#i did not expect. to be forced through this many emotions just trying to watch a comedy im already quite familiar with

[abysswalkerastraea1]

Concurrent Resurgence

A staggering impossibility had occurred on the night of your death. And now, reborn and unhinged; bound to that creature they call the Miles County Clown, you'd witness first-hand just how far your depravity could go.

17k words

Size kink

Art is so dominant I needed an outlet to express this

A staggering impossibility had occurred on the night of your death. Just like any regular woman, you screamed and cried and ran from the miles county killer, in a state of frenzy and terror up until the very end.

Your life hung on the precipice as you lay upon the ground, torn open from the midsection and gasping on wet breaths, watching that demonic clown hunker down low, leaning over your friend Vicky as he devoured her face.

You remembered the world becoming dimmer and dimmer, wondering when you'd be devoured next, hoping to God you'd die first so that you didn't have to feel the excruciating pain Vicky had.

Your wish had been granted mercifully, the sound of police sirens and shouting fading out as you heard the final cacophony of a gunshot, and then your world turned black.

Lying as a bloodied corpse in the morgue, you didn't expect to open yours eyes ever again, life beating steadily throughout you even as something dark and heavy like lead anchored you boundlessly to miles county.

You came to the conclusion that you and Art miraculously died at the same time, yours from your injuries while his was from a gunshot to the head. You both breathed your last breath, and now you were both alive.

It was as though his dying soul had latched onto your corpse, a shard of it replenishing what should have been dead and burdening you with rot, decay and evil.

Art had tried to kill you on many occasions since then. He was pleasantly surprised at seeing you whole again, grinning and waving jovially, eager to murder you all over again, only..

You couldn't die, it was as though you were both the oxygen and the blood that keeps one another alive; if one dies, so does the other.

It took some back and forth, cat and mouse antics to learn this. He'd try and catch you, gripping you by the hair with a mallet in the other hand, bringing it down in a devastating blow. You think he realised something had changed when you caught his wrist with an incredible strength you never used to possess and forced his head through a break wall.

Art had given you something, and he cursed you because he knew he could never get it back.

You were two halves of the same coin, polar opposites and yet vastly similar now. Humanity remained within you, somewhere, but your emotions became dim, your morals deathly low, and evil began festering.

You became violent. Explosive, uncharacteristically wrathful. It didn't feel wrong, either. It felt good, and the effort it took not to absolutely maim someone was immeasurable.

Still, humanity lingered in certain things you did, and especially the way you processed emotions, even if they were as muddled as dirty water.

You and Arts lives were intertwined now, and although he had eventually gotten over the fact that he couldn't kill you, you saw him more often than you liked, your meetings often tedious and full of hate.

For the most part, him seeing you often resulted in the biggest, most dramatic eye roll you had ever witnessed, his middle finger sticking right up at you. He didn't find you fun anymore; you were as immortal as him, and that meant you were untouchable, as was he.

You don't know if it was coincidence or some sort of fucked up connection that made you cross paths so often. It made sense, considering a part of him lived within you.

And just like always, Art was there to make everything worse.

For the longest time you tried avidly to enter civilisation again, whether that be from trying to get a decent job, to going to parties and attempting to make friends, or even just simple things like getting your hair done and a manicure.

Half of you wanted your humanity to be in complete control again, enjoying the freedom of joy and life. The other half began condemning regular humans, wanting to be forcefully ostracised from society and it's confinement.

Parties didn't help. On your list of things that did help, partying was the absolute rock bottom. Your alcohol tolerance was still horrifically low, and your ire and hate for the people around you jumped tenfold.

So, all that would really happen is you'd try as politely as possible to make friends at a party, get rejected, and savagely smash their heads into nearby picture frames. Or whatever happened to decorate the wall.

You'd then drink, alone, and become devastatingly drunk. And of course each and every time, Art would find a spare minute or two to observe you once you made your horrible walk of shame home, appearing from the darkness just to point and laugh at you and buckle over.

With your newfound strength and wrath, this often led to fights with you being the instigator.

Bottle in hand, you smashed it into the clowns face viciously, watching his expression turn to one of dramatic shock as he fell backwards from the force, your drunk self falling with him.

You were so intoxicated that once you hit his body you could hardly stand back up. Head laid against his shoulder awkwardly, you groaned and tried to ground yourself with a hand against his chest, collapsing with your feeble attempts.

You winced as your face made contact with the floor all of a sudden, Art having pushed you off roughly with a grimace.

Art knew he couldn't kill you, but he could break your ribs for good measure, grinning at the sickening crack of his boot ramming into your side. It caused you to vomit and go unconscious.

You woke up the next day in broad daylight, laying in the piss stained alleyway littered with rats. Chunks of your vomit and dirt spelling out 'Whore' across your forehead.

Since then, you and Art had toned down your rivalry somewhat, no longer fighting like cat and dog every other night, viciously finding ways to carve each other up.

You avoided each other for the most part. On occasion Art would seek you out just to be an asshole, slicing your cheek with a scalpel just after you'd finished doing your makeup, which infuriated you. Or after having your hair freshly done, he'd smear questionable substances all over it.

You had gotten so angry at that, that you'd went to his rotten workplace and tore half of it down before he managed to stop you.

Art - having realised the repercussions of having an enemy that he could not kill, that would be around with him forever and that would ruin his artisan-level work - certainly toned down his pestering.

You didn't see sight of him for a month after that. Let the asshole cry and lick his wounds, you had thought joyfully.

And now, he breaks into your home like it was his own, eating from your fridge and using your shower. You detested it at the beginning, throwing fully fledged tantrums at the fact that no matter what, you could not kill him. And hurting him too badly would in turn hurt you.

It was something you came to accept. After almost a year of fighting and stubbornness, you both began to yield, realising a stalemate when you saw one.

Art no longer smeared literal shit in your hair and you no longer broke his weapons. Seemed fair.

On the two year mark, Art frequented your home even more. Probably because it had everything he needed, and it had gotten to the point that you didn't even bat an eye at him. You'd still fight, where he'd end up laughing and mocking you and you'd end up furiously screaming at him, but it never really escalated from there.

Physical confrontation did happen rarely, but nothing..drastic. That shard of him within you had made you struggle to control your anger even after two years.

And then other times you sat silently on your settee, blanket drawn up to your chin as you watched a horror film alone. Just like every night, Art would come in and ignore you, but sometimes he'd be curious as to what you were doing, and flop down beside you far too casually.

You'd spare him a neutral glance, carelessly throwing the end of your large blanket at him. He'd excitedly accept it. He viewed it as one of your ritualistic customs when watching something you deemed as scary. Him accepting the blanket meant he was curious to know just what this 'terrifying' movie was about.

"Okay so, they can't find the key to unchain themselves to escape, so that guy has to saw his leg off.", you elaborated quickly, watching the scene unfold.

It wasn't your favourite film but it was on TV at the moment. Art folded his arms, watching patiently as the story proceeded. Your attention eventually faltered as a text message came through.

You responded promptly before putting your phone down. Then, another came through, and another, and you'd giggle to yourself quietly, typing. Art lolled his head back and to the side, watchful. You never really used that device anymore, he wondered what it was that gripped you so much.

He didn't have to wonder much longer as he ripped your phone from your hands and darted up, standing to his full height as he swiftly perused the text messages.

You jumped up after him, reaching a hand up to grab at him only for him to lift the phone above his head, gaze staring up to read them.

"Give me my phone now! I swear to God Art I'll fucking--", the rest of your complaining fell on deaf ears. Art rolled his eyes, all you ever did was pull tantrums and shout. And you never shut up, prattling on about one thing or another, screaming profanities and empty threats that Art didn't even deign to laugh at anymore, that's how common they were.

Eyes scanning the messages, a grin began to grow on his face, until full fledged laughter erupted silently. You seethed at him, clawing at his hands to try and grab it. Art eventually gave in, rolling his eyes at your continued threats, putting a hand against your shoulder and roughly shoving you away, phone thrown into your lap as you fell against the settee.

Before he left, Art turned back with his horn held between his legs obscenely, stroking it with a surprised face, eyebrows high and lips forming an 'o' shape.

You glared at him, but couldn't deny the way your cheeks reddened as his stroking got faster and his eyes rolled back in mock euphoria. You folded your arms and shrugged; you had nothing to say to that. Yes you were sexting some random guy and yes you wanted some dick.

Art tipped his hat with a dead expression, his mimicry representing a gentlemanly 'farewell and adieu', and his expression reading 'desperate whore'.

Before he finally departed, Art held up a scissors in one hand and a pliers in the other. He snipped them sassily, threateningly, grinning all the while.

"Yeah, well, if he's shit you're more than welcome to use them on him." You assured, and you meant it too. This guy seemed a little odd anyway, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Art seemed pleasantly happy with that, giving you a thumbs up with his back turned as he left the house in his Santa getup.

It was probably because you were overly horny, but...

No, you shook your head. Now is not the time to think of him like that. Honestly, you were getting more depraved every week.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You don't know what you were expecting, but it was.. anticlimactic.

You had become so sinful since your rebirth, average sex no longer doing it for you. The first guy was okay, an asshole, but okay. You tried so hard to be pleasant and normal but frustration and an unhinged desire coursed through you desperately.

It wasn't as though his dick wasn't to your liking, he was just so average and fucking human that you didn't even manage to get to the part that you desperately craved, your disgust evident.

Anyway, he seemed to think you had a bad attitude - you did - which led to arguing. You were not backing down and neither was he.

Raised voices turned into insults, both of you storming out of your bedroom and down the stairs as you reigned your anger in and told him to get out.

You could see Art from the front door, he must've came home at some point, focus taken from the TV as he watched you both scream at each other, boots propped up on your fucking coffee table which you told him not to do so many times-

And then your cheek was turning as this assholes hand met the side of your face.

You could feel your teeth clenching. Your face remained stoic, eyes burning with fury. You could see Art chuckling cruelly in the background, shoulders moving silently, incredibly invested in how this is going to play out.

It was only then did the asshole seem to notice a flash of black and white in the background, turning with an ugly scowl to the clown who now suddenly stood with a large smile, hands clenching and unclenching in anticipation.

He faltered, mild confusion and anger still evident in his scowl. An angry finger pointed in the clowns direction. "Who the fuck is that? You got a queue lining up after me, honey?" He spat the vile words at you, acidic and full of disgust.

You didn't have a chance to respond, lips quirking in mild amusement and eyes smouldered like a fiery, dark pit. The man scoffed, rolling his eyes at the demonic clown, before gazing back down at you with his lips snarling enough to bare his teeth.

"I knew there was something off about you, you fucking slut. Too proud to put out and, let's be honest," the man gave you a slow, disgusting once over, "not much to look at."

Something in you snapped, but all that came out was a gentle, breathy laugh, your eyes shining and dancing with a peculiar emotion. You wonder what it reflected. Judging by the way Art tilted his head from afar, assessing, before beginning to chuckle to himself even more, it must've been something ominous.

"What the fuck are you laughing at, asshole? Want me to come over there and give you something to really laugh at?!" The man roared at Art from across the room, utterly furious, fists clenched until the knuckles turned white.

Art began pointing and laughing now, wide eyed and crazed as he nodded vigorously as though to say 'please do!'

Before he could, you gripped his arm gently; your expression depicted a mocking sense of disappointment. "I've ruined your night, and wasted all of your precious time." You huffed, throwing your hands up in the air in defeat for him, indignant at yourself. "And like you said, I'm really not looking my best, am I? I apologize.", you smiled sweetly up at him, eyes squinted almost cutely.

The man paused at your admittance, evidently not used to any woman ever agreeing with him. He relaxed somewhat, nodding to himself as though to say yes, you are the problem, not him.

Arts dark eyes bored into your form, entranced, unsmiling, deadly.

"I'll make it up to you."

Your smile spread eerily wide, slow and deliberate and full of glee, frozen on your face. There was something ominous about you, mouth spread so far it looked as though you were doing a poor imitation of how a human should smile. It was too wide, too happy, unnatural. Slowly, you made your way to the kitchen.

The man appeared shocked and faltered, squinting at you as though to decipher what's going on. It felt like his eyes deceived him, searching desperately. Did he hear wrong? Did he miss something? Turning back towards the clown for some semblance of an answer, he seemed to have vanished. There was no trace of him ever being there, and there was no sound.

All was too silent, too calm, and it made his nerves stand on end, unsure, horrifically uncertain about everything he had just witnessed. He needed to leave.

The man tensed, back stepping at the sudden eeriness. It was so quiet, in fact, that part of his mind doubted that he had ever spoken to someone in the first place. Shaking his head, he turned to leave. There had to be a logical explanation for all of this. Without another thought, he turned and made his way to the front door.

His keys suddenly dropped to the floor from his hand. The sound was loud, and would probably shock anyone out of a daydream. Though, a second later, the horrific cry that surely tore his vocal chords was loud enough to make it evidently clear that this was all very real.

If not that, then the knife embedded in his back surely did.

The life that had been temporarily drained from the house now sprung to life viciously, all at once.

Gripping a fistful of his hair, you dragged him roughly through your living room, kicking him so hard in the chest he convulsed, air struggling to enter his wheezing lungs. Blood covered his chin, eyes wide and unable to comprehend these sudden events; Questions swirled in his horrified orbs.

Lips curling in disgust, you jumped on top of him and began violently beating him. The man struggled hard, trying to buck you off of him and attack you back but to no avail. You were as immovable as a wall, face stoic and nonchalant as the man flailed back and forth, desperate to escape.

His eyes were wide, terrified, blood pouring down his face. In a flash, you held his fist tightly, catching it before it could make contact with you. You began to chuckle, mirth dancing in your irises, squeezing so hard you could feel the bone snapping.

It wasn't normal, this level of power, but it felt so beautifully natural to you, something dark and radiantly evil crying out in glory at your actions, delightfully satisfied.

He roared in pain, tears involuntarily streaming down his face, hand mangled and deranged looking as he cradled it to his chest. He shuddered violently, eyes wild in horror. "What the fuck are you?!"

"Me?", you thought aloud softly, bloody hand to your chin contemplatively as you stared up at Art, who was so suddenly by your side that it made the man flinch and choke on his breath in fright.

"I'm a..slut, right? That's the word you used?" You looked at the man for confirmation, who shook his head swiftly in regret, face contorting miserably as he realized his grave error. He began to sob.

You gazed up at Art, who was clenching his hands rhythmically again, laughter shaking his shoulders. There was more than satisfaction at watching this asshole get beaten; almost a hidden connection of evil sparking between you both. He was corrupting you, but you yourself made these choices. You, avidly, enjoyed this outcome.

"Is that right, Art? He said slut, didn't he?", you hummed in thought, scratching your head for an answer. Your crimson hands dyed your hair a terrifying red as you curled a lock thoughtfully between your fingers.

Art nodded slowly, unable to take his eyes off the way your blue orbs became corrupted, like sediment contaminating a clear pool. They shined as black as his now.

"It's funny," you began with a dreamy sigh, eyelashes fluttering back down at the miserable sight below you. The whites of your eyes appeared disturbingly bloodshot. "For being such a slut, I haven't managed to get a good look at you yet. We didn't get too far earlier, did we?"

The man below you was hyper ventilating now, shaking his head furiously, knowing and fearing where this was going. His mangled hand joined the other in what looked like to be a feeble prayer, chest rising and falling rapidly. "I-Im sorry! Youre not a slut, you're--youre stunning and I'm so, so fucking sorry--"

Your act dropped then, eyes dead and void. A sense of dread hung heavy in the air for this man; There was no way out, and no amount of pleading would change that. You lifted your knife carelessly in the air, twirling the weapon hauntingly. The look the man gave you would stay in your memory for a while, it was full of pure, unadulterated terror.

You brought the knife down, slicing in his groin. The man screamed so loud you thought his vocal chords had torn. Blood pooled around you, soaked you, bathed you in a pretty crimson to match your nails.

Art was a hysterical mess, hunched over and pointing and laughing, miming a condescending, fake sobbing at the pathetic man. He held a sinister mirth in his eyes, absolutely buckled.

Grotesquely, you dug your hands into the gaping wound you had made in the man's genitals, rummaging around with the sounds of squelching blood permeating the air. Finding what you were looking for, you held it up high between your finger and thumb, expression holding that all too familiar disappointment.

Your lips quirked, "Not such a big man now, are you?"

Art was rife with laughter and joyfulness, and before you knew it, your giggling turned into cackling, blood smeared all over yourself as you held your stomach, tears falling down your cheeks in sick, dark satisfaction.

You hadn't laughed this hard in years, hadn't felt this liberated and happy in a while. Everytime you calmed down, giggles becoming quiet, Art would hold up the castrated organ absurdly, wiggling it like an ugly worm with a look of surprise on his face, eyebrows high and mouth open, and you'd be on the floor cackling madly once again.

It must've been a grotesque sight, you on your knees upon the floor, blood sinking so deeply into your clothes you wondered if it would come out, wiping tears of laughter away only to smudge deep streaks of red across your cheeks. You looked like an animal, rabid and violent.

Art gazed down at your crazed form with a smirk of satisfaction, chaos swirling in his eyes. It was as though he had been waiting for that part of him to corrupt you, for your anger to explode, for your unhinged desires to manifest.

After some time, everything fell peacefully quiet. It was comfortable, and dare you say amicable. Your breathing was the only sound in the room, slowing down as you gazed down at the way your feet were absolutely soaked red.

Leaning back on your hands, you caught sight of the demonic clown with his arms folded, leaning against the wall. He seemed serene, no longer smiling but definitely not frowning either. His black eyes perused the coating of blood on the floor, making their way up to study you deliberately.

His stare was intense, and you couldn't stop your cheeks from lifting upwards into a smile. Pushing yourself to a stand, you grimaced at the mutilated body on the floor and shivered in disgust.

You nudged at the corpse with your foot, cringing. "Maybe mortal men just aren't for me, anymore. "Though," you began as an afterthought, "even if I had a boyfriend, you'd probably kill him anyway." You sighed, fully acknowledging this.

You weren't even aggravated by that fact anymore. It would've really angered you once, but what's the point? You and Art seemed bound together forever, by the looks of it. You couldn't imagine him sitting idly with another person in the house. But then again, neither would you.

Art deliberated, gazing upwards in brief thought, before shrugging too. Yeah, probably. Just to get under your skin, mostly. And maybe an inkling of something else. He finally nodded, eyes staring down at you from his nose, like an old librarian with their glasses on the end of their nose. Snobbish. He had a reputation to up hold, you know. His nonchalant expression read 'well, you're not wrong.'

You scoffed, though offered a small smile nonetheless. He was amusing. For a silent clown, he was awfully verbal with his theatrical ways.

But now you began to think solemnly; What you just did - the killing, the maiming, the castrating - was vile. It was unforgivable, sickening. Your human half knows this, and something is conflicted within you. It felt like two halves of yourself were at war.

Even still, you felt joy. And you know that's wrong, and it's absolutely maniacal. But what's even more astounding is right here, on a late Saturday evening, you and that stupid clown stood with an air of tranquillity and comfort, together. If this was two years ago, you'd be within inches of maiming each other.

Like a domesticated couple, Art got to work on disposing of the body, dragging it with ease to your back door, before disappearing. It left a streak of smudged red on your tiles. You got to work cleaning, rolling your sleeves up as you hunted for something to make your floor shine again. It took a while, but he was gone for some time anyway.

By the time everything was relatively tidy, it was past midnight. The stain on the floor had disappeared thankfully, and you felt refreshed after a hot bath, changing into comfortable pyjamas and fluffy socks.

You sat in your bed, blankets pulled comfortingly up to your stomach. Your bedroom was filled with dim lights, and they had their necessary effect of making you feel content.

You had chosen a random film to watch on tv. It didn't really matter which one because your thoughts were otherwise occupied. It played serenely in the background, but something was bothering you.

A part of you felt slightly deflated. You were still undeniably frustrated and borderline desperate to have this desire quelled within you, and now that you had a moment to yourself, it barrelled to the forefront of your mind.

It was a ridiculous feeling, but you couldn't help that you were so pent up. Maybe you were ovulating. That did tend to make your hormones go haywire.

Even still, you hadn't long killed a man. It would be wrong to..indulge after that, wouldn't it? You pursed your lips in thought, two sides of yourself fighting menacingly. You couldn't tell if your good was being corrupted, or if Arts evil that had tainted you had brought out repressed, dark feelings that most humans surely kept hidden.

You didn't feel guilty, which was peculiar. Your nature before meeting Art often held a lot of empathy. You could feel yourself shifting, but you could never pinpoint the change until it had already been demonstrated. From the way Art pierced his black eyes into you, you bet he could see the transformation easily.

Your thoughts were interrupted as the background noise of the TV suddenly became incredibly interesting to your brain. You paused, peering at the TV as the sounds of quiet gasps and sloppy kissing filled your room.

It wasn't even particularly erotic, but..

