#either give me more or branch out!
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deus-ex-mona · 6 months ago
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such is the tale of a ✨chronically online hypocrite✨
#(please forgive this old folk’s rambling for a hot min bc i need to get this off my chest somehow and in some way)#tl;dr: come and get into the hw idol series!!! we have ship discourse; more ship discourse; even more ship discourse#(yes ik people should be free to ship what they do b u t claiming a noncanon ship as canon and forcing it on everyone else is. not cool.)#yes yes friday’s mv was visually cute and ino.rin’s singing was peak b u t i feel like it has caused more harm than good in some way???#i cant b e l i e v e the jp hwtwt beef over friday’s mv is still going on mannnnnnnnn#no less than 3 separate people have made posts along the lines of#‘p l s stop using [official tags] to post about *[unnamed] non-official ships* p l s there’s a time and place for everything’#and n o n e of them even remotely run in the same circles yet they’re all banded together against a *certain* group lmfao never change hwtwt#lhy (esp yhy) shippers are always at the scene of the crime mannnnnnn#i cant see anything on their end of the naval battle (has every single lhy tag+account that i could think of blocked)#b u t it’s still really funny to witness on my twtdash against my will. i think i need to touch grass#‘kyhn isn’t canon either so why do you like it while being such a hater towards lhy—‘#great question!!!!!! it’s bc (disregarding the movie) they actually interact really well together~~~ like the honeypre event y k—#and also bc yukki treats hina really nicely all the time (even when she was being tsun and literally running from her feelings for him)#a n d hina loved him for who he truly was; even before his image change arc. and she also does her best to appeal to him and such~~~~~~~#but lhy. uh. they just bully hiyo 95% of the time and while they do look out for her bc they’re pals#they’re just pals. guys. and lxl have gone ‘uwu it must be u uwu’ to each other one too many times so shoehorning hiyo between them would.#be pretty weird ngl? esp since the ‘widely accepted’ portrayal of lhy as a trio is p much just hiyo x 2 dudes who dont even like each other#and. like. a branch of such portrayals usually seem to have aizo waft away from the ‘r/s triad’ to date mona instead which is. very weird.#some people just pick and choose aizo and mona interactions dont they. all they see is the umbrella scene and go ‘ah yes. canon’#they dont even read further to see how mona doesn’t even use the umbrella after aizo leaves (clear rejection)#a n d how aizo doesn’t even remember giving the umbrella to mona + mona’s entire existence in general after that#and that’s not even counting the grudge mona refuses to let go of even after what looks to be literal months#so for certain shippers to just casually shoo aizo out of the hiyoharem and into mona’s unwilling arms for the sake of yhy is. weird.#and like. shouldn’t he and yujiro have a say in this?? they’re more interested in each other than hiyo so just how are they being commonly#portrayed as hiyosimps in fanon? im so confused… like. wouldn’t they be equally obsessed with each other (as w/ hiyo) if they were a rstrio?#aaaaaa get this off my twtdash plsssssssss pls see this post twtapp pls let this affect your dumb algorithm im tired of the ship discourseee#as funny as the ‘lhy vs the world’ naval warfare is it’s getting. um. very annoying!!!! and now im missing nagisa more than ever s o b s#plsplsplsplsplsplsplsplspls influence the algorithm ragepost; ik big brother is 👀watching👀 so do your thing—#(pls feel free to duke it out with me too if y’all read this i need my birdsite algorithm to le a r n that i dont wanna see stuff like this)
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icewindandboringhorror · 3 months ago
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Recent ones of these even though they all look the same lol.. forcing myself to document progress..
#I can average like 2500 words a day for a while and then something gets in the way and I don't write for a week or something#which then sort of erases my previous Doing Good At Keeping Up With It lol.. but... alas#Still moving slowly forward...#There's a 'community board' place in game where you can go to look at a few things and some of whats there is little 'odd jobs' the player#can do for a little extra coin (since you can buy items in the game/might need coin).#Thhough of course since it's just interactive fiction/visual novel it's not like... actual minigames or something. Just like..#mini stories of your character going places and doing stuff and having some interactions with the other places in the world#Like for example since modern refrigerators don't exist in this world one of the odd jobs you can do is help with doing ice deliveries#or there's one odd job where you assist a guy recharging the city's main bell tower/time keeping place by helping him go around and replace#the iriminel crystals (kind of like magical batteries - stones that are able to store energy that way and be used to fuel passive#enchantments). or one where you help food prep for the cooks at a nearby automat. etc. etc.#Just little short things to get a better glimpse of how the wider city is outside of just interacting with the main characters. plus earn#a tiny bit of coin. Though because they're so short there's not really branching paths or anything much for choices beyond#usually an optional dialogye menu where you can talk to the person you're working with and ask them personal#or work related questions if inclined to do so. It'd be cool if they were more in depth but.......erugh...#I have so much writing left to do already lol.. Also since it's really just to get money I could have just had them#all be like a single sentence of 'you go here and you do this all day then you come home. + 15 coins. yaay' and thats all#So maybe it's a middle ground to elaborate upon them at all. Just enough extra details to maybe be a little interesting#like ''ooh my character is in a little cart riding through the misty morning forest on their way to deliver ice'' . but also not so much#that it takes away time from like... the literal actual main game lol#ANYWAY. That's what all these are. There are like 10 optional little world exploring/job things you can do. and each I guess seem to be#about 2.500 words ish. That's including the optional chatting menus though. but still. reasonable for a little side thing I guess.#I got finished with one character's quests and stuff so I decided to take a break to work on some of the other little things like the Odd#Jobs and the 8 characters you can find around the world to have short conversations with that aren't actual main characters either. etc.#Then I shall return back to the Main Actual Things. ... augh...... still so much to do...#Which I could also just cut everything extra out but... idk.. since it's mostly all text I feel the need to give more options to flesh out#the actual setting somehow. Since in a 3D game you can walk around and explore the world and stuff. And of course there#are pictures. but it would take me infinitely longer to do detailed art of so much of the entire city youre in or etc. So i guess my versio#of still having some amount of ''exploration'' is just.. set up optional paths where more of the world can at least be Described.#You can't actually walk through a 3d orchard. or an elaborate bell tower. or an elven shrine. But you can Read About being in them LOL
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calsvoid · 5 months ago
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charlie: i think i could go back to any of my past fandoms
charlie2: yeah same except [that one popular minecraft server that blew up in 2020 that i will not be naming not because im embarrassed but because tumblr likes to put what should be 0 note posts out to fans whenever i mention a fandom]
charlie: oh yeah right
#guess who’s who#paraphrasing because this happened at like three am for me and i have since slept#so no memory#me 🤝 charlie: that one bitchass fandom#listen was it my first time being more active in fandom and also my proper introduction to fanfiction#yes and i’m eternally grateful for that#will i ever be able to think about that fandom and the people involved without being uncomfortable#probably not#just everything that happened during and after my time in the fandom#it’s um a lot#any big fandom has its ups and downs but my god when you are the age that i was and finally branching out in fandom/social media#it feels just a tad bit overwhelming#and by that i mean i cried at least once from how stressful the fandom felt at times#the only friend i have from that fandom is charlie and we didn’t even meet because of it we just both ended up getting into it later on#stepping back though it’s a very interesting thing to think about in the way that i like to study any fandom#like having both the firsthand experience and hearing about it irghwhhs the analysis of it all would be beautiful#also disclaimer i do not support any of the people involved in that fandom#i either have a neutral or bad opinion of them#or nuance but whatever#i simply do not give a damn about them and celebrities in general#whatever they’ve done before and after the posting of this i am likely unaware of it or extremely aware of it#i find out news about these bitches from my friends#they are nowhere near my dash#so like with any public figure i don’t know shit#inspired by well you know
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killjoy-prince · 6 months ago
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Why are the second bad relationship ends hard to get for the deep route boys ughhhhhhhhhh
#prince's talk tag#i know why and imma explain it bc its pissing me off#in casual route and another story the story modes dont offer a lot of opportunities to get hearts from the characters#where with the deep route boys you're spending time with them and you get hearts from them regardless of your choices#whether the hearts lead to a good or bad story end is irrelevant for bad relationship ends bc youre getting hearts anyway#and since basically ever option gets me a heart and i cant pick too many bad choices without risking getting the bad story end#i end up on the good end route which is NOT what I want#getting their first bad relationship end is easy. just dont do the chats from days 5-7#& since i dont spend time with them outside the chat until i pass the first branch i dont have to worry about getting hearts in the vn mode#but the second bad relationship end happens on day 10 after having spent time with them either in his penthouse or her old apartment#so what i have to do is get JUST enough hearts to pass the first branch and then i guess mix up my answers enough in the story modes#to prevent me from getting the good end#bc a lot of options give me hearts. theres only a handful of options that dont#i dont wanna look up a walk through but ughhhhhh i might if this keeps up bc i cant keep wasting hourglasses dancing the bad end tango#did i even explain well why its harder to get the ends with deep route than casual and another story?#tl;dr is deep route boys have 3 days worth of story mode where you can get hearts from them even if you dont do the chats#so its not enough to just miss chats after the first branch u have to keep track of the hearts you get to make sure youre on the right path#casual and another story's story modes don't give out hearts even when you're talking to the characters so its easier to get the bad ends#i literally only need two more endings (one from each deep route boy) and im set. just give them to me pleaseeeeee#OH the crucial point i missed: i cant skip the story modes like i can the chats. im forced to do them. thats why im suffering#sorry my mind is everywhere lolol cant organize my thoughts well
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aquaglow · 11 days ago
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confidence guide for awkward girls 💫
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LEARN TO SHUT UP. this is the first advice because it is probably the most important one, but the one that took me the longest to comprehend and master. girl, literally just shutting the fuck up does wonders. most of the times I was embarrassed out of my mind was coz I said something completely avoidable, only because I believed that being quiet was either rude or more awkward than whatever I rambled at that moment. bzzt, WRONG! being quiet means first of all being non-reactive, which gives you time to really reflect on what's being said and whether or not it even requires a response, and guess what; like 80% of the time, it does not. you are allowed to not respond, nod along, go "hmm" or "oh!" and leave it at that.
LEARN TO "FAKE" SMILE. this may seem controversial but it helps me so much. I've always been accused of looking mean, bitchy or just too serious, especially since I started to shut the fuck up (see previous item). and I am guilty as charged: I do have a RBF and when I am focused my eyebrow goes ò_o and I look judgemental and almost evil, and when I tried to balance it out by being funny or witty, it just came off even more awkward. the solution? I've started practicing a fake smile in front of the mirror when I was about 13 years old until I got the muscle memory of it so perfectly that now it's my response to nearly everything that I don't want/can't respond to. throwing an easy smile into a conversation will make you seem relaxed and in control even if you're bubbling anxious inside, and people will feel more at ease with you. also: learn to be generous with compliments, and try to make them your auto-response as well!
STOP COMPARING YOURSELF. comparison is the mark of insecurity and envy, and it's one of the ugliest and most useless habits you can have. yes, useless: what benefit do you get from comparing your face and body and circumstances to somebody else's? and please don't pretend you're getting "inspiration" from them. listen, you are your own lane. you are your entire universe. there is no other life to be lived, no other body to embody. this is it. these are the cards you were dealt with. the longer you try to peak into somebody else's cards, the longer you'll be ignoring yourself and neglecting your game. abandon ideas such as comparison, imitation or judgement towards others. confidence starts and ends with focusing on yourself.
LEARN TO CUT PEOPLE OFF. accumulating people in your life like they're pokémon is gonna be your downfall, because it's obvious not everyone can stay. imagine if a growing tree held onto all its leaves and branches, even the ones in obvious decay, how ugly and weak that tree would be, how much energy those dying parts would steal from the new ones in need of flourishing. it's the same with relationships. when someone disrespects you, hurts you, or simply doesn't align with you anymore, and you find excuses to keep this person around, what you're doing is betraying yourself, and how are you gonna have confidence in someone who betrays you? learn to cut people off or to simply let them go, and watch yourself become lighter and brighter.
QUIT BEING A BITCH. something people don't seem to understand is that the rude, conceited, mean girl persona is always revealed to be a small, petty and insecure rat on the inside. I've wasted years of potential connections trying to emulate the Blair Waldorf-y, Regina George-y vibes, trying to balance out my awkwardness with what I thought was their fierceness, because I was missing the whole point that their confident selves were lies. no girl or woman who is confident in herself spends any amount of time being a bitch, scheming to take people down, minding everyone else's business to make sure she stays on top. true confident people are kind even in the face of rudeness, they glow in shadows; their strength lies in tenderness. the sooner you give this mean girl show up, the better.
ABANDON YOUR NEED FOR APPROVAL AND COMPREHENSION FROM OTHERS. seeking approval is a very obvious trap but seeking comprehension is also dangerous, because the second people start doubting or questioning you – which is always going to happen when you decide to make a change of habits, traits, lifestyle etc – and you decide to explain yourself, you're accepting the premise that what you're doing is incomprehensible. if you're truly sure of yourself, there will be no need to assure others of yourself. if your peers or strangers don't understand it, so what? that's their enigma to sort out. respond to yourself and yourself only. if you understand and approve yourself, that's all you need, period. live for your damn self.
GOOD LUCK, LITTLE STARS 💫
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megamindsecretlair · 4 months ago
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Can you please write an Aaron Pierre smut fic or love story? 🙏🏽
A/N: Ya'll don't get me started on this man. Just don't. I'm obsessed.
Wild
Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader
Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. PWP, cursing, PIV, fingering (female receiving) teasing, size kink, dirty talk, degradation kink if you squint, rough sex, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some, I'm rushing, just let me know.
Summary: You went on a small camping trip with Terry, who graciously helped to introduce you to hiking. After a critter destroys your tent, you stupidly volunteer to share his. Shouldn’t be too bad, right?
Word Count: 5,859k
AO3 Link
A/N: THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A DRABBLE. Don't ask for him no more! (kidding, kinda) I will never be normal about him. It just kept going. My shoulder has been on fire for the past two weeks so I'm taking a much needed break. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.
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You stepped carefully along the ground. You made sure not a twig nor rock slipped beneath your shoes as you picked your way through the thicket of trees. Terry gave you a head start, closing his eyes and turning around with a smug look on his face.
You’ll show him though. There was no way he could track you this time. The ground was dry, you didn’t step on anything, and you worked with intention. The goal was to get to the river before he could catch up to you.
So far, it had to have been at least fifteen minutes since he started counting. That was a good enough lead, right? 
You were distracted. But something had to keep your mind off of your pursuer. You and Terry had formed an easy friendship, seeing each other around the gym. When he mentioned hiking was a hobby of his, you mentioned that you wanted to get into it but wasn’t sure where to start.
You should have kept your mouth shut. Spending nearly every week up close and personal with him was a new level of personal hell. He was so damn pretty. You didn’t often call men pretty, because…well…but he was!
The most striking eyes ever rimmed in dark eyelashes as if he were wearing eyeliner. Wide nose and even wider lips. An adorable, incredible smile. You stepped behind a tree and paused for a moment, bending over to grab your knees. 
Fuck you were out of shape. And trying to keep up with Terry’s tall ass was a struggle. Beyond a struggle. For every step he took, you had to scurry behind. And he didn’t believe in breaks. Fuckin’ ex military. 
You breathed through your nose though that only made breathing difficult. Didn’t help that you were horny as hell either. You leaned up and pressed your back against the bark of the tree, hoping no critters tried to ride home with you.
You took off your hat and wiped your brow, looking at your surroundings. The woods itself had thick trees, fluffy leaves, and branches that stretched high in the sky. Dots of sunlight slanted, giving you a peek at the bright blue sky. Terry would call it quits soon. You pouted. This was the second mini camping trip you’d been on with him and you hadn’t been able to escape him.
You replaced your hat on your head and risked a glance behind you. No sign of Terry. Good. You grinned and took off again, picking carefully through the woods. The water was close. You could hear the current from where you were. 
Almost there, oop around that rock, and ahhh, almost stepped on a rock. Ha. In his gorgeous face. 
You almost laughed but it would give away your position. You pressed your hand to the nearest tree as you swung around it just as strong arms pushed you into the tree.
You screamed as Terry moved in behind you, pressing his chest against your back. “Found you,” he said. His voice was low and deep, emerging from somewhere deep in his wide chest.
You groaned and slapped the tree. “How the hell did you find me?” You asked.
Terry chuckled and stepped away from you. You missed the heat of his body already. You schooled your features and turned around with a smirk on your face. You folded your arms across your chest so he couldn’t see how hard you were gasping for air. For more than one reason.
“You’re loud as hell,” he said. 
“Was not! I was being quiet! I made sure I was!” 
Terry looped his fingers through his hiking backpack and tilted his head at you. “I’ve been following you for ten minutes,” he said.
You looked away, back the way you came. Shit. What did he hear? What did he see? You may or may not talk to yourself to get yourself through shit. You ran through the past ten minutes, trying to think of what you said or did or if you drew any attention to the horrible crush you had on him.
He had to know his appeal. But you didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable. You weren’t only friends with him because he was hot. That was loser shit. You genuinely valued his opinions, his outlook. You loved that he had a way of making everyone at ease with just a few quiet words or a playful look. 
But that goddamn body. You looked back towards his face, because if you looked at his shirt, dripping with sweat, you’d combust on the spot. Terry smirked as if he could read your thoughts and pointed the way you came.
“You have to be aware of your surroundings if you do find yourself in a situation like this. It’s not about being quiet. It’s about moving fast, moving smart, and trust nothing,” he said.
You put your hands on your hips and pouted. “One of these days you’re not gonna be able to catch me,” you said.
He chuckled. “I’d still catch you,” he said. He smirked and turned around, heading into the woods, away from the water. 
You’d just have to train when he wasn’t around being a distraction. You sighed, trying to not let the sting of failure drag you into the dumps. You walked behind him, your consolation prize being his nice, gorgeous ass. 
He wore camo pants and a gray t-shirt, hiking boots, and tall thick socks. The pants really showed off his assets. You bit your lip imagining what it’d be like pressed up against all that piece of man. 
“Keep up!” He barked out. You huffed and whined, jogging to catch up to him.
“You do know you’re like, eight feet tall right?” You asked.
He looked at you out of the corner of his eye, giving him an animalistic side eye. His eyes were lethal. Your breathing stuttered and you hoped he didn’t hear it because god. “And you must be part lion? Part tiger? Yo ass ain’t natural,” you said, hoping to diffuse whatever spell he managed to weave whenever he trained those eyes on you. 
Terry chuckled. “You trynna say I’m not human?” 
You didn’t answer right away, only because you were trying not to huff and puff as you talked. You needed your inhaler, but you also left it in your tent. Yes, yes, you knew it was a dumb move. But hell, there was nothing more embarrassing than having to stand there and use it.
“I mean…” you said, letting the sentence dangle.
Terry gave you that side eye again, his mouth twisted in a frown. You gave him an innocent smile back, batting your eyes all innocent-like. Terry only shook his head, the corners of his mouth drifting down as he tried to hide a smile. 
