of lips brushing against each other, “tomorrow you can try again. I'll help you if you want me to.”

"Well, in theory, there's already tomorrow." He signaled with his eyes the clock hung on the wall. “We should get some sleep.”

“Too bad, I was planning on demonstrating my love for you. But I agree, we should rest.” You pouted briefly, before Viktor could change his mind if he caught a glimpse of you. “Do you want me to sleep here tonight?”

“Yes, please. Your presence… comfort me.”

You both extended your arms to turn off the lamps on each side of the bed. In the semi-darkness, with a silver hue of the moon filtering through the translucent curtains, Viktor’s eyes glowed like stars.

He went up to kiss you goodnight, allowing you to rest your forehead against his chest while his right hand rested against your hip. Legs tangled carefully so his right leg ended up on top, feet laying over a pillow.

“I love you,” he said when you muttered your goodnight. “If you believe in me, then not even failure can stop me. I will try my best, I promise.”

“You always do your best, Viktor. That’s why I love you,” you whispered back, nestling against his chest, the sound of his steady heartbeat lullabied you to sleep, while he hugged you closer, your words spiraling in his mind as he drifted to the dreamlands with a smile playing in his lips at hearing your calmed breathing, the gentle warm air tingling in his neck.

When going to sleep like that, or waking up next to you, he never felt more cherished.

#i know the title it's bad i usually plan my titles with 3-5 business days prior #viktor x reader #viktor arcane #viktor/you #viktor x gn reader #viktor x you #viktor/reader #viktor the machine herald #viktor fanfic #arcane fanfic #arcane fluff #arcane viktor x reader #my thingies :)

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adxmparriish · 4 years ago

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everything he needs - read on ao3 track 3 of DEDICATED - a jurdannet roulette collab fic with @hazelsheartsworn @figonas @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @laequiem

SIDE A: TRACK ONE -> TRACK TWO -> TRACK FOUR -> TRACK FIVE SIDE B: TRACK ONE -> TRACK TWO -> TRACK THREE MASTERLIST

writer: lizziebxnnet words: 3.2k rating: explicit -> dom/sub undertones, light bondage, orgasm denial, overstimulation, cock ring

Instead of Faerie bowing to us both, I bow to her. I’m all too willing to oblige. All the anxiety I felt earlier, the rapid beating of my heart I so hated, is replaced by something else. Want, need, pleasure, pain… I am nothing but Jude’s. There is no more room in me for anything else. “Let’s play,” she says. Yes, my evil seductress, let’s play. I am your pawn.

tags and fic under the cut

I am edgy.

Anxiety rolls around inside me, a living monster with claws and fangs crawling beneath my skin.

It’s no secret that most days being High King brings me little joy. I’d much rather laze about, drink wine, kiss Jude until I’m senseless, or simply be. The duties, while not always unbearable, drive me over the edge more often than I’d like to admit.

As the moon rises and filters silver light into our chambers, I glance over to our bed. Jude, beautiful as ever, is draped over the sheets looking at me. There’s a glint in her deep brown eyes that scares and arouses me. Her grin is mischief reincarnated, and I stare back at her with intent. Adjusting the crown on my temples, I turn to face her completely.

“I think I’d rather be on the other end of your knife than deal with any of this,” I say.

“I’m inclined to agree,” she replies, flopping over to lay on her back. She still wears her silk nightgown, some flimsy black thing she purchased at the sex shop. The straps are barely there, and a low neckline leaves little to the imagination. It hardly covers the mocha skin of her thighs, although I can hardly complain. “How would you feel about… a little game?”

I raise a brow. “Should I be worried?”

“Of course not,” she says with a wink, rising from the bed and moving to the dresser. It does nothing to calm my anxieties.

She opens the first drawer, rifles through it, and then pulls out one of our new toys. In her other hand, she holds a remote. The skin of my face grows warm. She pads over and shows me what she has.

It’s a cock ring, but there’s a small attachment on the side of it. She flips a switch on it, then presses a button on the small black remote. Immediately, buzzing reaches my ears and the ring begins to vibrate. I reach out to touch it, feeling the vibrations under my fingertips. Jude looks up and when we meet gazes, I can feel her excitement thrumming through her.

The ravenous beast under my skin loosens its grip, and I find want growing in its place. Wanting her, wanting this, wanting to try something new. To be under Jude’s control would be the most wonderful of changes — a much-needed release from duties and being High King. I want to just be hers, to be Jude’s husband, her plaything. I smile at her, my beautifully wicked wife, and surrender to her.

Not bothering to wait for a second longer, she pops the buttons of my pants and yanks them down. I’m half hard already, the mere thought of what this day will bring exciting me. She sits our new toy on the floor beside her as she kneels in front of me. She scoots closer, then looks up to meet my eyes. I stare at her, transfixed by her beauty. Chestnut hair, long and lush, falls down past her shoulders. Her legs, so strong and powerful and covered in soft, tan skin, fold underneath her. Her hands, callused and sneaky, reach out and grip my cock. My breath hitches in my throat.

She strokes me lightly, teasing. I close my eyes and my head falls back, exposing my neck. When I feel the warm heat of her mouth on me, I gasp her name. Her plush lips swallow me down, her tongue tracing the line of a vein that runs down the shaft. I reach out to touch her, to twist her hair between my fingers, but she swats my hand away. She’s such a treacherous, wicked thing.

I feel a fire begin to burn in my belly, my release within reach, but as if she can read my mind, she stops. She pulls off with a pop, and I open my eyes to look down at her. She has the toy in one hand, my cock in the other. She strokes me a few times, then slides it over me, securing it at the base. The pressure is slight but still intense. She licks the tip, collecting a bit of come that has collected there. Damn the meetings, I think. Nothing is more important than this.

She presses a button on the remote, and I see white. The vibrations rattle through me, making me groan. Pleasure ripples in my blood, and then as soon as it begins, it stops. I don’t know if I’m relieved or aggravated. I glare at Jude, but she seems emotionless. I know better, though. I know she’s relishing in the game of her own creation.