Even just the sounds had your pulse increasing ever so slightly. In your desperate state of mind, it was easy to imagine how that messy kissing felt, tangled up in somebody else, remembering the feel of bolts of arousal shooting down your body in tingles as it became more passionate, more eager.

You were in a trance, frozen as you watched and drank up every detail. Male hands gliding down a womanly figure, cupping her heavy breasts and listening to the shaky inhales and exhales she made, back arching into his hands needily.

You felt a hot warmth bloom in your abdomen, a pulse beating steadily between your thighs. How were you so affected by this? You weren't even just mildly turned on, you were in a state of full blown arousal, a stickiness oozing between your legs. You felt like some of that was from earlier, mostly from the anticipation of sex rather than the futile attempts that asshole made on you.

The image now depicted the man positioning the woman on her hands and knees, readying her. You gripped your blanket, wanting so badly to be touched like that again and actually enjoy it.

Your eyes were fixated on the screen, hyper analysing every detail you could take in. The world around you faded.

The actor on screen gripped the woman's hips roughly, situating himself behind her. He gave her no time to prepare before sinking in slowly, and you watched the way her lips spread open in a quiet moan, brows furrowed and chest rising and falling rapidly.

A wave of heat flashed through you, making you warm enough that you had to kick the blanket off your person. What film was this? It was incredibly pornographic, not that you were complaining..

Your bottoms were next to go, tossed haphazardly to the floor; you were sweltering. Granted, the room was far too warm anyway, but what you were witnessing on screen had you in a completely different state of over heating.

All you had on now was a pair of black, silky underwear and an oversized top. You felt dishevelled, and sighed as the scene ended far too quickly for your liking and the TV adverts started to play.

You watched on in boredom as Christmas adverts began popping up colourfully with the sound of bells ringing. You felt mildly irritated, your arousal fizzling considerably, but still prominent. You were left with the sticky reminder between your thighs, head lolling back against your bedframe.

Your head rolled to the left, eyes staring down your nose at the sight of your bedside drawer. Specifically, the one that held a lot of intimate objects. You felt a little cautious using the vibrator because knowing Art, he'd curiously come up to see what the noise was; he seemed to have acute hearing.

But if you went under the blankets, vibrator hidden between your thighs, there's no way he'd hear that. Your door was firmly shut and the buzzing was incredibly muffled under your duvet. You'd be quiet and keep it on the first setting.

You were astounded once again at just how wound up and sensitive you are, vibrator delicately touching your clit as your phone displayed a pornographic video.

The cock on the screen was a good size, and as you watched it's girth spread the woman's puffy labia, a sudden desperation gnawed through you. You pressed the vibrator onto your clit more directly, the bottom of your t shirt caught between your lips as your tits jutted out prettily on display, nipples pert.

You bit down on the fabric to quell your whines of delight, breathing sharp and fast through your nose as the vibrating against your clit became over whelming, body alight with a white hot fire that spanned from your abdomen down to your toes.

Your sodden hole clenched needily, you wanted to be filled but you needed a man to do that. You wanted to receive a worthy dick that would split you in half just like the woman on your small screen.

The scene changed abruptly, and what was shown next had your hips bucking desperately into the vibrator, teeth now clenching the fabric hard as your breathing became heavy through your nose, pleasure intensifying.

The man had the woman on her knees, his member shoved ruthlessly into her mouth as he gripped a fistful of her hair and used her like a toy. Saliva decorated her mouth, and you watched with rapt attention as the mans heavy balls slapped her chin; it all seemed degrading, but..

A moan escaped you, muffled, and your back arched as you moved a hand between your thighs and touched the outside of your entrance; you were absurdly wet, sinking straight through your underwear and smearing your inner thighs.

You so desperately wanted to grab the dildo from your draw and push it deep within yourself, hard, but you refrained. Your climax was approaching anyway, and you could hardly stop yourself from whining at the thought of being the woman on the screen, sucking a hard dick as you made a messy pool of wetness below you, begging to be split apart.

From there, it was a hasty descent into blinding pleasure, your wariness dimming as low moans escaped your lips. Your eyes were shut now, permanent soft frown creasing your eyebrows as you were so close to your peak, cresting at the very precipice--

A loud bang resounded in your room, loud enough to drag you out of your delirious stupor. Your eyes shot open in annoyance, wondering if you had kicked your remote control off of the bed, but then your blood turned to ice in your veins.

In fact, you sat so absurdly shocked that all movements ceased, eyes wide and unblinking at the now ajar door of your bedroom which you definitely, without doubt, unequivocally, had shut earlier.

You blinked rapidly, vibrator dropping from your hand. It buzzed obscenely on the bed with a sheen of lubrication covering the tip, but you hardly registered it.

The door was less than halfway ajar, your dark hallway the only thing you could see, and..

A hand flew to your mouth in utter mortification, cheeks flaming crimson. You felt dizzy with a multitude of emotions.

A messy, hand written note was celotaped to your door. In jagged, capital letters spelled 'Art was here'. With a crude, childish winky face drawn beside it.

Your breathing increased suddenly, limbs shaking with not only the almost-orgasm you were about to receive, but also the unusual fluttering of your stomach in nervous humiliation and something else.

You felt severely perplexed, biting your nails as you tried to reminisce, tried to pinpoint when and how he had opened the door without you knowing and celotaped that preposterous note to your door. How was that even possible?

Clearly, Art wanted to grab your attention just as you were about to orgasm, most likely banging your wall from the hallway, hard. It sounded like a picture frame had fallen.

That made sense. At the very least, one thing did. But what about the rest, how was he able to furtively open your door, noiselessly, undoubtedly watching you?

You bolted up straighter, eyes darting around anxiously. Oh my God, he hadn't just intuitively known you were touching yourself, he must've heard something. Were you loud? You couldn't remember, you were so dazed.

Your mind created pictures of your thoughts, envisioning him opening your door just a crack and--

Your hands covered your face. You were so embarrassed. Had he been watching you? He surely had. And alongside this humiliation, why did you feel a flutter of nervous excitement roll through you? Were you so depraved?

Your hands kneaded your blanket, gripping handfuls and releasing rhythmically. Holy God, Art had made you feel many things over the years.

Hatred, annoyance, recent joy and laughter, fear, anxiety, you could go on and on, but this?

This was something new. And yeah, maybe he only did it to get under your skin. What better way to mortify a woman than catching her red handed, touching herself, and calling her out on it?

But..

Your thoughts took it a step further.

Was there..any other reason?

You bit your lip in contemplation, arms wrapped around yourself comfortingly. At some point over the past two years, brief thoughts of the demonic clown had entered your mind, fleeting sexual thoughts that left as quickly as they came.

Because, well, you were evidently desperate at this point. And he had a certain charm about him, once you got passed the ire you once held for him. And he was a man, or in a man's body, anyway.

Your mind swirled with questions, dirty thoughts, and unending embarrassment each time you realised he probably saw everything that you did.

And he probably saw the way your teeth gnawed into your shirt to silence yourself, heavy breasts poking out beneath, fully exposed, expression one of unbridled, desperate pleasure.

Your heart beat felt like it was in your ears, anxiety high. The door remained open for a reason. He wanted you to come out, and then wanted to absolutely humiliate you.

You got along a lot better now, as evidenced earlier, but that didn't mean that he'd stop messing with you.

Begrudgingly, you knew that even with your enhanced abilities and strength, you were no match for him. If he wanted to truly be hidden, he would. If he wanted to truly be swift and unseen in his movements, he would be.

You often found your bizarre abilities only worked when you were angry, or felt some sort of negative emotion.

Otherwise, you were just a regular human, having no control over that shard of terror that lingered within you from your rebirth.

Steeling your nerves, you took slow steps towards the door. You were still clad in your long t shirt and fluffy socks, and schooled your expression into one of stern stoicism.

You couldn't avoid that asshole forever.

Gripping the door handle, you stepped fully into the darkness of the hallway, enveloped. Standing still for a few moments, you realised he obviously wasn't outside your door, waiting to terrify you.

Swallowing nervously, you made your way downstairs. The stairs groaned and creaked like they always did, but it sounded absolutely deafening to you as it signalled your descent.

Out of everything that he had ever done to you - from killing you, to breaking your bones, stabbing you and everything else - this made you feel the most vulnerable.

Your living room was pitch black, not a single light illuminating the area. You held your breath, listening as intently as you could.

Silence.

Your throat felt too dry to call out to him. You knew your voice would shake, your words would stammer. It would make the situation even more shameful, so you remained quiet.

Your eyes surveyed the living room in darkness, honing in on any unnatural shadow that seemed a little too eerie; he wasn't here. That frightened you more than if he had taken this moment to jump out at you.

Uneasy frustration welled up within you. Not only had your pleasure been ripped away from you, your legs uncomfortably sticky, but now you felt incredibly exposed.

Inhaling deeply, you glared holes into your kitchen door. Two things could happen here: Either he was in there waiting to scare the hell out of you, or he wasn't in there at all, making you more on edge.

You pushed the door open, trailing inside with faux confidence, switching the lights on.

Nobody was here.

If anything, the kitchen was still surprisingly how you left it earlier - clean. Eyebrows drawing together into a scowl, you grabbed a glass of water, chair screeching as you took a seat.

Art must've pulled that trick on you and then promptly left, entering the night to no doubt destroy another victims life.

Brushing your dishevelled hair out of your face, you sat back against the chair defeatedly. Well, your emotions aren't going to change what's already happened, and you'd have to face that asshole at some point.

Evidently, tonight was not the night.

Glancing at the clock, you couldn't believe that it was already 3am. Your eyes felt heavy, your limbs felt weary and you were burnt out.

Peering around the kitchen, you realised that you must've left your phone upstairs.

That's fine, you needed to sleep anyway. Pushing yourself to a stand, you trudged sleepily up the shadowed stairs, rubbing at your burning eyes with the back of your hand.

You felt content at the moment to sleep off the crazy events of the day and worry about them tomorrow. Your door was open, just as you had left it, and the comforting glow of your warm lights that emitted from inside welcomed you with open arms.

Stepping into the safety of your room felt relieving, and as you turned back to close the bedroom door firmly, you came face to terrifying face with a chest.

You froze, mind pausing in fright at the sudden, tall body that blocked your doorway. You blinked rapidly, face displaying astonishment, and snapped your head up at the perpetrator, wide eyed.

What stared back down at you made caution well up inside you. Art stood tall, appearing out of thin air clad in his absurd Santa costume. It suited him, and the bulky material only served to make his structure appear even bigger, more menacing.

Your eyes fluttered up at him with uncertainty, darting rapidly between his face and his chest as you struggled to maintain his intense eye contact.

The clowns face was all sharp contours, edged smile of amusement plastered to his face as he leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed languidly across his chest, widening his overall structure considerably. Has he always been this big?

He watched you with a wide, salacious grin, eyes alight and unwavering, and from the glint in his eye you knew what was about to come.

You swallowed, feeling your mask of neutrality betraying you as your body heated up, displaying a pink hue to your complexion. You didn't know what to say, how to act. Art could see this, the way you'd open your mouth only to close it, eyes darting around nervously.

You were usually so full of complaints, insults and incredibly argumentative when he had 'crossed the line', as you so often called it. As he so often did. Since your rebirth, you were all fire and wrath, near enough ripping his head off for something as simple as leaving a bloody mess on your floors or your door handles, if he didn't clean it anyway.

Of course, Art had begrudgingly agreed with you long ago to cease the truly harsh fighting, but that didn't mean that you didn't bicker, in a sense. He liked your ire, the way your teeth would grind together in anger, the way you'd go into an absolute fit if he threatened to childishly mess with your makeup and clothes, or anything you held valuable, really.

It was funny, and he knew you secretly got a kick out of it. Once the cat and dog game was over, you'd snap back to being a sweet, little human. It was interesting, and so amusing.

But this? Art peered down at you deliberately, perusing your flushed exterior with a smug, self satisfied grin.

He had been looking for new ways to get you to crack. So far, everything annoying he did was met with your aggressive screeches, and that was fine. But he needed something juicy, needed something that would really bother you, rile you up.

For a while, he struggled to find anything. He couldn't go too far with his schemes - you were both bound together, after all, so that would be met with futility.

He truly enjoyed bothering you, that was true, but his methods got boring. What could he possibly do that would make you think twice, or go silent? What would really shock you, make you revert back into your humanity, so full of emotion?

As a point of reiteration, he could have done many crude, evil and horrific things, but he couldn't because of your peculiar connection. So, he had to settle for something that was..bearable to you, but also astounding.

He came across this opportunity by pure chance. He knew what you got up to behind closed doors, you were a needy thing, but he didn't really think twice about it. He kept the knowledge of it quiet, however, just in case he ever needed to utilise it for fun.

It didn't interest him, initially. He enjoyed inflicting pain, mentally and physically, so the fact that you would so often touch yourself to induce pleasure wasn't particularly within his territory of fixations. He had other things that kept him occupied.

However, hearing your laboured breathing and quiet little moans had piqued his interest on this particular day. He had no reason for that, other than the simple fact that he wanted to spy on you. It was an urge that came by on a whim; it meant nothing, it is nothing, but Art often acted spontaneously on how he felt in the moment.

Mortal flesh did so often have its urges.

And a light bulb certainly lit up within his mind - this was the perfect way to humiliate you.

He had watched the way you gnawed at your t-shirt to keep quiet, pretty pert tits on display as you brought yourself closer and closer to completion. Art had grinned wickedly at the scene, hands fisting and shaking in excitement at the thought of never letting you live this down.

But, upon watching further, witnessing the way your head lolled back pleasurably, back arching and legs splayed wide in pure need, he couldn't deny the barely restrained desire to storm in and tease you until you were wracked with sobs.

Art had frowned in puzzlement at that feeling - it was incredibly rare for him - but his smile soon returned, shrugging as he accepted his feelings. If anything, this would only serve to embarrass you even more, he thought.

And now, dark eyes trained on your rapidly warming face, Art was enraptured by the amount of emotion that seemed to demonstrate itself. Your expressions changed quickly, and the details were minuscule, but he could see you entering a vicious cycle of bewilderment, embarrassment, anger and self consciousness.

It was as though your brain didn't know whether to lash out or guard itself. It was entertaining.

The silence hung heavily. Arts position remained the same, leaned casually against the doorframe, and yours remained as rigid and tense as ever. Your mind felt muddled. With a slow breath, your expression fell flat. Even still, you couldn't look him in the eye, and instead glared heavily at his chest.

"Stop it.", you began with a quiet, indignant scowl, chastising him. Your eyebrows drew together, so incredibly uncertain. His eyes bored holes into you and it was making you squirm. You were too stubborn to turn away.

Even still, you'd admit defeat temporarily. You didn't have the energy to battle him right now. With a huff, you turned on your heel and made your way to the bed, exasperatedly throwing your arms up into the air.

"Fine, stay there and stare all night for all I care; I'm tired." But you did care, didn't you? It gnawed at you.

Barely making it to the bed, you stopped abruptly at the sound of fingers snapping at you once, twice, seeking your attention. With a roll of your eyes, you slowly turned to look at him, expression thunderous. "Art, I'm not in the mood for this, and-- is that my phone?"

You barely breathed the question in masked panic, eyes wide once more as your phone dangled teasingly from his fingertips, wide grin stretching impossibly further.

The clown shrugged softly as though to say 'maybe', shoulders beginning to move rapidly, rising and falling in laughter as he held a hand to his mouth in faux astonishment at whatever was showing on your phone.

He feigned a look of bashfulness, fanning his face for a moment, eyes fluttering, before pointing and laughing at you some more. Your face twitched in it's attempt to remain calm and neutral, but Art could see right through you.

Covering his eyes obscenely at whatever was on the screen, but still very clearly peeking through the gaps in his fingers, Art swiftly turned the phone around so you could have a look.

That's when your mouth went dry and heat began to pinken your face even more. On the screen displayed the porn you were looking at earlier. You must've forgotten to close the tab, leaving the video running.

The volume had been turned up far too loud, the sounds of slurping and moaning vibrating through your skull deafeningly. A woman on screen had her hair gripped hard in a fistful, the man above her sliding his thick length between her lips. The sounds were filthy, and so so loud. You gripped the sides of your face loosely in devastation.

This time, you stormed up to him furiously, lunging and making a grab for your phone. "Stop it!", you repeated, shrieking this time.

You missed the phone entirely as he lifted it higher. You seethed, teeth clenched in frustration as the sounds continued, except now they had increased exponentially. From the way the screen turned down at you, you could see the man lifting the woman's thighs over his shoulders before he--

You shook your head furiously, shame blooming deep within your chest as you roughly slapped a hand against his chest for leverage, trodding onto his boots on your tiptoes to try and make another grab for your phone.

The attempt was futile, art was so tall and his arms were so long that you could never reach it. Your body was pressed up against his own, stretching high to make even minor progress in retrieving your phone. You could feel your anger boiling, scowling as you reared an arm back and aimed a punch for his sternum.

Everything happened incredibly fast after that. Before you could make contact, your forearm was gripped hard, your body was spun and your arm was wrenched behind your back.

You yelped, back pressed firmly to his front. You jerked side to side rapidly, releasing a cry of frustration in your attempt to get out of his iron grip, but to no avail.

"Let me go right now!" You attempted to sound demanding and aggressive, but it came out whiny, your voice shaking. You could feel the clowns body vibrating with laughter behind you, hand so tight around your arm you couldn't move at all.

On any other day, when you and Art would undoubtedly get into situations like this due to his pestering, you had a far better chance of escaping because you were often angry.

But today, you felt..more vulnerable than anything. You felt so puny, so small and human and fragile. It was a dirty trick on his part, and it prevented your usual unnatural strength from bursting forth.

Well, even with that strength, you don't think you could truly win against Art anyway.

Tossing back and forth regardless, you huffed and cursed at him repeatedly, knees slightly bent from the way he held you tightly and put pressure on you.

"You're a fucking asshole!", you seethed, practically feeling the mirth roll off of him in waves at your predicament.

A strong hand wrapped it's way around your delicate jaw, holding firmly but not painfully. Your head was pushed upwards almost playfully, fingertips tickling the underside of your face.

You met your own scowling expression in the body length mirror that decorated your wardrobe doors. It was as long as the doors and just as wide, giving you a clear view of Arts smirking face hovering above you.

You took in your dishevelled complexion, hair a wild mess, face lightly perspiring and your long pyjama t shirt barely reaching just above your knee.

You were hunched slightly due to being immobilised, and the hand that cradled your jaw looked absolutely massive. It was big enough to crush your skull if he wanted to, big enough to easily smother your mouth and nose without actively trying to.

Your scowl had lessened considerably at this point, that vulnerable expression returning once more. From this view, you hadn't realised just how tall he was compared to you. He was lithe, but wearing that Santa costume made him fill out a little, appear wider.

On a normal day his size would swallow your stature whole, casting a shadow over you, but in that costume?

He looked huge.

The stark realisation of this, paired with the absurdly intimate way he had your back flush to his chest and his calloused hand wrapped around your jaw with a salacious smirk, forcing you to stare at him in the mirror - you couldn't help but flush.

You found that you couldn't look away, your head attempting to move only to have his grip tighten, his grin sharpening. He loomed above you like an evil blight, eyes dark and calculating.

The sounds of the video continued in the background, a particularly loud cry having drawn you out of your thoughts, and it caused you to flutter your eyes to the floor and away from his charcoal irises.

You couldn't deny the heat that began to flourish within you.

It only increased tenfold at the feeling of a firm hand slowly gliding it's way from your jaw, descending directly to your waist, then further to your hip, squeezing.

Your eyes widened, head snapping back up at the mirror in bewilderment. You were met with the sight of his rough hand caressing you, smiling all the while.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" You spat rapidly in disbelief, words shaken and sounding far weaker than you would've liked.

He had never done this to you before. Art liked to cause pain, not..

Not this. Not any semblance of pleasure, of intimacy. Your lips opened in a quiet gasp, body tingling as the heat of his hand drew circles along your hipbone before delving lower.

You jerked in his grasp, flushing heavily at the sight of his hand gliding lower and lower until his fingers played with the hem of your t shirt.

"D-dont you dare!", you squeezed your thighs together, body squirming against him with struggle. He had long since released your numb arm, and instead opted for wrapping a long arm around your waist, your head resting against his chest as his daring hand gripped the fabric of your t shirt and teasingly went to lift it, only to stop, awaiting your reaction.

His shoulders began to move with glee, chest vibrating. Your reactions were priceless as you squirmed and attempted to back away from his hand, only to back further into his body.

This infuriated you, your flushed complexion displaying panic and bashfulness.

Those mischievous fingers danced along your thigh, lifting the fabric once again, higher this time, before dropping it. His expression held one of mock surprise, lips downturned neutrally and eyes wide, eyebrows lifted.

"Don't-- don't do that! I mean it!", you whined miserably, heat encompassing your body. It caused him to pause, eyes snapping from your almost exposed thighs to your pleading gaze.