You walked together in silence, grateful if only because your lungs were burning. When you decided to go on this journey of getting in shape and getting your mind right, you never thought you’d be in the woods. Let alone with someone like Terry. 
He was competent, knowing so much about living off the grid and being prepared. He carried all kinds of tools with him. You had a thirst for knowledge, asking him a million questions. He answered every single one too. If you could clone him and pass him out like candy to your friends, you would. There needed to be more men like him. 
A trail of ripped paper littered the ground like patches of snow in the middle of fall. “No,” you gasped.
You sped up as Terry’s hands shot out to stop you, but you pushed past him, running towards your campground. Your tent was on the far left, torn to pieces and ripped apart. Your journal had been shredded, ripped apart by some kind of animal. Your clothes were thrown about.
You were only out here for a day and night, getting a tiny taste of camping thanks to Terry. You’d never been. Growing up an inner city kid, Black parents didn’t play that shit. The school yard was your jungle. You were threatened with going to stay out in the woods if you didn’t like living under their roof. It wasn’t a regular occurrence for you or your friends growing up. 
The small fire pit had been picked over as well. You made a wailing sound as you tried to gather up the ripped pieces of paper. All those memories gone. All those feelings torn up. Some pieces flew with the breeze and you took off your own backpack, trying hard not to cry.
“You can’t run ahead like that. What if it was dangerous?” Terry scolded you. His voice got deeper, eyes narrow. He bent down to help you pick up the pieces of paper.
“Please, don’t! I got it,” you said. Perhaps a bit harsher than necessary. You weren’t going to cry. It was a minor setback. Things happened. You play stupid games and you won stupid prizes. 
Perhaps your parents were right. You should’ve kept your ass inside. Without all these damn bugs, and twigs, and fucking leaves tangling in your braids. 
Terry busied himself with picking through your tent, analyzing what may have happened. Home. When you got home, you would be able to break down. Not here. Not with Terry right there. His ass didn’t skip a beat.
“Might’ve been a bear. Or something similar looking for food,” he shouted over his shoulder.
You nodded but weren’t sure if he saw you. You only wanted to clean up your mess. You had so many ideas you wanted to jot down when you got back. So many observations, thoughts that raced through your mind on your hike. Now those thoughts would be gone too. Terry’s one rule this morning was no cellphone. 
You could do a day without it. Boy, were you wrong. You made a mental note to keep your journal with you from now on. Or start carrying a smaller notebook for bullet points and then journal at home, like a sane woman.
“You can take my tent. I’ll sleep out here and make sure nothing circles back,” he said.
You stopped from grabbing the last piece of torn paper from a bush nearby and turned to face him. “I won’t make you do that,” you said.
Terry stood up and dusted his hands, unstrapping his back from across his chest. “I didn’t ask,” he said.
You snagged the last piece and carried your pathetic pile to your ruined tent. You liked that tent. You just bought that tent. Did the fucking bear think money grew on trees? You kicked at the black and orange heap and faced Terry.
“I didn’t either,” you said. 
Terry watched you with those deadly eyes as he dropped his bag to the ground. He used the bottom of his shirt to clean his sweaty face. Damn. His words drew your attention back to his face. “I’ve been trained to survive outdoors. You haven’t.” 
You tucked the pile of paper into your ruined tent and then faced him once more. Terry was about to meet a hard rock. “Don’t start with the macho act, okay? We’re adults. I’m not making you stay outside while I’m tucked away all nice and toasty in your tent,” you said.
A smile curved his lips as he stepped closer, using his height to his advantage. You had to look up otherwise you’d just be staring at his chest. You stood your ground and tilted your head. He may have the advantage. He may be just as stubborn as you were. But you did not back down. Ever. Some called it a toxic trait but there were other ways to survive. Everybody had something.
Terry’s eyes were even more dangerous up close. Not quite blue. Not quite brown. Some mix of the two that was hypnotizing in the way he coldly assessed you. You didn’t know what he was thinking. His poker face was lethal. Not a hint or a clue.
“What do you suggest, then?” He asked.
A hotel, a shower, a bed, twenty four hours, and a bottle of lotion. But that was neither here nor there. You licked your lips and blinked at him. “We can share. Or do you not want my cooties in your tent?” You asked.
That surprised a laugh out of Terry. He shook his head. “Fine. But I snuggle in my sleep,” he said. 
His jaw flexed. He looked expectantly at you, lifting an eyebrow like he expected you to back down. You only raised your chin. “Good, I get cold at night,” you said.
He blinked slowly and nodded, rocking back on his heels before stepping away. “I’ll help with your tent then, before we lose the light,” he said.
When he turned around, you sighed quietly. Shaking out your sweaty palms. Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod. What the hell did you do that for? 
You berated yourself as you and Terry worked as a team, removing your items from inside and rolling up your tent. He secured it with rope from inside his backpack and you had a wayward thought that made you laugh out loud.
Terry had knelt on the ground, one knee up, as he secured your tent. He looked up at your laugh and you waved him off. 
“What is it?” He asked, a small smile on his lips.
“Nothing, it’s stupid,” you said.
“I want to know,” he said.
You pinched your lips, wondering if you should say. Aw hell, you had to get it out now otherwise you’d be giggling in your sleep all night. “You kind of remind me of Dora,” you said.
“The kid’s show?” He asked.
You nodded and tried to hold in the laugh, but your stomach cramped from trying. His expression only made it worse as he stared at you like you were crazy. Maybe you were. Maybe you didn’t need to be in a tent with him all night. 
Terry chuckled and shook his head. “Magic backpack?” He asked.
You nodded and burst into laughter. His eyes narrowed but he smiled at you. “Come on, giggles, we’re not done,” he said.
“Work, work, work, is that all you think about?” You asked.
“No,” he said, his voice low and soft. You tilted your head at him and he gave you a funny look. Assessing you again. He didn’t elaborate further as he moved your sleeping bag inside of his tent.
“I’ll roll mine in a bit. Let’s clean this up some more before we hit the stream,” he said.
You thought about look on his face as you cleaned up around the campfire. There was no food to be found, so whatever creature or critter that did it, just made a whole lot of mess for nothing. 
You threw away your journal pages into the small trash bag Terry had tied high in the tree above your campground. He secured it back in place after getting it down for you, gifting you with a side view of his abs. Good god, the man was built in all the right ways. God took his time with this one.
Nice and clean with only one tent now, Terry let you go to the stream to freshen up first. The woods lacked fresh amenities but it was one of those parks that did have strategically placed rest areas. You handled business and then went down to the small stream a ways down from the campsite.
It was within shouting distance and you used the fresh water to clean the sweat from your body. You returned, feeling much better now that your skin wasn’t so sticky. Terry went next, disappearing from view and already lifting his shirt.
You took a risky glance over your shoulder, admiring the cut of his back as he stalked through the woods. His narrow hips moved with ease, ass in full view. Your mouth watered as your canine caught on your lower lip. You’d eat that man alive if given half the chance.
Terry’s head was on a swivel, looking around just on GP. You hurriedly looked away, grabbing your inhaler from your pocket. You retrieved it during clean up but was too nervous to use it in front of him.
Lot of good it did you now, but you took two deep puffs to clean all this fresh air from your lungs. The one thing you did not have in common with your ancestors was a major love of the outdoors. Fuck the air and nature. Give you a hot bath and TV any day of the week. 
Terry returned and you eased into conversation, talking about your families as the light disappeared. Terry started a fire, stoking it with a stick. You talked about life goals, hobbies, or anything really. Watched as he moved, talked, or the way he laughed. Listening to his voice was soothing. Welcoming. Terry caught fish in the river earlier and cooked it over that fire when it was good and ready. 
You yawned one too many times and Terry chuckled. “Head inside, I’ll do one last check,” he said.
“We didn’t get to tell any scary stories,” you said.
Terry shook his head and smiled. He was already dimming the fire, carefully stamping out hot rocks in the pit he built. Watching that man build a fire shouldn’t have got you that hot and bothered but it did.
“Next time, if you’re up for it.”
“You never stop, huh?” You asked, sleepily. 
Terry shrugged. “Not much to slow down for,” he said. He looked at you over the fire. The light from the flames danced across his skin, making him seem even more otherworldly. An understanding passed between you and you nodded, getting up without issue. 
You patted his shoulder, understanding the note of loss in his voice. You’d been there. You didn’t understand his pain, but you understood loss all the same. You took a deep breath before heading inside his tent.
It smelled like him. Like all, pure male. You whimpered, climbing on top of your sleeping bag. He had a nice tent. Much nicer than yours, even though his was well used. It had been folded and unfolded so many times, the grooves were permanent at this point. 
His sleeping bag was brown and looked more like a blanket compared to yours. Did his big ass even fit inside of a sleeping bag? How did he normally sleep? Did he have a bed big enough to hold him? Did he sleep sideways?
You were only half sure that he was playing when he said he snuggled in his sleep. He never mentioned a girlfriend or a wife. Did he have big pillows to snuggle? You stared at the domed ceiling of the tent, picturing what Terry looked like at rest. 
It only made your pussy flutter picturing his smooth, dark skin. Eyes closed. Mouth slightly parted. Did he snore? You probably should have asked that before volunteering to share a tent with him.
The rustle of Terry entering the tent made you shriek and sit up, like you were caught with your hand in a cookie jar. Terry stopped at the entrance and looked at you. “Just me. Do you want me to stay outside?” 
“No. Um. I was just thinking,” you said. Thinking about sucking that –
“Are you sure?” 
“Yes,” you said, quietly. 
You couldn’t see his face now that the fire was out. He was just a solid wall of black, crab-walking into the tent and then zipping it up behind him. You were acutely aware of every move he made. Every sigh. Every huff of breath.
“Go to sleep,” he said.
“How the hell do you know I’m still awake?” You asked.
“You’re too loud,” he said. 
You could hear the smile in his voice and you rolled your eyes. “Heard that too,” he said.
“Oh, shut it!” You said, rolling over to your side. Terry chuckled as he climbed into his sleeping bag. 
You shut your eyes and focused on your breathing, focused on falling asleep. Terry made it surprisingly easy. His gentle breathing was its own type of sound machine, lulling you to sleep along with the crickets outside. The soft hum of the water nearby. Before you knew it, you were out like a light.
Rustling jerked you awake. It was hard to truly knock out in the middle of nowhere, next to someone like Terry, and not still be keen to every single sound. You were feeling hot as hell, like you woke up in a sauna.
Terry’s arms were wrapped around you and you were snuggled up under his neck, inhaling his deep masculine scent. You cracked an eye open, though you still couldn’t see. Pitch black outside and inside the tent.
Terry hummed as more rustling turned your attention from the fact that he really did snuggle in his sleep. The noise made your heart speed up, clogged up your throat, made it hard to breathe.
Terry tightened his arms around you and drew his face down until his mouth was against your cheek. “Shh,” he said, too quiet. You didn’t think him capable.
He extracted himself from you, moving in a way that didn’t make noise at all. He even managed to unzip the tent without making a sound. He only unzipped it far enough to peek out.
You weren’t a damn damsel in distress. So you rolled over, not as quiet as him, and joined him at the entrance. There was enough light from the moon to cast a low glow over the campsite. There was nothing truly out there, but the rustling continued. The sound increased, and got closer and closer.
Your hand flew to Terry’s exposed knee, gripping on for dear life as an actual deer walked out of bushes and sniffed the air. You sighed, deflating against Terry’s side. Terry sighed as well, unzipping the tent more to get a good look. 
The both of you watched the deer nose around the campsite, likely following the smell of Terry’s good cooking. It’s ears swayed back and forth, picking through nothing as Terry was meticulous about cleaning up after himself.
“You were scared,” he whispered, shaking his head.
“So were you!” You fired back.
“Nah, I was good,” he said.
“You liar,” you said, with a chuckle.
“It’s okay if you were scared, you know,” he said. 
“Ain’t nobody scared of no damn deer. And ain’t nobody need your protection,” you said. You poked him in his chest. When did he find a chance to ditch his shirt? You had been snuggled next to that hunk of meat and he didn’t have a shirt on?!
“No?” Terry leaned over, his lips grazing your ear. “Go out there and say hi.” He tried to push you out of the tent and you fought him, trying not to spook the deer. One wrong move and the deer took off.
You giggled as you wrestled with Terry. He was so big, you didn’t stand a chance. It didn’t take much effort to subdue you, but you bucked and wrestled for control. No dice. Terry laughed as he pinned you beneath him, legs spread wide as he scooted in and leaned down close to your face.
“Give up?” He asked.
“Like hell,” you said. You had siblings. You knew how to scrap. Yet, all you did was rub your body against his growing bulge. 
You stopped wrestling for control. Your breaths were harsh and loud in the stillness of the tent. Terry’s chest rose and fell but he wasn’t as loud as you. You stopped struggling against his hold, letting him pin your wrists to the ground above your head.
“Hmm,” he hummed, a rumbling sound low in his chest. “Ain’t that better?” 
“Terry?” You asked.
“Mhm,” he said, leaning down to rub his stubble across your chin. 
“Kiss me,” you said.
Terry leaned up and kissed you. You moaned into his mouth. His lips were just as juicy, just as lush. Soft to the touch. And he was an expert. Kissing, retreating, licking, retreating, biting, retreating. He drove you wild, not giving an inch. Not giving you any wiggle room.
He completely caged you beneath him. Beneath the heaviness of him. He still had your wrists pinned, so you weren’t able to touch him like you wanted. You weren’t the type to be agreeable for agreeable’s sake.
Terry growled at your attempts to shake his hold. Shake his control. He bit your lip, hard, and you cried out, ending on a moan. He licked the sting away, kissing down your jaw and to your neck.
“Fuck do you do to me?” He asked, more to himself as he kissed and explored your skin. He ground his bulge into your pussy and you whimpered, wrapping your legs around his waist.
Just as he showed you in training, you managed to buck your hips and flip him over. You wailed in triumph, not actually believing that would work. Your breaths were harsh, wild, as you finally got to touch him. Your hands roamed over his broad, warm chest. He took great care of his body.
In a lightning quick move, Terry grabbed your arm and flipped you over to your stomach. He grabbed both of your wrists and pinned them behind your back. You cried out from the force, but it was welcome. Inviting a rush of heat to flow through you, straight to your dripping pussy. You moaned as Terry dropped his weight on top of you.
His dick aligned with your ass and you tucked it higher. He grunted and slapped your ass. “Ow!” You yelled, more from surprise. Though the fucker did hurt. With hands as large as his, he managed to cover a wide area of your ass. Leaving behind a burning sting that only made you wiggle your ass against him.
“Fighting only turns me on, princess,” he said. He leaned down to your ear and growled. He sounded damn near like a lion. “Give up?” He nibbled on your ear.
“Fuck no,” you said and giggled. 
Terry moved your wrists to one hand, then used his free hand to pull your joggers down over your ass. You whimpered as he caressed your booty, intentionally missing the heated core of you. 
You moaned, trying to wiggle your ass where you needed him most. All these months of pining, of wanting, of yearning, were coming to a head. All those times training, working beside him, tangling with him were catching up to you, Making you feel like you were going to burn to a crisp.
“Use them big girl words and tell me what you want,” he said.
You arched your back. Begging, crying whimpers escaping you as his big fingers skirted the outer edge of your pussy. The smell of your arousal permeated the tent. There was no way to deny how turned on you were. If you could just, wiggle, and move a little to the left–
Terry slapped your ass. “What did I say?” He asked.
You groaned. “Fuck me!” Your horniness won this round.
Terry chuckled evilly, plunging his fingers into your dripping wet hole. You both moaned at the contact. He went knuckles deep with no resistance. He wiggled two fingers inside of you, making you moan loudly like a slut. 
“Was that so hard?” He asked, whispering in your ear as he continued to finger fuck you. He fingered you with all the precision he was known for. Immediately making you grind on his fingers. 
“You can do better than that. Get that shit you want so bad,” he said. He mocked you, he teased you. Every cry or whimper that came out of your mouth, he responded with an evil chuckle or a moan of his own in your ear.
It was always followed randomly by a growl in his chest. The intimacy of the dark and the wet sucking of your pussy drove you closer to that climax. Barreled into it. Crashed into it. You screamed, loud, calling his name as that climax slammed into you like a truck.
“There it is. Shit feel good, don’t it?” He asked.
You nodded your head, forgetting for a moment that it was dark and he couldn’t see you. He released your wrists and then grabbed a handful of your braids, yanking your head back. “Don’t it?” He asked.
“Yesss,” you moaned, biting your lip and rubbing your ass against him. “Oh, fuck me, baby. Now.”
Terry chuckled, smacking your ass. “As much as I want to, I don’t have a condom,” he said. 
“I’m clean. On the pill,” you said. Thank god for that. There was no way you’d be able to sleep tonight without the feel of him inside of you. 
“Are you sure?” He asked.
You nodded, feeling your braids pull as it was still trapped in his tight grip. Terry chuckled. There was the sound of sucking. He moaned. “Taste good. Can’t wait to get back home and spread you on my bed. Hmm, maybe my dining table. Eat you like the good fuckin’ meal you are,” he said. 
He moved behind you, lowering his pants. He groaned, rubbing his dick against your folds. Oh shit. He was working with a third leg. “Oh shit, Terry,” you moaned. Your belly ached. Hollowed out. You were so empty. 
“You’ve been driving me crazy wearing those leggings. And that skirt you wore last week?” Terry talked as he rubbed his dick between your legs. You shook. Terrified of taking all that but knew you had to try. Had to relax and let the master work. 
“What took you so fuckin’ long?” You asked. 
Terry chuckled and smacked your ass, pulling your braids back. You moaned, back arching even more. “That little attitude of yours,” he said. 
“Fuck y–”
Terry pushed into your wet heat, cutting off all words. You reached back, trying to grab onto him. He smacked your hand away and pushed in further, gaining more and more inches inside of you.
Your legs shook. You whimpered as he retreated and then slammed back inside. He sunk further in, stretching you, molding you around his dick. “Oh god, oh fuck, oh god,” you moaned. The delicious burn was too much. Not enough.
Terry moaned, grabbing your hip and pulling you further onto his dick. You didn’t think he could fit inside any more. Surely, he bottomed out by now? 
“Not so tough with some dick in you,” Terry mocked. 
To prevent you from saying something smart, Terry moved with earnest. His stroke game was as intense as the man himself. His strokes were brutal. Punishing. He groaned with every slide inside of you, making your thighs tingle with pleasure.
“Slam that shit back,” he said. 
You placed your hands on the ground and threw it back on him, rising up to meet each of his thrusts. Each of his long strokes. Accepting his dick. Accepting everything he gave you.
“Terry! Oh, you fuck me so well,” you said. You sniffled, screaming with every thrust.
Terry chuckled. “I know. Spread your legs wider,” he said.
He stopped stroking so that you could spread your legs more. You moved your feet to the outer edges of his legs. He pushed down on your back, releasing your braids so that you could fall forward. He raised your hips, moving you, manhandling you. 