She’s switched masks. She’s the same Jude, the same woman I love so dearly, but she is a different version. She’s always High Queen, but now she’s mine, and I am hers. Instead of Faerie bowing to us both, I bow to her. I’m all too willing to oblige. All the anxiety I felt earlier, the rapid beating of my heart I so hated, is replaced by something else. Want, need, pleasure, pain… I am nothing but Jude’s. There is no more room in me for anything else.

“Let’s play,” she says.

Yes, my evil seductress, let’s play. I am your pawn.

* * *

Sweat collects on my brow, and when the vibrations finally stop, I fear I might come purely from relief alone.

I look to Jude sitting beside me and notice the smallest of smiles playing at her lips. The Living Council is either clueless or pretending to be, and I’m not sure which is more ridiculous. I can feel the redness on my skin, and hear the panting breaths leaving my mouth. For more than an hour, I’ve sat in front of all of them and been brought to the brink of ecstasy more times than I can remember, only to be denied over and over again. I feel deranged, manic, unhinged. I want to come so badly that it is all I can think of. My hand longs to grab myself and rip off the wretched ring, but I don’t. I sit. I obey.

I know that, late into the night when Jude and I are in our chambers, I will be rewarded. It’s the only thing that keeps me grounded.

“I don’t think it’s wise to trifle with the Court of Teeth,” someone says, and I should know the voice but I don’t.

“High King? What do you suggest?” someone else questions me, and I turn my head to the sound.

As fleeting as a strike of lightning, the vibrations start again. I grip the table, knuckles going white, as sensations rock through me. My eyes are open but unseeing. I can hear nothing but blood rushing in my ears, the pounding of my pulse. I shiver as everything aches, my cock almost sore from being denied for so long. I think someone says my name, but I can’t respond. My normally sharp tongue denies me.

“Are you alright, darling?” Jude asks from next to me, her hand laying on my forearm, and I almost come undone. The mere touch of her fingers against my skin causes a cascade of feelings, all of which crash into me roughly.

The buzzing stops and I deflate, my breathing ragged and slow.

“I fear I am not, my Queen.” I look up and the entire table stares with looks of concern on their faces. My already warm face flushes darker, embarrassment flooding to the surface.

“Excuse us,” Jude says, gripping my arm and pulling me upright. “Cardan needs to lie down and rest.”

I can hear people bidding us farewell but I don’t look at them, don’t even acknowledge that they spoke. I am led forward by Jude’s firm grip and sure steps. All I know is her and my own desire that swims through my veins. We walk for what feels like hours but I’m sure is only minutes, and then we reach our chambers. When we’re inside, Jude makes quick work of my clothes, stripping me carefully. When my pants are off and thrown to the side, I look down.

My cock is bright red, almost angry. Jude’s hand grasps it and I choke on a moan, my hips bucking in her grip. She looks up at me in wonder.

“So good,” she says, stroking me twice before letting go. “My beautiful, obeying husband.”

I ache at her praise. She leads me to the bed and I fall on my back. Jude begins stripping her own clothes, but when she pulls off the belt holding up her trousers, she tosses it on the bed next to me. She climbs on, pushing my arms up to the headboard. Involuntarily, my hands grab the wooden bars.

Jude straddles me, her body completely naked now, and bends forward. If I tilt my head forward just a bit, I could capture a nipple in between my teeth. I don’t, though. In this game, I don’t touch unless Jude instructs me to do so.

“Remember our colors?” she asks, and I nod. It’d been the first thing we established when we uncovered this new world, this new game. Green for go, red for stop, yellow for let’s slow it down.

She takes the belt and wraps it around my hands, then the bars of the headboard, before fastening it and pulling it taut. I pull and nothing budges. Our eyes meet and the glimmer in hers captures me in a trance. She leans down and kisses me.

Her tongue traces my lip and I open to her immediately, letting her consume me. When she takes my bottom lip between her teeth, pulling gently, I melt into her touch. Her hands are in my hair, fingers tracing the sharp point of my ears. My tail thrashes, then wraps around her leg. The tuft on the end strokes her inner thigh, right below her core, and she gasps into my mouth. I breathe it in, bathe in it.

I cry out as the swell of her ass brushes against my cock, and it twitches, aching for release. Immediately she sits up, pulling away and denying me.

“Jude,” I beg, pulling at the belt that holds my wrists.

“What?”

“Take this damned ring off,” I demand. Her brows raise, and I know at once I’ve made a grave mistake.

Her strong, threatening hand grabs my throat and squeezes, just hard enough to catch my breath. My eyes widen, my arousal grows even more, and my hips undulate. I fight for some kind of release, some relief of the pressure and pain growing, and find nothing. The lack of oxygen makes my head spin, but I force my eyes to stay open.

Jude leans down, her lips brushing against my ear. “You, my dearest Cardan, are not in charge.”

She eases on my throat, releasing me. She traces the line of my jaw with her fingernail, slowly and carefully. I can’t tear my gaze away from her, not that I would want to. In her element, she is ethereal. I shrink under the power she holds in the palm of her hands.

“You want to come?” she asks. It feels like a trick question, but I nod regardless. She shakes her head, disapproving.

“Use your words.”

“Yes, my Queen,” I say.

“That,” she declares, “is too bad.”

Despite her words to me, she turns and reaches down, removing the ring. I groan at the small release. She shimmies back so her sex looms over me, and I lick my lips. She is dripping, heat radiating from it. Any other time, I’d lean forward and taste her, my tongue dipping between the folds. Instead, I wait, my cock practically pulsing as it aches between my legs.

The warmth of her mouth engulfs me and I groan, her name a curse on my tongue. My hands yank at the belt holding them, the leather digging into my skin. I feel crazed, so much pleasure and pain swimming together and making me drown. I can’t focus on anything except her mouth, her tongue, the slick of her core tantalizing as it hovers over my face.