That sharp, predatory grin returned. The heat of his hand squeezed your thigh and slipped under the fabric, tickling the edge of your underwear, fingers playing with the intricate, laced detail.

Your breath shuddered, eyes wide, and you unconsciously moved a hand to grip at his wrist. Whether to push him away or pull him in, you didn't know anymore; you felt overwhelmed, and the way your chest rose and fell rapidly portrayed that.

Art snickered, unwrapping himself from your body and taking a step back, his boots thumping. With a playful roll of his eyes, he held his hands up in mock surrender, as though to reassure you that it was all a harmless joke, and attempted to smile softly, innocently. It made him appear all the more sinister.

You spun around on your heel, taking a step back yourself as you scrutinised his display of surrender. It was uncharacteristic. Despite that, Art shook his hands exasperatedly in the air, sighing as though to say 'it was a joke, don't you believe me?'

You shook your head slowly, lost for words. You couldn't speak, throat dry and mind racing. You wanted to run away.

Art rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, before rolling them back to you dramatically, grin plastered on his face. At your retreat, he experimentally took a step forward, rather comical if not for the situation, and chuckled at your jittery self.

You furrowed your brows, not falling victim to this act anymore. You were going to kick his ass tomorrow, but for now you needed to retreat into the safety of your blanket, tail between your legs. "Get out.", you pointed towards the door sternly.

Arts eyes followed your finger to the door, before blinking over to you once more. His gaze swept over your form, head tilting in thought. He began to smirk.

Before you could react, Art leapt forward three steps, making you yelp and scramble backwards, narrowly missing falling over the edge of your bed as you backed your way towards the wall.

The clown snickered again, standing up tall and no longer doing that comical hunched appearance when he lunged at you. Now, he stood to his full height, back straight and stature big, before his boots thudded along your floor as he slowly advanced in a predatory fashion.

"I swear to God if you come near me--", you pressed yourself against the wall, watching his looming figure get taller and taller.

Your neck craned upwards, stare defiant as he hovered above. Heavy hands suddenly planted themselves violently either side of your head, crowding you in.

You flinched, blinking rapidly at the way he leaned down to become eye level with you. Your cheeks were pink again, eyes darting across his face for an answer to his weird behavior. What the hell was going on?

He was alluring, you thought, and it made thoughts race in your mind. Was he going to suddenly hurt you? Was he truly just playing? Was he actively flirting with you in his sick type of way? You had never fell this silent in front of him before. You needed to gain equal ground against this asshole.

"That's enough. What, are you interested in me now?", you scoffed, daring to lean forward into his space, face so close to his you could feel his silent breath; it was a front, you felt jittery even now, but you wouldn't allow him to mess with you any longer.

Art grinned, not at all reacting to your faux bout of confidence. He shrugged half-heartedly, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. It left you dumbstruck. What he did next made heat spread so unbelievably throughout your body.

You were so flustered your head felt heavy, and it only increased tenfold as your wrist was gripped in his big hand, fingers limp and relaxed, before he brought the digits you had touched yourself with to his lips and slid them in slow.

You shuddered, inhaling sharply at this display of intimacy. His grip was slack on your wrist, seeming to omit to the fact that you could escape if you really wanted to.

But you didn't want to. The thought didn't even cross your mind, and his eyes narrowed in a knowing sense of smugness at that.

Arousal swelled in your lower belly, pooling between your thighs as Arts tongue danced between the seam of your fingers, the ticklish feeling sending tingles through your nerves.

Art peered down at you, mouth full of your fingers, his grin turning nasty as he bit them lightly. Despite the clear threat that he could rip them out of the socket, your eyes remained lidded, pupils blown wide and hand lax as you let him caress you with his tongue and teeth. Crowded so close together against the wall, he could hear your heart beat thumping.

Dropping your wrist from his grip, Art reached down, bending at the knees to hook two hands below your thighs. You cried out as you were lifted high, legs resting in his grip.

He did this with ease, as though you were weightless. Sitting down on the bed, he adjusted you so you could sit on his lap, facing away from him. You could see yourselves in the mirror.

Art hooked his legs between your knees and spread them open. You wiggled against his hold, embarrassed at your exposure. Your black, lacy underwear was displayed, t shirt bunching up at your hips. You couldn't bring yourself to snap at him to stop fucking with you because..

Well, you were eager, far more eager than you thought. Had you always harboured this feeling towards the clown?

You were crimson faced, lips quivering as you tried to make your expression as neutral as possible; He had you on his lap like he was actually Santa, and you were the one telling him what you wanted for Christmas.

The thought had you lowering your head in bashfulness. No innocent Santa would have you spread and bared like this one.

The expression Art made in the mirror was one of mock surprise, eyebrows high and mouth forming like a circle. Before you could even ponder about it, a large hand was brought down to your inner thigh, fingers inching their way further in, caressing the sensitive area before cupping your clothed sex.

You held your breath, staring stubbornly back at him in the mirror. His hand was warm, and you couldn't help but shudder at the feel of his hand trailing upwards slowly, dancing over your clitoris briefly, then your mound, and up to the waistband of your underwear.

His fingers dipped below the waistband, gauging your reaction, but you refused to give one. Cocking an eyebrow in curiosity, you felt his hand descend, lower and lower, fingers gliding over your silken lips before delicately resting over your hole.

You flushed darkly, gritting your teeth as Art made an even more astounded expression, shaking his head slowly as though to admonish you for the mess between your legs. His fingertips rubbed circles in the lubrication oozing out of you, dipping in slightly but never far enough.

A small sound escaped your throat, barely audible, but loud enough for him. A slow, smug smirk stretched his face wide, and you could only huff defiantly. "I-- That's not because of you! I was like this before you rudely interrupted, remember?" You pouted.

Art rolled his eyes, nodding his head in quick succession with a look of mock belief at your words. He knew you were lying and so did you. Then, with a sly grin, two fingers glided upwards towards your slippery clit.

You gasped that time, quiet but still embarrassingly deafening to yourself, gripping the fabric of his forearm tightly.

A tingling sensation flooded your system, your body shifting and legs widening. He continued to massage the area, direct and blissful. You bit your lip, unwilling to let him see how much you enjoyed this.

Art chuckled, shaking his head at you with a nasty grin, eyebrows low and cynical. His dark eyes swirled chaotically, full of challenge and amusement and something else.

Hand descending further into your soaked underwear, two fingers dipped into your slit, thoroughly lubricating his calloused fingers.

Art paused, winking at you in the mirror. You attempted to glare back at him in the reflection, but you lacked the effort, and instead your eyebrows were drawn together softly, lips parting as two fingers slid into you to the knuckles, delving deep and curling sinfully against your greedy walls.

"Oh!", you moaned, hips lifting instinctively. Art began to thrust his fingers into you deep and hard, listening to the lewd squelching and how it seemed to fluster you terribly.

The feeling was intense; you hadn't been properly touched in so long, so to feel his thick, rough fingers curling rhythmically within your hot core, it made your nerve endings sing and your hips buck.

You gripped his arm hard, gasping, body fully resting against his own, head lolled back against his shoulder. Arts shoulders shook with laughter, terribly amused by the sight of you falling apart, but he wanted more from you. He wanted to break you, he wanted to make an unintelligible mess of you.

You were so prideful, you'd never live this down.

A fist gripped your hair roughly, tangling the locks before his fingers began to pummel into you expeditiously. It was too much, too fast, and you couldn't help but kick your legs uselessly, crying out.

"Ah, ahh-- Stop it, too much--", you whined, panting as the sounds of your wetness became loud, thighs drenched. You could see in the mirror the way his hand moved ferociously, molding the fabric of your underwear.

Your pleas made him speed up, thrusting so hard and so fast you wailed, thrashing upon his lap and dampening the fabric of his costume.

This was what you wanted, you thought heatedly. You wanted someone to render you immobile, shatter your mind. The view of his sinister smirk boring holes into you was alluring, head forced backwards with the grip in your hair. It made heat prickle along your spine.

Your hips began to move with his fingers, desperately seeking more, any semblance of pride vanishing as you chased your high. Your constant grinding made you feel the thick, long length pressing up against your ass, and you couldn't help but moan wantonly, pushing yourself into it with need.

His hand was drenched in your fluids, and it made him snicker. If this was you now, imagine you later when he forced you to take his cock.

Suddenly, your underwear was torn off of you, exposing the image of his large hand going in and out, curling, and thrusting deeply. The visual was arousing, your eyes half mast and dilated.

Those sinful digits eased their way out of you, smoothing up the length of your puffy labia, cupping it soothingly. You sighed, panting lightly, body relaxed and pliant. His hand was hot and it made you feel content.

His palm lifted suddenly and jerked back down with a quick, firm slap. You jolted, wincing at the sting it caused, but before you had a chance to return back to contentedness, it struck again.

This time, it was sharper, and you gasped, scrambling to sit up but being forced to remain where you were as an iron grip wrapped it's way around your midsection.

Again, that firm hand slapped your sensitive folds, and you whined miserably at the pain and pleasure it caused.

Your lips were beginning to darken red from his assault, and yet you were still undeniably wet from his ministrations.

Your legs began quivering from the overstimulation, and you drew them together, trapping his hand. He seemed to let you, tilting his head with a quirk of his lips.

"S-stop tormenting me. Can't take it, not today. Please, just..", you paused, gnawing at your lip; you didn't want to admit to him what you really needed.

Art blinked rapidly, almost innocently down at you. He held a cupped hand to his ear, his other hand waving for you to continue, as though to usher you to speak the words he knows you're going to struggle to admit.

You pouted petulantly, eyes sparkling with unshed tears from frustration and the light stinging of your folds. Your peak had been building, only to be abruptly halted.

"No," you groaned weakly, "don't make me say it, you asshole." Your words lacked any real ire, and instead sounded exhausted. You were so pent up, so desperate at this point. As soon as the offence left your lips, two fingers began circling around your clit, refusing to touch directly. Art all but smiled at you patiently, face splitting with glee.

You sighed softly at the soothing pleasure, head lolling back against his shoulder. It felt so good, and you tried to buck your hips to make his fingers slip over your clit, but to no avail.

This caused you to release a frustrated whimper, feebly bucking your hips again, but this time Art stopped his stroking altogether, fingers hovering above the area you needed them most.

"No, I-I'm sorry!", you rushed out insincerely, desperate for his touch. You could feel tears dancing along your lash line, threatening to spill pathetically.

"Don't stop. I.. I need this so badly. Please.", you relented, biting your lip nervously, eyes fluttering to the floor in shame. You felt that familiar vibration; he was laughing at you.

Even still, the clown did deliberate. On one hand, he could continue tormenting you. That would be fun, and it was the initial plan, but even he couldn't deny his mortal desires. He had a strong threshold for such matters; he wasn't often interested enough.

If anything, he never paid enough attention to whether it was a man or a woman that he was maiming. That only goes to prove how disinterested he was in the whole affair of carnality.

This situation was unique, however. He was bound to a human he had once killed, who had just as miraculously as him managed to rise from the dead, and was stuck with you for ever. And, you are a woman. He couldn't damage you terribly, and he couldn't kill you. What better way to make you submit to him than by fucking your prideful, spiteful, hot-headed little self into the bed?

You were so easy to aggravate, spitting venomous insults and screeching in anger at him. That was all well and good, but he wanted to see the look on your face when he pummelled you dumb.

If death was out of the question, then immobilising you with his own body would have to do.

Gripping your waist tightly, Art maneuvered your body with ease, spinning you in his lap until both your thighs sat either side of him. A hand held your lower back firmly against his body, standing up halfway to tug down the bottoms of his Santa costume. They fell to his knees, and he promptly sat back down, grinning.

You hovered over his thick length, flushing red in anticipation. Hands finding leverage upon his shoulders, you let your wet lips rest against the tip, shivering as you did.

He felt big. You hadn't really managed to look at it, but from the feeling you knew he was going to split you open.

He seemed to be barely touching you, grinning cheekily as he awaited your next move. His cooperation made you uneasy, you wondered what he had planned.

The thought disappeared swiftly as you bared your hips down onto him, letting the tip nudge past your swollen lips, sinking in an inch or two.

You inhaled sharply, feeling the beginning of his girth and pausing in your descent. "I-I haven't done this in a while and you feel--mmm-," you bit your lip, sinking down a further inch, your insides pulsating and stinging.

You squeezed him tightly, walls rippling and attempting to mold to his shape. You gasped again, lips parting in surprise as you lowered slowly, delicately, his size stretching you.

You gripped his shoulders, fabric bunching up in your hands. Your thighs were shaking from the effort it took to descend patiently. Even with how wet you were, his hot length dragged against your insides, another inch being enveloped in your tight heat.

"Nng, its--so big", you breathed shakily, eyes glistening again. Art observed your pained expression in awe, smirking and winking at your compliment.

Two hands held your hips tightly, fingers digging in to the delicate flesh. You sighed delightedly at the contact, not at all preparing yourself for the sinister spark in the clowns eyes, before he slammed your hips down into his forcefully, tearing through you and settling within you to the hilt.

You cried out woefully, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as a pained sob was wrought from you. He could feel you shaking against him, panting against his ear, and couldn't help but chuckle nastily at your pain.

"W-wait, I need to adjust--", you began softly, voice quivering, but was given no time as Art lifted you up to the tip then dropped you back down. Your soft ass slapped against his lap, a horrible pain mixing with pleasure inside of you.

"It hurts! You're too big--!", you whined pitifully, tears dripping from your eyelashes. You gripped around his neck hard, body contorting in pain, shallow breaths hitting his ear.

Art knew this. You were so tight he had to grit his teeth, but he revelled in the concoction of pleasure and pain that wracked your body. You were too weak to fight him, trying to lift yourself off of him only to collapse back down, crying out as he filled you again. He could feel your tears soaking into his costume, and it made his cock fill with blood.

You were so full, the stinging sensation unbearable, and as he lifted you again, dragging your sodden hole off of him, he thrust up into you, letting your hips drop as he met you halfway and slid in.

A surprised moan was torn from your lips, a boiling heat enveloping your body as pleasure tingled and spread throughout your nerves. Art enjoyed your pitiful, pained cries, but he knew that the pain began to melt away as your breathing went from shallow, pained pants to breathy exhales.

The stinging became a dull sensation in the background, your insides igniting blissfully as those strong hands lifted you up once more, sliding all the way out before filling you up rhythmically.

"Mmm, Oh-", you moaned breathily, lips permanently parted. You no longer contorted your body awkwardly and instead began to melt against him, curling about his form needily.

Your hips began to take control, moving up and down his rock hard length, eyes closed against his shoulder as he emptied you and filled you over and over, thrusting up to meet your downward motions hard, filling you deep.

"Yes--Oh--", you couldn't stop the noises tumbling out. He wasn't even doing much, merely meeting your thrusts, but he was so big and long and thick and mouthwatering-

"Need more", you whined weakly, nuzzling your face against his neck, the fur of his Santa costume tickling your nose. "Please.", you added softly, thighs shaking so badly you didn't have the energy to lift yourself up fully.

Instead, you lifted your hips half heartedly, attempting to at least try, feeling that over whelming pleasure every time he thrusted upwards into you.

Each downward pull made you needy, and each thrust had you seeing stars. You could feel the grin on his face beside your cheek, body moving with silent chuckles. You were so responsive, feeling those big hands trail from your hips and down to your soft globes, pulling the cheeks apart.

You could feel your hole opening, feel his rigid length sinking in even deeper. You realised that he could probably see himself driving into you from the mirror reflection, your sopping core on full display as it sucked him in greedily.

You peered over your shoulder curiously, lidded eyes honing in on the mirror. The erotic visual had you writhing in his grasp, gnawing at your lip as he stared right back at you, lifting a hand to wiggle his fingers at you.

It was weirdly humiliating, but before you could turn away to nuzzle back into his neck and hide, his hand was brought down sharply in a loud slap upon one of your round cheeks.

You gasped, lips parting as your gaze remained frozen on his slowly retreating hand, waiting with bated breath, before it bared down upon your jiggling flesh again, and again, and again.

Your body jerked each time, a gasp escaping upon each impact, but your eyes couldn't leave the sight behind you, infinitely aroused at how displayed you were, at how massive he looked below you.

Art soothed the red handprints on your cheek with a gentle rub, looking at you in the mirror with mock concern, lips pouting out at you as though you were the cutest little thing.

You couldn't handle the embarrassment any longer, and turned back around to wrap your arms around his neck, thighs giving out below you. Two hands returned to your ass again, before gliding up into you faster this time, one thrust after another, drawing longer moans out of you.

The increase in pace made you writhe upon his lap, mewling in delight. You let yourself be manhandled, swiftly reaching down to grip two hands at the bottom of your t shirt and rip it over your head.

Your breasts bounced free, nipples teased against his body with each thrust, igniting a white hot sensation directly to your clitoris. You moaned a lot deeper this time, mouth below his ear, gasping and mumbling pleas.

Art reached a fist into your locks and wrenched your head back, hearing you wince and watching the sultry way you bit your lip at his rough actions.

You finally made eye contact with him, face to face, your complexion a dark pink. You put up no fight against his hold, even as he wrapped his fist tighter and pulled your head back hard. Your neck was bared, and you watched those charcoal eyes drop smoulderingly to your jiggling breasts.

His teeth attached themselves to your neck, biting and caressing the column of your throat, before finding an appropriate area and sinking his teeth in hard.

You cried out noisily, the sound pleasurable but stunted by pain, sounding more like a yelp. The harder he bit, the faster he fucked you, and you were soon delirious on the pain and pleasure, feeling his teeth latch on harder and harder until warm liquid oozed from the puncture of your skin.

Tears dripped from your eyes, cascading down your cheeks as you hiccupped and sobbed, your neck pulsating painfully. You didn't fight him, so caught up in the way he split you open.

The demonic clown paused, drawing back from your bruised and swollen neck, eyes flickering from the blood trickling down to your collar bone, and all the way up to your sparkling eyes, tears streaking your cheeks.

You winced, hair still wrenched back, moaning weakly at the pain, your breathing turning shallow again.

A hand cradled your jaw, thumb wiping a stray tear, and you couldn't help but nuzzle into the warm palm, comforting and big. It wasn't often he got to see your tears. The sight made him want to make you cry more, spill those fat droplets from your eyes.

Art tilted his head a fraction, inquisitive at your display of affection. You seemed to latch onto him, needing to be touched, gripping at him and melting against him. It was a far cry from your usual self.

His fingers moved down to the puncture wounds on your neck, pressing onto the tender flesh and making more tears spring from your eyes. It felt bruised and the skin was beginning to rise.

Blood dripped down your neck, and he used two fingers to swipe a clean line up your neck, coating his fingertips in the red substance.

Your eyes honed in on his crimson fingers, alight with need. Art tilted his head the other way, deciphering, and burned his gaze through your intimate display as you gripped at his hand and brought his fingers to your lips.

You suckled the tips, cleaning the crimson off of him, before taking his fingers into the back of your mouth, lathering them slowly.

Your own fingers dipped into the wound, wetting the digits red, before you hesitantly brought them towards his lips. His thrusting slowed, eyebrows lifting minimally, a shard of surprise running through him at your carnality. Your blood was alluring enough to halt his ministrations.

Finally, that dangerous mouth opened, slowly enveloping your smaller digits, tongue curling around them sinfully.

Your stare was unwavering, blinking from his mouth to his eyes before settling on those wretched depths. They swallowed you whole, scrutinizing your own visage. His smiling had long since ceased, a stern neutrality overcoming him even as you drew your fingers back and wrapped your arms around his neck to press your bloodied lips onto his.

The urge overcame you, tongues battling against one another messily. The remnants of your blood mixed between your lips, a soft moan of delight escaping you.

You never thought you'd be kissing this maniac. It sent heat coursing through you, borderline delirious from the feel of being so wrapped up in a being that was so dangerous.

Your passion resumed, hips lifting enough to feel the drag of his dick in your tight heat, before gliding back down with a light slap of your ass against his lap.

You were so wet it began to lather your inner thighs, dripping down your legs and coating his balls.

Your desire began to reignite, no longer a simmering heat and instead increasing to a boiling wave that overcame you. You grinded your hips, breaking your lips apart to gasp at his depth.

Art became watchful of your eager display, letting you pleasure yourself with his body. You leaned back, arms around his neck and extended straight so that you still had some leverage, and moaned wantonly as your position changed and his cock began to stimulate that lovable spot deep within you.

"Oh fuck--mmm--", your head lolled back, tits bouncing rhythmically as you increased your pace. You could barely hold your moans in now, overwhelmed by the pleasure of his length hitting you just right.

Art recognized the increase in your pitch and the way your body moved desperately upon his, and grinned. He wiggled his eyebrows playfully, gripping handfuls of your jiggling ass and beginning to meet your movements with his own, fucking up into you hard.

"Yes, right there, oh my god-", your legs were no longer folded below you, resting back on your knees. You had swiftly moved them, sitting fully into his lap now with your legs extended either side of his waist. This added even more depth to his movements. You could no longer grind your body against his, simply taking whatever he gave you.