Fuck, it felt so right. So good. So natural to be on your knees, ass up in the air, while he went to work. Terry grabbed your hips and moved you one last time. Then, he slammed inside in one rough thrust. You leaned forward, but he snatched you right back.
“Naw, naw. Where you going?” He moaned.
You moaned back, throwing it back but quickly losing the fight. This wasn’t some little man you let fuck you. This was a grown ass man. Secure in his businesses.
“Fuck, you feel good. So wet. I can barely stay inside of you,” he said. He cursed as he slammed into you like he truly wanted.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck. Terry! Terry! Sh-shh–oh that’s my spot,” you said. He brushed up against a deep spot inside of you. You thought it was a myth. You thought that shit didn’t exist. Terry found it without even trying.
“That’s your spot?” He asked. His deep voice made everything sound more filthy. More lewd. 
“That’s my spot!” You squealed. 
“That’s my spot now,” he said. No more words were spoken as he hit that spot over and over. 
Incoherent noises and sounds dribbled from your mouth. Perhaps some spit too. Your essence dripped out of you, flooding his dick as he didn’t let up. Didn’t stop. Kept hitting your spot like he was at target practice and he was showing out for the crowd. 
“Oh I’m gonna-I’m-gonna–”
“Cum on this dick. Let me feel it. Let it go,” he cooed to you.
There was a storm gathering inside of you. It almost felt like you had to pee. “Wait-” 
Terry moaned. Your cries turned to pleas. It both felt good and sort of hurt. “Uhngf-” You exploded, wailed to the high heavens as you came and squirted. “OH SHIT!”
Terry was saying something but you couldn’t hear over the sound of your yelling. Your pussy gripped onto him, locked him in, as you came and came. Terry smacked your ass and then thrust one last time before erupting with his own climax. He stuffed you completely.
Hot, thick pulses of cum throbbed inside of you. Your thighs shook. Your body twitched. Your eyes watered. You dissolved into a steaming pile of person as your eyes crossed with intense, whitehot pleasure.
Terry grunted and dropped forward, pushing you onto your sleeping bag. He kissed your damp pajama shirt. Both of you were huffing, out of breath. Thank god for your inhaler. Your lungs would be nonexistent right now. 
Terry softened by degrees, enough for him to pull out. You moaned as his cum leaked out. Like his dick was a plug keeping it all inside. 
“That’s never happened before,” you mumbled. Suddenly feeling shy and embarrassed. You ought to know what that felt like. Yet, it completely caught you off guard.
Terry maneuvered in the dark until he was able to pull you off of your sleeping bag and onto his where it was dry. He rubbed your arms and shoulders. Then, he grabbed your chin and pulled you into a searing kiss.
“I’m honored I drew it out of you,” he said. “Wait till I do it again.”
“Again! Not with that monster!” You yelled and tapped his chest. Terry’s rumbling laugh was everything you needed to hear. 
He pulled you closer, growling playfully and nipping at your skin. You giggled, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. “Again and again and again,” he said, kissing and nibbling at you with every word while you shrieked into the night with laughter.
The end.
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Who am I kidding? Of course there will be more! The Secret Terry Richmond Files
Taglist: @planetblaque @chaos-4baby @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide
@browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @00aijia00
@judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi @xo-goldengirl @superhoeva
@avoidthings @lovedlover
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imaginedisish · 5 months ago
Text
Savior Complex (Logan Howlett x fem!Reader)
A/N: Hey guys! Here is the request I said I'd write. I hope it's what the anon wanted. It's quite long...and maybe a little different than my other Logan works...so I hope you guys enjoy. Inspired (obviously), by "Savior Complex" by Phoebe Bridgers.
Summary: You are willing to give up everything, including your own life, to save your found family. Logan, however, is not willing to let you do that. And he finally shows you why.
Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI!!! Unprotected PIV (wrap it up), Oral (f!receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, friends to lovers, hurt to comfort, mutant!reader, omega!mutant!reader, fem!reader/afab!reader, allusions to death, canon typical violence, cursing, likely some grammatical errors, and I think that's it.
Word Count: 4,549 eeeeeesssshhhh
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“Stay down!” Logan yells, his body hunched over yours, shielding you against the trunk of a thick tree. 
You try to push him away. “We need to move!” You protest, shoving at him to no avail. He’s more solid than the tree at your back, firm, unwavering. Bullets fly overhead, swishing through the air. You listen to the sounds of triggers clicking and guns cracking. “I need to get out there!”
Logan presses himself further into you, his chest flush with yours. “You are not going anywhere,” he spits, his eyes trained on you. He’s studying every shift in your expression, every twitch in your shoulders and every flinch you make at the firing of a gun in the distance. 
“Logan,” you say, trying to stand up straight, to force yourself from his hold. You raise your voice. “I’m going out there, and you are not stopping me.” You brace your hands at your sides, ready to use your powers if necessary. “Now is not the time to be the overbearing, protective friend, okay?”
Logan refuses to let up, unleashing his claws and digging them into the tree on either side of your body, caging you in, trapping you in place. “Well, isn’t that just too bad?” He mutters cockily, that shit-eating grin spread across his face. “Because I’m not going anywhere, princess.” 
You swallow, flexing your palms, stretching your fingers down to the ground. “I’ll give you one second to reconsider that decision.” 
He laughs, too self-assured for his own good. “And what are you gonna do—”
“Sorry, bub,” you chide, sarcasm heavy in your voice as you interrupt him. “But your second is up.” You shut your eyes, reaching towards the ground. Thin, black shadows—spirits—slip up through the blades of grass, nipping at Logan’s legs, wrapping around his ankles tightly. 
He looks down as the shadows pull him away from the tree, his claws slipping from the bark with little to no resistance. More shadows emerge, twirling around his wrists and yanking them down to his sides. 
“No!” He protests, thrashing as you step away from him. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He cries out, trying his best to break free from the tight hold of the shadows. 
“Using my powers,” you say nonchalantly, putting some distance between you and Logan as you step backward. You smile. “Spirit weaving. Started calling it that the other day, actually!” You’re gloating off now, showing off, manipulating the spirits to tighten around him. 
You can see the irritation on his face—the fury written across his furrowed brow. “Oh! How cool!” He is far beyond sardonic—his voice a mocking jeer. “Now let me fucking go!”
You purse your lips, pretending to consider the thought as you backpedal through the surrounding trees. “Yeah…” you trail off. “I don’t think so. Think I gotta get a head start first.” 
And then you make a break for it, sprinting through the trees, cracking the branches scattered along the forest floor. You can see the mansion in the distance, the government agents rounding up the children. The sight sets off something deep inside you. You can feel the anger in your heart, squeezing tightly, dread filling your stomach. You’ve let go of your hold on Logan, your focus now on something far more important. 
You have to save the school. Your friends. Your family. You’re not an Omega-level mutant for nothing, after all. 
You take a step closer to the school, grass dying underneath your feet as your boots tread along the ground—the bright green blades turn brown as you give in to your anger. Somewhere in the distance, a familiar voice calls your name, but it’s too late for that—too late to stop you now. Your eyes flicker closed and open again, changing colors as your powers take control: your left eye white and your right black—representing life and death.
My dear, Charles is suddenly your head. You must restrain yourself. You must back down. 
“No,” you call out, your voice multi-dimensional, bassy and high, light and heavy. “It is time they learn we are not to be taken advantage of.” 
It is too dangerous, my child, his voice bounces around your mind. Charles works hard to convince you, showing you visions of your death, of the potential consequences of your actions. This is not you. This is your anger. 
“I know what I’m doing,” you protest, your voice echoing across the field. 
The agents watch as you stalk across the lawn, spirits following closely at your ankles like a thick, massive cloud of black smoke. 
Your name rings out from behind you. You can feel the tug of the familiar voice, the desire to turn around and see that face, to hear him call your name again. But you stifle the feelings down, struggling to ignore the way your heart begs to see him—Logan. You can feel yourself caught in the middle, split in two. 
A tear slips down your cheek as you walk forward, closer to the agents. Their guns point at you—hundreds of fingers on triggers, aiming carefully with squinting eyes. You can see they’re no longer paying attention to the children. You’ve given the students their chance—their way out. You can see it in their faces; they know. They’re just waiting for your signal. 
Spirits cloud your fists, climbing into your palms, eager for a fight. You bend your knees, digging your heels into the ground. The grass between you and the government agents has long since died. You can feel the tension, feel the spirits rumbling in the air and in your hands. 
“You wanted a fight…” You pause, your voice a crack of thunder. “I’ll give you a fucking fight.” The spirits whisper in your ears, their hums filling the air. They aren’t dead; they’re drumming, living things. It’s time. Oh yes, it’s time. Go! 
“Now run!” You scream to the children, unleashing the spirits across the lawn. You sprint across the field, black shadows knocking the agents over and throwing them away. You guide the spirits with your mind, directing them with the flick of your wrist and the point of your finger. 
You’re bloodthirsty, searching for the mission’s organizer, hunting tirelessly for their leader. The spirits know what you want—what you need—and swarm around a man at the back of the lawn—the man following the children. 
The spirits pick you up by your knees and your shoulders, lifting you into the air and towards the man. You fall to the ground right behind him. 
You smirk hatefully, extending your fingers toward his ankles. Shadows surge him, threading around his legs, twisting up his stomach, and wrapping tightly around his throat. 
“W-who the fuck are you?” The agent chokes out. 
You cock your head to the side, grinning widely. The spirits goad you along. Tap his little head. You know you want to. Take his life. Go on. Take it. One tap to his temple—that’s all it would take—and his life would be yours. It’s something you’ve never done before, something you’ve been able to resist in the past. But this time, you can’t help it. 
“Who am I?” You repeat condescendingly, laughing manically. You lift your hand, inching closer to his forehead. “I,” you pause, your fingertips brushing against his skin. “Am death.” Your white eye flickers out, turning pitch black. 
This is what the Professor had always been afraid of. 
“Don’t!” There’s that voice again, tugging at your heart. “Please, don’t.” 
You keep your hold on the agent as you turn around. Logan. He’s in front of you now, approaching you slowly. Behind him, spirits wreck the other government agents, sweeping them up, throwing them away, holding them down. The other X-Men fight off the few remaining agents easily. 
“I am going to finish this,” you say, struggling to hold on to your powers. Your hatred and anger fade at the sight of Logan—wearing the uniform he said he never would, his hair a disheveled mess, his hand slowly extending out to you. 
He shakes his head, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “It’s already over,” he says firmly, taking your hand. You turn around and see that the government agent is passed out on the ground, likely from the pressure of the spirits choking his throat. 
“If you hold on any longer, you’re gonna hurt yourself, princess.” Your eyes flicker at the nickname, your grip loosening on your powers. You can feel yourself slipping, fading away. 
“H-have to f-finish the job,” you stutter, fighting against that tear in your heart. 
Logan pulls you towards him, his thumb brushing soft circles to the top of your hand. “Think you already did, sweetheart.”
“N-no, she didn’t,” you hear a voice mutter from behind you. BANG! A gun cracks, and there’s suddenly a stinging sensation in your side. You turn, and the government agent is freed from your hold, his gun aimed at your head now. 
“NO!” Logan shouts, but you ignore him, your powers flooding back to you. The spirits swarm the agent again, winding up his body and holding him in place. The shadows trail up your body too, coming to where the bullet hit your side and pulling the metal shell out. 
You fight through the pain, pressing your pointer and middle fingers to the temple of the agent’s head. “This might hurt a bit,” you mumble, taking a deep breath and stealing his life force. “Just taking retribution.” His veins darken as your wound closes, taking only enough of the man’s life to heal yourself. 
You sigh with relief as the wound becomes nothing. You lift your fingers from the agent’s head, and he slumps down to the ground. He’s truly incapacitated now, passed out cold.
You turn around, and Logan is still standing there. He approaches you again. You suddenly feel overwhelmed and woozy. It was too much, you realize. 
Your eyes flicker again—black, white, normal, shifting quickly, shakily, like power going out in a thunderstorm. “L-Logan,” you stammer, hunching over, your hands on your thighs. He crouches down, letting you lean into him. 
“Hey,” he whispers reassuringly—but you can hear the secret panic in his voice. “I’ve got you.” 
The others call your name in the distance. 
“I did it,” you whisper. 
The spirits disappear from the field, slipping back under the ground. 
Logan’s eyes are glossed over. “Yeah, you did sweetheart.” You fall fully into Logan, his arms wrapping around you, a single tear slipping down his cheek. 
And then everything goes black. 
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Still in here, Logan?” It’s Charles.
“Yeah,” Logan’s voice is raspy, tired. And it’s close, like you could reach out and strum the sound waves. “Are the kids okay?”
“They’re all safe and accounted for,” Charles says. “And Hank is handling the government side of things. It was an unsanctioned attack.” Silence settles over the room, the pause strained and tense. “She’s going to be okay. You should get some rest.”
“I’m staying.” 
“Logan—”
“I said I’m staying.” And then the door shuts. 
Your eyes slowly open, and you realize you’re back in the mansion—in your room, your bed. Logan notices immediately, standing from the chair next to your bed and rushing to your side. 
“Hey,” he soothes, his hand reaching out, gently cupping your cheek. You lean into his touch involuntarily. It’s an instinct—something you simply have to do. “You’re awake.”
“No visit to the lab for me, huh?” You joke, sitting up a bit as your memories flood back to you. You’re surprised that you don’t feel any injuries or soreness. 
Logan swallows nervously. “You were…” he trails off, his eyes searching yours. “Earlier. All day, actually.” His thumb brushes against your cheek. “Everyone was worried about you.” 
You shake your head, smiling softly. “I’m alright. I don’t feel a thing.” 
But Logan isn’t swayed. You can see the fear in his eyes, the stress in his shoulders. “You should’ve let me hold you back.” He’s serious, his voice firm and steady. “You could’ve gotten hurt…” He struggles to get the words out, his eyes grazing up and down your body. “You could’ve died.”
“Logan,” you mumble, sitting up. “I did what I did because I had to,” you pause, your heart squeezing at the look on his face. “I’d give my life for this family. I would—”
“You’re not giving your life for anything; do you hear me?” He cuts you off, furrowing his brows, his other hand cupping your cheek now, too. 
You close your eyes at the feeling of his touch, the warmth of his palms. “I would give my life to save you.” The words slip freely from your lips. You’re so sure of that fact, so impossibly certain. 
He pulls you closer to him, his hands sliding from your face to the nape of your neck. “I won’t let that happen.” 
“Logan I will always—”
But he cuts off your protests. “Enough of your fucking savior complex.” His voice is shaky now. He pulls you into his chest, and you let him. His arms slip down your back, pressing you tightly to him. His lips are at the shell of your ear. “I am not losing you.” 
The vulnerability of his words shocks you, your breath catching in your throat. “You won’t,” you promise, burying your face into the center of his chest. 
“I almost did,” he chokes out, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of your head. His words kill you, your heart aching at the sadness in his voice. 
You lift your head from his chest, looking up at him as he looks down at you. He’s massive, towering over you. You can smell him on your clothes, on your skin—tobacco and pine and musk. There’s a shift in his expression, in the tension in the room. His chest heaves under his beater. 
“I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, your hands sliding up his stomach, trailing over his abs. He relaxes into your touch, the stress leaving his shoulders. He leans over you, his forehead pressing to yours. The contact and the closeness are dizzying, your mind hazy as Logan’s fingertips ghost the sides of your waist.  
He swallows harshly as his lips brush against yours—a whisper of a kiss. “Wouldn’t even give you the chance,” he mumbles. You can feel the charge in the air, the anticipation. There’s a look on his face, and you recognize it immediately. You feel it too. 
Longing. Need.   
His lips capture yours, engulfing you like a fire. His hands slip under your shirt, exploring your skin. He’s breathing you in, and you’re breathing him out. You’re suddenly one extraordinary machine, working together, moving against each other in time. 
Logan pushes you down to the mattress, his lips still on yours, the kiss becoming rushed and frantic. He climbs on top of you, his bare arms caging you in on either side of your head. You spread your legs for him, giving him room to settle in between. You can feel his erection strain against his jeans as he rocks into you. The friction feels good, but it’s not enough. You grind against him, needy for more. 
“Fuck,” he pants between kisses, lowering himself down onto his forearm to close the gap between you. His free hand finds the hem of your shirt and slips underneath, his fingertips trailing up and down your body. He’s still rutting into you, his cock nudging against your needy core. 
You grab at his back, pulling on his beater. “L-Logan,” you stutter, his fingers bumping into the bottom of your bra. You arch up into him, giving him the space he needs to bring his hand to your back and unclasp it. He sits up, quickly pulling your shirt up and over your head, slipping your bra off, too. 
He lays you back down, hovering over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand drifts up to your breasts. He squeezes softly, his thumb tracing over your nipples. “Beautiful,” he murmurs into the crook of your neck, biting your pulse point. “So fucking beautiful.” 
His soft bites turn into kisses, trailing down your neck to your collarbone. He kisses in between the valley of your breasts, down your stomach, stopping just above the hem of your shorts. You swallow, nodding frantically as he hooks his fingers into the waistbands of your shorts and panties, yanking them down your legs in one fluid motion. 
You’re exposed to him—bare. He settles back in between your legs, his mouth just inches away from where you need him most. His breath fans across your clit, a jolt of electricity sparking a fire at the base of your spine. You can feel the ache between your legs growing. 
“Please,” you beg, Logan’s name hanging on the tip of your tongue as you look down at him. He presses a teasing kiss to your clit, his eyes focused on you, on every move you make. “Logan, I need—”
You’re cut off by his tongue—a long, flat stripe licking through your folds, up to your clit. His tongue flits out, flicking lightly before starting all over again. “Gonna take my time with you, pretty girl,” he murmurs against you, the vibrations of his bassy voice coursing through you. Your walls squeeze down around nothing, begging for more, begging for release. “Gonna make you feel good.”
He spreads his palm against your inner thigh, nudging you open for him. His nails dig into your skin, fingers trailing up closer to your core. “Please,” you whine. “Want you.”
Logan’s fingers finally meet your folds, his tongue flicking your clit and pulling it between his lips, sucking softly. “Tastes so good,” he mumbles against you. “So fucking sweet.” Two fingers nudge your entrance, testing the waters, spreading you open slowly. 
You open your mouth to beg for him again, but then he’s thrusting inside you—knuckle deep—his fingers stretching you out. Your walls flutter around him as he pulls out and pushes all the way back in. His swirls circles into your clit, his tongue lapping at you, savoring the taste of you. 
He slides his free hand under your back and to your hip, hoisting you closer to him as he buries his face into your cunt. There’s a hunger in his eyes. No, it’s so far beyond hunger. He’s starving—starving for you and only you. If he could live inside you, he would.
He’s relentless as he sucks your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you. He can feel you shaking underneath him, trembling. His thumb draws gentle, comforting circles along your hip. “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he whispers in between thrusts. “Doing so good for me, taking it so well.” Your muscles contract around him at the words, his praises overwhelming you. 