She hums as one hand roams, pinching the skin of my thigh, and tears prick at my eyes. A shock runs through my system and it takes everything I have not to release into her mouth. I am dizzy with desire.

“Baby,” Jude murmurs against my cock, her tongue licking a long stripe, “taste me.”

Like a starving man at a feast, I don’t waste a single second.

I lick at her, tasting every sweet inch of her. It distracts me from the wicked ways of her mouth in the most pleasing way. She moans at my ministrations, her hips bucking when I catch her clit between my teeth lightly. I devour her, unable to satisfy the hunger growing inside me. She is a long drink of water after a hot day, and I am parched.

Every inch of me burns for her, and I feel my orgasm building in my spine again. I moan into her center as it climbs, higher and faster and stronger.

“Jude,” I plead, “I’m going to come.”

Her wet mouth moves away from me, and my eyes sting as I’m denied again, my climax crashing to a halt. Every part of me hurts, longing to release. I feel like a bow, stretched taut and thin. Tears leak from my eyes and through the mist, I can see Jude’s face hovering over me. I blink the wetness away, and her hands brush the tears from my cheeks.

“You’re doing so well,” she murmurs, kissing my face. I almost forget about my throbbing cock through the haze of her words, but it’s still there.

Jude places her hands on my chest and then lowers herself, her sex wrapping around me as she moves down. I whimper at the feel of her, so warm and tight and lovely. Her mouth hangs open at the sensation, and her eyelids flutter closed. Again, I am struck by her beauty. She is radiant as sweat curls the hair by her face, drips down her neck, and pools in the swell of her breasts. I long to reach up, to cup one in my palms, but the damned belt still holds my wrists. She opens her eyes when she’s fully seated.

She wastes no time. She bounces in earnest, taking me under her power even more than I already am. I buck my hips to meet hers. The sound of our skin slaps together, and it makes the sweetest song. She leans forward, changing the angle so I go deeper, and my eyes roll in the back of my head. Pleasure like I’ve never known rolls through me like a wave, and I make an embarrassing noise in the back of my throat. My mind is nothing but Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude. It recants through my brain like an enchantment.

“Jude please — “ I begin, but a moan cuts me off when she rolls her hips.

“Not yet,” she replies to me, already knowing my request. I slam my head back against the bed, jerking my wrists against the belt tying me down. I want to come so badly it blinds me, makes me crazy. I whine and Jude looks at me.

“Color, Cardan.”

“Green,” I say immediately, sure as ever. She denies me but I relish it. I will come with her permission or not at all.

She smiles at me, and I glow under her approval. I am nothing if not her servant.

“Harder,” she commands.

I plant my feet against the mattress and bend my hips, pounding into Jude with reckless abandon. She forgets herself, crying out and gripping my ribs. Her nails dig into my skin. She closes her eyes as I meet her, over and over, the slapping of our skin ringing through our room, although I can hardly hear it over the pounding of my heart.

“Cardan,” she shouts, throwing her head back, “Gods, you feel so good.”

“Fuck,” I chant, slowing down and fucking her slower, deeper, hammering into her so hard that it jolts her.

Finally, a sweet release comes as she fiddles with the belt, untying my hands. I immediately have one hand on her hip, the other at her clit. My thumb circles and flicks it, making her groan loudly. Her hips falter as her own release threatens to overcome her. If I can’t come, I’ll be sure she does.

I can tell she’s close. Her breaths are short, her eyes are closed, and her legs shake. I grip her hips and flip us over. I pull her close, letting her legs dangle over my shoulders, and take her roughly. I pick up the pace, grab her by the back of the neck and kiss her hungrily. It’s clashing tongues and teeth, but it drives me wild regardless. Her warm breaths tickle my lips as she pants, completely overwhelmed. I circle her clit with two fingers, and a throaty sound rips from her throat.

“Come for me Cardan,” she demands, meeting my thrusts with her own.

In an instant, my body responds to her command, and like a wave crashing on the shore, I come. My vision goes black, then I see stars. It’s blissful pain as it rocks through me and leaves me breathless, every inch of me completely spent. Jude, delirious all the same, follows me. Her hands grip my back, nails digging into my skin as she unravels. We moan into each other’s mouths, kissing until we’re dizzy with it. I fuck her through the aftershocks of our orgasms, then collapse against her.

I clutch her, desperate for her closeness. She returns the grip, pulling me into her chest. I nose her neck, leaving wet kisses down her pulse. She hums happily as I cradle her in my arms. She rubs my back gently, and when I roll us so my back hits the mattress, she lays her head on my chest.

When I push her damp hair from her forehead, she grabs my wrist. It’s red, lines from the belt creasing the skin. She kisses it, then grabs my other wrist and does the same. My heart, so often cold and hard, is warm. I touch her face, my thumb brushing the soft skin of her cheek. She smiles at me, and I can’t help but smile back.

“Your games are evil,” I say to her, making her smile wider. “Although I should have known. You’ve never been an innocent one.”

She laughs. “Neither have you.”

“I cannot argue with that.”

My fingers play in her hair, brush against her skin, and trace the round curve of her ear. Moonlight filters through our curtains and casts shadows across her face. We are both exhausted but I kiss her anyway, slow and sweet. She melts into it, wrapping her arms around my neck.

I love her, devastatingly so. Not telling her seems criminal.

“I love you, darling Jude.”

Her lips meet my jaw, and she kisses me there.

“I love you too,” she says.

As always, I wonder how I got so lucky to win her affections. When her fingers graze my neck, touching my pulse point, I realize for the first time, I don’t much care how we got here. What truly matters is that we are in this moment, basking in the love we’ve built. Whether I’m lucky or blessed, or somewhere in the middle — all of it fades to black in the warmth of Jude’s embrace.

@slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @figonas @laequiem @hazelsheartsworn @jurdannet @jurdannetrevels @thefolkofthefic @kingandfireheart

#my fic #jurdannet #jurdannetrevels #em tag #laety tag #bri tag #kaitlyn tag #jurdan #tfota #the folk of the air #cardan x jude #tfota fic #jurdan fic #jurdan fanfic

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iceeckos12 · 3 years ago

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and he sees dawn before the rest of the world

or: a fucked up little au of 200. intended to be unsettling so just be warned warnings for: unreality (i think that’s the appropriate term? please lmk if not), implied self harm, fucked up relationship dynamics; lmk if i should tag anything else

Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt!

“Ugh, five more minutes,” Martin hissed, throwing an arm across his face, as though he could stop the barrage of sound just by covering his eyes. His alarm was unsympathetic to his whinging, continuing to scream its daily mourning dirge, grieving the end of another period of blessed rest. “Fine, fine! I’m getting up, christ…”

He reached clumsily for the phone on his bedside table, only for his fingers to scrabble uselessly around the ghost of its presence. He was momentarily so stymied by the absence that it took him longer than it should’ve to remember that he’d moved it to his desk, to prevent him from giving into the temptation to hit the snooze button just one more time.

Letting out another slew of curses, Martin shuffled onto his other side and reached for

A jaw-cracking yawn near split Martin’s face in two as he hunched over the gleaming tea kettle, steam beginning to pour from the spout. He shuffled his feet, eyes meandering sightlessly over the cow-shaped mug drying on the counter, the cluster of crumbs that he must’ve missed when cleaning up after dinner last night.

He hated mornings. Maybe it was the preemptive dread he felt at the thought of going to work; maybe it was because he hated having to be upright this early in the morning. Either way, he felt strangely disconnected from his morning routine, each motion carried out with habitual, distant efficiency as his thoughts raced along like a hamster on a wheel just below the surface.

It...was a bit silly for him to be worried about work, though. The stuff he was doing was interesting, and he had the loveliest coworkers a guy could ask for. They’d even offered to teach him a thing or two about artifact restoration once they learned the truth about his CV.

He drew himself up to his full height and rolled his shoulders back, clouded sigh mingling with the fog from the boiling water. Things were going well. Hell, he was actually going to get top surgery sometime in the next year or so, which was amazing considering his teenage self would’ve laughed at the very idea of being out.

There was no reason to dread going to work.

Martin carefully poured the water into the mug, letting the tea steep before adding a splash of milk and sugar. When he picked the mug up, the heat from the tea had bled into the ceramic, so warm as to be uncomfortable against the delicate skin of his palms. He didn’t let go, just kept on gripping the mug, like trying to contain the last gasp of a dying star.

Martin stared around his kitchen. The waterstains on the inside of the cow mug slowly evaporating into the still air; the crumbs that had sat there for who knows how long. The empty, blank face of his fridge.

Martin lifted the mug, and steam collected on his glasses as his breath wafted over the surface of the tea. He drew away, waiting for the lenses to clear, before leaning in for another sip.

His reflection stared back at him, a monochrome facsimile of his face rimmed in white smoke, and he recoiled, the mug slipping from

Working nine to five, what a way to make a living…

Martin stared out the window, his hand pillowed in the palm of his hand as Dolly Parton crooned in his ears. Split second by split second, he let his eyes catch on a point in the darkened surroundings, only letting his vision blur into incoherence when that fixed point whipped out of sight. It was a game he sometimes played when he got bored of reading or playing cards on his phone.

The old woman across from him let out a quiet grunt and shuffled, drawing his attention back inside the train. She was a gnarled old thing, bowed by the gravity of grief and time and life, though Martin couldn’t say for certain whether it was one well-lived.

Barely getting by, it’s all taking and no giving...

That was the thing about people watching: Martin was never quite sure if it was disrespectful to make assumptions about a person’s life based on a passing glimpse. He could never be sure if the person with the grumpy expression had a foul attitude, or if they were just a kind person on the tail-end of a truly awful day.

The old woman was knitting though, and Martin generally found it safe to assume that knitters were nice people.

For a moment he thought about taking out his headphones and striking up a conversation; the pattern looked devilishly complicated, and as a beginning knitter, he always appreciated tips. There was an unfinished set of fingerless green gloves in the back of his closet; it was easy for hands to get cold in the Archives, and the color suited

“Alright, Martin?”

Martin startled, his pen clattering to the floor. He looked up to find Sasha perched on the edge of his desk, grinning like the cat who’d just eaten the canary. Or, he thought she was. His eyes kept skittering from one corner of her face to the other, like a smooth stone skipping across a lake.

“Uh…” Frowning slightly, he let his gaze travel over the shelves of books, the humming lights, his cluttered workstation. He removed his glasses so he could rub at his aching eyes, and let out a deep sigh. Probably just the stress. “Yeah—yeah! Sorry, I’ve been distracted all morning.”

Martin got the impression of Sasha’s grin being tempered with genuine concern. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is everything okay?”

“I think so. Just...work, and my mum…” he gave an expansive you know sort of gesture at life in general. “Thank god the weekend’s coming. Anyway, is there something I can help you with?”

“Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to come get drinks with Mel and Tim and I after work, but…” She cut him a meaningful glance, the bottomless holes where her eyes should be boring bright spotlights into the back of his skull. “We’d understand if you’re not feeling up to it.”

“Is Georgie coming?”

Sasha shrugged. “Probably. Mel didn’t say so, but they’ve been all over each other since they started dating.”

Martin laughed. “True.” Tried to gauge how he was feeling, whether or not he was up to a night of socializing. You should go, a strangely posh little voice murmured in the back of his head, and he found himself saying, “Actually yeah, I would like to come. I could use a night out.”

Sasha clapped him on the shoulder, and the impact rattled through him like a gong being struck. The echoes of it vibrated all the way down to his toes. “Excellent.”

Martin hesitated, and then, not entirely sure of what he was asking, “What about J

“Thanks for waiting with us,” Georgie said, smiling beatifically up at him. Passed out on her shoulder, Melanie let out a drunken snuffle and curled over, like she was thinking of climbing through the spaces of Georgie’s ribcage and sleeping in her chest cavity forever.