"It's so deep, oh-" you began to quiver, needing so much more,  but all he could do was smirk down at you amicably, as calm as ever, watching you fall apart as each thrust directly pummelled into that spot.

You felt like ripping your hair out in frustration, body squirming upon his own in distress. Each thrust was like a shot of an addictive drug, filing you up and making you feel so high, but you needed that unrepressed carnality that you craved.

Shaking your head with a pinched expression of dismay, you leaned forward to wrap your arms fully around his neck once again, head resting on his shoulder as you whimpered.

His rigid length bruised against your cervix, hands on your hips and holding you down just to get that inch deeper. You were shaking, exhaling little 'ohh's into his neck, eyes squeezed shut.

"Don't care anymore; Need it harder", you whined pathetically, warming his neck with your hot breath; you were starting to crack. "Please fuck me. Need you so bad. Making me feel so fucking good-Oh--"

Your waist was gripped in a bruising force, lifting your body up and down like a pliant doll, fucking you vigorously. Your sweet admittance sent a thrill through his body, so he supposed out of the kindness of his heart, he could cease his teasing. For now.

Art gave you a lascivious smirk, eyes twinkling mysteriously. With a slight shrug and a nod, he seemed to silently agree with himself that it was time to get serious.

The world around you blurred as you were thrown onto the bed, hips forced into position. Your body bared itself on hands and knees and you tentatively peered upwards towards the mirror, fists clenching into the quilt in anticipation.

You watched the large, looming clown settle behind you, swallowing your body whole. With a playful wave at your watchful gaze, Art thrust forward and buried himself within you.

Your breath escaped your lungs in a silent gasp, body lurching forward from the force as he held you in place and began fucking you deep and fast.

He didn't tease you this time. Everything that had happened previously had been leading up to this moment, and it was mind shattering.

Repetitive 'uh's and 'ohh's sprung from you at each thrust, his cock splitting you open well and good just like you've craved for so long. He felt massive in this position, your velvety insides hot and tighter.

Gliding out until the tip, he'd push back in smoothly, coated in your arousal. It drove you wild, the lewd smacking of skin and wet squelching that increased more and more as he drove in faster, harder.

Your knuckles were white from how hard you gripped the bedding, unintelligible praises falling from your lips at the way he made you feel.

" 'm so full, oh my god-", you cried almost lovingly at the sublime feeling of him tearing through your snug heat, near enough bruising your cervix.

With a cynical pout down at you, mockingly awed by your kind praises of his ample size, Art reached forward to grab a fistful of your hair, wrenching your body backwards so your back bowed enticingly. It made your ass look rounder, made it jiggle and ripple more against his unrelenting thrusts. It hypnotized him, his cock rock hard.

Your upper body was suspended by the hand in your hair, and you could now clearly see how ravaged you looked in the mirror. The looming Santa behind you dwarfed your figure, all jagged smile and wiggling eyebrows at your pleasured expression.

Your tits bounced prettily in the reflection, witnessing the way his normally piercing gaze faltered and darted down to the erotic scene, before darting back up to your face. His smirk appeared lascivious at being caught, and he gave a comical, light shrug.

For some reason, an infernal fire roared within you at that; This creature was evidently attracted to your feminine form. It made you moan louder, reaching forward to play with your round globes teasingly, jiggling them with your incessant fondling, biting your lip at him in the mirror.

You were becoming feral for him.

Art cocked an eyebrow, head tilted in rampant interest at your display. That same jagged smile returned, and almost as a reward, he leaned forward and circled two calloused fingers over your sensitive clit.

Your reaction was instantaneous, legs shaking and body jerking at the intense pleasure. It made you nearly collapse forward if not for the grip in your hair, his cock still relentlessly spearing you.

"Fuck, just like that, ohh--", you cried blissfully, shuddering. Arts expression appeared sternly concentrated on your exclamations and the way your body sucked him in greedily. His thunderous expression was terrifying, but it only served to increase the heat within you tenfold, your body pliant and melting into his ministrations.

He shattered your equanimity, your mind turning to mush and only thinking of his thick hands and his fat cock-

Your thighs were violently quivering, struggling to not collapse. Your moans increased in pitch, high and breathless and weak.

" 'M so close, your cock feels so fucking good and I'm going to cum, im--ohh!"

Your body was roughly dropped, a violent hand forcing you into the bed. Your ass remained high while your cheek laid itself upon the blankets, face contorting in mindless, pleasurable relief as those murderous hands gripped at your hips and began fucking into you so expeditiously you wailed.

His heavy balls slapped your clit with each filling thrust, teasing the bundle of nerves to the point your knees began to quake, on the brink of collapse.

"Fuck, fuck!", you shrieked in repetitive succession, breathing erratically as his thick, long, veiny cock fucked you so good that you just burst-

Your knees did collapse this time, but firm hands kept your hips situated perfectly to receive his godly pistoning. With a high, keening noise you didn't know you could ever make, so desperate and whorish, your pussy contracted and gushed.

Your thighs were soaked and dripping, your bedding ruined. You could feel the way his grip tightened bruisingly on your hips at the feeling of your insides pulsating steadily, milking him, demanding he fill you up like you craved.

Your self consciousness and any semblance of pride were shattered into a million pieces at the mind numbing euphoria you felt. It enveloped your entire body in a blanket and made you feel like you were floating. Your insides fluttered intensely making your breathing erratic and short.

Your face was forced even further into the bed as you reached two arms back, planting a hand on either side of your round cheeks.

With a flushed, fucked out visage staring back at Art from the way your face was turned on its side, you spread your enticing cheeks apart, moaning. "Need you to fucking fill me, need you to fuck me so full please please-"

Art couldn't deny the intense arousal that shot through his body and engorged his cock unnaturally further. Your dainty fingers spread your cheeks so far apart he could see the way your hole split around his length, the muscles parting forcefully at his intrusion. Your virgin, tight puckered hole caught his attention the most, and he moved a thumb to rub the area tenderly, a promise that he'd make you scream yourself hoarse the day he managed to fit his cock into that narrow passage.

You'd cry, he'd make sure of it, and the thought and the visual in front of him was enough to have him seizing your hips so strongly that they would bruise, fucking you brutally and hearing your sobs of pain and pleasure, before his hips stuttered once, twice against your cervix and a flood of hot, ropey squirts painted your insides.

He filled you so deeply it made your body think it needed to pee, if only to expel the amount of cum within you. It was unnatural, but he wasn't a mortal. If anything, the absurd amount made you melt dreamily into the bed, thoroughly fucked and bred and satiated for the time being.

You felt the clown retrieve himself, sliding out with a lewd squelch. Your hole gaped and quivered, his cum oozing out of you messily and coating your thighs. You moaned pleasantly at the feeling of two fingers scooping out the sloppy mess, coating his fingers with it before pushing them into your mouth. You accepted the gift, a noise of delight escaping you.

It made you want to suck his cock and have him fill your mouth until you choked. The thought was arousing, clitoris pulsating lightly as you reached down and rubbed it in lazy circles.

His body moved behind you, two hands gripping your ass cheeks before a hot, long tongue nudged your fingers aside and lapped at your clit. You moaned wantonly, pushing your hips back into his ministrations, feeling that heat invade your abdomen again, signalling another orgasm.

"Oh God, fuck, your tongue feels so-feels so--", you cried out as two fingers sunk into you to the knuckles, pushing the sloppy cum back into your hole dirtily, all the while his tongue lapped at and lathered your clitoris, licking broad, rough stripes up the bundle of nerves until you were a whining mess.

"Fuck, fuuuck, don't know if I want your tongue or your cock more, mmm-"

Art chuckled into your sodden pussy, eyebrows low and sinister. You were shameless, your pleasure ridden brain void of anything else other than the need to be fucked dumb.

A high pitched cry of pleasure tore him out of his condescending thoughts about you, his mouth drenched in your splattering orgasm. His fingers curled within you, brutally fondling that area that had you outright weeping into the pillows.

Little 'too much!'s and 'stop!'s were cried out to him desperately, your body convulsing as though you were possessed. Wiping his mouth, Art sat back and admired his work.

You were panting, pleading in a high pitched, pathetic tone. Your body was overwhelmed, tired and bruised, and Art sat back on his knees and thought for a moment, hand to his chin.

His eyes rolled up to the ceiling in brief contemplation, and then he shrugged, situating himself behind you again.

You whimpered at the feeling of him forcing his sturdy cock into your puffy walls once more. The sound you made was strangled and weak, drool dripping down your chin shamelessly, body losing function of itself. You were crying openly, brought deeper and deeper into a submissive sort of headspace.

He grinned sharply, his cock hardening at the sight of your pathetic state. He bet he could make your body lose all inhibition and piss itself. You'd be so ashamed, and he'd make you lick the liquid off of his cock; a good girl for Santa.

He began to fuck you, patting your messy hair adoringly. You whimpered and wailed, pleading for more, pleading for less. But he found that he wasn't finished with you just yet. You wanted this, didn't you? You told him so yourself.

With a comforting stroke of your hair, Art smiled mockingly down at you, pouting his lips out at your cuteness. He couldn't go back on his word; he was going to fuck you until you couldn't walk.

The comforting stroke of your hair turned sinister, gripping a fistful up to the root. Your pretty, wet eyes stared back at him over your shoulder, lips quivering.

Thrusting into you, your mouth opened in unbridled pleasure.

•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Epilogue

You had fallen unconscious. He had drawn orgasm after orgasm out of you to the point that you begged him to stop, crying so much that you couldn't breathe. Art adored your tears, awed and fascinated by them. The only reprieve you were given was your exhausted, slumped body falling soundly asleep. It was exquisitely blissful, but too much to bear.

You awoke with a weak groan, pushing yourself up to a seated position. You were naked in the blankets, but Art seemed to have the decency to clean you up slightly, your inner thighs dry and not at all the mess that they were a few hours prior. That was oddly sweet of him. And unexpected.

You wrapped a dressing gown around your body, wincing as you stood on shaky legs. Your insides felt battered and bruised, your hips dark with fingerprints. Making your way downstairs, your eyes were sleepy and lidded as you switched the kettle on to make yourself a coffee.

You had a moment of peace to yourself, or so you thought.

In came strolling that demonic clown, looking as fresh as a daisy and wide awake as he bounced preppily over to you, plonking his cup down beside yours in a silent request that he, too, wanted something hot to drink. Preferably hot chocolate.

He no longer adorned his Santa costume, instead dressed as he usually was in that monochromatic suit, face paint as immaculate as ever. He smiled down at you dazzlingly, or as brightly as a demonic entity could, patting your head like you were a golden retriever before grabbing the hot chocolate that you had barely stirred with your spoon and taking a seat at the table, newspaper in hand.

You eyed him warily, exhausted, and felt a small amount of embarrassment flourish within you at how normal he was acting and how drained you felt and looked and..

Not to mention the memories of last night either. You promptly locked them away in a box and threw away the key for now.

You reached up to grab a box of cereal from the shelf and sighed. You couldn't be bothered to eat right now, even though your stomach was grumbling noisily.

What you didn't expect was for a white hand to flash in your peripheral, grabbing it for you, before gripping your hips and spinning you to face him.

The pressure on your hips made you visibly wince, and Arts expression turned to one of shock, mouth an 'o' and eyebrows high. You frowned weakly at him before pushing his hands off of you with barely any effort behind it.

"Hurts." You pouted up at him, shaking your head lightly. You felt so weak, you really needed to replenish yourself and eat something.

Art cooed down at you, pinching your cheek lightly. You scowled now and moved away from him, thoroughly drained. He could sense that your usual fire had been doused at the moment, and held a finger up to represent a lightbulb moment.

Before you could contemplate it, you were picked up bridally and sped into the living room, making you squeal and giggle breathily. Art dumped you onto the settee, turning the TV on and putting on a horror film.

He jumped beside you, blanket covering both yours and his legs, and you couldn't help but smile dreamily at him.

He fucked you good and hard last night, and now wants to watch one of your favourite horror movies? What a gentleman. Art deadpanned at your bizarre expression, clicking his fingers in front of your eyes to snap you out of it. You only smiled wider, eyes crinkling.

"You know, you're sooo sweet when you want to be."

Art comically guffawed at your admittance, shaking his head swiftly to deny such a thing, lifting a finger to the side of his head and twirling it in a clockwise motion to signify you were crazy for ever thinking something like that.

The overly dramatic, rare expression had you giggling again, soft and sweet. Art rolled his eyes at you, waving you off as though to say 'yeah, okay, don't get used to it'.

Seeing this as a prime opportunity to tease, you were swiftly silenced as a slice of cake was shoved into your mouth. You don't know..where he got that, but he was a clown, after all, and it tasted edible.

Sighing contentedly, you chewed the sweet treat slowly, watching as the scene on TV displayed a possessed woman in the shower, scorching water melting her skin as she carved her mouth apart with glass.

You loved this movie, and Art seemed intrigued, cackling silently beside you. Wrapped up in the blanket, you leaned against him comfortably, and he seemed unperturbed by it, eyes honed in on the screen.

You don't know why he was being so gentle with you. Art never did things unless he wanted to, and that was enough of an answer for you; he simply wanted to act this way right now. Even still, it made you feel warm, and you supposed living eternally together wouldn't be so bad.

Well, that was until you fell asleep, awoken by the chill of having your thighs spread apart and cake smeared all over your puffy, abused folds.

"Art! What the hell are you doing?! I told you I'm in pain--"

Art chuckled evilly, leaning down to lick a gentle stripe up your icing covered lips, savouring the sweet taste.

Your breath hitched, but you still held your hands against his shoulders, faced etched with nervousness. "P-please don't. Can't..can't handle it right now."

Art tilted his head a fraction, staring up at you in awe. You had retracted to that submissive headspace again, and he found that he relished it. Repressing a cheeky grin, Art held his hands up placatingly, schooling his expression to one of neutrality, or rather barely masked amusement, and used his finger to draw an imaginary X over his heart.

"You mean you won't..be too much? Really? I'm having a hard time trusting you, you're literally grinning at me right now..." You huffed, expression incredibly wary.

Art covered his mouth with the back of his hand, teeth clenched as he grinned and laughed. Even still, he coughed once, face falling flat to prove he was.. moderately serious about being gentle with you.

In truth, he just wanted to eat your juicy pussy and hear you moan his name again. He bet he could get you to ask him nicely to fuck you.

For added effect, Art splayed his wide hands on your thighs and tickled the skin with either thumb, rubbing soothing circles into the flesh. Again, you had that dopey, dreamy expression on your face, and he began to think he really did damage your mind last night.

"Fine, just..be gentle, okay? I'm in no mood to quarrel today."

Art shrugged lightly. He kind of felt the same. It was refreshing hearing your soft voice instead of your screeching one of anger, or seeing your fluttering eyes at him rather than your stone cold ones.

Who knew that fucking you silly would make you so tame, so pliant. It was rather funny. Guess it proves that all you needed was a bit of dick to calm you down.

And Art was feeling surprisingly generous today. With a quirk of his lips, he settled between your thighs and placed them onto his shoulders.

Tongue darting out to lick up from your hole to your clitoris, he lathered the nub gently, lowering his lips to suckle it.

You gasped softly, widening your legs for him and biting your lip. The pleasure was instant, a heat boiling in your abdomen and fluttering down to your toes.

He was good at playing the part of devoted and gentle, and gripped at your hand delicately, lacing his fingers with your own in an intimate display. He watched you blush a pretty pink, mouth parting in awe at his uncharacteristic tenderness.

As you stared into his smouldering eyes, he smothered your clit beautifully, making you moan and buck your hips up into him.

He knew the moment your moans turned deep and sultry as he prodded a finger at your entrance, that you'd soon be backtracing your words and pleading with pouty lips that he fuck you gently.

There was an undeniable connection between you both; you were bound, after all, and even he wasn't immune to the effects of it. He'd still aggravate you, and absolutely wreak havoc on your wanting body, but he also rather enjoyed the peaceful tenderness of these moments, save for your breathy moans and the sounds of someone dying on the TV.

It made him feel peculiarly content. With a smirk into your sodden folds, Art thrust a finger into you deeply, standing between borderline pleasurable and 'too much', as you had said.

You had yet to berate him, he noted.

Within a few minutes, you were a mess down there, soaked and sticky with cake. He remained true to his word, not at all being rough, and instead holding you delicately in warm hands as he sucked and licked at your glistening folds.

"Art, it's the best part of the movie- Ah--"

He rolled his eyes at you, though did spare a single glance at the screen when he heard the sound of a chainsaw.

In no time, you were panting and reaching your peak, soft cry breathed into the air as his fingers curled and pumped into you, tongue massaging your clit. You gushed down his wrist, quivering.

Art smiled innocently up at your flustered self, imitating dabbing his mouth clean with a napkin. He jumped up and sprung beside you once more, pulling you into his sturdy lap and leaning back comfortably.

His eyes didn't leave the screen, fully focused.

You shifted, wiggling to get comfortable and felt his hard dick pressing against you. You bit your lip and glanced at him guiltily - you had just proclaimed that you were in pain today, and now you were having thoughts of him fucking you?

You settled back against him, flushed and buzzing with arousal. The film was almost over. Art grinned behind you, eyes ablaze with mischief. He knew what you wanted, but like you said, he was missing the best part of the movie.

Maybe if you're lucky, he'll fuck you later. But for now, you'd sit tiredly spent against his chest, chuckling at the brutal massacres on screen. More cake miraculously appeared, which always helped. It was pressed against your lips forcefully and you were more than happy to take it, humming in delight.

"Who'd have thought that you killing me all those years ago would evolve into this.", you smirked at him, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "You're actually really cute. No idea how I never noticed it before." Your girlish expression lit up your face, eyes sparkling.

Art looked exasperated at your comment and shrugged. He smiled cheekily, pointing at himself as if to bashfully say "who, me?"

Your giggles rung throughout your home, his silent laughter making your body move. You felt a sense of contentment - a partner in crime to maim people with and to fuck you dumb.

Your eyes swirled black, corrupt and tainted, and promptly shut sleepily.

What could be better than this?

i need him so bad. this is pure smut. i made an epilogue to add fluffy things but it turned into smut 💀

also this isn't related to sporadic contingency at all, its just a standalone fic x

[kazumist]

EPISODE 28 ✦ PLEASE LOVE ME AT MY WORST

LOVE, MAYBE — A CHILDE SMAU

masterlist / prev ep / next ep / wc: 1265.

fifteen minutes is almost up; am i about to die?

ajax thoughts wander to all sorts of places as he nervously checks and watches the time move on his wristwatch. as to why he agrees so easily to your request to talk to him—he doesn’t know either. it just felt… right to agree. 

he knows it would pain him to say no to you anyway.

perhaps it was just the small part of him that still hopes. that one little speck in him that hopes this “talk” would mend the rift that had formed between the two of you. it was probably stupid to have such expectations when he was pretty sure you were dead set on your answer to him before.

so it confuses him. why did you want to talk? did you want to just slap it in his face once again? no, you weren’t like that. you would never do something that mean. but that just leads him back to square one: why?

the sound of soft footsteps growing louder alerts ajax, and he takes a deep breath because he knows it’s you. yet he takes a glance to check anyway. there you were, standing before him as he gets the familiar feeling of being starstruck surging through him. keep it together, ajax. he warns himself. 

“hi…” you softly said. 

“hey.”

hey? who the hell says hey nowadays, ajax? get a grip! he mentally scolds himself, forcing him to pull out a tight smile to you instead to save him from his embarrassment. meanwhile, you thought otherwise of his reaction. oh god, he probably hates me. he never gives me that smile. it looks so forced. he probably just felt bad and forced himself to meet me out at this hour. your thoughts ran fast inside your mind as you fiddled with your fingers.

“uhm.. i wanted to talk—”

“so why did you want to meet—”

you both paused when you realized you both spoke at the same time. “you go first,” he insisted. but you gestured otherwise and told him, “oh, it’s fine. you can go.”

“i insist. ladies first?”

seeing as this would go nowhere if you just went back and forth like that, you took a deep breath. 

“i love you.”

for the whole day (and the additional fifteen minutes ajax gave you), you thought of many ways on how to approach childe with the topic of what happened before. yet none of those really started with “i love you." the best option you got after thinking so hard actually started with “i’m sorry.” the “i love you” part was supposed to be near the end of the whole monologue you had prepared inside your head.

ajax only stared at you, dumfounded at your words. “shit, sorry, i—that wasn’t how i wanted to start, uhm—” you let out a sigh, a slightly shaky one at that because of your mistake. don’t fuck up this one up and run away again, (name). you mentally took note. but then again, fuck that monologue you prepared beforehand. if you want to do this properly, then it’s better to do this as bare as your emotions could get, right?

taking another deep breath, you decided to speak up again before ajax could. “i’m going to be honest. i actually prepared some long speech that is supposedly transcribed inside my brain right now. but i definitely think i just forgot a good chunk of that speech now that i’m actually with you.” 