He's getting you there—the fire spreading, creeping in, ready to consume everything in its path. “’M’so close,” you moan, overstimulated and fucked out. Logan doesn’t slow down, his fingers hitting that sweet spot inside you with every thrust. You can feel yourself coming undone, unraveling before him. 
“That’s it, pretty girl,” he soothes between laps. “Come on my tongue, just like that.” And then you’re letting go, coming around his fingers. Fire washes over you, beat after beat, pump after pump. It hits you in waves, the sensation crashing into you as Logan works you through your orgasm. 
He’s whispering praises as he savors your taste on his tongue. So good, sweetheart. Letting me take care of you. I’ve got you. So fucking pretty. 
His thrusts slow down, gently rubbing at your walls before sliding out. But his tongue is still working at your clit, lapping softly. “Could eat you out for hours, princess,” he says, licking another long stripe through your folds. “Maybe I will.” You can feel him smile against you.
But you need him, need him closer—as close as he can possibly be. “Logan,” you call out, already close to coming again. “Want you now,” you plead. 
He licks one more long stripe before lifting his head. He sits up, staring down at you as he lifts his beater up and over his head. You stare at his chest, the way his muscles flex as he breathes. Your arousal glistens on his lips, his chin. 
He unbuckles his belt and slips it from the loops, casting it to the ground with a loud clank. He unbuttons and unzips his jeans, tugging them down his legs along with his boxers. His cock springs free, and he is so much bigger than you ever imagined he’d be. You swallow at the sight, and Logan smiles. 
He is so cocksure, but maybe he deserves to be. 
He lowers himself down over you, once again balancing on his forearm. His free hand trails up your sides teasingly before resting on your hip. “Gonna go slow, princess,” he whispers, biting your bottom lip and then stealing a kiss. “Nice and easy.”  His hand on your hip disappears, leaving you suddenly cold and empty without his touch. But you know where he’s going—know that he’s wrapping his fist around the base of his cock. You spread your legs for him, inviting him inside.
He nudges against you, sliding up and down your folds, feeling you. His tip bumps against your clit, sending a shiver down your spine as you squirm underneath him. He finds your entrance again, his head slipping in, and then pulling back out. 
His teasing is too much. You need him, more than anything, ever. “Please, Lo. Need you inside—” 
Your words get stuck in your throat as Logan thrusts deep inside you, his cock rubbing against your walls, stretching you out. You moan his name, arching your back, your breasts pressing against his chest. He stays there for a moment, his cock throbbing inside you, giving you a second to adjust to the size of him. But it’s not enough—you need him to move. You lift your hips, searching for more friction. 
Logan pins you down, his free hand stilling you at your waist. “Wanna take my time with you,” he growls, sliding out and thrusting back in. “Wanna feel every inch of you.” He’s setting the pace: slow, but building. Once he’s sure you’re not going anywhere, he lifts his grip from your hip and brings his hand down between where your bodies connect.
He finds your clit again, still swollen and overstimulated, and starts to work slow, gentle circles into it. You’re already close, already almost at that edge. 
Logan’s thrusts become rougher, deeper. He rocks into you, plunging himself down to the hilt as he flicks your clit. He swallows your moans with a kiss, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip. You open your mouth, letting him inside. You’d give him anything—absolutely anything he wanted. He never even has to ask. 
“Yours,” you breathe into the kiss. “All yours.”
“F-fuck,” he curses, rutting into you, your words goading him along. “Mine,” He growls, his hips snapping faster, his pace quickening with every thrust. “All mine, pretty girl.” 
And then the confession spills from your lips. You can’t control it. “I love you.” 
Logan pounds into you harder. “I love you, too.” He can’t control himself either. You squeeze around him, the words practically pushing you over the edge. “Needed you this whole time, sweetheart. The whole fucking time.”
You throw your head back, exposing your throat to him. He buries himself into the crook of your neck as he pumps in and out of you, biting down on your pulse point again and then licking away the pain. 
“Can feel you getting close, darlin’,” he coos, his fingers still stroking your clit. Your walls flutter and contract around him. “Wanna feel you come on my cock.” 
Your chests heave together, one single breath flowing between the two of you as he thrusts deeper. You’re slipping, letting go, crashing beneath him. You wrap your arms around his back, pulling him closer. “Lo…” you trail off, unable to form a sentence. 
“Love it when you say my name, sweetheart,” he grunts. “Say it again for me.”
“Logan,” you whine, your legs wrapping around his waist as he fucks into you. You can’t hold back anymore. It’s too much. And he knows. 
“That’s it, pretty girl,” he says, rubbing at your clit. “Let go for me.” 
You do, clenching down onto him, pulling him deeper. He groans at the feeling, his pace faltering as you come around him. You’re melting into the sheets, your muscles tensing and relaxing, white-hot heat spreading across your vision. 
“Fuck,” Logan groans, working you through your orgasm. After a few more slow, languid strokes around your clit, his hand slips from your core and up your body. He squeezes your breasts before sliding his palm behind your back, lifting you up for better leverage. He fucks up into you, pressing you closer to his chest. 
You tighten your legs around his waist, keeping him in place. He knows what you’re asking him for. “Inside?” 
“Yes,” you murmur. He brings his lips to yours as he comes inside you, filling you up. He’s so warm, so solid. You cling to him as he finishes, not wanting to let go. His pumps slow until he’s still inside you. He holds you there for a moment, your foreheads pressed together.
Logan carefully pulls out. He rolls off you and pulls you with him so that you’re lying on your side next to him. He wraps his arms around you, keeping you pressed against his chest. Your legs tangle together. 
The intimacy of the moment suddenly sobers you, and memories of today come flooding back. You can feel the tears brimming in your eyes. Logan notices immediately. 
“Hey,” he whispers, panic clear in his voice. “It’s okay,” he soothes, running his hands along your back. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m so sorry…” you trail off, burying your face into his neck. “I’m so sorry for scaring you, for hurting you, for putting myself in danger. I just—” 
“I know,” he interrupts you. “It’s okay, don’t cry. I’m here.”
“I won’t leave you,” you vow. “I promise.”
“Don’t promise,” he says softly. You look up at him, a sad smile spread across his face. 
You furrow your brows. “Why?”
He swallows. “Because I would’ve done the same for you.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’d tear the world apart for you.” He pauses. “I love you.” 
“I love you too.” You smile, your tears subsiding. You take a deep breath and recall something he had said before. “So, who has the savior complex now?” You joke. 
“Me,” he says back, half joking, but half serious, too. You can hear it—the honesty, the intention. “I’d do anything to save you.” 
“It’s not gonna come to that.”
“But when—” he stops himself. “If it does, I’ll be there.” He pauses. “I will always choose you. Always. Every time.”
Always. Always. Always.
It’s all you can think about as you fall asleep in Logan’s arms. 
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chaoticwriting · 6 days ago
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GOTHAM'S NEW ROGUE 4
Part 3
Danny looks at the guy skeptically. Last time someone approached him, they were Red Robin, Spoiler and Signal. This time, a dude that looks like an average office worker approaches him.
Trickster: Sure, why not?
???: Thank you.
Trickster: So, what do you want with me?
???: Let me introduce myself first. I am Clark Kent. A journalist from the Daily Planet. I would like to ask, is it true that you know Batman's secret identity?
Trickster: You mean those pictures I stole from his wallet? Yeah sure. Why do you wanna know?
Clark: As you know, I am a journalist. And it is our job to find out about news and share it with the general public. I am just thinking, what would you like to exchange for the real identity of Batman.
Trickster: Hmmm..... What price huh? Let me think for a moment.
Danny then continues to eat his food as he pretends to think about Clark's offer. Honestly, he doesn't give a damn about this Clark guy. He is also a vigilante once, so he knows the importance of their secret identities. While slurping away his last coke, Danny gains a very good idea (He thinks it is a good idea).
Trickster: Well, I don't think I would sell the pictures just yet since the card is still useful and I don't need money. However, I have a very interesting topic you can investigate.
Clark: Oh? What is it?
Trickster: Try searching for something called GIW. It is a government branch and I'm sure it will be a hit piece.
Clark: GIW? What is that?
Trickster: Well that's for you to figure out. Oh well. I'm pretty full now. Gotta go now. See you never.
Danny then disappears right in front of Clark before he can do anything. Clark can't even hear or see the kid anymore with his enhanced sense and x-ray vision further cementing that the kid probably has teleportation power.
Danny meanwhile is laying on his makeshift bed while watching the stars after he uses his power to clear the sky thinking what he just did is very smart. Unfortunately, he doesn't know this decision is as good as the previous time he thinks his idea is good.
-1 month later-
Danny is picking up scraps from the junkyard for his next prank. Collecting some toasters, some blenders and even some radios. Danny has spent a lot of time these past few months, tinkering with machines that he practically knows what component is in which appliances.
Suddenly, he sees a very familiar device among the junk. A sleek silver gun with a few green buttons on it. It doesn't have the usual designs that Danny used to see but Danny knows without a doubt in his mind that it is an ecto gun.
The problem is that, the gun is new. Very new. Like it is just created. And that means one thing. A GIW agent is here. Shit! Danny needs to run. But where? He has checked before this but the only place with enough ectoplasm to hide him is either Gotham or Amity Park. No where else in the world has as much ambience ectoplasm to hide him from the ecto detector.
But now that they are in Gotham, he might as well not hide since at such close proximity, the ambient ectoplasm can only hide him if they are not close. Danny is thinking very hard when his ears pick up something. A group of people is coming his way, and from the way they are all carrying heavy devices, they are probably GIW agents.
Danny against his better judgement turns invisible and flies high enough so that if the agents decide to shoot him, he will have time to dodge them. Danny watches quietly as the ecto detector bips faster and faster the more they go to where he is previously.
???: Damn it. I thought this is where Trickster is. But it's just the gun that you lost.
???: Hey, at least we don't need to file reports of missing weapons right? Also, didn't that thing already get set up by the Fentons to find Trickster?
???: It's probably them messing it up. It's not like them messing shit up is something new anyway.
???: Yeah. Let's just say it is a false alarm. I hear the higher ups are thinking of lowering our budgets next year if we don't produce any results soon.
???: Ugghh, don't remind me of that. Not only do they pressure us like that. I even heard that there is some guy that has been snooping around our base, taking pictures and stuff.
???: I hate those reporters. We are trying to do our job and save them from those savages, and yet here they are messing with us. Calling us genocidal maniacs and the second coming of Nazis.
???: If that is not bad enough, they even say that they feel like we should treat the ghost as if they are people. Ghosts are not people! They are merely beast pretending to be someone we used to know and love.
???: I would love to just punch those reporters to the face if not for the fact that Boss ordered us to stay put.
Suddenly their walky talky start to beep.
Walkie-talkie: Agent P, Agent Q. Return to the base of operation immediately. We are receiving visits from the higher ups.
Both of the agents reply with Roger and hurriedly run towards their van and drive off somewhere. Danny looks at them and decides, he has found what his next prank is going to be.
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soleilapproves · 1 month ago
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Sitting on trueform!sukuna’s lap and feeding him grapes
notes: fem/afab!reader, not proofread, dubcon(ish), suggestive
main masterlist
The King of Curses wasn’t even sure if he liked eating human food as much as he enjoyed sinking his teeth into their juicy and tough flesh.
The screams of terror they’d let out as he’d consume and digest them alive satiated his appetite like no other.
But the human woman in his lap made grapes, a round sweet, acidic fruit taste like it was the most delicious thing ever. Like people died to have a taste of its juices.
He wasn’t sure if he liked the taste because she was feeding it to him or because she was sitting on his lap while doing so. Maybe it was both, but it definitely trumped his love for human flesh.
His hungry red eyes bore into her scared meek ones. Every time he’d look at her, she’d turn away. She was aroused. He could smell it on her. He’d much rather be between her thighs, devouring what was meant to be his the second he laid eyes on her, but for now he had to keep his calm. He had to ease her into his bed and this was the first step.
He had to build trust before using her body to his liking.
His eyes trailed down the silhouette of her body as she lifted her shivering arms towards his face, dangling the last grape by his mouth
“S-sire, this is the last grape. Would you like me to get off your lap after this?” She couldn’t even look him in the eye while asking the question. How adorable.
He grunted and lifted her face with a single finger. “How about this instead- you can either stay in my lap and feed me another branch or you can get off my lap after feeding me this last grape from your mouth,” he snarled into her ear. The puffs of breath he left on her skin almost felt like she had been burnt by acidic vapor.
Sukuna knew what her answer would be. From the minute he had initially asked her to sit on his lap she had been jumpy. Aching and waiting for a moment to run off to her quarters in his estate. A sanctuary he had built to nurture his future wife before their wedding night.
She was taking too long to answer so Sukuna did what he thought was appropriate- lick a stripe from her collarbone to her ear. His long nails dragged up her leg, tearing her dress from her calf to her thigh, exposing the creamy skin beneath. Sukuna looked away from her legs before he could hoist her up and give her the fucking she needed to be his.
She felt like she was being scented by a territorial animal.
“I’ll feed you the last grape from my mouth,” she whispered.
“Good choice. I was getting tired of just sitting and eating.” His gravel rich voice rumbled beneath her small body as she plucked the round fruit from the stem of branches.
His eyes followed as she placed the plump burgundy fruit between her teeth. It was too small- both of them knew that it would be impossible to eat the fruit without their lips touching. But she would take that risk for she valued her life.
She shut her eyes tight, gutless. It’s almost as if he knew that if she looked into his scarlet orbs then she would run away, so his second set of arms secured her in his lap. Holding her down tightly while his upper arms wrapped around her waist and shoulders.
He could hear her heart quicken. Lub-dub, lub-dub.
She didn’t mention his well endowed hardness growing right beneath her clothed core.
His iron rich breath fanned over her face as he admired lips that were starting to stain because of her teeth digging into the firm flesh of the grape.
He couldn’t tell if he was more excited to hear her terrified sounds or taste the sweetness on her lips. Either way, one could only find out by executing their desires.
He bit into the fruit and groaned as his warms lips made contact with hers. Her hand automatically held on to his tattooed bicep, digging her blunt fingers in them.
Had it been another woman, he would’ve beheaded her by now. But not this one. She was special.
He pulled the fruit out from between her teeth and swallowed it. It was sweeter than any human flesh he had tasted and it was all because of her.
He bit into her bottom lip, drawing a drop of blood and a gasp from her, giving him entry into her mouth. Her mewls of pleasure only egged him on to continue kissing her. He smirked into her mouth as he felt her rock her hips against his hardness. He knew his sweet thing would come around sooner or later.
Pushing, pulling, biting- she had never been kissed like this. Like he was a sinner and she was his only salvation.
His hands travelled up her body, making way for her center. When she realized that, she began to push her clammy palms against his chest.
“No, please, I have never been touched before!” she cried into his mouth.
“Good, that means you’re pure and mine to taint,” he confidently chuckled. He knew all this was a show. He knew that she wanted him as well- with the way her nipples were perked up through her thin muslin gown and her wetness has seeped onto his robes.
Her body had accepted him. She just didn’t know it yet.
He pulled away as he looked at her. Salty tears streamed down her face as she bit her swollen lips in embarrassment and fear. She looked beautiful. His dream woman. He was finding himself softening up for her. His arms let her go and he set her down before ripping out a part of his clothing to cover her torn dress.
“Go, I don’t wish to be bothered with your pathetic crying. I want my wife willing and happy.”
She let out a deep breath of relief and sputtered out a small ‘thank you’ to him through her crying. He couldn’t help but lick his lips at the sight- missing her taste.
He knew that treating her like a doll was wrong, especially if he wanted her to be ruling beside him.
But he couldn’t help himself. Her little reactions were so adorable. He wondered if she would act the same on her wedding night.
why do I always feel like writing before an important exam 💀
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libraryofgage · 2 months ago
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so i wrote this yesterday and now it's become a whole thing
basically: Steve is actually smart but nobody realized it until he just fixes their various STEM related problems
anyway this is Eddie's very first experience with how smart Steve Harrington actually is
also please don't call me out if my physics explanations are wrong. just suspend your disbelief, i'm begging you lmao
also also, if you see any typos, no you didn't
---
"You're going to fail my class, Munson."
"Gee, no need to sugarcoat it," Eddie mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets and avoiding Miss Chester's gaze. His eyes land on one of the posters behind her desk, a cat hanging off a tree branch. Maybe it would like to trade places.
Miss Chester sighs, looking pointedly at the desk closest to hers. She waits until Eddie sits on it, legs hanging over the edge. "I'm serious," she says. "You're going to fail, Eddie. I don't want you to, but there's just some...disconnect happening here."
He appreciates that she's not totally blaming him. Most of Eddie's other teachers would've been berating him for his laziness by now. This, among other things, is why Eddie likes her class even if he can't wrap his head around physics at all. "I don't know, Miss. It just doesn't make sense."
"So I'm noticing." Miss Chester leans back in her chair, her finger tapping against her desk. Eddie immediately recognizes it as the drum beat from a KISS song. "You know you'll probably be held back if you fail, right?"
"Not the first time."
Miss Chester waves off his words, looking deep in thought. "What do you think about tutoring? I think you'll do better in a one-on-one setting. If you understand the concepts better, I can start grading you based on the work you do with the tutor."
"It wouldn't be you?" Eddie asks, frowning slightly. He's not sure he wants some random geek tutoring him. Not that he has anything against geeks, of course, but he's never known one to talk in a way he can understand. They get all...technical and Eddie's eyes glaze over whenever he overhears their conversations.
"No, I don't have the time. But don't worry," Miss Chester says, smiling reassuringly before pulling her roster close and looking down the list. "The student I have in mind probably knows more than me, if I'm being honest. He should be able to answer any question you have."
"What student?"
"His name is Steve."
Of course, Eddie immediately thinks of that Steve. King Steve. Steve "The Hair" Harrington with his blinding smile that's always looked a little strained in Eddie's opinion.
He then dismisses Steve Harrington as a possibility and reviews the other kids named Steve at Hawkins High. There's Steve Paulson, Steve Meyers, and Steve Barns. Maybe it's Barns? He's the only one that Eddie could imagine being somewhat good at physics.
"Are you open to tutoring?" Miss Chester asks. "For one session, at least?"
"Yeah, sure, one session. Won't help, though."
Miss Chester smiles like she knows something Eddie doesn't. Which, to be fair, she does. She knows a lot more than Eddie in terms of physics, at least. "I'll set it up. Just come by tomorrow after school."
--------
On his first day at Hawkins High, Steve realized two things.
One, his parents weren't kidding when they'd said public school would be vastly different from the private group tutoring he'd received up to that point.
Two, if he wanted to have a good high school experience, he needed to be cool. And being cool, it seemed, meant not being smart. He didn't need to be dumb, but he couldn't breeze through his classes, either.