“Not a problem,” Martin replied, scratching the back of his neck.

To be honest, waiting with her was as much for his benefit as theirs. At first, he’d thought it was just stress; now, he was very sure that something was wrong. It wasn’t anything specific, or even bad; more like there was a sepia camera filter tinting the world dusty and nostalgic.

After his third drink, he’d looked into Tim’s laughing face and thought he might burst into tears. And he still didn’t know what Sasha was supposed to look like.

But he didn’t want to worry her, so he just bit his lip and rocked back and forth on his heels, even though the motion made his head spin that much worse.

(Maybe he needed to take a couple of days off. Have a lie-in. But that would—that would delay his work. The Institute’s work. Delays were bad; he felt strongly enough about that to carve it directly into his skin so that he’d never forget. He could roll down his sleeve and take a peek at it whenever his motivation slipped, like checking a watch for the time.)

For lack of anything else to say, he nodded toward Melanie. “She’s really out, huh?”

“She’s always been a lightweight.” Her tone was wry, but her eyes were soft and fond as she brushed Melanie’s bangs back from her face. “Never gets hungover though, the lucky bastard.”

“The nerve!” Martin said, affecting offense, which sent them right into another giggling fit.

Once he got his breath back, Martin mentioned offhand, “You know, considering how similar they are, I’m surprised that her and J̷̧̱̜͕͕̤͉̣̺̺̝͖̠̹̜͙̣͉̩̺̤̟͉͓̞̹̗́̆̂̋͆̊̎́͂̑͋̌͊͘̚͠ͅo̶̧̨͕̖͔̬̖̝̪͚̻̟̠̜̣̰̅n̶̥̉́̎͑̀͂͆̿̾͛̾̔̐͌́̅̂͂̒̆̐́͊̄̾̍̅̅͝

“Stop it!” Martin screamed, grabbing the mug from the counter and throwing it across the room. It shattered against the wall, scattering shards of ceramic across the floor. “I know

“What you’re doing,” Martin gripped the bathroom counter, ignoring the persistent ringing of his alarm, staring deeply into his reflection, “Stop it, stop it, nononon̴̡̡͚̮̠͙̻͔͎͈̜̓̈́̈́͜͜ͅǫ̸̯̠̱̖̲͙͍͎͒̇̑͒ṅ̶̨̩̳̩̝̹̳͎͈̬̦͆́̈́́͐̏̈́̕͝͝o̸̡̻̱̗̥̮̙̳̞͗̄͋̈́̀͝n̸̢̛̟͙̘̱̩͕̦̫̤̮͆͑̊͋́̂̽͜o̶̘̱̗̘̘͑̿͜ņ̶̥̞̠͕͓̠͔͚̮͈̬͕̀͗̄̓͑͑͛̕ͅő̸̮̫̓͌̾̌͋́̂̏̒̃̃̄̚n̵̗̫͕̺̻͔̭͖̉͒͗̀̈́̃̅o̴͓͉͉͗͋̎̕—”

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m sorry, it’s okay—”

“No!” Martin shrieked, shoving Jon’s hands away, skittering backward across the broken and cracked stones of the Panopticon. Through the arched windows, the sky was a poisonous green and black, and multitudes of eyes orbited the room, watched his every movement with sickening fascination. “Just—stop.”

Luminous gaze weary and resigned, Jon did as he was bid, dropping back onto his heels.

Rubbing sweat and grime and tears from his face, breathing harshly through his mouth, Martin took a moment to remember where he was, why he was here. It always took a moment for everything to come back.

As though unable to keep silent any longer, Jon asked, “So what was it this time?”

“Don’t,” Martin hissed, dragging his hands through his greasy hair.

Though his expression went mulishly annoyed, Jon raised his hands placatingly, a silent, alright, you win. It was a familiar gesture, one that he’d done so many times while they were living in Scotland, while they were traveling the devastated landscape of the apocalypse. It made Martin ache for when things were simpler, when his heart didn’t just feel like one big bruise.

He gently set the thought aside, and turned a more assessing eye on the Panopticon. Normally the changes were insignificant, but something thick and red and black had started to coil around the windows, weaving in and out of the floor, cracking the stonework. Martin traced the strange things with his eyes, frowning—

“Christ, Jon,” he whispered in horrified realization. “Are...are those corpse roots?”

Jon bobbed his head. “They’ve long since overtaken the rest of London. It’s just us, now.”

Martin sucked in a long, frustrated breath through his teeth. There was no point trying to talk any sense into Jon, not after so long, and force would only result in immediately getting kicked back into that horrible dream world.

“And the others?”

Jon shrugged, tracing the cracks in the earth with his fingers. “Still alive, and living happily in the dream I made for them.” He didn’t say, unlike you, but the implication was so loud he might as well have screamed it.

“Shut up,” Martin muttered, pushing to his feet and limping to one of the windows.

Corpse roots, as far as the eye could see. They covered the city of London in a blanket of tangled black, so thick that it was impossible to see the buildings beneath.

“Was it worth it?” he asked, sagging against the side of the window, too tired to be angry.

When the silence persisted a second too long, Martin turned around to find Jon with his head tilted back, examining the corpse roots consuming what had once been the Beholding’s seat of power, expression distant and thoughtful. The eyes, ever-watching, never understanding, drifted closer, greedily drinking in the sight.

When Martin realized that Jon wasn’t planning on answering, he let out another sigh, ruffled his bangs away from his face, and said, “You’re never there.”

Jon’s gaze snapped to him with a laser-edged focus. “Sorry?”

“If you’re going to trap me in a dream,” Martin said, each syllable clipped and precise, “You could at least be there.”

Like it always did, Jon’s face crumpled, and he looked away. “...I don’t deserve it.”

“Oh, we’re well past that and you know it!” Martin shrieked, striking his fist against the stone. “You made your fucking decision to damn the world, to hell with whatever we thought, the least you could do is stop hiding behind your pointless guilt and act like this is what you actually want!”