“i’m sorry, ajax. i let my fear get the best of me that day. i never wanted to tell you to go away; in fact, i know that i wanted nothing more than for you to hold me at that moment.” you let out a bitter chuckle at that. ajax watches you, listening to every word carefully. he takes in your appearance as well, and the slightly swollen and redness of your eyes were obvious enough for him to know your state as of late.

“i never wanted to push you away. and god, i feel so stupid and guilty for everything that i said that day. because i know none of those were true. well, i guess minus the part where i listed my flaws... because i know those were true in some sense—but i want to—no, nevermind that. i’m trying to change my ways.” you corrected yourself.

“i asked dehya and the others for some advice. and they were right when they said that you had a positive impact on my life and that i’ve never been this happy with someone else other than them. because i swear, you’re just a different case for me, ajax. you make me happy in ways i never thought anyone could bring me joy. when i thought i didn’t have anyone by my side, you were there for me.”

“and i feel so, so, so fucking stupid for shutting you away that day. because deep inside, i knew my heart wanted otherwise. my brain wanted you to leave me alone, but i knew my heart wanted for you to stay. for you to tell me that everything is alright.”

“i guess the main gist of everything that i’m saying is that i love you; i’m sorry. i love you, ajax. and i know i’m probably late, and that you probably hate me right now, and also how you probably just forced yourself outside just so you could meet up with me, but i love you. this whole thing is honestly still scary to me, considering this is the first time i have experienced this in my whole lifespan of eighteen years right now.”

“yet i still love you despite that. i’m sorry that it took me a while. and again, you don’t have to reciprocate it—i just wanted to let this all out. and like i said, you probably hate me—”

“am i allowed to speak now?” ajax.

“i—yeah, go ahead.”

“have i told you that i’m so proud of you?” he asks. you don’t know where he’s going with this. “you might’ve mentioned it once or twice in the past, yeah.” he chuckles at your reply. it feels like your walking on thin ice because you really have no idea if he’s about to drop a bomb right now about him rejecting you.

you don’t think you could handle that anyway.

“thank you, (name). i personally didn’t know what to expect with what you were going to say. but i  don’t hate you. i could never hate you. not now, not ever. hell, i knew that if i said no to your request of having a talk i would definitely regret it. and i’m proud of you that you managed to say all of that. learning how to communicate is a big step already, you know?”

ajax takes a step closer and you didn’t take a step back this time. you let him get close to you this time, fixing the distance that grew after you pushed him away. “and for the record, i love you too” he says, a bit more quietly, as if he really wants only you to hear those words coming from him. “that fact isn’t going to change anytime soon, silly.” 

“i’m sorry again. but i’m ready now. i’m prepared to take a risk in this whole thing they call love. so please love me at my worst, ajax.”

the night ends with ajax walking you home once again—but this time there wasn’t a single residue of the bitterness from before.

this time, it was filled with relief.

extra notes.

yayyyy!!! communication!!!!

i didn't expect for this episode to be so long. i was 700+ words in when i realized that it was going to be a bit lengthy.

taglist (open): @xianyoon @mitsvriii @kizakiss @kissingkzuha @aethion @phtogravi @ell1e2010 @esthelily @b4tm4nn @hcmay @ivvieene @morganadorodo @kaitfae @kentply @scaranthropy @kyon-cherri @kookiibun @kochothehoe @mekiiiii @ibyobi @iuspired @tetsuskei @kunikuzushis-darling @morgyyyyyyy @chluuvr @scaradooche @kissmiere @a1-ic3 @bubblegum-angelquartz @tiredjxnna @levlucs-kiru @angeilix @cerisescherries @saeskiss @a-talkative-corn @briluvspnk @kamisatoyato @bbysatoruuu @viviixoxosblog @bambisz @chemiru @eternal-dokja @bflyprincess @jamieexistss @monocerosei @enjisthings @jangyung @hahalame @cupid-spams @snzhrchy @ukinya @luciledreamz @bisatanica @bananasquash @almond-t0fu @thegalaxyisunfolding @jaguarthecat [1/2]

[galacticlamps]

it's 3am, and somehow, in the last ten minutes, I went from being midway through watching a production of 12th night to somehow relistening to one of the most heartbreaking jamie/dr scenes big finish has ever produced (it's a long list, i know) completely by accident, all while trying not to cry over a song from a completely different play I haven't touched in about 8 years

[sosa2imagines]

Yours, ours, mine.

Warnings- Jealousy, manipulation, gaslighting, somnophilia, drunk makeout, degrading women (not reader), murder, drugging, non/dubcon, forcing. If you find any more warnings, please let me know. (7.7K words) --------------------------------------- Steve watches the shape of your hips, as you reach for the ingredients on the top shelf. The way your back bends to reach them. His eyes move, from the length of your legs and the curve of your butt, to the way your chest jiggles. He watches the way you walk, with every sway of your hips. He can’t help the feeling of blood, rushing to a very specific part of his body, as he watches you.

When Steve went in past, to return the stones, he thought about staying behind. He tried to like the past, but something was missing.

The past was just too bland, boring and dull for his taste.

As for Peggy? She is very... decent and hardworking, but no fun.

So, Steve came back.

Bucky, Sam and Bruce, who were impatiently waiting for him to return, were relieved to see him back.

“I thought you won’t come back? What changed your mind?” Bucky asked, “Past is boring without you, it’s not for me.” Steve replied.

Though, he did give his shield to Sam. Announcing his retirement, with a promise of, always being there for them and the world. Steve went on a lone journey across the world.

The modern world was meant for him. He was no longer, the skinny Steve or Captain America, with the responsibility of the world, on his shoulders. He was a free bird now. He loves the life, he was living now.

Just traveling, hooking with random girls, who would willingly bend for him, just the way he wants.

After a year of traveling, he came back home. But his apartment was no longer his, and he didn’t want to live in the compound, so he decided to go to Bucky’s place.

When he knocked on the door, he was expecting a surprised Bucky, but instead he sees you. Steve was stunned and speechless when he saw you standing in the doorway of Bucky’s house. You were beyond gorgeous and immediately captivated his mind, Steve immediately felt himself drawn to you. He saw you and now he wanted you.

You smiled as you saw him return home, and you greet him, your smile was not fake but genuine. “Steve...” You knew who he was, but not the dark truths within him. He has gone on many adventures and now he was back home; however, the memories of those adventures and of his past life had faded, as he saw you standing in the doorway.

His breath hitched as he heard your voice, your soft and sultry voice captured his attention. Maybe you know him as Captain America. But it does not matter, he would love to hear his name, again and again from your sweet lips.

He stood there, staring intently at you for a moment, before snapping himself out of it. Just as Steve was about to ask you, who you were, he heard another voice, Bucky's voice. “Doll, who is it?” Bucky's voice pulled him out of his dazed state of mind.

 Bucky came next to you, kissing your temple, wrapping his arm around your waist, before looking directly at Steve. Steve was jealous seeing you and Bucky so close and affectionate. He tried not to show the feelings of jealousy he had within, he tried his best to act normal and not show off any of the emotions he was currently going through.

“Steve, what a surprise”, Bucky let’s go of you, to give Steve a brotherly hug. “Yeah... yeah it's good to see you again Buck.” Steve tried to compose himself, he knew he had to play it cool and not let himself get overwhelmed with jealousy. Bucky was happy to see him and that was all that mattered... for now.

Bucky, chuckles and introduces you to Steve, “Steve, this is uh Y/n...my wife” Steve was shocked, you were Bucky's wife. “Yours”, Steve choked. He was surprised by it; he hadn't expected Bucky to be in a relationship... much less with someone as beautiful as you.

“A pleasure to meet you.” Steve said, forcing a smile. He was trying his best to act normal and friendly, but he was internally struggling with the feelings, he had now, knowing you were married to Bucky. “Nice to meet you too.”

Bucky puts his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him as he smiled at Steve. His smile, unlike Steve's, was genuine, he was happy to see Steve back again.

As you all settle into the house, Bucky begins to tell Steve, how he met you in his absence, how they fell in love and decided to get married. Steve tried his best to focus on the story, he needed to act like he wasn't losing his mind inside. He needed to act like he cared, but all he could really focus on, was you beside him.

Steve was having trouble concentrating. He kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, he was just so damn attracted to you.

As time went by, it was time for Steve to leave. Bucky and you knew, he didn't have any apartment, “Where are you going to stay though? You don't have your apartment anymore...” Bucky asked in concern.

“Guess... I'll head back to the compound.” Steve made a sad face, hoping you both will buy it. Steve's plan was to crash in with Bucky, however he didn't know you will be here, let alone be married to Bucky. So, he had to act a little.

“Don't be stupid, you are staying with us. We have a spare bedroom. Come on it will be just like old times. Please stay with us.”

“No, no it's fine... I can find somewhere else to stay. I don't want to impose on you guys.” He said, trying to hide the fact that he was desperate to stay with you both.

Bucky tried to convince Steve to stay with them, saying that he would be happy if Steve stayed with them, and that he could go on missions without worrying, because Steve could look after you. Steve can protect you. Steve's eyes widened a bit at hearing this, but he quickly composed himself, pretending like nothing was wrong.

Of course, he'll look after you, take care of you, protect you and...

“Please, stay with us. It would be wonderful to have you around and I know it'll make my wife happy too, won't it, doll?”

“Yes, yes it will.” You chime in, “I would love to have Steve around to keep me company, while you're off on missions.” Bucky chuckles and looks at Steve, hoping that he agrees to stay.

That was all Steve needed, he hugged you and made it look like it was just a friendly gesture.

He watches the way Bucky is with you. He sees the way he looks at you, the way he touches you, the way he kisses you. He longs for that. He fantasizes about having what the two of you have. He can’t help but let his mind wander and wish that he had, what the two of you have. It’s almost like he’s living vicariously through your relationship. He even starts wondering what it would be like to be with you instead.

He begins to think about, the possibility of being with you. He even begins to imagine the two of you together, having breakfast every morning, the intimate moments you would share, and the life you would have together. It’s almost as if he can feel the sensations of touch and emotion through his imagination, almost like his fantasies are becoming real.

Every time Bucky called you ‘doll’, Steve would cringe. You are not ‘doll’, you are ‘angel’, his angel… made with perfection.

He’s hooked up random girls, but it’s not the same. He can’t stop thinking about you. No one else can fill him the way, he is filled by just the thought of you. Every time he’s with another girl, he’s pretending, that they’re you. He’s closes his eyes and imagines that she’s you. It’s your name he’s moaning instead of hers.

Every time he comes, he moans your name.

No matter, how hard he pounds the girl from behind, it was your name falling from his mouth. Steve had a condition for the hook ups, don’t make any noise, don’t disturb him and don’t ask any questions.

You walk around the house freely, not knowing about Steve’s obsession. You’re completely unaware of the way he watches every move you make, the way he fantasizes about you. You’re completely unaware of the way his mind wanders when he sees you, of the way he can’t stop thinking about you. You’re completely unaware of the way he craves you.

No matter where you stood, he found some reason to go there and to just be in close proximity to you. To watch you move, to watch you laugh, to watch you breathe even. He loved to watch you do literally anything.

Steve was in awe of you, over the fact, that you were not aware of his love and lust for you. He was there beside you, doing everything he could, to act normal, when in reality, he wanted to grab you by your waist and pull you close to him.

Soon he starts collecting, your bra and panties, as souvenirs. He starts stealing pieces of your lingerie and taking them back to his room, as a way to feel closer to you. He can’t help but stare at the stolen items, when he’s alone, imagining how sexy they look, on your body. He can’t help but sniff and touch the pieces, feeling how soft and silky they are, imagining how they felt, to touch your body as you wore them.

As his normal routine, he was quietly going through your wardrobe, admiring your lingerie, when he heard the bathroom door open. He quickly hid behind the curtains, realizing that it must be you, coming out of the bathroom. Steve was turned on, seeing you naked.

He can’t help, but stare at your naked body, as you come out of the bathroom. The desire he’s been feeling for you, suddenly amplifies as he stares at your naked body. He imagines touching you, kissing your body, tasting your skin. He imagines what it would feel like, to explore every inch of your body, with his hands. He’s completely entranced by your beauty and can’t take his eyes off of you. He’s so turned on, by every inch of you, that he can barely breathe.

The way your wet hair dripped, on your breast, he wanted to suck them. Your body was a work of art to him and he couldn't help but feel the urge, to just grab you and take you then and there.

He had a need to be taken care of. He shamelessly opens the button of his jeans and unzipped his fly, pulling out his hard cock. Steve spit into his hand as he kept his eyes trained on you. His fingers wrapped around his hardness and he stroked roughly. He was so lost in the naked sight of you, he couldn’t help himself. He saw Bucky coming in, grabbing you from behind, one hand groping your breast, while the other playing with your clit.

You were whimpering and trembling, while he slipped his fingers inside you. The way your hips moved, the way you gasped, and the way your face flushed, when you came. Steve made a mess of himself, stuffing your panties in his mouth, to muffle any sound from him.

Few days later, the dimly lit room throbbed, with the monotonous rhythm of bodies. Steve, lost in the familiar cycle of seeking oblivion, barely registered, the woman beneath him. He was miles away, the image of you consuming his thoughts. As the climax approached, his voice rough with exertion, a single word escaped his lips, shattering the empty charade.

“Y/n” he groaned, the name echoing in the confines of the room.

The woman beneath him froze. Her movements ceased, replaced by a sudden stillness. Then, she ripped away from him, her eyes blazing with fury. She broke the rule, Steve had set, as she questions him. “What the hell was that?” she spat, her voice laced with ice. “Does not matter to you! Keep your filthy mouth shut and open it, for the only good use it has.”

The girl's grip tightened on Steve's hair, her voice a low growl. “Y/n? You mean wife of Bucky Barnes?” The girl recognized your name, as she had heard it in the news. Much to Bucky’s dismay, when you both got married, the media had leaked your name. Steve's eyes snapped open, his face flushing crimson. “Let go of me!” he snarled, shoving her back.

She stumbled, but recovered quickly, a cruel smile twisting her lips. “Oh, I think I will. Unless you want your little secret to get out, former Captain America.”

Steve stood, his jaw clenched. “Are you threatening me?”

“Oh, it's a blackmail, alright,” she sneered, “a mistake that could cost you, your reputation, maybe even land you in jail. Unless, you compensate me for my silence.”

Steve's eyes narrowed. “You're a disgusting slut.”

“Money talks, sweetheart. And right now, you're talking broke. How pathetic, falling for a married woman.” She laughs and that was enough to tick his jaw.

Steve grabbed her throat, lifting her up in the air. The girl struggled, kicking her feet, desperately trying to free herself. Steve’s hold was strong, within seconds, he snapped her neck. He threw her body on the floor, glaring hard, fuming with anger. He was pacing back and forth.

As he drops her dead body, in the ocean, Steve’s twisted mind makes him feel proud, that he can kill anyone for you, do anything for you.

Driven by this newfound obsession, Steve devised a plan. He surreptitiously installed a hidden camera, in your bedroom and bathroom, the burning desire to see you.

Later that night, the grainy footage flickered to life on his screen. His breath hitched as you and Bucky shed your clothes, the sight of your bare skin a revelation. He watched, heart hammering against his ribs, as you moved together, a silent symphony of passion.

He found himself fixated on your curves, the way the light played across your skin, a stark contrast to the shadows that danced on Bucky's form. The image of watching you and Bucky through the hidden camera, was a secret pleasure he revelled in.

He'd always admired your beauty, the way your curves moved, the way your skin seemed to glow, under the soft lamplight. But witnessing your intimacy with Bucky, had twisted that admiration into something monstrous. The sight of Bucky's hand trailing down your bare back, the way your moans filled the room, fuelled a fire within him.

He replayed the scene in his mind, the stolen glimpses of your naked form, a forbidden fruit he couldn't tear himself away from. He felt a thrill at the possessiveness, that surged through him, a twisted sense of ownership over something that wasn't his. As he came, making a mess on the bed. He had to have you.

When Bucky is out for work, Steve takes the opportunity to get touchy with you. He starts with friendly touches, but the touching soon becomes bolder. You didn't mind the friendly touches, but when he got bolder, you politely tried to maintain distance.

He kept pushing, to see how far he could go, and he didn't like, that you were keeping your distance, from him. He wanted more than friendly touches, and he kept trying to get you to let him get closer, to let him touch you in ways, that Bucky wouldn't like. He didn't care that you were trying to maintain distance; he just wanted more.

He comes up with a solution. You were making tea, when Steve came in. “Let me serve you the tea, it'll give me a chance to spend time with you,” says Steve. “Okay.” You smile.

He puts sleeping pills in your cup, making sure to mix it with the sugar in the tea. He waits for the pills to kick in.

Once you fall asleep, Steve picks you up and carries you to bed. He gently undresses you, taking his time with the process. He gently removes your clothes, letting his hands glide, over your body as he does so.

His hands explore your body, like he's worshipping you. His hands roam over your curves, tracing every inch of your skin. He can't help but worship you, can't help but touch you, can't help but feel the heat of your body against his own. He takes his time with every touch, with every exploration. He wants to savor this moment, to indulge in the feeling of your body, in ways he's only been able to fantasize about before.

He kisses you softly, tasting your lips, lightly nibbling your neck. Gently kneading your boobs, before dragging his fingers further down. He takes your breast in his mouth, sucking on it like his life depends on it. While his fingers, trace between your thighs, pushing your legs apart. “Gonna make you feel so good...” Steve whispers, as if you can hear him. Steve’s fingers graze your clit, drawing circles around your sensitive nub, with your slick. He teases your entrance.

One by one, his fingers are in you, gently stroking you, hitting that spot inside you, that has your breathing get heavier. Steve swirled his fingers in your slick, before he pulled away from your breast, bringing his fingers to his mouth, to taste you. Steve gently slipped his fingers back inside you. He moved slowly, circling the tip before shoving his fingers back in, watching your face. 

While he played with your pussy with one hand, Steve reached into his sweatpants and gripped his cock. He stroked himself slowly, wanting to draw out, as long as he could. Steve pushed gently against your tight little hole. You were wet enough, for his fingers to slide inside easily. He took it slow, as he continued to push inside until his fingers were buried deep inside. If you felt that good around his fingers, Steve couldn’t even imagine, how perfect you’d feel on his cock. His fist gripped the base of his shaft. Steve curled his fingers inside you and pumped gently in and out of your pussy. His thumb stroked over your little button. He fucked your pussy with his fingers, as he stroked his cock.

Your tight walls, were clenching around his fingers. Steve rubbed your button harder, drawing out your release, while your wetness coated his fingers and hand. 

Steve stuck his wet fingers in his mouth, and groaned when he tasted your sweet, release. While his other hand pumped, his cock faster. He chased his release, until he found it, his face buried in the crook of your neck. Steve came with a muffled moan, his cum spurting up all over your thigh. He did clean you, before dressing you up again and leaving you alone in the room.

When you got up, you felt weird and little tired, but you waved it off. The following days, you felt the same way, whenever you woke up from your nap. But you just blamed it on the chores, having no other reason.

A few nights later you, Bucky, and Steve went to the local bar. The night was going well, with all three of you enjoying yourselves. Steve purposely gets you, stronger alcohol, without your or Bucky's knowledge, wanting to make sure, that you get more intoxicated, than just being tipsy.

Bucky sits on a bar stool, occupying himself with his phone, as you and Steve dance together. You lean against Steve, thinking that he's Bucky. Steve instantly takes advantage of this, dancing sensually with you, touching you. He doesn't want to miss this opportunity, not when he's so close to you. He wants to feel your body pressed against his, to feel your breath against his neck, to hear how your breathing changes as you become more and more intoxicated. He wants you, and he wants you now.

It doesn't take long for you to become more intoxicated, and as you look up, Steve's eyes are locked on you. He's staring at you, watching your eyes begin to droop, and your movements become heavier. He's enjoying himself, watching you get more and more drunk, letting the alcohol do its magic. He's excited at the thought of what he might get to do once you're so intoxicated that you won't be able to push him away.

In a lucky coincidence, Bucky has to go to the compound for some work, telling Steve to take care of you. This is the perfect opportunity for Steve to take advantage of you, to make his move, to make you his. He tells Bucky that he'll take good care of you, that he'll get you back home safely. Bucky, trusting Steve, thinks nothing of this and leaves, leaving the two of you alone together.

With Bucky out of the way and out of the picture, Steve takes it as his chance, to act on his desires for you. His hands start wandering over your intoxicated body slowly, kneading your ass, exploring every inch of you. He can't help but feel a rush of excitement, as he touches you, as he feels the heat of your body against his own.

He cups between your legs, his free hand holding you in place, as his lips find your neck. He wants more than just touches, he wants to feel your breath against his neck, wants to hear you moan. He wants you, and he knows that he has the opportunity to make that happen.