He's done a good job of it so far. He's bored beyond reason in most of his classes, sure, but he's also popular. Nobody bothers him or tries to copy off of him, and it's great. He can even swallow down the weird surge of frustration and annoyance and guilt whenever his classmates assume he's too dumb to be a good project partner, or when his parents ask why he isn't enrolled in AP classes, or when his teachers give him confused looks after he aces tests for a unit he seemingly didn't pay attention to.
Anyway, he almost rejected Miss Chester's request to tutor a student from a different class period. He was just about to say he didn't have the time when she leveled him with a look so profoundly hopeful that he just couldn't. So, Steve said yes and now he's hesitating outside the physics classroom.
What if the student inside uses this against him? Steve thinks he could play it off, maybe convince his friends that the kid is lying, but he's not sure. Nothing dire would happen, but Steve would have to reorient himself to a new place on the social ladder, and that sounds exhausting.
"Just get it over with," he mumbles. Then, before he can chicken out and just leave the other student hanging, he opens the door and steps into the classroom.
Miss Chester isn't there. Steve knew she wouldn't be. She'd said something about a department meeting that would take her time but leave them with the classroom to themselves.
The only other person in the room is Eddie Munson, bent over a notebook and furiously scribbling on the page. He looks up when the door opens and freezes at the sight of Steve. They stare at each other for a few seconds before Eddie breaks the silence by asking, "What, get lost on your way to the locker room, Harrington?"
Steve blinks, frowns slightly, and takes a deep breath. Okay. Fine. Eddie Munson it is. "Nope. Miss Chester asked me to tutor you," he says, because that's the only reason another student would be in this room after school has let out.
Eddie laughs. He nearly falls out of his chair with how hard he laughs. He's wheezing and clutching the edges of the desk by the time Steve moves another desk to face him and sits down across from him. "Are you done, Munson?" he asks.
"Holy shit, you're serious," Eddie says, his voice slightly strained and his face red from laughing. "No fucking way Steve Harrington is here to tutor me in physics. You probably don't even know what two plus two is!"
"It's four. Do you know what 12 times 40 is?" Steve asks, watching as Eddie blinks.
"I'm not a fucking calculator, man."
"No, you're not. It's 480, by the way."
"You could've just memorized that."
Steve sighs and reaches into his bag, digging around some before pulling a calculator out. He places it on Eddie's desk and says, "Ask me something."
Eddie looks at him like he's grown a second head but still pulls the calculator closer. "1,239 plus 378."
"1,617."
He watches Eddie use the calculator, feeling smug when his face twists into confused disbelief. He then puts the calculator down and frowns at Steve. "So you can add, big whoop. Doesn't mean you can teach me shit about physics."
"Won't know until we try," Steve says, resting his elbow on the desk and propping his chin in his palm. "So, what don't you get?"
"...All of it. Just assume I don't know shit."
"You don't know Newton's laws?"
Eddie snorts, looking back down at his notebook. "There's that motion one and the reaction one," he says.
"Right. Newton's first law and his third. What about the second?"
"It's just...some equation or some shit."
Okay, Steve is starting to get an idea of where things stand. He thinks for a moment before asking, "What kind of stuff do you like?"
"What?"
"What do you like?"
Eddie looks so shocked by the question that he doesn't really think before answering, "Heavy metal. And, uh, D&D, too."
Steve knows heavy metal is music, and he could work with that but the D&D Eddie mentioned might be better. "What does it involve? The D&D?"
"It's a fantasy role playing game. Like, using your imagination to go on adventures with friends and stuff. Needs dice to work."
Oh. Perfect. "Do you have dice with you?" Steve asks. After another brief pause, Eddie nods and pulls one out of his pocket. He passes it over and watches as Steve turns it between his fingers. "Oh, an icosahedron. Cool."
"A what?"
"Icosahedron," Steve says, looking at Eddie. "It just means a twenty-sided polyhedron."
Eddie still looks confused, and Steve is about to explain it again when Eddie says, "Just call it a D20, dude."
"Oh. Sure. Anyway, let's use this," Steve says, rolling it between his fingers before letting it clatter to the desk. It bounces a few times before settling, a 17 facing up. "Do you know what made it stop moving?"
"The desk. I'm not an idiot, Harrington."
"I didn't say you were, Munson," Steve replies, leaning back slightly. "Just...yes, the desk stopped it. This is Newton's first law. If the desk wasn't there, it would have kept falling until it hit the floor. It stopped bouncing because it lost power each time it hit the desk. An object, the D20, will stay in motion, falling, unless acted upon by another force, the desk."
"That...kinda made sense," Eddie says, blinking a few times.
"Great!" Steve says, unable to help the bright smile at knowing Eddie understood him. "Okay, for the second law, the equation is mass times acceleration equals force. Basically, the movement of an object depends on how much it weighs and how much force you apply."
"Aaaand ya lost me," Eddie says.
"Okay, uh, you fight things in that game, right?"
"Yeah, kind of the whole point."
"Right, yeah, and the stuff you fight comes in different sizes, right?"
"Well, an orc isn't gonna be as big as a dragon, is it?"
Steve isn't really sure what an orc is, but he nods anyway. "Right. So if you want to move a dragon, you need to land a stronger hit than you would need for an orc."
"Duh. You're not gonna fell a dragon with a basic cantrip."
"Not sure what that is, but yeah. For this example, moving, or defeating, an object, or a dragon that weighs more than an orc, relies on how much force you apply, which is the strength you use."
"Oh. So, because an orc weighs less, I don't need as much force to defeat it," Eddie says, grinning as he fidgets with his pencil. "This doesn't really sound like math, though."
Steve shrugs. "We'll get to the math part later. Right now is basics. You need to understand those to do more complicated stuff. So, the third law, this is the action-reaction law. Music might be better for it. What happens when you strum a guitar?"
"It...makes a sound. Because it's an instrument."
"Well, yeah, but do you understand how the sound is being made."
"By...strumming it?"
"Yeah, that's part of it. Sounds are vibrations in the air that we can understand. If you touch your throat while talking, you'll feel your voice box, your larynx, vibrate to make the sound of you talking."
He waits as Eddie does exactly that. While holding his fingers to his throat, Eddie says, "Didn't know it was called a larynx. Oh, fuck, yeah, there are vibrations."
Steve nods, waiting patiently as Eddie hums for a few minutes before looking back at him. "So, vibrations. Instruments make sound because playing them causes vibrations. When you strum a guitar, the strings rapidly move back and forth, and that movement is translated into notes."
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but yeah, I'm following you."
"So, the action of strumming a guitar creates the reaction of the strings vibrating. That action of the strings vibrating creates the reaction of air rippling, and those ripples create the reaction of audible noise. Did that make sense?"
"Yeah. It did," Eddie says, his voice soft as he stares at Steve like he's really seeing him for the first time.
Steve shifts uncomfortably, unused to this aspect of himself being known so well by someone at school. He's almost tempted to end things now and apologize to Miss Chester for walking out halfway through a tutoring session. Steve is practicing the apology in his head when Eddie says, "Hey, by the way, sorry for earlier."
"What?" Steve asks, trying to blink away his confusion and failing.
"You know, earlier, when I laughed at you? Pretty shitty of me to do. So, yeah, I'm sorry."
"Oh." Steve stares at Eddie for a few seconds before his shoulders relax. "It's fine. I'm not exactly known for being smart."
"Why not?"
"It's just...easier to let people think I'm dumb. Most of our classmates look at me and think I'm just, you know, a typical jock. They don't expect more from me than that, and I don't expect them to look any deeper."
"Does anyone else know, though?"
"My parents and the teachers. And you."
"Well, don't worry, big boy. Your secret's safe with me."
"Big boy?"
"Don't like it? Would you prefer Stevie?" Eddie asks, grinning as he leans in and exaggeratedly waggles his eyebrows at Steve.
Steve can't help snorting at the sight. "Whatever. Just call me what you want, Eddie," he says.
He tries to ignore the weird swooping in his stomach when Eddie's smile gets wider and he says, "You better not regret it, Stevie."
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lilacxquartz · 1 month ago
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beneath the murky depths;
octoman sukuna x f!reader
plot: your vulnerable state catches the attention of an oceanic god — themes/warnings: tentacles, smut, monster fucking, orally & in v, painful sex, dubcon — w.c: 1.4k • ao3 • masterlist
a/n: by request, hope this is what you were looking for! <3 keep the warnings in mind before clicking in.
You didn’t mean to fall asleep on the beach, but you couldn’t help it. You were so tired and it was so warm—how could you pass up such an opportunity?
You supposed that the problem was that, when you came around, the shores were now empty and devoid of seemingly everyone. It was dark in such an odd way too, with the skies looking more blood red than the usual dark blue that blanketed over the horizon.
At first, you thought that you were dreaming but the longer that you lay awake, the more real it all seemed. Something in the air tasted bitter, almost metallic—while the ground beneath your body gently trembled—the sand flittering around without a cause. You sat up in a flash, trying to make sense of what you were experiencing, only to be met with the otherworldly sight of what appeared to be rising tides, somehow paused at a standstill.
“What the…?” you murmured to yourself, your voice coming out as a hoarse whisper as it was still thick with sleep.
The waters, so void-like and foreboding, parted at the center like two liquified curtains separating at the seams, giving entry to a tall and imposing figure beyond your comprehension. Your eyes locked onto the impossible sight, taking note of his robust frame adorned with muscles; showcasing four large strong arms sprouting from his body alongside a set of tentacles spearing from his back.
Instinctively, your first course of action was to back away as far as you could, even though it seemed like you had nowhere to run off to. There was a strange feeling of some sort of ambient pressure, like this being’s presence prevented you from moving very far, if even at all.
“You’re a curious thing, aren’t you?” he purred in a deep voice.
You stared at the monster, blinking a couple of times as your mind raced for a potential response. Something like him shouldn’t exist—there was simply no way—and yet… this didn’t seem to be a dream nor a nightmare, so what on earth were you looking at exactly? His face didn’t make sense either, with the parallel half boasting something resembling barnacles with shells alike, peering out what appeared to be another set of eyes.
“W-what are you?” you finally managed to sputter out.
He smiled slightly, yet there was nothing warm about the gesture. “The mortals know me as Sukuna,” he introduced himself, eyeing you down with fixed contempt, “you should be thankful to be in the presence of a god.”
“A-a god?” you replied.
Sukuna hummed, retaining his stoic demeanour, although a hint of arrogance crept into his eyes. “Depends on who you worship, some might call me a demon…” he trailed off, letting the implication linger in the air before continuing, “now, who might you be?”
You just barely muttered out your name to him.
Addressing you personally, he took a step closer, his figure looming over yours, casting a dark shadow over where you were sat. “And what do you offer me?”
You blinked. “H-huh? Offer? I-I didn’t pray to you… d-did I?”
Sukuna rumbled out a low, deep-bellied laugh. Despite his reaction to your confusion, he didn’t seem to be amused in the slightest. “I won’t ask you again,” he warned, addressing you personally once more, “so tell me, what do you offer me?”
“I-I don’t have anything?” you nervously asked.
“Everyone has something to offer,” he corrected you, branching out a finger to tweeze at your chin, tilting your head up to meet with him directly. You froze at the sight, your eyes wide with fear. “How about… your lust?”
Your words failed you for a second before you were able to even respond.
But then you finally managed something, “I…I— What?”
Sukuna hovered over you, his scarlet gaze locking onto yours, daring you to oppose his suggestion. You were too terrified to reject him and ultimately wanted to live through whatever this was, so you found yourself apprehensively nodding in agreement.
“O…kay…” you just barely choked out.
Sukuna didn’t need to be told twice, immediately moving over you. The tentacles that rooted from his back snaked over towards your body, capturing your limbs in a tight, wrapping embrace. You gasped out at the bizarre sensation, feeling the tugging weight of them spread your legs apart while keeping your arms locked in place.
“You should be able to take me after this,” he lazily murmured, coiling a tendril over your now-spread sex, placing a fleshy suction cup just over your clit. The pleasure was immediate as soon as the connection was made, the sucker vacuuming over the bud.
As the motions continued to spread a surging sensation of warmth, a sweeping tingle simmered through your core. Almost instinctively, your body lifted itself to lean into the spike of the muscle, letting slip of needy—almost whining shuddered out whimpers.
“Such an obedient girl,” he almost praised, seeming to approve of your reactions.
There was no time to reply to his condescending flattery as the blissful sensation rose, pushing your body above and beyond its capable threshold. An exhilarating peak formed in between your legs, boiling over to overflowing ecstasy as your eyes rolled back and your toes tingled and curled.
However, it didn’t seem to be over just yet. Sukuna plucked the limb away, guiding it slightly lower to meet at your entrance instead. You were slicker at this point, with your heat glistening in your sopping release. He then speared the tentacle into your sex without warning, impaling you with the tentacle, moving another to swim through your slightly ajar lips, feeling overwhelmed as he simultaneously fucked the tendrils into your body, keeping you perfectly well filled.
Quickly flustered, you unintentionally rolled your hips to match the momentum of how he moved within you, finding that he was able to slowly bulk out the swelling girth of the boneless limbs, leaving you completely stuffed as you were forced to adjust around the size, left perfectly distracted as he slowly eased the feelers out of your body.
Thinking it was over, you wrongfully relaxed, as once again without warning or any chance to recover, Sukuna moved forward in his plan to have you fully take him, positioning the tip of his heavily thick cock into your cunt, pushing himself fully inside.
Regrettably, you weren’t quite as ready as he thought, so he suffered your teeth sinking into one of his tentacles that hovered nearby, seething out a pained hiss in response. Quickly retracting it, however, he half laughed, half scoffed as if amused by your little slip-up. “You’ll take me,” he warned or rather, promised, “and you’ll take me well.”
Once again, he eased himself into your core, his eyes fluttering in pleasure from the sensation of your walls swallowing around his length. Slowly, he drove his cock through you, taking note of how your legs widened out of necessity before settling in as far as he could realistically push.
At first, it felt like a punch to the gut, almost, as he started to move. The thudding impact of him hitting your cervix over and over, was nothing short of excruciating, feeling unlike any other pain you had experienced before. Repeatedly, Sukuna stole your breath away as he rutted into your hilt, his creeping tentacles returning to maneuver around the contours of your body, wrapping himself tightly around you—all the while he slammed himself into your soon battered and bruised apex.
And as you let yourself go, your mind blanked. It felt like your orgasm was closer to killing you, than anything else as he continued to brutally penetrate you. He too, was caught up in an almost violent body-wide rolling shudder—filling you up with the flooding aftermath of his peaking climax—with trickling residue that sept out of the cusp of the tentacles, coating you in a sealing pact of something left unspoken.
Your eyes drooped shut after that, but rather than waking up safe and sound on the beach, praying to something else that this was all part of some bizarre nightmare—you found yourself plunged into the dark waters along with him—unintentionally promising yourself to be kept until the end of time.
After all, Sukuna didn’t quite tell you one little detail of the pact.
An offering was a promise, and a promise was forever.
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astrotruther · 5 months ago
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Astro Observations
misc. (ii)
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🐉 Narcissists may have Mars-Uranus aspects in their chart. Mars’s energy can be either constructive or destructive; pair that with Uranus' erratic quality, and it could make one manipulative. In my opinion, Mars & Uranus having more harsh aspects to multiple other planets could further confirm this. Look out for squares, especially Moon square Mars!
🐉 Sun harsh aspects to Neptune, even conjunction can be somewhat superficial. Neptune may bless them with a mystique that attracts public attention, but they stick to a surface-level public persona. Artists with these aspects may stick to cookie-cutter projects. E.g. Colleen Hover responding to criticism by saying 'I write to entertain not to educate'. Jake Paul also has this aspect. In worst cases there's a delusional egotism to this aspect. On the other hand, easy aspects will be more willing to go within and proudly display their shadows, creating art that is meaningful and leaves a lasting legacy.
🐉 I've observed Scorpio Sun/ Moon in charts of those who backhandedly bully people over things like their appearance. Water Moons in general are capable of inflicting deep emotional wounds to others when unevolved. Having Mercury in a fire sign makes it a lot worse since the words become harsher. I've had a Scorpio Sun - Pisces Moon girl admit to me that she makes fun of people because she had the same done to her while growing up.
🐉 Libra MC are often told they should be models. Understandable because they're so photogenic!
🐉 Pluto-Ascendant easy aspects & conjunction are always reinventing themselves. It's easier for these people to let go of things that don't serve them and realign themselves with their inner true selves. They're skilled at coming to terms with their dark sides and alchemizing it to create a positive impact in the world.
🐉 On the contrary, harsh aspects may feel like they can't be themselves due to external factors or a certain image/ aesthetic that they have to uphold. Some may be child actors/ activists or made it big in early years making it hard to disrupt their public persona. It's way harder for them to branch out within their career field. Ascendant at 0° might have the same effect. E.g. Billie Eilish, Demi Lovato, Finn Wolfhard, Darsheel Safary, Malala Yousafzai, Meghan Trainor, Hilary Duff.
🐉 I've seen so many takes on the 0° & most people romanticizing it somehow. It may manifest in a divine way for those who are self-aware/ have evolved. however MOST people aren't. So it gives a somewhat negative quality to the placement, e.g. Jake Paul has his MC at 0°.
🐉 Moon-Pluto aspects not only symbolize a strained relationship with the mother but also with other women. A lot of trauma you accumulated while growing up was because of the women around you. Some of them may have made you feel bad about yourself because they were threatened by you. The signs Moon & Pluto are in could give more context, e.g. Aries Moon, Sag. Pluto = invalidating your anger, not letting you be yourself and forcing you to be someone they like, forcing religion on you from a young age etc.
🐉 Uranus square MC will have a career-ruining public scandal at least once. All I can say is avoid doing shady stuff and if it's external factors beyond your control, handle it with grace, lay low, you'll get your chance to shine again.
🐉 Moon square Lilith is an enemy placement. Moon person hates Lilith person's guts because Lilith person may have hurt them in some way. Moon could want revenge on Lilith for what they did.
🐉 Venus-Saturn aspects may have had people criticize their appearance while growing up, but they end up having insane glow-ups. Their most attractive years come somewhat later in life and they age very gracefully.
🐉 Moon in Cancer/ Moon conjunct Jupiter people possess the ability to manipulate, sometimes on a mass level. It's on them to use their emotional superpowers to influence people in a positive way and not just keep banking on their victim narratives. Nonetheless, these people can hold public interest for a long time.
🐉 Venus in 10th House synastry is often a clout/ PR couple. E.g. Glenn Powell & Sydney Sweeney.
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Click daily to help Palestinians🍉🙏🏽: https://arab.org/click-to-help/palestine/
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honey-flustered · 3 months ago
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Kinktober Day 2: Free Use
Beefy!Mean!Gross!Pervert!Roommate!Bucky x Agent!Fem!Reader
Summary: Being used by your awful roommate because you owe it to him.
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Warnings: 18+ smut, dirty talk, degradation kink, rough unprotected p in v, creampie, bucky puts his foot on reader’s head
You hate him. With every fiber of your being. In every sense, of meaning and of every syllable of the word—you hate James Buchanan Barnes.