It would’ve been better, if Jon had simply become drunk with power and was no longer listening to reason. The fact that he’d made this same decision every single day with clear, unclouded eyes and sound judgement—as Jon the human, rather than Jon the lynchpin of the apocalypse, pupil of the Eye—made Martin want to scream.

“I do want it!” Jon snapped back, then quieter, “I do.” He looked up at the corpse roots again, eyes going misty. “I just—I should witness every second of misery and pain that I’m causing. I don’t deserve to just...forget.”

Wind snapped and howled around them like a creature mad with rage, and Martin idly wondered what would happen to this world once Jon died. If it would all go back to the way it had been before, or if the shell of the apocalypse would remain until the end of time, a corpse husk of a reality warped beyond repair.

“You shouldn’t have to experience this alongside me though,” Jon continued, rallying. “So I would really appreciate it if you’d stop breaking your dreams.”

“Tough,” Martin snapped back, folding his arms obstinately over his chest.

“You could be happy!” Jon reiterated, stabbing his index finger into the palm of his hand. “You could just...live your life! Forget! There’s no point in being here.”

“It’s a deal, remember? Where you go, I go. Fuck you very much, but I don’t break my promises.”

Jon stared at him for one beat, then another—and then promptly burst out laughing, his whole body shaking with the force of it. Martin stared at him, utterly bewildered, as the laughing slowly began to dissolve into desperate, heaving sobs, as he began rocking back and forth, arms wrapped around himself in a mockery of comfort.

“I miss you,” Jon gasped out, half-crazed. “So much. I miss you every day even though you’re right in front of me. But I can’t go to you, because I don’t deserve to, not when I’m the one who trapped you here. I’m everything that’s wrong with the world. I always have been.”

“Jon,” Martin sighed, low and tired.

Jon buried his face into his knees. “No, you shouldn’t—you shouldn’t forgive me just because you pity me, that’s not what I—I don’t—”

“Who said anything about forgiveness?” Martin shook his head. “Fine. You’re an asshole, and I hate you. But it’s like I said.” He gestured toward the Panopticon, the roots, the poisonous sky. “When has deserving ever mattered?”

Jon lifted his face from his knees, though his gaze stayed rooted to the floor. “...I suppose.”

“Right,” Martin agreed. “I’ve accepted that you’re not going to change your mind, but...at the very least, I don’t want to die alone. So can you please just…”

There was a long, weighted pause.

They’d had arguments like this what felt like hundreds of times before. Martin begging for Jon to change his mind, Jon refusing with that same resigned, determined expression on his face, before sending Martin back into his dreams.

Maybe it was because Martin wasn’t asking him to change his mind this time. Maybe it was because they were so close to the end of all things, and soon they’d be the last two people on earth. Maybe it was because Jon was tired, had been for so, so long, and he had won anyway, so there was no point in fighting any longer.

“Alright,” Jon whispered.

…

...

Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt!

“Ugh, five more minutes,” Martin hissed, throwing an arm across his face.

Somewhere in the far distance, the toilet flushed. A moment later, a pair of feet padded lightly into the room, hesitated at the edge of the bed, and then made their way over to the desk. The alarm abruptly went silent.

Martin uncovered his eyes and grinned up at Jon as he tentatively slid back between the covers, every movement careful and deliberate, like he was reading stage directions from a script.

“Look at Mr. Workaholic, having a lie-in,” Martin teased, pulling Jon into his arms and inhaling the scent of his coconut shampoo. “Must be the end of the world, or something.”

Jon stiffened for just a moment, before turning around and burying his face into Martin’s chest. “Or something.”

#iceeckos12 writes #my writing #tma #jonmartin but make it especially tragedy flavored

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karasuno-volley · 4 years ago

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BAKUGOU KATSUKI + TAKING IT SLOW

pairing : bakugou + gn!reader

warnings : none, i think. let me know if you need something tagged !

a/n : okay, i admit that i binged mha in like 3 weeks do not @ me. i wanted to write something quick for my fave explosion boy. no manga spoilers bc i’m currently not reading it. haikyuu + requests soon ( also, feel free to request something from mha as well ) !! love, volley.

The city is a constant hum below your apartment’s balcony, the sunlight filtering lazily into your bedroom. On mornings like these, you’re more likely to forget everything. A truck stutters and comes to life, coughing smoke to the air as it takes off down the busy road, and your hands tighten a bit on the railing, your eyes fluttering closed. The sun burns pink and purple and neon, until you open your eyes again, and it stays the bright orange of the early hours.

You hear the sliding door from your bedroom squeak open, and without turning around, you can feel him there. Imposing, silent. Still sleepy from the night before. His arms snake around your waist-- carefully, so as not to interrupt your train of thought, as if you had one at this moment. A sigh falls from your lips as Katsuki’s face becomes buried in the space between neck and shoulder, leaving tiny butterfly-soft kisses up your jaw. He hums against your skin, rough and heavy, tinged with exhaustion. “You should have woken me up.” Bakugou grumbles, and you tilt your head backwards, looking upwards towards the pale blue of another summer morning.

“I’m sorry.” But you aren’t. Both of you know this. And besides, you like the way your fiance cuddles your pillow when you’re not between the sheets with him, back when the room is hot and covered in a tinge of violet light by dawn. The pro-hero continues his kissing trail upwards, finally landing at your lips when you turn your head to greet him. Below the balcony, a car engine starts and drones away down the road. Bakugou pulls away then, but grips your hand as if to make up for the lack of contact, leading you back inside.

You watch as Katsuki heads for the closet, tugging out his costume-- or at least the under-armor portion. The rest -- the more dangerous pieces-- are cautiously stored by the door, under lock and key. You don’t hear him for a while, mind distracted to when you’ve seen him like this before. An abandoned warehouse. A crazed look in his eye. Fire.