Steve eagerly takes you home, taking you into his bedroom. He's been waiting for this moment for so long, wanting you in his bed, needing you to be with him. He's been waiting to have your body with him, to feel the heat of you against him. He wants this moment to last as long as possible, wanting to savor every second of it. He wants to spend the whole night with you, wants to explore your body, in ways that he's only ever been able to fantasize about.

Steve gently pressed his lips against yours in such an affectionate way, his teeth gently tugged on your lower lip, as he pushed his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss. He undresses you slowly, wanting to take his time with the process. He doesn't want to rush this; he wants to relish in every moment.

He kisses your neck, nibbles it gently, as his hands roam over your body, touching every inch of you. You moan, but instead of moaning his name, you let out a soft moan of Bucky's name. This immediately fills him with anger, and he pulls back, not wanting you to ruin this moment by you calling out someone else's name.

Steve is determined to make you moan his name. He whispers into your ear, his breath hot and heavy against your skin as he whispers, “Say 'Steve',” he doesn't want to hear Bucky's name, he doesn't want anything, but the thrill of hearing your voice call his name, as he makes you moan with pleasure. He wants your attention completely, and he wants you to want him. He tells you again, but this time he doesn't whisper it, he makes it an order. “Say it. Say my name. Say 'Steve'.”

“Steve…” Your intoxicated brain starts to obey his command, and without even realizing it, you moan his name in your drunken haze. His lips still against your neck, he hears you moan his name and immediately his grip on you tightens, and he breathes a heavy sigh of relief and he can finally feel the satisfaction of you moaning his name instead of Bucky's.

He keeps kissing you, his hands roaming over your body, touching every inch of you. He can't get enough of your body, your touch. He leaned down, capturing one of your nipples between his lips and starting to suck on it, your voice sobbing his name. It's everything he's ever imagined and more, and every moment feels like paradise.

He moves slightly, tilting your hips to give him a better angle, in your drunken haze, you automatically wrap your legs around his waist. He wants to get the most out of this moment and your body, wanting you to feel every touch, every angle, everything he makes you do, to get you where he wants you. He knows you're intoxicated, and he knows he can get away with anything right now, and he intends to take advantage of that.

Due to his enhanced hearing, his ears perk up, and he can immediately recognize that it's Bucky's bike. He instantly stops what he's about to do and listens for any signs of Bucky's approach. He hears the bike approaching and getting closer, and he realizes that he's out of time. There's no way that he's going to be able to finish, what he had planned and get you back to your room before Bucky arrives. He's frustrated, and he lets out a small curse under his breath, having to stop due to Bucky's surprise arrival.

He puts you to bed, making sure you're comfortably covered with blankets and tucked in. He closes the bedroom door firmly behind him as he exits, only to find Bucky standing there in the hallway. He acts innocent, “Just checking on her.”

Bucky smiles, thinking that Steve is just being a considerate friend. He has no idea, that Steve was about to take things much farther, than just checking in on you.

Steve is filled with anger and desire. He's angry that Bucky interrupted, what he was about to do with you, but he's even more angry that he had to stop. After having you so close to him, his touch, his lips on your lips, neck and all over your body, he's filled with a need for more. His anger and desire both combine and amplify each other, driving him mad. He wants to be buried balls deep in you.

As Bucky was about to head in the bedroom, Steve stops him, “Hey can we talk?” “Sure what is it?” Bucky asks, motioning him to join him on the couch.

“What would you have done if I wasn't there to look after her in the bar, how would you have managed?” Steve asks, trying to guilt and pressure Bucky into trusting him, trying to drive a wedge between him and you. “I'm sure she would've been fine, she knows how to handle herself…” Bucky responds.

“Are you sure? She looked a bit tipsy, she probably would've ended up in some situations, that she wouldn't have been able to handle.” Steve retorts, testing the waters, to assess Bucky's reaction. “Ye...yes I’m sure…” Bucky replies, but the doubt in his voice, was not gone unnoticed by Steve.

Steve leaves for his room, walking away, with a smug smile on his face, “Whatever you say, Buck.” 

As Bucky lies awake next to you, unable to stop thinking about, what Steve said. He starts to doubt his previous conviction, that you would've been fine. He starts to think about what would've happened, had Steve not been there to watch over you. He imagines you getting into various uncomfortable and dangerous situations, with Steve's comments filling him with guilt.

He realizes that he might've underestimated your vulnerability. The thought of something happen to you, or you getting in trouble is worrying him. He regrets not being there to look after you, to keep you safe.

Over the next few days, Steve continues to undermine Bucky's confidence, using this new found uncertainty, to further instil fear and doubts in his mind.

“What if she gets bored of being alone for months, when you're off on missions?” he says, “What if she starts looking for company elsewhere?” It's a loaded question, one that strikes at Bucky's biggest insecurity, regarding his relationship with you. He's suddenly full of worries about you being alone, without him, for long periods of time.

He presses harder on Bucky's insecurities, driving his point home and instilling even more fear and doubt in his mind.

“What if she starts feeling neglected and unfulfilled?” Steve says. “What if she starts looking for someone to fulfil her needs while you're away?” These are the perfect statements, to erode Bucky's trust in you, make him wonder if you're truly content in your relationship with him.

“What if she finds someone else?” he continues. “What if she finds someone who can give her the satisfaction and fulfilment that she's missing because you're not there?” The thought alone would drive any committed partner frantic, and Bucky is no different; the thought of you being with someone else, enjoying their company and getting attention from someone, other than him, would kill him inside.

“She's so innocent,” he says, playing on Bucky's guilt. “You're constantly gone and she's all alone, waiting by her phone for your messages or calls, constantly anxious, about when you'll be back.” He's preying on Bucky's guilt of not always being there for you, of always leaving for long periods of time, leaving you alone to figure things out for yourself. He's using this to make him feel insecure and inadequate, to make him feel like he's failing as a husband to you.

Bucky tells him to stop, pleading with him to let the matter go.

“Stop,” he says firmly, “you're only making it worse. I could be doing so much more to make her happy, could be giving her what she needs, instead of leaving her alone and vulnerable for months on end.” The doubt and insecurities, that Steve has instilled in him, all comes out at once, his feelings of inadequacy and his fear of not being able to adequately take care of you.

Bucky’s pleading only spurs Steve even further. He doubles down on his efforts to get under Bucky’s skin.

“Stop what?” he asks. “Just stop telling the truths?” he continues, taking it a step further. “So you're fine with her feeling neglected and unfulfilled? You're fine with her waiting anxiously for you to return, even though you're not sure when that might be?” he says, pressing harder on that guilt button.

“If it was up to me Buck...I would have taken good care of her. After all she’s ours.” Bucky ignores this bizarre choice of wording, he doesn't pick up on the fact, that Steve is claiming you as his own, as something that they share, instead of something that's strictly Bucky's. The more he's forced to confront his own feelings of inadequacy, the less Bucky thinks about the finer details, and he easily looks past the odd slip up in wording.

Bucky falls right into Steve's trap without a second thought. He lets his guard down and makes the unfortunate mistake of saying the one thing, Steve's been gunning to hear him say all along.

“Steve, you can look after her,” Bucky says, giving Steve full permission to take over and spend time with you, making him responsible for fulfilling all your needs and desires.

This is exactly what Steve wanted. He wanted to undermine Bucky's confidence and plant the seeds of doubt in his mind. And it worked perfectly

Steve can't hold back his triumph when he sees that his manipulation plan is already working. His smirk grows a bit bigger, and he takes on a more innocent and nonchalant attitude when he replies to Bucky.

“I don't know... Are you sure about this?” his tone is soft, the words slightly hesitant, as if he's not quite sure he should do it, but is open to the possibility. But deep down, Steve knows exactly what he's doing, and he's more than confident in taking on this new role in your life. He's more than willing to be responsible for fulfilling his your needs and fulfilling his your desires, and he's more than ready to take the place of a husband, the place of Bucky. 

Bucky assures him, “Yes, I'm sure. I trust you. I know that you care deeply about her, and that you'll take good care of her.” Bucky trusts Steve and believes he'll treat you with the upmost respect.

But Steve knows that he's already got Bucky, right where he wants him, and that all he needs to do is play the innocent role for a little while longer, before he drops his facade and finally gets what he's been after this entire time, you.

Bucky receives a mission call, one that requires him to leave immediately for work, something about the power broker. He's relieved knowing that his best friend is going to take care of you while he's gone, and that takes some of the guilt off his shoulders. But little does he know; this is exactly the outcome Steve was looking for.

You're completely oblivious to what's just happened, to the entire situation playing out, between Steve and Bucky. The thought that Steve would try to seize his opportunity and that he's been planning this for a while never crosses your mind. You just think that this is another evening with them, not realizing that it'll be one of the most defining nights of your life.

After Bucky leaves, Steve starts to make his move on you.

Steve gets you a glass of milk, mixing in a small quantity of sleeping powder, to make its effects stronger. He brings the glass to you, passing it off as a friendly gesture, in the hopes that you'll drink it.

You decline politely, saying that you're missing Bucky. This angers Steve, and he tries to mask his anger through a friendly smile.

“Come on, don't tell me you can't have a glass of milk, without him being here.” he says.

“No, it's not that,” you say. “I'm just not really craving anything right now.”

“But it's just a glass of milk,” he counters back, his tone and facial expression becoming slightly more insistent. “It won't hurt you to have a small glass of milk...”

You refuse again. Steve can see that his attempts, to manipulate you into drinking the milk, are not working, and his anger is growing more and more. He's not used to not getting his way, and this whole situation, that he has carefully planned and carried out, is not going the way he wanted to. He refuses to give up, and his tone becomes slightly more aggressive.

“Just have some, just try it. Come on,” he says, his voice beginning to take on a more insistent tone.

You get a little angry at his persistence, feeling slightly more annoyed at his insistent demands. “No, you keep insisting, but I keep saying I don't want it,” you reply, raising the volume. “I said no, and I meant it. I don't want any milk right now, so just let it go”.

“Just drink the fucking milk!” Steve yells at you, making your flinch. His anger breaking the mask that he had been wearing up until now. He does not care about being the loving and caring friend anymore, and he shows his true colors. He does not care, all he cares about is getting what he wants. He notices that this has a profound effect on you, and he smirks, seeing that he's managed to scare you.

You take a few sips to pacify him, although the taste of the milk makes you feel a bit weird. “What's in the milk?” you ask as you try, to set the glass down, but the room spins before your eyes.

Steve smiles at you, and his tone becomes less aggressive. “Oh, just something special to help you relax…” he says, with a smug smile. He watches you set the glass down, having a little bit of trouble remaining upright, that the effects of the sleeping powder, is starting to take hold on you. Your speech is getting slightly slurred, and you seem to be stumbling a little bit. He keeps a close watch on you, making sure, that these changes are happening. the way he planned.

Steve sees that you're in a vulnerable position, and he wastes no time in making his move. He takes you by surprise, taking advantage of the sleeping powder. He moves closer to you, slowly moving his hands onto your body, taking you in, while you're still conscious, but too sleepy to fully protest, what's happening.

“Shh, just relax,” he says. “Don't worry, it's all right, everything's fine…” he continues, stroking your hair as he speaks, his hands slowly traveling over your body.

He wraps his arms around you, pressing his nose into your shoulder. “It’s okay, we are not doing anything wrong…just enjoy.” He sighed, his nose running over your neck, his lips connecting and leaving gentle kisses all along the skin.

“No...no…I'm married...Bucky…” You try to remind him, but everything comes out as slurred. 

“Bucky knows and approves.” he tells you, which only adds to your confusion and the disorientation you're feeling, from the sleeping powder in your system. He starts to undress himself and you, leading you to the bedroom, leaving you little chance to resist, as your body feels increasingly heavy and tired and your mind becomes less alert and aware.

Steve continues his advances, as he's been wanting this for a long time, and now he finally has his chance and is going to take it. He's going to take you.

“You have no idea, how much I have come seeing you naked, seeing you getting worked up by Bucky.” Your eyes widen with shock and Steve just chuckles, patting your cheek, “I'll tell you about it some other time.”

Once Steve has stripped you completely, he lets you go to remove his own bottom, leaving you feeling completely vulnerable, exposed and helpless in his presence.

He smiles at you as you try, to escape the room on wobbly legs, not able to resist anymore, because of the sleeping powder and the effect on you. He catches you easily with his hands, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you back into his grip. “You are not going anywhere, angel...” he says, smirking at you as he makes his intentions all the clear.

“Now, let's have some fun,” he whispers, putting his hands back on your body, ready to finally have, his way with you. You try to struggle, to resist for a few seconds, but your body grows so feeble that it's almost pointless. He picks you up with ease, carrying you to the bed, and lowers you down on the bed, hovering over you, ready to finally take you.

“There's no point in fighting anymore…” his voice grows slightly more aggressive, taking on a more demanding tone, as he makes his intentions all the clear. “Just lay quiet for me, ‘angel’,” he demands, the word coming across as more of an order, than a gentle pet name.

“You're all mine now!” he tells you, not quite whispering but keeping his voice soft and low, trying to disguise the sinister undertones of his words. His hands greedily cup your breasts. “Mine” he groaned.

His kisses and bites were getting a little rougher now. His hips grinding against yours, as he worked his way over your collarbone. With each kiss on your skin, he kept moaning “mine”, almost as if he's trying to reassure himself as much as you.

He lifted his head, a cocky smirk on his lips as he looked at the love bites, now dotting along your skin. He was proud of his work, that cocky smirk still on his face.

“Please,” you try to plead, your voice barely audible and your body so weak, that it's barely enough effort, to get the word out. But Steve is not swayed by your plea, and he's not about to stop what he has already started.

“Please?” he repeats your plea, a smirk spreading on his lip as he says it. He knows that you're not in a position to resist whatsoever, that it would be pointless for you to even try. “Please what?” he asks, his voice taking on a more aggressive tone, demanding.

He gave you a soft smile, rubbing circles against your hips.

“I will make you feel so good, just relax my angel... Let it happen.” 

He leans closer and captures your lips again, his teeth nibbled at your bottom lip, before tugging gently on it, letting his tongue inside your mouth. A moan escaped your throat when his fingers traced your pussy, his fingers glistening from your wetness.

Steve feels your body's reaction to his touches, the way it continues to grow warmer in his hands, as well as the pressure of his body on yours. He knows that it's working, that his plan is taking effect. He presses up against you even more, letting his hands roam even more, trying to get your body into a full response.

Between your moans, you take Bucky's name, which immediately catches Steve's attention. His grip begins to tighten on you a little bit, his movements becoming rougher, as he realizes that you are remembering Bucky. He doesn't like that you're thinking of Bucky, and he wants to make sure that your whole mind and your whole body is on him.

He bites your neck harshly, making you scream and cry, not caring about how much it hurts you, just focusing on getting control over you, and stopping you from thinking about Bucky.

“I'll take care of your needs, angel…just say my name, focus on me.” He slid his index and middle fingers inside you, slowly dipping down, deep into your core. He started to move in and out. He licked his lips, as his tongue met his fingers, making you whine. He started to thrust his fingers faster, his tongue circling your button. His tongue was driving you crazy, at how good it felt against your clit.

His tongue placing fast, licks to your clit, the pleasure wrapped you up once more in its tendrils. You panted for air, as your pussy clenched around him, and when he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, you were done.

The sensation of his fingers and tongue, simultaneously begin to overwhelm you, your cries slowly turn into moans, and you start uttering his name “Steve” instead, making him happy.

“We are not done yet angel…” Steve cooed at you, seeing your flushed face. “You're going to take my cock like an angel you are. I’m going to fuck you so good angel.” Steve said, as he squeezes one of your breast, while sucking the other.

Steve pulled your legs apart; he took a good look at your pussy and licked his lips. You couldn’t do anything now.

Spreading your legs, he sniffed your cunt. He fisted his cock, ready to impale your pussy.

Rubbing the tip of his cock, Steve was gentle, to enter inside you. You let out a muffled groan. You were warm, your pussy accepted him easily. “So fucking tight and warm for me, my angel.” Steve began to move. His moans getting louder, with each thrust. His hands comfortably rested on your waist, as he moved in and out.

Steve kissed you deeply. He was determined to prove he was better for you. Better than Bucky. Throwing your leg on his shoulder, he found himself a new angle. Allowing him to go deeper.

“So good for me angel...”

You were trapped, but your pleasure was building, with each thrust.

You let out a moan, making him go faster.

You were clenching around him, your body begging him to let you cum. “St…Steve…please…”

Steve lowered himself on you, putting pressure on your stomach, he kissed you passionately. He could feel you clench around him and he wanted more. His hand smoothly reached between your bodies, he began to rub your clit.

You moaned into the kiss, as you came hard, Steve not far behind. “I'm... I'm gonna come angel...” he pants as he nears his climax.

“N...no...not...inside...” you manage to tell him with your slurred speech. But Steve just tuts you, thrusting harder. “I know you are on pills, angel.”

He spent himself inside you. Still thrusting, making sure not to waste a single drop. Filling you up to the brim. He collapsed on top of you, catching his breath. Your body was trembling and quivering beneath him.

He pecks your lips once again, as he lays you gently on his chest, your head resting peacefully on him. He caresses your hair, a small smirk on his lips, as this was only the beginning, that soon he will have you all to himself. He will separate you from Bucky, it's only a matter of time right now.

As you fall asleep on Steve, he takes his phone and calls someone, presumably someone that he's hoping to utilize in the future. He doesn't let you go, as he makes the call, and keeps his arm wrapped tightly around you, gently caressing your hair as he talks on the phone.

“I can help you, to get back into the states.” “Oh my god, Steve?” “I need you to do something for me.” “Of course, anything!!!” “Good, wait for my further instructions.”

He ends the call and rests, keeping you tightly against him. He starts to dream about his future with you, visualizing all the things he wants to do with you, all the things he wants to take control of. He is already beginning to fantasize about the life that he is going to create with you, how he is going to make this into everything he has ever dreamed of having.

He dreams about his future with you, visions of you as his wife, mother of his kids. He has replaced your pills with calcium tablets. You two will be, more and more prevalent, and living together and being totally devoted to each other, leaving Bucky behind in the past.

You are not doll; you are his angel.

Only his... “Mine”

TAGLIST- @imyourbratzdoll @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

@differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @nekoannie-chan @emerald-writes

@redbloodedgurl @cjand10 @chemtrails-club @slutforchrisjamalevans

@ghostlythinggoingaround @princezzjasmine @3xclusivemariii @ephemeral-oasis @geeky-politics-46

@whore-for-chris-evans @caplanreblogsfics

[merakiui]

I was reading through animals facts and found something interesting...

"Octopus lay up between 20,000 to 80,000 eggs at a time"

Σ(°ロ°) Azul!?

I mean, I doubt merfolk would lay that many (since Azul is an only child), but imagine if they did lay even close to that amount.

Like Azul deciding to babytrap Darling, and she's expecting one maybe two babies. Only to pop out like 10 tiny little babies. The shock and horror.

Or a scenerio involving alien or eldritch monster Azul, who wants darling to help him repopulate his species. Unaware that he's gonna knock her up with hundreds of babies at a time due to his biology.

I hope this isn't too weird. This fact just got my breeding kink going for some reason.

>:) back on the egg agenda with tako!!!!

I like to imagine mers can produce a lot of eggs (maybe not nearly as much as 20k and maybe some more than other species) but enough knowing that many of those eggs won't survive. Very few fry return from hatching if it's the open ocean,,, although maybe if he keeps you in captivity and you lay the eggs in a safe space where he can watch over both you and the young.... perhaps more will survive. <3

Alien Azul....... waaaa captured and forced to be the broodmother for such a large clutch. orz so heavily knocked up you can't even escape. Not that you ever could before. Maybe he's the creature who invaded your ship and killed all of your fellow crew members,, something something his home planet is no longer habitable, so he's been searching for a place that will be safe to repopulate and live,, or he was the thing kept locked up in a lab and you just happened to be the unfortunate scientist or janitor or security guard who caught his attention. World is cold and cruel, but human womb is warm and soft and perfect temperature for holding and incubating young. >w< if you're so scared, he supposes he can take on a human form, though he's not sure why that would be of any comfort when humans are so fragile and weak and easy to snap in half. :3c his true form is much better suited to protecting you and the babies.

And with so many tentacles at his disposal he can multitask!! Pleasuring you while cleaning up around the little nest/nook he keeps you in,,, feeding you delicious foods he managed to find and gather while filling you up with more slick to keep the eggs properly comfortable inside you. Restraining your arms and spreading your legs if you try to close them or resist in any way. Stuffing one down your throat to keep you docile and quiet whenever you protest. The babies don't need to hear their mother being a brat and pitching a fit. Tsk tsk. Wiping your tears away when you get so overstimulated from all of the attention and appendages stuffed in your holes.