You thought you’d done right by offering to take in the former winter soldier, wanting to apologize on behalf of your late great-grandfather for his involvement in the HYDRA experiments. Bucky was clearly down on his luck still searching for purpose and feeling undeserving of his peers assistance.
That’s when you’d came along. A friend of Steve Rogers who just so happened to be a direct descendant of a evil HYDRA scientist. You humbly confessed this tragic secret, suggesting to Steve that you’d gladly be the closure Bucky needed to feel okay again. Hell, you’d do anything to help him long as it meant saving your own morality and pushing away whatever labels the public has placed on you.
And you could tell yourself everyday that it’s for the greater good and that he’ll repay you someday when he amounts to the superhero he’s building himself to be.
BUT…
When you come to a home that is beyond a pig-sty after a long day’s work then having to clean up said mess and also cook DINNER…well that just about makes you want to plan a murder.
He knows what he’s doing. Clearly, he wants to get a rise at you either to make you pay for your great-grandfather’s crimes or to slowly break you until you become just as wicked. But you’ve yet to buckle under his pressure. Whenever he treats you like scum, you turn the other cheek.
So, of course, here you are cleaning yet another one of Bucky’s preventable messes. You’re on your hands and knees furiously scrubbing away at the linoleum tiles until you can see your own reflection. Meanwhile, he’s just sitting on the coach in nothing but white undershirt and boxers mindlessly flipping through the television.
You’re scrubbing near his feet and just when you think he’s being kind enough to raise them out of the way, he rests them on your ass.
You seethe, teeth grinding but continue with no protest. You desperately try to ignore him but his heated gaze on your ass is so distracting.
“Think you could make me a sandwich when you’re done with that, dollface?” He says, bored.
You feign a saccharinely sweet tone and smile. “Of, course, Bucky! Whatever you wish.”
“Whatever I wish.” He says, voice lowering a couple octaves.
“That’s what I said,” You said through gritted teeth, your innocent act weening. You bat your eyelashes dearly up at him from behind you. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
“So if I said I want some pussy, you’d give it up to me willingly,” He rasps. “Whenever I want.”
That’s odd. Bucky has never made things sexual. Not that you haven’t thought of this yourself the first time you offered to help him. Sure, you always thought he was quite handsome and that hulking body of his pouncing you has been a thought more times than you can count. But steadily you’re fury for him began to develop once he’d made you out to be like his little servant rather than a friend.
And yet…why is it that you find yourself soaking wet whenever he treats you this way even though it’s absolutely repulsive?!
“Yes, Bucky, you can have me. Whenever you want.” You reply.
“And you mean it?” He says, lowering on his knees behind you and shoving his boxer down his thick thighs.
Your eyes bug out of your head in horror at the sheer size of him. The girth, the length—this was going to be brutal. He’s leaking from the ruddy tip and looks so angry with the throbbing veins branched out around it like a tree. You swallow the hard lump in your throat, wordlessly nodding before answering. “Yes, I mean it, sir.”
Bucky groans deeply, shoving your head down with his foot. He puts enough pressure against the side of your face to where the other side of it smushes up against the sparkling floor. Before you can even register it, he’s flipping your dress up, pulling your panties to the side, and sinking in with some resistance.
You release a choked sob. “F-uck.”
“You’re so tight, princess,” He moans, biting his lip as he continues to bully his way into you. After some back and forth, your walls latched around him like a vice, reaching all the way to hilt. The small pudge of his belly rests just above your ass as he awaits you to fully adjust.
Your still in the awkward position with you ass up, face down and his foot pressed against your head to keep you from squirming away. Like hell you would. Something must’ve finally snapped within you because even if it hurts, even if you were being used—you’ll happily take it. You fucking surrender and it only to some dick for Bucky to own you.
He starts hammering into you, the sound of this skin clapping together take over the room with your guttural moans soon to follow. Bucky’s quiet at first with his moans which quickly turns to whines when he feels you dripping down his heavy balls.
“So that was all it took? I just had to claim you and now you’ll stop that fake good girl shit. Huh, babygirl? Bet you don’t hate me as much now.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” You mewl. “Love being used by you. Just please don’t fucking stop, Buck!”
He’s hitting so deep inside you now that it’s as if he’s found a rebooting button within you. Your eyes roll back, drool streaming from your lips and your mind’s completely black. All you can do now is make throaty “uh, uh, uh” noises as you get pushed to the brink of bliss.
“When I ask you to do something, I won’t be seeing any of that negative attitude, will I?” He continues to taunt using a firm parental tone. His mechanical arm sneaks its way between your legs, skillful fingers toying with your puffy clit.
You yelp, tears mingling with the sudsy water beneath you. “No, sir. I’ll be good. Forreal this time. I’ll do whatever you want, for as long as you want. Let me cum. Pretty please, sir.”
“Since you asked so nicely,” He smacks your ass with his flesh hand at the same time as a really forceful plunge. “Cum.”
You whine so loud that there’s no doubt a neighbor will be filing a complaint for you. You’re small frame wriggles beneath his large stature as you cum so hard that you understand the meaning of why an orgasm’s called ‘a little death’. You pant against him as he contiues to hammer into you, forcing your juices out of you in a gush.
In final punishing thrusts, he cums hot and sticky inside you much to your chagrin—or so you claim until you noticed the way your hands reached for him from behind, taking fistfuls of the fabric of his boxers that pooled around his knees; you keep him locked in place within you. And you don’t let you go until you’re satisfied that every drop has been milked out of him, clenching around him for added measures.
“Fuck, babygirl,” He growls at this action giving you a few more languid thrusts before pulling out and watching his hot spunk spilling out of you. He pushes his metal finger into you, stuffing you with the escaping essence. “Phew, that worked me up a mean appetite. Think you could make me two sandwiches, hot stuff.”
You remain sweaty and panting on the ground, completely boneless but more than satisfied with being his little toy.
You don’t hate Bucky Barnes after all.
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covenofagatha · 22 days ago
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A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 6)
You go to confront The Witch and Lady Death
Word count: 3900
Warnings: smut, fingering, more murder
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You try to call Tony on the way over, but his number isn’t there. You scroll through your text messages, his thread isn’t there either. You try recent calls. Nope. 
It’s like he’s been entirely erased from your phone. 
You’re getting frantic, desperate, and you know that you can’t exactly look up the personal phone number for the director of an FBI branch, so on a complete whim, you check your blocked contacts. 
Fucking Rio. 
She must’ve gotten into your phone when she came by to get your clothes that night and made sure there was no way you could reach your life outside of Westview. No way you could get help. 
Fingers gripped around the blade of the knife, you’re about to leave the room when your phone lights up with a call. Tony. You scoff, decline it, and block him. You don’t have time for that. 
Grimacing, you massage the area between your eyes. You’ve made a huge mess of everything. 
You unblock him and call him and he picks up on the first ring. 
“Y/N, where the hell have you been?” He barks and you wince at his scolding tone. 
“Things here have…developed,” you start, weighing how much you should tell him. 
He scoffs. “None of my calls or texts have gone through. I thought you were dead!” You try to say something but he barrels over you. “I’m on my way to Westview right now. I’m supposed to land in about an hour. I don’t know what’s going on there, but I’m bringing you back to Miami.” 
“No!” You cry out. He can’t. “Please, Director, I’m so close, I’m about to get them right now. I know who they are and where they are, I’m on my way.”
You can hear his sharp intake of breath when he realizes what you’re about to do. “Agent, stand down. That is a direct order. You are not to engage with them.” 
A blush spreads through your body as you remember just how much you’ve engaged with them. 
“It’ll be fine,” you assure him. “They don’t want me dead.” 
The sound of him hitting the tray table on the jet reverberates through your phone and you almost jump. “Dammit, Y/N, this isn’t a game! This is life or death, and you are not to try and get them all by yourself. Turn around from wherever you are and go back to your motel and do not leave until I get there!” You’ve never heard him this mad. 
But you can’t. You’ve come too far to let them slip away like this. You have your gun and maybe the element of surprise on your side. You have the power to end this tonight. 
Tony’s still ranting about how irresponsible and impulsive and stupid you’re being, so you hang up. The call ironically disconnects in the middle of him saying how you never listen to anything he says. 
You’re more convinced than ever that Agatha and Rio did something in the woods that day that fucked you up beyond measure. 
And who was that other woman? 
Somehow, after all of that, you had ended up in the hospital with hypothermia and pneumonia, and the post-traumatic and retrograde amnesia accounts for the block in your mind. Did you hit your head on something? 
Or did someone hit you on the head with something? 
Agatha and Rio and the mystery woman had been so shocked and afraid when you came across them doing something bad that they had clobbered you in the hopes that you would forget, or die? 
It’s plausible. 
If nothing else, you need answers before you kill them tonight. Maybe knowing what they did will give you some semblance of peace and you can sleep without fearing that you’re going to murder innocent people. 
It can hopefully get rid of your headaches, at the very least. 
When you get to the address left on the note, Agatha’s car is already parked out front. You breathe a sigh of relief and the tension in your shoulders you didn’t know you were carrying seeps out. They’re here. They didn’t send you on a wild goose chase. 
Your heart is beating so fast you think it might fly right out of your chest and you try to slow down your breathing before entering the viper’s nest. 
There’s no telling what you might find in there, or what tricks they have up their sleeves, so you want to be mentally prepared. 
When your breaths are finally under control, you get out of the car and immediately slip on ice. You crash down to the pavement with a thud and you struggle to get your bearings and 
Snow. 
Clearing in the woods. 
The woman beckons you forward and you find her with two other women. Out of the three, there’s two brunettes and one with gray hair. The gray-haired one looks older, lines prominent on her angry face. She’s standing against a tree.
The two brunettes smile. 
When you get closer, you can see that the gray-haired lady is standing in the middle of a big mound of sticks and branches. 
Why doesn’t she just move? 
The cold ground bleeds through your pants and brings you back to reality. The big mound of sticks and branches coupled with the fire you started seeing…was she on a pyre? 
One thing at a time, you remind yourself, pushing yourself up with the help of the car next to you. 
You silently slink up to the front door. It’s slightly open. You pause and press your ear to the wood, listening for anything that might indicate a struggle happening. 
Nothing. 
You push it all the way open and carefully step inside, wincing when the floorboard creaks under your foot. It’s so silent in the front corridor of the house that you think you can hear your blood rushing under your skin. 
There’s flickering light coming from the living room and you make your way in that direction when you hear something. You strain your ears and stop against the wall to try and discern what it is – is that a smacking noise? 
Are they kissing? 
You dare to peek around the corner and yes, not really to your surprise, Agatha and Rio are making out amidst a crime scene.
 A dagger sits on the kitchen table next to a plate of the same cookies from their house, two purple azaleas, and two containers. 
Two people, a man and a woman, are laying on the ground gasping for air. Their skin is getting tighter, shriveling, lines etching into their face as their cheeks hollow out. 
Their chests are still intact though. Maybe they haven’t gotten to that step yet? Clearly Agatha and Rio have been sidetracked.
You should go help them. You should go in there and save their lives, you should stop The Witch and Lady Death. Why do you feel so hot? You must have a fever, there’s no reason your body should be this warm.
But then you look in their direction and you’re enraptured, all other thoughts leaving your head.
The skeleton mask is thrown on the floor and the glow of the fireplace lights up Agatha and Rio trying to devour each other’s mouths. 
A flush of heat stutters through your body as Rio reaches her arms around Agatha’s neck and tries to pull her even closer. Agatha’s hands are clasped on her wife’s cheeks and you can see her tongue sliding into Rio’s mouth. The electricity under your skin is back, roaring to life, while your eyes move from the people on the floor, taking their last breaths, to Agatha and Rio, still kissing like their lives depend on it, to the 
Snow. 
The clearing. 
The sound of a match striking against the matchbox. 
You watch it fall, almost as if in slow motion. 
A brilliant blaze of fire erupts. 
Agatha’s foot squeaks on the floor as she walks Rio backwards, mouth never leaving hers. Your fingers tighten around the gun so hard you think you might snap them. You should shoot them. You should shoot them both right here, right now. 
But you can’t move. 
You’re stuck, rooted to the same spot around the corner, watching as Agatha’s lips trail down Rio’s neck. The younger woman’s head drops back to give her wife more room and you can almost feel the pleasure she does. 
“Agatha,” Rio whines and you never thought you would hear her beg. But the mighty therapist, the same woman who poisoned you after eating you out on your couch, is reduced to holding her wife’s hair so she doesn’t move away. 
Your breath comes out in sync with Rio’s, like you’re imagining that you’re her instead of you, that you have Agatha pressed up against you instead of being pressed against a wall. 
Rio’s fingers dig into Agatha’s thick locks and she switches positions, whirling Agatha around, and she takes control of the kiss. Your eyes are wide, rapt with attention, not daring to look away as Rio moves down to Agatha’s chest and rips her flannel open, revealing her pale chest and lacy black bra. 
Your mouth waters and the ache, the same one you felt in the woods and in your motel room, the same one you feel whenever you’re around them, floods through you, settling right between your legs. 
Rio nips at Agatha’s breast over the fabric, mouthing at her nipple, and you would kill to be with them. Agatha is watching her fondly, with heat in her eyes, and you think Rio must be looking up at her. 
Now would be the perfect time to shoot, so why can’t you move?
Because you like this too much, your body answers for you. You have to tug at the neckline of your sweater as you feel too hot. 
Rio kneels down, hands sliding up and down Agatha’s thighs while she sucks on the smooth expanse of her wife’s stomach. Your body is swimming with desire, it’s dizzying almost, and you think you need to cum soon or you might die. 
Agatha gasps when Rio sinks her teeth into her skin roughly and then soothes the spot with her tongue. She reaches up, moves Agatha’s hair out of the way, and unclasps her bra and you feel a guttural moan form in your throat. You have to bite your lip hard so it doesn’t escape. 
The pale skin of her chest is flushed red and there’s a slight sheen of sweat on her clavicle. Her nipples are a dusky rose color, pebbled and hard, and you want them in your mouth so fucking bad. 
Rio surges up to do exactly that, tugging on them with her teeth, and Agatha groans, eyes fluttering shut. 
Your brain finally forgets about shooting them, forgets about the fact that they’re serial killers at all, and you do possibly the stupidest thing you’ve ever done in your entire life. 
You put the gun into the waistband of your pants and you step out from behind the corner. 
Agatha’s eyes fasten on to you immediately, but instead of looking surprised, she looks impatient. Like you should’ve been here thirty minutes ago. 
“There’s our superstar,” she drawls, hands tangling in Rio’s hair, forcing her still. “What took you so long?” 
You try to think of something to say, anything at all, perhaps a remark about how you caught them, when Rio rakes her eyes up and down your body and chuckles. “Look at her, Aggie. She didn’t just get here. She’s been watching.” 
Agatha smirks in agreement. “I wonder what got her more hot and bothered, watching us” She nods to the surely dead couple on the ground. “-or watching them die.” 
“You two are crazy,” you say, willing your hand to grab your gun, but it doesn’t obey. The heat in your voice betrays you, though. 
Rio simpers, advancing toward you with Agatha in tow. You clench your teeth as they start circling you like sharks. “Want to know how we do it?” Rio purrs into your ear and you shudder. 
“No,” you spit out, trying desperately hard to keep your eyes from darting down to Agatha’s breasts. She’s made no move to cover up. Her nipples are still hard.
“First,” the detective starts. “We lace the cookies with a delicate mix of hydrofluoric acid, acetone, isopropyl, and a few other things meant to just confuse test results. It slowly decomposes their body from the inside out and they’re dead within minutes.” 
Rio moves your hair out of the way to press kisses to your neck and it sends goosebumps down your spine. 
“And then,” Rio says right against your skin while Agatha’s hand slithers from your waist to your stomach up to around your throat. You can feel your pulse throb against her fingers. “I take my knife and carve out their hearts. The first cut is always the sweetest. After that, we use bleach to wash it away and hydrogen peroxide to eat away anything we left: blood, fingerprints, DNA.” 
“Voila,” Agatha says, snapping her fingers that aren’t around your throat. You hate how wet you can feel yourself getting. “That’s how you get away with murder.” 
Rio’s hands are on your hips now, squeezing in time with the hand on your throat. Your airway is constricted, you know you should be scared, but you meet Agatha’s blown-out pupils and are sure yours look the exact same. 
The therapist finds your gun and disarms you. “Or in your case,” she says right into your ear, jabbing the muzzle into your back. “You just lure them into the woods while you’re unconscious and slit their femoral arteries.” 
All the air leaves your lungs, both from their proximity and your own weapon being used against you. 
“Get on your knees,” Agatha orders, letting go of your throat so you can immediately drop down. 
Your knees hit the ground hard, but you barely even register the pain, looking up at them eagerly to await what’s next. 
Rio slowly walks around until she’s standing next to Agatha and tucks the gun under your chin, forcing it up even more. “Look at how much she’s getting off on this,” she says in a hushed voice. The air between the three of you is thick with tension, the dead bodies only a few yards away completely forgotten. 
“You’re capable of so much more than just being a profiler,” Agatha says wistfully, stroking your hair with some sort of affection. “You can be so much more.” 
Snow. 
The match drops.
Fire. 
The gray-haired lady screams. 
You’re running through the woods. Are you being chased? 
There’s a crack as your head hits the ground.
“What did you do to me?” You ask, voice breaking. “What did you do to that woman?” 
Rio drags the gun up the side of your face, traces your cheekbones, and then presses it to your lips. Instinctively, your tongue darts out to flick at the cold metal, and both their eyes flash. “You still don’t remember everything?” Rio asks. 
“I remember that you killed her, and it fucked me up,” you tell them, voice level as it’s finally making sense to you. “I found you two in the woods. You burned her, and then what? You tried to kill the ten year old who saw it? And this is — what? Your way of finally tying up all those loose ends?” 
Agatha snorts and Rio scoffs. 
“Look at our superstar, thinking she knows everything. We don’t want to kill you,” Agatha says, rolling her eyes. Rio takes the gun away from your mouth and tosses it onto the couch. 
Your gaze flicks between them, not sure who to look at. “What do you want then?” 
Agatha winds her fingers through your hair and yanks you off your knees, dragging you in for a kiss, biting your bottom lip hard. A metallic taste fills your mouth and it only makes you hungrier, so you open your mouth and shove your tongue into her hot and waiting mouth. 
You feel Rio’s body pressing against your back and her hand delves under your waistband to cup you over your soaking underwear. Your hips involuntarily jolt at the contact and you moan, but it’s swallowed up by Agatha’s lips. 
The detective pulls your shirt over your head as Rio pushes your underwear to the side and lazily spreads your wetness around your cunt. 
There’s a tugging in your gut, a burning, aching, guttural tugging that is going to be the death of you. Electricity skates through your veins, lighting up your blood and setting it to a boil. 
You’ve never felt so hot in your life. 