“Oi, idiot.” Bakugou’s gripping your shoulders now, forcing eye contact. He has not been loud with you in the weeks since then, and doesn’t yell much either, except for maybe when on the job and in front of his agency’s heroes. You’ve seen him then, of course. Hair spiked and arms crossed and a permanent scowl etched across his features. It’s an odd thing to compare him to these slow mornings, with softer hair (though still a bit pointed) and tired eyes, a frown that is genuinely concerned rather than openly upset or angry. “Hey, are you good? I asked if you wanted to go for breakfast or something, since I’m taking the morning off. Go get ready, and I’ll meet you by the door.”

Two hours later, as the pair of you exit the tiny cafe, Katsuki stops short, tugging out his phone. You pause with him. “What are you doing?”

“Calling one of my interns.”

“Okay, why?”

You shift your weight from one leg to the other, watching a few more people pause and stare at the number two hero. You step a bit closer to him, and sensing your unease, his gloved hand grabs your own, still warm as always. “He’s gonna meet us here to take you home.”

“Katsuki, we’re just a few blocks away. I can walk, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

The way he glances at you-- eyes hard and nearly on fire-- catches you off-guard. He’s still on edge. You don’t want to admit it, but you are, too. “You’re not going to argue with me on this, idiot.” A few more cars pass, a group of schoolkids pause their game of tag to carefully weave around you two. Ten minutes later, a kid in a light blue costume arrives. Undoubtedly a UA student who can’t be more than sixteen or seventeen. “You know where you’re going, right?” Bakugou’s voice is as harsh as always, though deeper than his high school days. The kid jumps slightly, nods. “Yes, sir.”

Katsuki squeezes your hand a bit. “Alright, I’m leaving. When you’re done, you go right to the agency. No stops. I’ll be waiting.” The boy nods again, clearly a little nervous. You watch as the pro-hero makes his way down the sidewalk, cutting a path through the groups of people there. The sun reaches higher into the sky, and when you close your eyes again, all you see is orange and red and yellow-- the colors spin until they blend together into something that is all too familiar and comforting.

master mha taglist : none-- ask or message to be added !! ( btw, @beanst0ck, @owlnymph, & @hword4tsukki ) let me know if you want to be tagged in mha-related things, or haikyuu only !! )

#mha imagines #mha fanfic #bakugou imagines #bakugou x reader #karasuno-volley #i love explodey-boy #feel free to req for both hq and mha now!#bnha imagines #bnha #bakugou x y/n

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niobiumao3 · 3 years ago

Text

As the blog name indicates, I am Niobium from AO3 and SquidgeWorld. Likes will show from @staypuftmarshmallowqueen.

Here you will find links to most of my stories (crossposted to SW) ,the occasional excerpt, my complaints thoughts about writing in general and fanfiction in particular, and anything I might want to reblog from the various fandoms I write in.

Specifics below the cut.

Me: I am disinclined to share personal info. Sorry, that's just how I roll. If that means you'll avoid the blog, no worries. Everyone should curate their experience as they see fit.

Blog rating: I sometimes post/reblog nsfw stuff. I try to make sure to tag it all for easy filtering (#nsfw or #adult) but see below re: tagging.

My fic: I post on AO3. I crosspost to SquidgeWorld when I can, and post links here, particularly if someone from Tumblr said something which inspired a fic. Most of my fic is Gen/Teen, with the rare Mature/Explicit.

Fandoms: Most of what you'll see is Star Wars*, MCU, Star Trek, some DC animated and film, some comics stuff. A wide range of others like Narnia, PacRim, and more will show up as things release.

Tagging: I stopped tagging stuff a while ago, am trying to get back into doing so. Apologies, I just lack the energy some days. I'll occasionally do a quick sweep and try to catch up. I will always tag current spoilers as #spoilers and the fandom in question, plus anything relevant (eg. episode number or movie name). I'll keep tagging them for about a month or so.

Shipping: I'm largely ambivalent about shipping and such these days. I have pairings I like and those I don't, but I just ignore the ones I don't.

Who I reblog from: I do not vet everyone I reblog from nor am I going to. I'm too old and tired for that sort of thing.

Anon Asks: Fuck around and find out.

Fanart and Commissions I've received

Possibly useful posts you might be looking for:

Havoc Marauder Interior Layout - updated 2023/11/03

Tags you might care about (as noted above I suck at tagging):

fanfic (mine)

Lego stuff (mine)

fanart (other people's)

cosplay (other people's)

* I am way on my SW bullshit right now because TBB but it will probably pass once we're a few months into the Year of Hell waiting for S3. Probably. Maybe. Look, no promises. lol what was I thinking

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kkysolo · 4 years ago

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*grovels again* *hopes you have your gin*

i can’t believe i’m posting this highly specific piece that will certainly flop due to its clear self indulgence. please don’t send me to tumblr jail, i already know i need therapy for this lmao. your grovelling paid off, petal. i hope it’s something you marginally enjoy.

[edit: this is now a series. part two / part three / part four ]

A/N: this...is a friends to lovers smut piece laced heavily with daddy-kink that is not at all related to my own upbringing and exposes my clear daddy issues. as always, our reader has no defining traits, other than that she is female.

Pairing: Modern Ben Solo/Reader Word count: 1392 Warnings: daddy kink, age gap (three/fourish-ish years?) PIV sex, unprotected sex. Heavy mentions of childhood and referring to reader as ‘little girl’ (I know that’s a squick for some of you). Mentions of feelings that have travelled from childhood to adulthood (not sure if that’s a squick but there you have it). tagged as tw: and cw: daddy kink for anyone’s filtering desires, but it’s below a cut, anyway.

“H-how l-long?”

Your words trailed off into a moan as Ben curled his fingers, dragging the calloused pads of them along your sensitive walls. He shifted slightly, moving to circle your clit with his thumb, rubbing tight circles into the bundle of nerves. A tight coil began to wind and wind and wind in your core, and you chased it with abandon, hips bucking into his hands in a deplorable show of desperation.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, but first, I want to watch you come for me, right here, on your best friend’s fingers.”

Your eyes fell shut as your head tipped back against the pillows, and Ben reached with his free hand to steer your face toward his.