You may think he's inherently cruel, but he's really a gentle creature at heart(s). :( he just wants to start a family and keep his species extant and maybe you'll come to love and appreciate him one day... he likes you a lot,,, if he didn't, he would've torn you apart by now and the walls would've been spattered with blood and gore. He's trying to make this as easy and painless as possible for you, feeding you aphrodisiac fluid so the process isn't uncomfortable, and he's even going out of his way to prepare you! He just wants his mate to be happy and relaxed. >_<

Maybe your mind just can't keep up with all of this,, the body horror and the actual tentacled horror fawning over you. The absurd amount of eggs crammed in your womb and all of these new sensations you've never felt before. Emotions and hormones are all over the place. You can't believe you actually panicked when you woke up one morning and saw he wasn't curled at your side. You actually want him to touch you, to wrap you up and hold you close, to speak to you in his native tongue and then translate in your language in the best way he can... orz you must be losing your mind to find comfort in the very creature who has made you feel so uncomfortable.

[flemingsfreckles]

Replacement Part 8

Read the previous parts HERE

Warnings: general discussion of anxiety, internalized homophobia, mention of parental abuse (emotional and physical), language

WC: 3.2k

A/N: I’ll be honest, I’m struggling with my motivation to write this series at the moment so unfortunately I feel like updates will be a little far apart, but you never know 🤷‍♀️

Going back to training after the wedding was harder than you had imagined. You had to drag yourself out of bed that morning, everything in you wanting to call out knowing you’d have to see Jessie. It wasn’t just getting to training that had been hard, the hours seemed to go by slowly once you had arrived at the facility. You kept to yourself, you were quiet, you kept your head down and just tried to work and get through the hours. Training was easier said than done when your head was filled with a thousand thoughts of your own teammate kissing you.

Jessie had done her best to keep her distance. She knew you didn’t want to talk in the way you avoided her glance, choosing to stare at the floor, the way you ignored her many calls and texts for the first few days until she stopped trying. She still would send a message every couple of days, wishing you well, offering an apology, or asking to talk to you.

You knew she felt guilty, the way she’d give you a look of pity and regret when your eyes would accidentally meet or when the two of you were forced to be training partners. She didn’t push the subject, never asking or questioning what was happening between the two of you. She only spoke to you when necessary for training. It hurt, you ached to speak to her again and a small part of you ached to be physically close to her again, but you knew you couldn’t. So you kept your head down and carried on keeping your distance.

You knew your other teammates noticed. They noticed you were quiet, a couple of them asking you what was up. You brushed them off, telling them it was nothing, you just hadn’t slept well, you had a headache, you used all of the excuses most of them believed you.

Janine didn’t though. Which led to a heavy handed knock on your door on your day off from training.

“What are you doing here?” You said upon seeing Janine’s face through the opening of the door.

“You’ve been weird and I’m your friend, so I’m checking on you.”

“I’m good Janine.” Your hand finds the doorknob ready to shut it.

“I think you’re lying.” She puts her foot between the door and the door frame, her hand coming to push on the door. You watch as she takes in the sight of your apartment behind you. It was a mess, a physical manifestation of what the inside of your brain felt like. “I’m coming in.”

“Fine.” You say before turning and heading to slump on the couch. You knew this was inevitable, you knew she’d break you down and figure out what was wrong, she’d know everything in the next few hours. But that didn’t mean you’d just offer up the information easily.

Janine follows you to the couch and sits down. The way she looks at you makes you think she already knows way too much. “What happened at my wedding?”

“You got married.” You respond, stating the obvious, you couldn’t slip up, even if she already knew something was weird.

Janine rolls her eyes at you. “You know that’s not what I mean. There was something that happened with you.”

“It’s nothing.” You mumble. The tightness in your chest was already building slowly.

“Okay.” Janine clasps her hands across her lap, watching you. “I know something happened, you’ve been weird since.”

“Nothing happened.”

“That’s not what Jessie said.” Those words from her mouth make your stomach drop.

“She told you?!” You knew Jessie and Janine were close, but you didn’t expect her to tell Janine, it was her experience to share too, you just hadn’t thought about it.

“So something did happen. And no, she didn’t tell me what happened. She told me I should check on you, but she didn’t give me details. She refused.”

That’s when the panic started to creep back in. You had managed to push the memory of the kiss from your brain, suppressing it so far.

“Janine I can’t.” The tightness started to build in your chest, spreading to your throat.

“Can’t what?” She had such a concerned look across her face. You trusted Janine, she was safe, she wouldn’t scream or yell, or try to change you. She wouldn’t hit you.

“I can’t, I don’t, I, I don’t like her, I can’t want her, she’s a girl, I can’t be g-” your choke on your words before you can even get it out. You can feel your lungs burning, feeling tight, unable to catch your breath. You’re blinking hard and fast trying to keep the tears from spilling out.

“Look at me.” Janine’s hand reaches for the bottom of your face, her action floods your body with the same panic you did when your parents made a move toward your face. You flinch and try to scramble away from her. You watch as her own eyes widen, her hand immediately retracting. “I’m sorry.” She places her hand out to you, offering it, but not forcing you to make contact with her.

You let one hand reach slowly out to her. Her hand is warm, soft and you’re reminded again, this is Janine. She’s not your parents.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” She starts taking deep breaths and you try your best to mimic her. She gently rubs her thumb across the knuckles of your hand.

You’re able to catch your breath finally, now feeling exhausted. “I can’t be gay.” You finally manage to murmur the words out before another wave of tears comes out. You watch Janine’s face flash with confusion. She doesn’t say anything immediately, letting you cry while she help your hand.

The two of you stay, sitting Janine silently comforting you as you cried. When you finally catch your breath, you glance up at her. You feel embarrassed, embarrassed that you were admitting this to her, embarrassed about your breakdown. You quickly glance back down to your lap. “Sorry.” You mumble up to her.

“Don’t be.” You hear her take a deep breath. “Can I ask you something?” Janine says.

“Yeah.”

“Why not?” She asked, but you knew deep down, she already knew the answer, or at least some of it. “So what if you’re gay, that’s okay.”

“Janine, I don't want to talk about this.” A twinge of annoyance starts to make itself known in your voice. You didn’t want to talk, you couldn’t, you’d managed to push it down for so long, but here it was threatening to bubble over. You continued to avoid her eyes.

“Is that what you were told as a kid? That it was wrong, you couldn’t be gay?” You give a weak attempt at a nod and Janine continues. “Your parents tell you that?” Another nod. “Is that why you don’t speak to them?” You don’t nod to her third question, instead you shrug. The issue with your parents was bigger than just them telling you you can’t like girls, it was so much more than that.

“I am so sorry.” She says and you’re finally able to muster the courage to look at Janine’s face. “I know it’s not just as easy as me saying this, but there’s nothing wrong with you for wanting to love someone, even if that’s another girl.”

“I know, and I promise I’m not homophobic, anyone can do whatever, none of my business, it’s just I, I can’t be, that would prove them right.” You quickly realize your own panic may have given Janine the wrong idea about your views.

“Prove who right?” She asks gently, your hand still sitting in hers.

Already emotionally vulnerable, you break down at her question and you let it all out. All of the details.

You tell Janine about Grace first.

You start off by explaining she was your best friend and then about how your parents suspected the two of you were together. You tell her how your parents had thrown you out one night into the cold, with no place to go. You tell her how you had run to Grace, she was your safe place. You tell her you didn’t have feelings for Grace, or at least that you knew of. You then mention how you kissed Grace at her house. How it had felt right, but it wasn’t.

You then tell her what you endured after that kiss. You told her how your parents had brought you back home, how they lectured and screamed at you, day after day. How they drilled into your brain that being gay was wrong. You told her how confusing it all was for you. You were just a kid. You tell her how you didn’t know what those feelings you had meant then and you don’t know what those feelings mean when you had them in college and you still now don’t know what they mean.

You even tell her how your parents had hit you. It slips out, it wasn’t something you intended to share but you said it and it was too late to take it back. The moment the sentence leaves your mouth Janine’s face is filled with anger and followed by a look of hurt and compassion, the standard look of pity. Pity was something you saw often, when you mentioned you didn’t speak to your parents or siblings, pity was always the look everyone gave you.

You try to move quickly past mentioning the physical abuse you endured, instead you tell her how you were able to hide once you moved to Stanford, how you cut them off and haven’t seen or heard from them recently. When you finally stop talking the silence consumes the room, an uncomfortable tension sitting between the two of you.

“Can I hug you?” Janine asks, you only notice now that her eyes are glossy, filled with tears.

“Yeah.” You say as Janine opens her arms, letting you move into her. You’re practically laying in her lap hugging her. Her arms feel safe, they wrap tightly around you, holding you close.

“I am so sorry, you didn’t deserve any of that, no one does.” She says. “I had no idea.”

“No one does, it’s not something I usually share.” You mumble into her shirt.

The two of you stay like that, on the couch, her holding you tightly, you hugging her back, trying to relax yourself as much as you can. It feels like an hour passes by the time you decide to push yourself off of her.

“Do you want to talk anymore?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. It was nice talking to her, finally letting it all out, but at the same time it was emotionally exhausting reliving those memories just to tell her.

She nods and smiles at you. “Okay, can I ask you some things and if you don’t want to answer you don’t have to?”

“Yeah, sure.” It wasn’t like you had much left to hide at this point, you had fully exposed yourself to Janine, a couple more questions couldn’t hurt.

“Do you think you have feelings for a girl? Is that why you’re suddenly feeling like this?”

You shrug at her. “Maybe, I don’t know, it’s confusing, there’s different feelings, but I don’t know what they are, I think I’m just confused.”

“Okay, that’s fine, you don’t have to know what the feelings are or what they mean.” Her reassurance made you feel at ease, she wasn’t here to pry, to tell you to figure it out, she was hear to listen. She pauses for a moment before looking at you. “Is that girl Jessie?”

The mention of her name has your stomach turning with a mix of nerves and butterflies. You let your eyes meet hers for a moment, silently telling her she was right. Janine slowly nods at you, a small smile starts to creep across her lips which she quickly bites away.

“Okay.” Janine says. “That’s it, I’m done pestering you. I’m not going to ask what happened at the wedding, that’s obviously between the two of you, but if you do want to talk about her, you can, I won’t mention it to her.”

“Thank you.”

“For pestering you?” Janine says with a smile.

“No, for coming over, for checking on me.” You hadn’t been a fan when she showed up, but the relief you felt currently was unbelievable. It was like a weight that had been on your shoulders for years was a little bit lighter, someone knew your past, all of it. Even if it was one single person, it made a difference.

“You’re my little rookie, I’m always looking out for you.” She says a hand patting your thigh.

“Please don’t tell anyone.” You quickly request, realizing now that while you’d only told one person, that meant your biggest secret was no longer a secret.

“I wouldn’t, nothing we talked about will leave this room. Do you want me to at least let Jessie know I checked with you and you’re alright?”

“I think it would be better coming from me, I need to talk to her.” You didn’t want to talk to her, but it had been long enough, you were being selfish avoiding her, especially after she had cared enough to send Janine to check on you.

“Okay.” Janine nods. “Do you want me to go now? I know that was probably a lot. I’m sure you’re tired, you deserve a little rest.” She says starting to stand up from the couch.

“Can you stay? If not that’s okay, just I think having someone around would be nice.” You ask, the idea of being left alone in your silent apartment with your thoughts was a little too overwhelming at the moment.

“I can stay as long as you need.”

Janine stays for a few hours, the two of you play cards, she helps you tidy you apartment much to your refusal. You had made the mess in your state of chaos, she shouldn’t have to clean it, but she did anyway. You helped, tidying each room until it resembled a clean, livable space.

You then insisted Janine head home, feeling better about yourself and your mental well being, you could handle the rest of the night. As you walked Janine toward the door you thanked her again for coming to check on you.

“It’s really no big deal, we’re friends, I’m always going to take care of my friends.” She says slipping on her shoes. “If you ever need to talk again, I’m here.”

“Thank you.” As Janine goes to grab the door you speak up. “I’m going to talk to her, to Jessie.”

Janine nods at you. “Can I give you advice?” You nod letting her continue. “Just be honest with her, as honest as you can be or feel comfortable being. I know that I don’t know what happened, but she’s pretty understanding, if she did something to upset you I’m sure she didn’t mean it, just how I’m sure you didn’t mean to upset her if that’s the case.”

“Thanks.” You say, a tight lipped smile on your face. You had been able to avoid the fact that you had to talk to Jessie after this. You held open the door for Janine.

“I love ya kid, if you need me I’m just a call away.”

When you close the door you're left with a deafening silence. You look to the counter top where your phone sat. You had to talk to her. Wandering over you pick up your phone, staring at the screen as you try to force yourself to unlock it.

You finally swipe your thumb across the screen and make your way into your texts. Scrolling to find Jessie’s name and clicking on it, finally opening almost weeks worth of ignored texts. You had read most of them through the notification but you skimmed them again.

Most of them were her asking to talk to you, a couple of apologies, a couple offers to take you to coffee. The most recent text just asked if you were okay. You felt guilty reading back the texts, Jessie had been nothing but caring and concerned about you after what had happened, after you had run away from her. You hadn’t bothered to check on her once.

You took a deep breath as your thumb hovered over the call button, you could make it easy and just text her, but this didn’t seem like a text conversation. You feel your thumb make contact with the screen and before you know it the phone is ringing. It rings, and rings, and rings. Just before you’re convinced it will go to voicemail, the ringing stops.

“Hello?” Jessie’s voice comes through the line.

“Uh.” You panic for a moment at the sound of her voice. “Hi. Can we talk?”

“I’ve been trying to talk to you for a week now.”

“I know and I’m sorry. I wasn’t ready to talk, but I think I am now.”

“Okay, then talk.” You can hear the obvious frustration and annoyance in Jessie’s voice, her words coming out sharper than usual.

“Um.” You can’t even begin to find out where to start. You let a silence fall on the line, trying to sort your thoughts, you can hear Jessie moving around for a moment before there’s silence again. You sit, drowning in the silence, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts and also feeling completely empty. “Do you want to come over?”

“Tonight, it’s kinda late is it not?”

“I was thinking tomorrow? Whatever works, I just, I think this would be better in person. I owe you that.” You also didn’t mind the fact that tomorrow would buy you a couple of hours to prepare for what you were going to say to her.

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

“Okay. Ten tomorrow morning sound okay?”

“Sure.” It was uncharacteristic the way Jessie was being short with you.

“Okay. I’ll see you then.” You tried to sound as if you were excited to see her, and part of you was. You’d be a liar if you said you weren’t also terrified at the idea of seeing Jessie again and talking to her.

“Okay.”

“Bye Jessie.” She doesn’t say goodbye, or even bye at all, you instead are met with the beeping of the call ending. You put your phone down before bringing your hands to your face, rubbing them hard down from your forehead to your neck as you let out a huge breath.

You now had to think of exactly what you wanted to say to her, and exactly what you didn’t want to say to her in less than 12 hours.

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ [CHOICELESS HOPE] ❞ — six. picket fence dream.

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader. summary: the moment leading up to the kiss, the drumroll, is as good as the kiss itself. it's certainly more innocent. it's completely harmless. content warnings: canon divergent. emotional cheating (not on reader). angst. right person wrong time. it's confession time. no use of y/n. word count: 2k+ a/n: you might hate or love me let's see which is it

      Rossi doesn’t usually come to his apartment, especially with no warning on a Sunday, especially at 7AM, so when Hotch sees his less than pleased expression through the peep hole he knows it’s bad.

      “A crying drunk mumbling fucking mess. Porca miseria!” Dave wastes no time, the words finally free after hours of keeping them in.

      “Good morning to you too, Dave.”

      “Don’t. You know what you did.” Yes, Hotch knew. But he definitely didn’t expect this as the consequence. Still, he couldn’t even feign ignorance.

      “So, you took her ho—” Rossi’s eyes are piercing enough to interrupt him and force an exhale. “Thanks.”

      He is truly grateful, he is not usually one to act out like a child, much less one to leave people he cares about behind like that. You brought up his best and his worst. Much of his strength and thinking power went towards controlling himself. The rest got messy.

      “What are you going to do?”

      “Well, I’ll apologize tomo—”

      “Aaron!”

      “I don’t know. I just don’t. And Beth will be over with coffee in a bit.”

      Aaron watches his much too annoyed closest friend pour himself a sip of scotch, drinking it all in a mouthful.

      “You are throwing away a second chance people don’t normally get. Do you even know why?”

      Of course he knows why. There are many many whys.

      Jack needed the stability only someone out of this godforsaken job could give, and he adored Beth.

      Haley wasn’t an agent and he lost her, being with you was accepting the fact you could leave with him for a case and simply not come back. Essentially getting his son, his baby boy, a step mom that could be taken from him the same way as his mother.

      Beth gave Jack a bigger chance of not losing again.

      It gave him a bigger chance to rebuild his picket fence dream home.

      It was logical. It was the right choice.

      The feeling in the pit of his stomach and the bitter taste on his tongue shows disagreement with that every time he ponders though. And it’s hard to make the right choice when his body and soul begs him not to.

      Before he can even muster enough will power to argument his way out, Dave comes at him with more questions to shake his belief system to the core. “Is this about Haley? About Jack? Or are you really just incapable of letting yourself be happy?”

      Ouch.

      Rossi doesn’t pull any punches, Aaron knows that, it’s why they get along well, no sugarcoating. Doesn’t make it less annoying to deal with it so early in the morning. Especially after the hell night he had trying to sleep and being plagued by thoughts and worries of you.

      “If anything was to happen it would’ve happened before I met Beth.”

      “How could it when you are both idiots?” Aaron simply sighs, not having a good enough rebuttal to that.

      It was a true, he was an idiot, he could’ve gone after you when he got divorced, or after his grief got less painful. But back then he was angry, feeling abandoned by you when he would’ve never done the same to you.

      He begged you to not forget him, to call him. He waited, he called. It was all fruitless as you made your decision to take him out of your life already.

      Now it all seemed too complicated and to act on those feelings would complicate it even more.

      Aaron is saved by the bell, if anyone could consider hearing the knock on his door he knew to be Beth’s, one of the reasons of his internal conflict, being saved.

      At least Rossi leaves him alone for the time being, excusing himself as soon as the brunette enters the apartment with a quick peck to Aaron’s lips. Surely enough, Hotch has to tell her later that morning that no, Dave has nothing against her, he was just moody from being awake too early.

      Luckily most of the day is spent around Jack and what the wanted to do, making it more about spending time with his boy than a date, so he doesn’t have to focus too hard on being a good partner and on not thinking about you. But it’s all he thinks about when Beth leaves at night and he realizes morning come he will have to see you.

      Your eyes don’t meet his for even one second as Garcia presents the case and he knows it then how truly he fucked up. You aren’t angry. You look tired, not your face, not your eye bags. In fact you look as beautiful and put together as you always do, but in the glimpses he catches of your eyes as you talk to someone else, he sees it. And it breaks his heart. You are exhausted, not because of the job.

      Because of him. And the worst thing is, he can’t even leave you alone, being the Unit Chief meant having to talk to his team, it meant to lead. He sighs to himself as everybody gets out of the briefing room and he wants to brush his fingers against yours lightly like old times and make you smile, but most of all Aaron just wants to tell you how sorry he is that this is happening again.

      He can’t do that, knowing right now it would only make things worse, so he just gets up from his chair, grabs his go-bag from his office and follows the motion until everyone is in the jet. There he does his best to suppress what is going on his mind to focus on the case.

      Galena is a beautiful small town, quite romantic even, too bad it is now suffering with the abduction of two children, the case and the BAU disturbing its peace.

      And that disturbance goes well into the night, when no one is able to work anymore and Hotch has to call it a day, figuring out on the spot that Garcia had to book them in pairs, his key card the same number as yours.

      Hotch can imagine Garcia had someone influence her on the chosen pairs, Rossi was practically glowing with childish glee as everyone got their cards.

      Both you and him are too prideful and professional to make a scene asking to switch with someone. You were stuck with him until the case is resolved.

      The two single beds as you enter the room are a relief, but the distance between them aren’t nearly enough in comparison to how faraway from him you wished to be.

      “Just like the old days, huh?” He’s the first to speak, trying to break the tension as he spread the files of the case on the only desk available.

      “Don’t do that,” you reply quickly, your tone as tired as your eyes have been since the first time he saw you today.

      You drop your bag on the floor close to your bed, the loud noise startles Aaron, but you don’t care, body aching and ready for rest.

      “That what?”

      “Talking. Don’t talk to me,” you clarify. Another loud noise, your body dropping on the bed without ceremony. Eyes closed and focused on pretending he wasn’t there.

      He stays quiet for awhile and you think he might respect your request, so you relax in the clean sheets welcoming the slumber.

      Unfortunately for the two of you, now you are annoyed. So annoyed his shuffling around papers make your skin crawl.

      Just like the old days.

      The complete audacity to begin with that as if he didn’t abandon you drunk just two days before.

      You sigh deeply, putting a pillow over your face to try and muffle his annoying overwhelming presence.

      It doesn’t work.

      “God, please, breathe louder, I don’t think Japan has heard you yet,” you shoot at him, immediately sitting up and catching him working the case files.