Agatha’s lips on your neck do little to quench your thirst for more and Rio shoves two fingers into you with no warning and a gasp tears its way out of you. Agatha bites on your collarbone as Rio twists her fingers and you groan loudly. 
“She loves this, Rio,” Agatha says like you aren’t even there. Rio whimpers and curls her fingers, her other hand snaking around to grab Agatha’s throat. The older woman’s breath hitches as she kisses along your bra, tasting the perspiration on your cleavage. 
Rio’s fingers inside you and Agatha’s mouth now sucking on your nipples, having pushed your bra down, somehow isn’t enough. 
You need to feel them. 
Your hands find Agatha’s breasts, kneading them and pulling on her nipples. She makes a noise against your skin and it only sears you more. You slide your fingers down her stomach, over the red marks from Rio’s mouth, and dip them into her pants. 
She’s just as wet as you are, and you gingerly rub her clit, gathering wetness from her entrance and bringing it back up to swirl at her. She pants hotly against your skin and you can feel her hand creep behind you to Rio, who has set a slow pace inside you. 
“Aggie,” Rio breathes and bites down onto the back of your shoulder. Agatha chuckles breathlessly and you’re able to twist your head just enough to see Agatha’s hands down the therapist’s pants too. 
It makes you clench around Rio’s fingers. You’re all being fucked, and fucking someone, and you can feel Agatha’s wetness the same way Rio is feeling yours, the same way Agatha is feeling her wife’s. 
You slide your middle finger into Agatha, groaning when her walls flutter around you. Rio squeezes a third finger into you and you keen at the stretch, but then she starts fucking roughly and it’s everything you need and more. 
Her thumb swipes at your clit and you try to time your thrusts into Agatha with Rio’s into you. 
Rio’s teeth find your shoulder blade again and dig in, and the pain just makes your body feel even more alive. 
You’ve never felt like this before. The intensity is tenfold what anyone else has ever given you. 
Your ring finger joins your middle and Agatha nips at the curvature of your breasts. Your free hand palms hers and you roll her nipple, enjoying the way she gets tighter around you. Rio plays with her wife’s other boob, and you don’t think you could move a muscle either way because the two women are wrapped so firmly around your body, holding you in place in the middle. 
But that’s nothing new. You’ve been intertwined with them since you’ve gotten here, maybe even almost your whole life. 
Agatha’s lips capture yours and you can feel her muscles in her arm strain against your bicep. You curl your fingers and find the spongy spot that pulls a resounding gasp from her mouth right into yours. Rio pauses, pulls out, and when she presses back at your entrance, your head almost falls back when you feel four fingers posed. 
The detective seems to know because she chuckles against your lips, sucks on your tongue. 
And then she pulls away as Rio plunges four fingers into you, the stretch burning. But the pain gives way to even more pleasure and when she twists them upward, you almost cum. 
“I’m so close,” you moan and Agatha leans behind you and out of the corner of your eye, you see her kissing Rio. And then Rio pulls your head back by your hair and her mouth is on yours and then there’s a flurry of tongue and teeth and lips and you don’t even know who you’re kissing but it’s someone and it’s so good and you’re about to —
— Rio’s fingers stop inside you and you whine, frantically rolling your hips. Your fingers are still pumping at a steady rhythm inside Agatha and you can feel by the movement in her arm that she’s still fucking Rio. 
“Why did you become a profiler?” Rio asks into your ear. “Tell us and we’ll let you cum.” Her thumb brushes against your clit and you’re so sensitive, you think you might be able to cum anyways with that and the fullness. 
“You guys…you killed her so I wanted to know why you did, how you could,” you choke out and Agatha peppers kisses all over your chest. The livewire in your body is about to snap. 
Rio gives you one harsh thrust and you almost sob. “Try again,” she orders. 
Tears prick in your eyes and your fingers falter inside Agatha. You can hear Rio’s breaths becoming shorter and shallower, indicating how close she is. Agatha’s eyes dart from your dark pupils to your swollen lips. She’s still holding onto her composure, better than you and her wife are at least, but you can tell she’s on the edge. 
“I don’t know,” you say, but is that the truth? 
The thrumming in your head comes back, like a memory knocking on your brain, asking to be let in. 
You give in. 
Snow. 
The clearing. 
The three women: two brunettes and one with gray hair.
You can now see that the gray-haired lady is tied to the tree.
The sound of a match on the matchbox. 
The match is flicked onto the sticks by someone, igniting the stake and a brilliant blaze of fire erupts. 
Who set the fire?
Your eyes snap open, the entire block in your mind gone and the memories flood through your head. 
“I wanted to understand why I did it,” you gasp and you know that you finally got it right when Rio starts fucking you with a renowned vigor. 
It takes no time at all before you cum explosively all over her hand and the two of them follow shortly after. The feeling of Agatha orgasming around your hand triggers another one in you and you cling to both of them while you come down from the most intense high of your life. 
They soothe you, whisper sweet nothings, press kisses all over your face, and you wince when Rio pulls her four fingers out of you, the emptiness filling you. 
You start to shake and you don’t realize you’re sobbing until they’re kissing your lips and you can taste the saltiness from your cheeks. 
“It’s okay, baby girl,” Agatha says, and they wrap their arms around you, holding you and letting you cry. “We got you. We’re not letting you go.” 
You sniff and lean into their embrace, feeling whole for the first time in your life. 
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monstersholygrail · 5 months ago
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Oh to be a ftm bunny boy hybrid in a chase dynamic with a fox hybrid. The twist being that the bunny does the chasing and the fox is so fucking confused and is thrown off by this.
Added points for the hormones bunnies / rabbits bring.
Being a big adorable Boy Bunny Hybrid was tough sometimes. Especially when the local Fox Hybrid of your village was going around being a menace to the other people in town.
The Fox was constantly terrorizing others. As soon as he’d set his eyes on you he’d start the chase and he wouldn’t let up until he got you proper scared. It was only your luck that you were his favorite target.
Always picking you out from the crowd. Coming up behind you and grabbing onto you when you were doing nothing but minding your own business. Chasing you back during your walks home. Rarely letting you get a moment of peace without thinking about him and worrying he might be around the corner. It didn’t matter how hot he was or how he looked at you like he constantly wanted to devour you.
You were honestly getting sick of it and thought the Fox surely needed to be taught a lesson. It wasn’t like you wanted to egg him on or anything. It wasn’t that natural for you to try and hunt either. But the next morning you got up super early and went to track the Fox.
Your big bunny ears twitch as you look out for him and follow him through the forest. You stay a safe distance away from him so that he can’t smell you yet your little fluff of a tail shakes with your nerves, your ears even flattening against your head.
Before you can chicken out, you push off your hind legs and charge at the Fox. Propelling forward so quickly that it takes a moment for the Fox to notice you. But when he does he whips around and tries dashing away. Shock and confusion coursing through him in time with the burst of adrenaline.
The Fox looks behind him incredulously, not believing what’s going on. Some hybrid is hunting him? That never happens. The fox struggles between trying to run away and trying to get a good look at the predator. But when he spots you, the boy bunny he’s chased after more than anyone, he nearly stops in his tracks. Yet the look on your face tells him not to.
He would’ve kept going till he surely outran you but with a snag of his foot against a branch he goes tumbling down to the ground. The Fox groans in pain and before he can even catch his bearings you’re pummeling into him, causing you two to tumble through the grass.
With a quick maneuver on your part you roll over till you’re straddling the Fox, a feral look in your eye as you pin his arms above his head. The Fox mirrors it, thoroughly pissed off that he was caught by a damn bunny. But he doesn’t give up, his body squirming and jerking beneath you.
You grunt in return, trying your hardest to keep him subdued. But you were all soft curves and little muscle so it was proving a bit difficult. You struggle against him, your hips shifting and pressing into him in order to pin him down.
All it ends up doing is grinding his growing erection into your fluttering cunt and sensitive bottom growth which has you crying out and tightening your hold on him. The two of you glare fiercely at each other as the Fox deceptively starts to clam down. Your hold slightly loosens.
“You don’t like being hunted very much, do you? So why do you do it to others? To me,” you ask firmly, finally demanding answers after all this time.
Something passes over the Fox’s features but it goes by too quick for you to pick up on it. Then the next thing you know you’re being flipped over, your back hitting the ground and the Fox’s body pressing into yours. His hard bulge teasing your slit in a way that has you buzzing. He growls in your face, his drool dripping onto your neck. Your bunny nose twitches, wanting to wipe it away but a part of you also wanting his scent on you.
“To others, for fun. To you? Well, because you’re mine, and you needed to understand that.”
Your eyes widen at the confession and your body heats up. Getting turned on by his blunt claim of you. He raises a brow as if daring you to challenge him. But you don’t want to.
“Yours…” you whisper, liking the idea far too much. Wanting him to chase you so he can take you afterwords. Knowing that was his true intent all along as your hips bucking up into him.
His gaze softens and he leans down, nuzzling into your neck. Swiftly removing all clothes in your way, leaving you both bare to each other in more ways than one. He growls and nips at your throat, making his mark on you.
“That’s right, pretty boy.”
His voice rumbles in your ear, sending a chill down your spine. Yet it only turns you on more, your cunt fluttering with need. He lines himself up to your entrance, teasing you and keeping you on edge.
“My precious bunny.”
With that he plunges inside you, his claws yanking you deeper on his cock as he starts thrusting into you like a man starved. Like he’s been waiting so long to finally have you and now that he is, he’s taking all he can get.
You try and give him everything you can, your hips struggling to meet his every brutal thrust. Moans and whimpers brokenly leaving you as lust and pleasure fog up your mind.
He pounds into you with shocking ferocity, his aim to make you feel better than you’ve ever imagined. To ruin you for everyone else so all you can do is crave his cock and the pleasure only he can provide.
His length hits those spots deep inside you just right and your body shakes by the sheer force of the pleasure building up inside you. Your quivering body making it hard to continue rocking into him.
But the Fox doesn’t let up, his hands sliding to cup for firm bottom, claws digging into the rounded flesh. The tips of his claws only just teasing your sphincter.
Sparks blast through your body and straight to your close as you explode all over his cock. A squeak of a scream leaving you as your vision flashes white. The Fox growls loudly at the way you clench around him and his hot semen splashes deep inside you. Filling you with his release till your belly distends.
Something comes over you and you can’t stop the words from slipping out as the Fox sags on top of you.
“Mine.”
The act of claiming a strange sensation. But it felt right. It felt needed. You’d be the only bunny your fox would ever chase again. The Fox chuckles and nods into your neck.
“Yours.”
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knightofthenewrepublic · 4 months ago
Text
The Battle of Manhattan didn’t go the way the Fandom thinks it did; we need to address the “massacre” of the Titan Army!
The Battle of Manhattan is the most pivotal event of the first series. And we see the entire thing exclusively from Percy’s point of view. He takes us through the thickest of the fight from one end of Manhattan Island to the next, and shows us a desperate fight of good against evil.
But we have another point of view for the battle, one that comes from the demigods of the Titan army, and one that informs us of a far different, darker side to the conflict. One where an entire army of children is massacred by the victorious Olympians, without a thought or even a care. It’s a shocking, confronting side of the struggle that most fans don’t seem to be aware of. 
But it’s also completely inaccurate. 
Now I love Alabaster; he’s one of my favorite characters, and I want nothing but the best for him. But he’s a demonstrably unreliable narrator. I don’t even mean that he’s intentionally dishonest; but he’s very badly misinformed about what actually happened. And that gives the fandom three major misconceptions that need to be cleared up. 
Alabaster gets the casualty ratio for the battle wrong (the Olympians had more than he thinks).
The Titan army has far fewer demigods than most fans think (not much more than 50 at the most).
Alabaster does say that there was a “massacre” at the end of the battle, but most of the TA demigods had deserted before that!
Part 1) The Olympians Have High Casualties
“It was a massacre. If I remember right, my mother told me that Camp Half-Blood and its allies had sixteen casualties total. We had hundreds.” (pg 219)
This is the only time we get a specific number for Olympian casualties, but it just doesn’t match up with what actually happens in the books. Looking back at all the deaths we do see:
Charlie Beckendorf -1
one [Hellhound] got hold of an Apollo camper and dragged him away. I didn’t see what happened to him next. I didn’t want to know. (pg 182) -1
Michael Yew -1
A young dragon had appeared in Harlem, and a dozen wood nymphs died before the monster was finally defeated. (pg 203) -12
“We lost twenty satyrs against some giants at Fort Washington,” [Grover] said, his voice trembling. (pg 203) -20 Giants smashed through trees, and naiads faded as their life sources were destroyed. (pg 243) -1< Enemy archers returned fire, and a Hunter fell from a high branch. (pg 244) -1  Too many of our friends lay wounded in the streets. Too many were missing. (pg 257) -1< The flagpoles were hung with horrible trophies –helmets and armor pieces from defeated campers. (pg 282) -1< The Drakon lashed out, swallowing three californian centaurs in one gulp before I could even get close. (pg 288) -3 Poison spewed everywhere, melting centaurs into dust along with quite a few monsters, (pg 288) -1< The Drakon snapped up one Ares camper in a gulp. (pg 291) -1
Silena Beauregard -1
Leneus -1
a body covered in the golden burial shroud of Apollo’s cabin. I didn’t know who was underneath. I don't want to find out. (pg 303) -1
Oddly enough, we actually miss the moment that was probably the worst for the Olympians, the final push by Kronos that breaks through their line. After Clarisse slays the drakon and the monsters are driven back again, Percy and co. take the opportunity to go up to Olympus. Percy gives Pandora’s Pithos to Hestia, and then contacts Poseidon via his throne. It’s just as he finishes that Thalia comes up and tells them that Kronos is coming again, but they miss the fighting.
By the time we got to the street, it was too late. Campers and Hunters lay wounded on the ground. Clarisse must have lost a fight with a Hyperborean giant, because she and her chariot were frozen in a block of ice. The centaurs were nowhere to be seen. Either they’d panicked and ran, or they’d been disintegrated. (pg 312) -<500
And finally, Kronos does kill some people on Olympus itself.
A few minor gods and nature spirits had tried to stop Kronos. What remained of them was strewn about the road: shattered armor, ripped clothing, swords and spears broken in half. (pg 322) -1<
The specific deaths we have mentioned during the battle amount to 48 at the very least; and that is an extremely conservative estimate that only includes the deaths Percy has the time and presence of mind to witness in all the carnage. Considering how many others must have happened, factoring the sudden disappearance of the 500 centaurs in particular, it was likely in the hundreds. And most of the centaurs probably ran at the end, but even that would have involved heavy casualties.
It’s true that actual demigods were a smaller fraction of Olympian forces, and so would have made up just a fraction of losses. The number 16 might actually make sense if it were just the number of campers lost, but that’s not what Hecate said, she said total.
It might be significant that Hecate is the actual source of this misinformation. Would she have reason to lie to her own son, or might she herself be out of the loop. Right now, we just can’t know. 
And she might be underestimating Titan Army losses too. Considering how many times a wave of several hundred monsters tear into Manhattan, and get thrown back by the Olympians only to return later with no discernable drop in numbers, until the army is finally routed entirely, it wouldn’t surprise me if the TA actually took a thousand or more casualties. But those would be overwhelmingly monsters, because:
Part 2) Less Than Fifty Demigods Were Even In The Titan Army
To prove that there could not possibly have been hundreds of TA demigods killed at Manhattan, we need look no farther than Alabaster's own account.
“There was a war between the gods and titans last summer and most half-bloods–demigods like me–fought for the Olympians.” (pg 218)
So the TA could not have had more demigods than the Olympians; and they had about a hundred. There are forty campers to start with, who are quickly joined by the Hunters, who now have thirty members. Then, in the last hours of the fight, they are finally joined by the Ares cabin, which brings another thirty (jeez Ares, you animal!). So Olympus has an even hundred demigods. (The Hunters aren’t necessarily all demigods by birth, but I don’t think Alabaster would make a distinction based on that.)
So the TA has less than a hundred demigods, significantly less. I would argue they probably had no more than fifty because that lines up with the only solid numbers we ever get for them. And every time the TA is described, demigods are a clear minority. First, look at the foes Percy encounters when he infiltrates the Princess Andromeda:
I saw monsters patrolling the upper decks of the ship–dracaenae snake-women, hellhounds, giants, and the humanoid seal-demons known as telkhines . . . . . “I don’t care what your nose says!” snarled a half-human half-dog voice—a telkhine. “The last time you smelled half-blood, it turned out to be a meatloaf sandwich!” “Meatloaf sandwiches are good!” a second voice snarled . . . . . a telkhine was hunched over a console . . . . . a half dozen telkhines were tromping down the stairs . . . . . past another telkhine . . . . . And in the fountain squatted a giant crab . . . . . a couple of dracaenae slithered across my path . . . . . As I was running up the stairwell, a kid charged down . . . . . Laistrygonian giants filed in on either side of the swimming pool . . . . . demigod archers appeared on the roof . . . . . two hellhounds leapt down . . . . . The crowed of monsters parted . . . . . Giants jeered. Dracaenae hissed with laughter . . . . . throwing monsters off their feet . . . . .I knew him, of course: Ethan Nakamura . . . . . two giants lumbered forward . . . . . Panicked monsters surged backward . . . . . one of the dracaenae hissed . . . . . I pushed through a crowd of monsters . . . . . Monsters yelled at me from  above.
That was a quick summary of all the enemies Percy and Charlie encounter on the Princess Andromeda, I’m not crazy enough to try and write the whole chapter. But it’s pretty clear there are only a few demigods amid dozens of monsters. We hear the same thing from Poseidon later, that “there were only a few demigod warriors aboard that ship”; we might question whether or not Poseidon is a trustworthy source, but the evidence does back him up.
When we finally get to the battle, the disparity of demigod numbers in the TA is again evident:
The bronze image showed Long Island Sound near La Guardia. A fleet of a dozen speed boats raced through the dark water toward Manhattan. Each boat was packed with demigods in full Greek armor. At the back of the lead boat, a purple banner emblazoned with a black scythe flapped in the night wind. I’d never seen that design before, but it wasn’t hard to figure out: the battle flag of Kronos. “Scan the perimeter of the island,” I said. “Quick.” Annabeth shifted the scene south to the harbor. A Staten Island Ferry was plowing through the waves near Ellis Island. The deck was crowded with dracaenae and a whole pack of hellhounds. Swimming in front of the ship was a pod of marine mammals. At first I thought they were dolphins. Then I saw their doglike faces and swords strapped to their waists, and I realized they were telkhines—sea demons. The scene shifted again: the Jersey shore, right at the entrance of the Lincoln Tunnel. A hundred assorted monsters were marching past the lanes of stopped traffic: giants with clubs, rogue Cyclopes, a few fire-spitting dragons, and just to rub it in, a World War II-era Sherman tank, pushing cars out of the way as it rumbled into the tunnel. (pg 167)
Here we see the first wave of the Titan Army as a three pronged attack (which Percy says on the next page collectively numbered at least 300) and only one of the units has demigods. It’s the one that Kronos leads, so it’s probably meant to be a more elite unit, at least at first. 