“Open your eyes,” he murmured. “I want you to see who’s doing this to you. I want to watch every last second of you coming apart.”

You did as you were told, your eyes flying open, your clouded, hooded gaze meeting his.

“Good,” he murmured, increasing his pressure on your clit. “That’s my girl.”

And it was his praise that did it - because it always did, always left you feeling like a wanton mess, even as he’d say it in passing, clueless to its effect. The coil snapped and you choked on your own breath as you felt it, felt yourself gushing onto his fingers, and felt yourself begin to float, landing somewhere between euphoria and heaven itself.

He watched, so absorbed in your bliss, so captivated by how you completely and utterly pulverised in his hands. He couldn’t find the words, couldn’t even begin to thank you for allowing him such a privilege, to be the one obliged with the chance to take you apart, to wreck you. His eyes never left the plains of your face, even as you began to fall back into coherence. You fought to catch your breath, bringing your attention back to him.

“How long?” You asked again, and Ben wasn’t even minutely surprised at your persistence. He withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his mouth - because he had to, had to taste you, had to know what he’d been missing all those years. He hummed as his tongue slid across your come.

“Always,” he murmured once he’d sated his hunger. “For as long as I can remember.”

His lips found your hairline, pressing softly into the skin there.

“Me too,” you revelled in it, in the tranquility of it, the softness of it. But there was something else, the moment that sparked it, the moment that had spurred you to reach right into the depths of your desires, to dig up the feelings you’d thought you’d long since buried.

“Ben?”

“Hm?”

His lips cascaded down your jaw, your neck, teeth grazing across your collar bones.

“At dinner, I said something,” your words quickly caused Ben’s ministrations to cease, his lips stationary on the column of your throat. “And it...it made you...It’s why, it’s why I wanted to kiss you.”

Your mind settled on the moment, the recent memory - how you’d tried in vain to get away with shoving your potatoes to the side of your plate, moving them around with your fork in a feeble attempt at making them look eaten. You should have known, though, that a visit home to your mother’s house would make such a task impossible. And not because of your parents, no. No, because your ever-present childhood neighbour would make sure you ate your food.

You recall how he’d looked at you, the stern gaze, the cocked brow.

“Eat them,” he’d warned.

“Sure thing, dad,” you’d chided, half playfully.

You recall his face, his frame, how his whole body tensed, how his knee came to bang against the underside of the table without warning, sending your cutlery clattering from your plate.

Ben exhaled roughly, the palms of his hands gripping your sides anxiously.

“That word-”

“Don’t, don’t say it, I won’t be able to control myself if you do.”

“What if I don’t want you to?”

“Princess,” his tone was stern, a warning.

“I saw what it did to you, when I said it, when I called you ‘dad’.”

He inhaled sharply, quickly moving above you. He was so huge, so broad, that his body completely caged you. He hovered there for a moment, trying to steady his breathing, trying to collect himself. He grabbed your wrists, pinning them to the pillow above your head.

“I’m warning you. I won’t be able to control myself,” he let out a shaky, bated breath. “Not if I hear you call me that.”

“I don’t want you to control yourself, I want you,” you breathed, completely entranced by the idea of Ben finally fucking you, of your best friend finally being inside of you. “Daddy.”

And the silence that followed your words, the complete stillness as you watched him - it engulfed you. You watched as his composure crumbled, the cracks in his brick walls creeping up up up until the expanse of his very soul imploded right before your eyes. Ben’s head dropped as he groaned loudly, hips rutting into yours. In one swift movement, he was opening your legs, hiking them up around his waist. He looked at you then, and you knew how far gone he was. His eyes were so blown black you could no longer see the molten honey of his irises. And they were wild, too, just like his breathing, which was just a hair away from hyperventilation. His gaze persists and you knew, then, that this was his hopeless attempt at a question, at asking permission. You nodded, perhaps too eagerly, but God, you’d never wanted anything so much. He slid in to you, stretching you further than you thought possible, his forehead dropping to yours as a guttural moan ripped from his chest. You keened for him, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood as he sheathed himself fully inside of you. He trembled as he held his position, allowing you to become accustomed to his girth. The heat of you, the feeling of being so thoroughly connected to you, had him so on edge he could barely contain himself. You nodded at him, then, allowing him to move at last. He let out the breath he’d been holding, pulling out and then pushing back into you as you gasped, writhed, and moaned beneath him. The sight alone had him almost growling, a feral creature replacing his typically calm facade. He’d been picturing this moment, this very second, every day for so many years now, he’d lost count. Somehow, it managed to exceed every last one of his expectations. The feel of you, the sight of you - it was completely and utterly indescribable.

“Aren’t I?” He grabbed your face, pounding into you at a force like nothing you’ve ever felt before. “Isn’t that what I’ve always been?”

His breath heaved as he spoke through gritted teeth, trying to keep any semblance of control that he still had left.

“When I taught you how to ride a bike, when I walked you home from school, when I carried you to bed when you fell asleep curled around me on the couch?” He thrust into you so hard, then, that you swore you felt him in your throat. Your breath was coming in quick and heavy pants, your eyes were welling up with the sheer pleasure, the sheer realisation of what was happening.

“Huh? Isn’t that what I was every time I held you when you cried over some other dick, isn’t that what I was every time I fucked my fist raw to the thought of you, isn’t that what I was when I fell in love with you over and over, so many fucking times, I couldn’t stand it?” He growled as his hips continued to piston in and out, so forcefully, so hard, so perfectly. You cried out, eliciting a moan from him.

“You’ve always been my little girl,” he murmured, his forehead falling forward to meet yours, still clutching your face. “It’s always been you, only ever been you,” his eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he relished in the feel of you, how you fluttered around him every time he praised you. “And now Daddy finally gets to fuck his little girl, perfect little girl.”

#i've got the fear despite the gin #i'm so sorry for this #exposing all my issues in one post #my writing #ben solo #ben solo x reader #tw: daddy kink #cw: daddy kink #anon

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