We don’t know for sure how many there are. Speedboats are usually made to carry 4-6 people so a dozen would be possible 48 to 72. Considering Alabaster says there were significantly less demigods in the TA than the Olympians, I would guess it’s on the lower end; and that does match another number we see in a moment.
This fleet never reaches Manhattan, since Percy bribes the East River to swamp their boats. Those who say many TA demigods were killed in the battle might point to this as Percy causing a bunch of kids to drown; but Alabaster never mentions a mass drowning in his narrative of the battle, and he would have been on one of those boats, so it’s safe to say they just went for a swim.
(And Kronos was with them, which means that a very angry titan lord was suddenly pitched into the river and had to swim with the rest of them. That’s not really relevant, I just want everyone to know that.)
Percy is then immediately told that “Another army is marching over the Williamsburg bridge.” This fourth prong of the attack, led by the Minotaur, also has no demigods in it.
An entire phalanx of dracaenae marched in the lead . . . About a hundred more monsters marched behind them. (pg 182) More monsters surged forward —snakes and giants and telkines—but the Minotaur roared at them, and they backed off. (pg 186)
But more monsters keep advancing because by the time Percy kills the minotaur and the demigods charge and rout the whole group, it had grown to 200
Finally, the monsters turned and fled—about twenty left alive out of two hundred. (pg 188)
So the grand total for the first TA attack was 500 soldiers or more, with only 40-70 of them demigods. And after the monsters on the Williamsburg bridge retreat, those demigods show back up.
Then I saw the crowd at the base of the bridge. The retreating monsters were running straight toward their reinforcements. It was a small group, maybe thirty or forty demigods in battle armor, mounted on skeletal horses. One of them held a purple banner with the black scythe design.  The lead horseman trotted forward. He took off his helm, and I recognized Kronos himself, his eyes like molten gold. (pg1 188)
This is the only time we get anywhere close to a specific number when TA demigods are concerned. It would have been the same group that was sunk in the East River, who then had to swim for Brooklynn; which is where they are now trying to take the Williamsburg bridge. This reinforces the idea that the number of demigods in the boats was only a little more than forty, since they would not have suffered more than a few injuries in the sinkings.
I’m going to come back to this moment later to demonstrate how Percy refrains from killing other demigods, even in his Achilles state, but the other important thing to note is that this is the last time Kronos organizes his demigods into a unit that he leads personally. After they fail to break through here, Kronos just has them take on a secondary role, and puts his faith in bigger and bigger monsters to lead the charge instead.
The Titan Army units on Long Island then spend the evening marching the long way around Manhattan (for some reason) because they make camp for the night in New Jersey, at Medusa’s old lair. Percy again describes demigods as the small minority.
Hundreds of tents and fires surrounded the property. Mostly I saw monsters, but there were some human mercenaries in combat fatigues and demigods in armor too. A purple-and-black banner hung outside the emporium, guarded by two huge blue Hyperboreans.
And this is only part of the Titan army, because there are more troops north of Manhattan. 
“Tell my brother Hyperion to move our main force south into Central Park. The halfbloods will be in such disarray they will not be able to defend themselves.” (pg 237)
The army that marches into central park is bigger than the one camped in New Jersey. And it is made up exclusively of monsters. 
At the north end of the reservoir, the enemy vanguard broke through the woods—a warrior in golden armor leading a battalion of Laistrygonian giants with huge bronze axes. Hundreds of other monsters poured out behind them. (pg 243)
There is not a single mention of a demigod. However they’re already joining the fight in other places. 
When it flew above the rooftops, I could see fires here and there around the city. It looked like my friends were having a rough time. Kronos was attacking on several fronts. (pg 251)  
After Percy kills the Clazmonian Sow, the momentum of the battle shifts. With his main force failing to deliver a knockout punch, Kronos has his remaining armies spread out to put equal pressure on the entire defensive line, and catch it in a massive envelopment.
Midtown was a war zone. We flew over little skirmishes everywhere. A giant was ripping up trees in Bryant Park while dryads pelted him with nuts. Outside the Waldorf Astoria, a bronze statue of Benjamin Franklin was whacking a hellhound with a rolled-up newspaper. A trio of Hephaestus campers fought a squad of dracaenae in the middle of Rockefeller Center . . . . . The hunters had set up a defensive line on 37th, just three blocks north of Olympus. To the east on Park Avenue, Jake Mason and some other Hephaestus campers were leading an army of statues against the enemy. To the west, the Demeter cabin and Grover’s nature spirits had turned Sixth Avenue into a jungle that was hampering a  squadron of Kronos’s demigods . . . . . I spotted a familiar silver owl banner in the southeast corner of the fight, 33rd at the Park Avenue tunnel. Annabeth and two of her siblings were holding back a Hyperborean giant . . . . . The next hour was a blur. I fought like I’d never fought before—wading into legions of dracaenae, taking out dozens of telkines with every strike, destroying empousai and knocking out enemy demigods . . . . . At one point Grover was next to me, bonking snake women over the head with his cudgel. Then he disappeared in the crowd, and it was Thalia at my side, driving monsters back with the power of her magic shield. Mrs. O’Leary bounded out of nowhere, picked up a Laistrygonian giant in her mouth and flung him like a Frisbee. Annabeth used her invisibility cap to sneak behind enemy lines. Whenever a monster disintegrated for no apparent reason with a surprised look on his face, I knew Annabeth had been there . . . . . Kronos was riding towards us on a golden chariot. A dozen Laistrygonian giants bore torches before him. Two Hyperboreans carried his black-and-purple banners . . .
“THEN THE WINGED HUSSAARSSS AARRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVVVVVVED” SABATON BLASTS ON ELECTRIC GUITAR
 Sorry, sorry, I mean then Chiron and the 500 centaurs arrived!
Kronos’s forces looked as confused as we were. Giants lowered their clubs. Dracaenae hissed. Even Kronos’s honor guard looked uneasy. Then, to our left, a hundred monsters cried out at once. Kronos’s entire northern flank surged forward. I thought we were doomed, but they didn’t attack. They ran straight past us and crashed into their southern allies . . . a shower of arrows arced over our heads and slammed into the enemy, vaporizing hundreds of demons. (pg 258)
This is how the second phase of the battle ends. And during the entire night, out of a sea of monsters (hehe) we only see one unit of TA demigods. And it’s the last time we get any reference to them participating in the battle.
After being driven south, the TA apparently did another long march, because they make camp northeast of Manhattan.
The Titan army had set up camp all around the U.N. complex. The flagpoles were hung with horrible trophies—helmets and armor from defeated campers. All along First Avenue, giants sharpened their axes. Telkines repaired armor at makeshift forges. (pg 282)
Ethan is the only demigod mentioned this time. And he doesn’t appear to take part in the next attack, aside from releasing the drakon. We get less of a description of the enemy army this time, but it’s all monsters.
The rest of the battle wasn’t going well. The centaurs had panicked under the onslaught of giants and demons. An occasional orange camp T-shirt appeared in the sea of fighting, but quickly disappeared.  (pg 289)
Of course the Ares cabin arrives, the drakon kills Silena, and Clarisse kills it. It’s another rout for the TA.
The monsters retreated toward 35th Street. (pg 298) There was no answer from the enemy. Slowly, they began to fall back behind a dracaenae shield wall, while Clarisse drove in circles around Fifth Avenue, daring anyone to cross her path. (pg 299)
After that we have the final phase of the battle, when the Titan Army finally breaks through the Olympian lines. But once again, we have no reference to demigods other than Ethan.
The Titan Army ringed the building, standing maybe twenty feet from the doors. Kronos’s vanguard was in the lead: Ethan Nakamura, the dracaenae queen in her green armor, and two Hyperboreans. I didn’t see Prometheus. (pg 312) “ROWWF!” Mrs. O’Leary bounded toward me, ignoring the growling monsters on either side. (pg 315) There were thousands of [skeletan soldiers], and as they emerged, the titan’s monsters got jumpy and started to back up. (pg 315)     The armies of the dead clashed with the Titan’s monsters. Fifth Avenue exploded into absolute chaos. Mortals screamed and ran for cover. Demeter waved her hand and an entire column of giants turned into a wheat field. Persephone changed the dracaenae spears into sunflowers. Nico slashed and hacked his way through the enemy, trying to protect pedestrians as best as he could. My parents ran toward me , dodging monsters and zombies, but there was nothing I could do to help them. (pg 318).
The fight continues like this, until Typhon is destroyed, and the defenders are joined by the gods, and Poseidon’s army of cyclopes. It’s then that the Titan army is “massacred.” Most of the fandom thinks that the demigods were killed too, but that’s not the case.
PART 3: The TA Demigods Deserted Before The Final Battle
As Alabaster remembers it:
the war didn’t go our way. I fought on the battlefield against the enemy, but most of our allies ran. Kronos himself marched on Olympus, only to be killed by a son of Poseidon. After Kronos’s death, the Olympian gods smashed any remaining resistance. It was a massacre. “We weren’t all destroyed,” Alabaster said. “Most of the remaining half-bloods fled or were captured. They were so demoralized they joined the enemy. (pg 219)
When you look at this narrative, and compare it to The Last Olympian, it’s actually more complicated than the TA demigods simply getting massacred.
Al says that while he was fighting, most of his allies ran. That’s odd, because we don’t see the relative numbers of monsters go down at any point. What we do see, is the number of demigods go down.
As I illustrated in Part 2, the Battle of Manhattan has four distinct phases. Phase one, that ends when the Williamsburg Bridge is destroyed. The second phase, that starts when Hyperion attacks Central Park, and ends when the Party Ponies arrive. The third phase, which is all about the attack of the drakon. And the final phase, when Kronos breaks through.
We only see TA demigods in the first two phases; they attack the Williamsburg Bridge in the first phase as part of the Kronos’s main force, then in the second phase they’re relegated to a supporting role by hitting the defenders western flank. And that’s the last we see of them. After that, Etahn is the only demigod left standing in the TA. Alabaster must be somewhere in the background, as a retcon, but there’s no one beyond the two of them.
You might think that they’ve just already been killed by this point. After all, Percy blows up the Princess Andromeda, then goes into an Achilles Curse fueled berserker mode several times in the first two phases of the battle. Surely he must have killed hundreds of kids, right?
No, not even close.
Maybe not any at all.
On the Princess Andromeda Percy finds lots of monsters, but the number of demigods he finds could be counted on one hand. And the first one he meets; Percy spares him and tells him to get his friends and evacuate. We can’t prove whether or not any demigods were killed in the blast; we just know that the two we can confirm were still on board, Ethan and Alabaster, both survived. And when Alabaster recounts it, he doesn’t mention any bad losses at this point.
As for the Curse of Achilles, it doesn’t send Percy into anything like the berserker state some people think of it as. It might seem like that when Percy lets loose on the Williamsburg Bridge:
You’re going to ask how the whole “invincible” thing worked: if I magically dodged every weapon, or if the weapon hit me and just didn’t harm me. Honestly, I don’t remember. All I knew was that I wasn’t going to let these monsters invade my hometown. I sliced through armor like it was made of paper. Snake women exploded. Hellhounds melted to shadow. I slashed and stabbed and whirled, and I might have even laughed once or twice—a crazy laugh that scared me as much as it did my enemies. (pg 188)
But when push comes to shove, Percy can control the Curse, and what he does during it. That last moment was when he was fighting nothing but monsters. But when the TA demigods arrived, Percy pulled his punches like he always does.
I tried to wound his men, not kill. That slowed me down, but these weren’t monsters. They were demigods who’d fallen under Kronos’s spell. I couldn’t see faces under their helmets, but some of them had probably been my friends. I slashed the legs off their horses and made the skeletal mounts disintegrate. After the first few demigods took a spill, the rest figured out they’d better dismount and fight me on foot. (pg 189)
Percy is still in complete control of what he’s doing; even when the worst happens.
“Annabeth!” I turned in time to see her fall, clutching her arm. A demigod with a bloody knife stood over her . . . . . I locked eyes with the enemy demigod. He wore an eye patch under his helmet: Ethan Nakamura, the son of Nemesis. Somehow he’d survived the explosion on the Princess Andromeda. I slammed him in the face with my sword hilt so hard I dented his helm. (pg 190)
Percy really has all the reason to hate Ethan at this point; after Percy spared his life in Antaeus’ arena, Ethan still joined the side that had been ready to write off his death, and deliberately helped Kronos achieve his physical resurrection. Because of that Percy’s friends and even-Riordan-doesn’t-know how many mortals are going to die in the next few days; and on top of all that, Ethan just stabbed the love of his life.
And all Percy does is knock him out, maybe a little harder than necessary. He makes no effort to kill him. Those aren’t the actions of a berserker with no control.
In fact, the knife turns out to be poisonsed. And Ethan now has an idea where Percy’s Achilles Spot is, and might tell Kronos. And even after all of that, Percy doesn’t seriously think about killing him as an option.
“I’ll bonk him on the head harder next time.” (pg 241)
But more on topic, there is no reason to think the TA demigods have particularly high casualties in this phase of the battle, though they have a few:
Our archers shot a volley, bringing down several of the enemy, but they just kept riding. (pg 189)
Though it’s vague if they are hitting the riders or the horses. In fact, it might actually be Kronos who’s responsible for more of their losses.
[Kronos] struck the bridge with the butt of his scythe, and a wave of pure force blasted me backward. Cars went careening. Demigods—even Luke’s own men—were blown off the edge of the bridge. (pg 192)
I will die on the hill that between this, Ethan, and other implied moments, Kronos killed more of his own demigods than Percy did.
In the second phase of the battle, when we see the TA demigods attack again, they’re in a very different situation.
To the west, the Demeter cabin and Grover’s nature spirits had turned Sixth Avenue into a jungle that was hampering a  squadron of Kronos’s demigods. (pg 255)
This is the only thing we see the TA demigods do as a group in this phase; and they’re fighting people who are using very defensive tactics, more hampering than harmful. They’re not likely to lose many fighters. A few of them do cross Percy’s path in the chaos, but even at his most Achilles fueled chaos he never loses control.
The next hour was a blur. I fought like I’d never fought before—wading into legions of dracaenae, taking out dozens of telkines with every strike, destroying empousai and knocking out enemy demigods. (pg 257)
He talks about killing monsters, but always “knocking out” demigods. Finally, that phase of the battle ends when the centaurs show up. Did the centaurs kill any demigods? After all, Percy said they “trampled everything in their path.”
Well the only report we get on the TA demigods puts them to the west. When the centaurs attack, they come out of the north east and drive the enemy south, and start off a wave of panic that ripples down the enemy lines ahead of them. The demigods were probably running before any centaur reached them, and might have had better chances of being trampled by their own monsters.
So if the TA demigods aren’t taking many losses, where do they all go in the third and fourth phases, when we don’t see any except Ethan?
They desert. 
Alabaster: “I fought on the battlefield against the enemy, but most of our allies ran.”
I think the demigods of the TA signed up with no real idea of what would happen when they fought the Olympians. They thought they were going to have a sure victory. 
Chris Rodriguez said it in SOM:
“I hear they got two more [drakon] coming,” [Chris] said. “They keep arriving at this rate, oh, man—no contest!” (pg 122)
Alabaster C. Torrington said it in SOM:
“Kronos wasn’t supposed to lose! You said the odds of winning were in the Titan’s favor! You told me Camp Half-Blood would be destroyed!” (pg 196)
And they probably weren’t well prepared for the war either. At one point Luke says they will fight well because he has been training the army. But most of them join because they are the children of minor gods who swear for Kronos, and that doesn’t happen until the end of BOTL, after Luke has been possessed. Most of the TA demigods never got training from him; including their two highest ranking members, Ethan and Alabaster. It’s no wonder most of them weren’t prepared.
As I was running up the stairwell, a kid charged down. He looked like he had just woken up from a nap. His armor was half on. He drew his sword and yelled, “Kronos!” but he sounded more scared than angry . . . . No way was I going to hurt him. I didn’t need a weapon for this. I stepped inside his strike and grabbed his wrist, slamming it against the wall. His sword clattered out of his hand. (pg 18)
And the demigods might not hold much loyalty to Kronos, a violent and temperamental eldritch horror!
Ethan moistened his lips. “He’s still fighting you, isn’t he? Luke—” “Nonesense,” Kronos spat. “Repeat that lie, and I will cut out your tongue. The boy’s soul has been crushed.” (pg 236) “But, my lord,” Ethan said. “Your regeneration.” Kronos pointed at Ethan, and the demigod froze. “Does it seem,” Kronos hissed. “that I need to regenerate?” Ethan didn’t respond. Kind of hard to do when you’re immobilized in time. Kronos snapped his fingers and Ethan collapsed. (pg 284)
And the demigods might have witnessed a darker side to his army that we didn’t.
Back on my first visit to the Princess Andromeda, my old enemy Luke had kept dazed tourists on board for show, shrouded in Mist so they didn’t realize they were on a monster infested ship. Now i didn’t see any sign of tourists. I hated to think what had happened to them, but I kind of doubted they’d been allowed to go home with their bingo winnings. (pg 15)
So, the demigods deserted. After the second phase of the battle we don’t see any at the Titan camp at the U.N., or taking any part in the last phases of the battle. They had been fed false promises, were treated badly, and were being sent against enemies out of their league.
“Most of the remaining half-bloods fled or were captured. They were so demoralized they joined the enemy.”
All except two, Alabaster and Ethan. The son of Nemesis, who has already given so much and is so desperate to see something good and fair come out of it; and the son of Hecate, who was promised victory, and is desperate to avenge the death of his siblings. Ironically, the two demigods who stayed loyal to Kronos the longest, did so because they had faith in their godly parents.
So if there was no “massacre” of TA demigods at the end of the Battle of Manhattan, why is Alabaster so insistent that there was one? 
“Yes,” Alabaster said bitterly. “Camp Half-Blood decided that they would accept any children of the minor gods. They would build us cabins at camp and pretend that they didn’t just blindly massacre us for resisting. (pg 220) “But I’ll never bow to the Olympian gods after the atrocities they committed. Their followers are blind. I’d never set foot in their camp, and if I did, it would only be to give that son of Poseidon what he deserves.” (pg 221)
Well, it’s because the children of Hecate suffered the most in the war. She didn’t have as many children as other gods, and Alabaster was the only one to fight in it and survive. He claims he convinced “most” of his siblings to join; but if Hecate does not have many children, and he is the only survivor of the battle, how are there still enough of his siblings to decently fill a cabin, it’s likely “most” was only slightly more than half. The sad irony is that the fact that the smaller group of demigods had more casualties than the larger ones (and it sounds like not just more proportionately, but more in actual numbers), also kind of disproves that there could have been a large massacre that affected them all.
Alabaster was a scared, frustrated, exhausted kid; who convinced his siblings to fight in a destructive war, and was the only one of them to survive. To him, that is probably always going to feel like a brutal massacre.
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