      “You want me to stop breathing too, is that it?” He doesn’t look up from the papers, annoyed at the childish antics you’re pulling, which irritates you even more.

      “If you could be so kind to, yes!” Your voice is pure sarcasm and venom, reminding him of just how stubborn and strong-willed you can be.

      Just as he stops his writing, pen left to the desk, you get up in a hurry, attempting to go to the bathroom and ready to slam the door behind you. Hotch is quicker, getting up from his chair and grabbing your wrist to stop you from avoiding him even more.

      It doesn’t hurt. His grip is gentle and you know you can easily get away from it. But you don’t.

      “Hey, I’m sorry.” You nod at his apology, but he knows that won’t be all, so Aaron lets your wrist slip from his fingers and waits for the arguing he’s been avoiding to start.

      One beat.

      Two.

      Three beats pass before your mouth moves in sync with your drowning mind, “what exactly are you sorry about?”

      Right to the jugular from the start. He obviously instantly thinks of the easy answer: Everything. But that’s not the answer you’re looking for. Beyond that, he knows it would be unfair for both of you to gloss over the situation once again.

      You know Aaron isn’t stalling but actually thinking by the way his index and thumb rub together, his lips tightly pursued. Your stomach feels like it’s twirling, nervousness making an appearance now that this was about to happen. The talk. The admissions.

      Both of you are aware now shouldn’t be the time to talk it all over, there is a case to work, a hard day to rest from, but this is 10 years in the making. The flight response was already drained, only fight left.

      “I’m sorry for overstepping and turning our friendship into something confusing and uncomfortable,” he says slowly but firmly, but even so Aaron regrets his choice of words, more regret when he catches you rolling your eyes.

      “Confusing and uncomfortable, sure,” you reply with the same sarcasm you displayed earlier, your arms now crossed defensively over your chest, “I hope that’s not the best you’ve got.”

      “I’m trying here and I would appreciate a little less sarcasm.” His eyes are as piercing as his tone, you scoff at the manifestation of frustration, as if he had grounds for that right now.

      Your feet have a mind of their own and you start pacing around the room, “Hotchner, I changed my whole life around ten years ago for the sake of your comfort.” That wasn’t untrue, although it had a lot to do with your comfort as well, but he needed to be reminded of your sacrifices. “And the first opportunity you had to be a dick to me you not only took it but doubled down on it!”

      Hotch knows you are speaking about the gala and before he can control his tongue like he would in a time like this, " I got jealous! It took over me.”

      It’s good that he doesn’t expect that to stop you or take your breath away because if anything, you’re angrier now.

      “You have a girlfriend! You have no right to be jealous of me! You were married, Hotch! And I never did something like that to you.”

      “You left! I love you and you left,” he notices his mistake and quickly tries to recover, “I loved you. You’re back and I don’t know what’s the right thing to do.”

      He sits at the edge of his chosen bed, elbows to his knees, hands to his face and you finally stop on your heels, not knowing how to react to the confession you both have been denying yourselves from speaking out loud.

      You swallow dry, sitting on the edge of your bed, right in front of him.

      “I loveーI loved you too.” Your hands find home on his knees and his drop to hold them.

      “l don’t know what to do. I want to do the right thing.” He sounds pained and you have to fight that desperate lover girl in your mind begging you to tell him to choose you.

      “I can’t help you with that,” it’s what you actually end up saying, “I’m sorry.”

      “I’m sorry too.”

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Lost and found

a/n a lot of you wanted a part two to the blurb I posted a bit ago. So here it is, Rhys!sister x Rhys and Azriel x reader. The first part is here. Enjoy

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Azriel watches you sleep. It took them hours to calm you down. Hours of you having snippets of your past ripping through your tortured brain. Hours of sobs turning to screams towards the end. Azriel held you through it all. Heart breaking at the sight of you in pain. His own emotions so jumbled and twisted. Yes, a part of him felt joy that you had found a piece of your shared past. That it brought you back. Back to him. Back from the grave he had buried you in. But with the healers worrying about you frying yourself from within. Too many stimulations. Too many emotions. It hung over Azriel like a blade. Threatening to take you away for good.

His fingers moved over your forehead. Soothing you in your sleep. Trying to keep the lurking dreams away. To give you blankness. Emptiness. A true chance at rest. Only after hours of listening to your steady breathing does he push up. The thought of leaving you frightened him but he wanted to have food and water by hand. In case you woke up. Your favorite bits to eat. Something to give your body strength.

“You should have told me”, a voice cuts through the dim corridor. Azriel only takes a steadying breath in, “It wouldn’t have mattered at the time”. He knew Rhys was gonna torment him about this. He didn’t expect it to happen so soon. “You matting my sister seems like a pretty big fucking deal to me”, his dark frame cuts Azriel’s path. The always neatly ironed shirt looked crumpled. Something Rhys usually never allowed to happen. “It happened fast”, Azriel let out a sigh, “I was escorting her to your mother. And it just… snapped into place. I touched her palm Rhys, my finger brushing the inside of her palm and that was all it took”, the spymaster tugged at the roots of his hair in frustration. Rhys simply shakes his head, “You… that night you were a manic. You killed like there was no tomorrow”, “I thought she was dead, Rhys, there was no tomorrow for me”, Azriel cuts in, a frustrated growl slips past his lips of being forced to remember the pain. “You should have told me, you mourned her all alone. I dump my pain on you and…”, Rhys grunts, “How did mother found out?”

Azriel brushes a hand over his face, “She saw us by the carriage. I think we both stopped breathing for a while just stared at one another. She just offered to take us to the priestess”. Rhys watched Azriel for a moment. Little snippets from the past finally fall together. Finally making sense. “I’m not mad, I’m disappointed that you didn’t feel that you could trust me with this”, the words sting. But they would have no matter the way that truth would have come out.

A part of Azriel wants to make peace between them. Settle the argument between them both for good. But it’s the shriek that has them both turning towards the door just down the hall. Both break into a sprint straight away. The sight is enough to break both of their hearts all over again. Your shaking frame is on the floor. The sheets pooling around you. Azriel kneels in front of you first. Hands reaching out to you. “It hurts”, you mutter, eyes closing as tears stream down your face. “I know my love”, he sighs, kissing your knuckles. “I want to remember but I… I can’t do this anymore”, your hands find your scalp as you claw at your skin. Azriel is quick to stop your movements. Your eyes look up, landing on your brother. “Rhys”, you mutter and it sends a shiver down his body. “I’m so sorry”, another sob slips past your lips but you’re met with the high lord sinking to his knees. Arms outstretched as he calls you in. Azriel’s hand guides your back as you practically crawl onto Rhys’s lap. His arms wrap around you instantly. “You have nothing to apologize for, all I care about is that you are here, with me, with us, that’s enough”, his fingers slowly brush through your hair. “Let me”, Rhys breathes, and it’s more of a beg but you find yourself nodding slowly. You feel his magic slowly seeping into your skin, numbing you from within. His sad eyes burn into you. You only blink at him, feeling your body sag slowly as his power clamps around your mind. You refused it the first time around. Frightened by the thought of anyone getting that close to you ever again. Of taking control like that. A silent tear slips down your cheek as you watch him watch you. You feel the familiar sensation of Azriel’s scared palms grazing your hand, as he intertwines both of your fingers together. “Squeeze Az’s hand when you want me to stop”, Rhys's hands move down your back as he tries to soothe you. You blink twice before trying to turn your head slightly, failing miserably. “Az”, your voice doesn’t sound like your own but you feel the reassuring squeeze, “I’m right beside you, you’re not alone”, and that’s enough to make you close your eyes once more. The feeling of two men a brother and a lover, sat on the floor just to soothe you. Just to make it better. Relief flows through your veins as you give up your consciousness to the brother you didn’t know you had. To the brother that came back in fragments. To the lost and found.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@locotreofthegods @shadowsingers-redhood @everyonehatescarmen @theravenphoenix26 @shadowsingercassia you guys left a comment so I thought I would tag you. ✨

[fatuismooches]

At the beginning of your relationship with Dottore, there had been numerous times when he had tried to leave you, or rather, attempt to force you to leave him in the Akademiya. Ignoring you, snapping at you... most notably literally kicking you out of the dorm (to waking up and nearly stepping on you, as you had decided to knock out right at the door.) Merely because he still had difficulty believing he was loved by you, despite having known you for years. It took much time but, eventually, your feelings finally clicked in that genius head of his.

However, uncharacteristically enough, there was one time you debated on whether you should leave Zandik. Only one time. And he had found out. If only you had been more careful.

It happened during the later stage of your illness when your ability to do many basic tasks had been stripped from you, leaving you reliant on Zandik for many things. You felt very guilty, for making him so do much work for both himself and you, but there wasn't much you could do about it, being the way you were now. Did you tell your lover about this? No, of course not.

But today, today would just be another regular day of what you had accepted to be your new life. However, you had noticed in the morning he seemed rather irritated, but you had no chance to ask him about it since he had to leave for class. You wondered what that was all about. (You, somewhere in the depths of your mind thought. You were continuously being a burden on the knowledge-driven scholar, no wonder he'd be irritated.)

When he returned to the dorm, you could tell that the foul mood still remained. Though, you could not understand what had caused it. He was perfectly fine last night, something must have happened after you fell asleep... As you watched him, the words "welcome home" could not seem to come out as they usually did, especially when he had not even acknowledged you yet, only emptying his bag with all of his books and other tools. You swallowed nervously, wondering how you were going to go about this when he spoke.

"Where?"

"Huh?"

"Where do you plan to go?" You were understandably confused by this seemingly random question.

"Um... nowhere?" A nervous smile made its way to your face, as Zandik only gave you a blank look, before carefully unfolding a piece of paper, and reading it over once more, no emotion on his face. Which, was already quite alarming for you, because Zandik was the kind of person who always had a hint of annoyance written on his face. He then turned the paper to face you and you squinted, reading the contents.

Oh. You instantly recognized what it was. It was a form that one had to fill out if they wanted to move out of the Akademiya's dorms.

When you said you felt guilty for everything, you meant it. Meant it to the point you worried if you were still good enough for him, if you had become annoying, a bumbling nuisance that had become more of a chore rather than a partner. It worried you, and you couldn't help but think about it. What if you were right? What if he did feel all of those things? Then maybe, maybe you should relieve him of this burden. You. Then, he could continue to pursue his goals, without the added hindrance of taking care of you.

It wasn't something you were set on yet, more like something you mulled over in your head. But you had filled out the potential moving out form tentatively just in case you decided to go through with it. Ah, you probably had shoved it in your bag along with your many missing assignments, and Zandik must have found it after trying to check your homework... But now, your lover was staring holes into you, expecting an answer.

"Well, I- I didn't mean it. It was... just in case," you were just spewing words at this point because you really had no defense. After all, how do you explain to your roommate of many years that you were going to move out and disappear without telling him?

"Just in case," the scholar repeats. "Just in case..." And then Zandik laughs. At what? You're not sure, because you've only seen him laugh at other people's foolishness, or in scorn and bitterness. It's a bit unsettling, seeing him act this way, but you have no time to think about it before the paper is torn right in half twice and then abandoned in the trash bin.

"No." Well... alright then.

"Za-"

"No, no no no. How utterly absurd. Ridiculous. You are not going anywhere." The way he says it simultaneously sounds like an order to you yet also an attempt to reassure himself of your impossible departure. You wondered if he interpreted your reason for leaving as something more... drastic.

"Hey-" You stand up, hoping an embrace would calm his nerves, but he begins to pace around. Now, this wouldn't be unusual, he tends to do this while he's ranting or deeply thinking about his research but obviously, it's different this time.

"Leave? No," Zandik scoffs to himself, "the possibility is nigh on impossible. There is no need to plan for such lengths, I shall make sure it doesn't come to that." When he finished mumbling to himself, you tried to interject before his gaze snapped back to you.

"And you. You, how dare you go behind my back and do such a thing? Do you think me incompetent? Do you think me a senseless fool that I would allow you to do this?"

"..."

"I find this quite tasteless, especially after how much you parroted about 'always being by my side' or 'never leaving'. Or have you finally shown your true colors? Leaving me after-" Zandik cut himself off because the words he was going to say next shouldn't be said out loud. Leaving him after he's already obsessed with you, when he's already in love with you and would go mad without your presence. But then all he could feel was your arms around him and your face buried in his chest.

"Zandik please, I'm sorry," your voice was but a whisper. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything like that." Zandik's hands itched to hold you back, but he restrained himself, needing to hear your reasoning.

"I don't want to leave you, I really don't. I love you! So... that's why I filled that form out. Because I... am scared of burdening you too much. I know how you are. I know you want someone who is useful, w-who can be of assistance in all kinds of ways, not someone who is dead weight. So I... I don't want you to force yourself to- ow!" Your increasingly pitiful dialogue was interrupted by a flick to your forehead and the clicking of a tongue.

"Fool..." he moved his hand to rest on the top of your head. "You can be quite intelligent, but the reasons for your stupidity can be headache-inducing sometimes. Now that you've said all of that, has it clicked how idiotic it sounds?" Though your partner's words sounded harsh, his tone was noticeably softer. You could only cast your gaze downward as he sighed.

"I too wonder why you do not take your own advice. Were you not the one who said to... 'talk things out', before jumping to conclusions? So why have I not heard of this?" (The phrase feels out of place and rather disgusting on the man who normally refuses to hold a conversation on anything other than research, but he forces it out for your sake. Unfortunately, he can also hear your sing-song voice in his head as he replays the words.)

"Because... it's dumb, like you said. I shouldn't waste your time anymore..."

"I usually do not entertain dumb inquiries but... you are an exception. My assistant's questions must always be clarified." And as his lover, your troubles must always be assuaged, but that part was left unsaid, although you knew what he meant. "Yes, your usefulness was a great help, but I couldn't care less about that right now. I care about you, and if taking on extra responsibilities happens to fall under that feeling, then so be it. I don't care," Zandik said bluntly. Was it elegant? No. Was it truthful? Yes. It made your cheeks warm a bit.

"Well... thank you for the honor," you couldn't help but crack a tiny smile as Zandik only mumbled something incoherent before pushing you back to bed. Ah, you were feeling a little drained from all of that.

"Now that all that is sorted out, and that hopefully every inch of that nonsense has left you, I suggest you go to sleep quickly, unless you want to be kept awake by the sounds of my latest experiment." You only giggled at your boyfriend. He's unkind... in a kind way if that made sense. But before you could be whisked away to the land of dreams, Zandik spoke once more.

"[Name]."

"Mhm?"

"...Do not try to leave me ever again."

"...I know, Zandik."

[shiraishi-kanade]

An Shiraishi is always trying to be someone else: a short and messy analysis on how Vivid Street (unintentionally) messed her up

You know, I kind of have my own issues with the "Wishing to the Blue Sky for Your Happiness!" event, but a lot of my criticism of it boiled down to "huh, it's kind of weird how they gave An this insecurity out of nowhere, she didn't struggle with being herself before. Seems to be a reach just so Shizuku could have a role."

But that was before the Vivid Old Tale, and boy I'll admit I was very wrong.

The relationship between An and Nagi are... Very interesting, to say the least.

But there's no doubt that An absolutely idolizes Nagi. Sure, there's been this line about An always wanting to he a musical like her father, but we also know that for the most part, it was Nagi who taught her to sing, as well as Nagi who acted as An's mentor figure in a more emotional way.

In a way, An won the lottery. She was born into a family that loves her, into a community thay loves her, and just so happened to be talented and passionate about something that community values most. However, that talent has left her little to no space to actually... See herself as someone outside of it.

Now, none of this is actually necessarily negative by default. Having high expectations to one's children isn't necessarily bad either; with the right approach, it can make them grow and want to grow. We've also seen this happen with Touya in his childhood, which us another neat parallel.

But, unlike Touya, An has been very comfortable in her role, precisely because of her talent and being able to reach the very high bar raised for her. That comfort just... never made her reach out to something other than the place and the future she was already familiar with, because she never needed to. She was Ken's daughter and she was talented and everyone in town loved her and she promised to be the better than her dad and everyone took her seriously. What else could she possibly need?

In a way, An had her dole cut out to her before she was even born.

And then there's Nagi.

Yes, Nagi is An's role model. But there's more to that than just An looking up to her.

More than just being taught by her, An actually picks up Nagi's mannerisms, forms or speech, and even moral values (pretty much the entire point of Vivid Old Tale).

An saw, too, how much Nagi meant for the people of Vivid Street. She wanted to mean as much for them, too; rather, she already did mean as much, but she needed to be someone to justify being loved. It's not necessarily a conscious thought process but more of a subtle one: if you notice your community loves some traits of you more than the others, or values some aspects of you more, you start to lean more and more into them in order to fit in and be accepted.

For An, those particular traits were being talented, being Ken's daughter, but also... Being very similar to Nagi.

Them acting "like sisters" has been highlighted over

and over

and over again, even by people unfamiliar with Nagi, well into An's teenage years.

And it's not exactly... A complete coincidence on everyone's part. At one point, Nagi openly states she wants An to be like her, to be able to see things from the same perspective. At least to some extent, some of the actions Nagi takes to make that happen are completely deliberate.

So An tries to be like Nagi. This is both a conscious effort on her part and something that just... Is sort of a hidden force that shapes her into who she is. If you watch Nagi and compare even the way she talks with people of the town to the more mature, somewhat-grown up but not quite there yet An we have today... There's so many similarities it's uncanny. An is still much more hot-headed and impulsive, but that caring, considerate side of her shines through even more than before.

An doesn't try to deny or hide that, too. In fact, she's actually pretty proud of it.

(Whether Ken lied to her to make her feel better or if that expression was just a reaction to being reminded of Nagi passing away & the masquerade that followed after that, we'll never know.)

But here's the kicker: there's so much of Nagi in An it's hard to pinpoint where Nagi-san's traits end and An's own personality begins, if it even does. Because of how early has everyone decided on An's future, and because An never did anything to even hint at wanting to do something different (which she didn't! Sometimes people want to continue their family's legacy and that's completely normal and fine - again, she just got really lucky, both with her talent and supportive surroundings), An subconsciously kind of accepted that being like Nagi is... Just who she is.

That comes with taking on Nagi's part in the community, too. In the same way Nagi took care of everyone in town by helping them out at events, so too, does An - just to a much lesser extent, by going out of her way to keep in touch with everyone, going to events, and helping at a cafe, too.

But An doesn't purposely mold or change her personality to be like her role model, too. This is important: An doesn't wear a mask because she doesn't need to. In her mind, she already is like Nagi, or at least, she's on track to be, without doing particularly anything different. Because they're just so similar they're so close and practically behave like sisters, and because An grew up singing in the town exactly like Nagi did, and because she loves the town just like Nagi did - what else could An possibly need to do except get better at singing and get more grown up?

You know, to reach that mature and down-to-earth side of Nagi that we often see in the past?

That side?

Yeah.

Now the Shizuan event's conflict isn't so out of place, is it?

But anyway, back to the point.

Because of Nagi wording things the way she does and because of people on Vivid Street making such a point of their similarities, An naturally assumed she would eventually become like Nagi. This is why, even aside from Kohane's improvement, aside An's abandonment issues, Kick It Up a Notch is a giant slap to the face for An, as well as her wake-up call.

Kohane taking on Nagi's mantle before An was able to, or potentially ever could, isn't just about singing - it's an attempt at An's entire sense of self, just as well as her place in the world, and on the smaller sense, her hometown, too.

Because if An is not Nagi, she doesn't belong.

Because An never knew how to do anything but sing. Because becoming like her family, like Nagi, was the only option she ever imagined for herself ever since she was a child.

And if An is not Nagi, then who the hell is she?

[this post was very much inspired by @the-one-that-weeps 's An analysis post, who kind of put this much more eloquently than I could! Go check them out.

All translated lines that aren't taken from the wiki transcripts are by lozybug on YouTube!]

[ultralightpoe]

Spellbound Part 2 - Geralt of Rivia

Authors Note: Sorry it took so long, I just really had no clue how to do the first part justice

Word Count: 3,876

Warnings: reader is a brothel worker

Description:Part two to the first. FIRST PART HERE

Enjoy!

There were many times in Geralt's life where he felt an undeniable rage, and there were many times that he let that rage affect him until he was forced to suffer the consequences of all his actions. He had learned over the years that there were ways of handling his rage, there were ways of dealing with sadness and pain. 

He had been through so much, and yet he stood, and he always told himself that it would be worth it. Soon enough he would find something that would make it all worth it, and he had found that in you. 

Your soul matched his in a way he never thought possible, and though you didn’t have the same physical scars you had both been through more than you can imagine. And he always found himself gravitating to you, the one person in the world that he felt never judged or expected anything from him. 

Sure, he obviously did not know how to deal with this. He never knew how to talk to you, what to say and when to say it, and he really did not know how to seem casual just as Jaskier always could. Not to mention he was constantly worried about losing you. He felt like a flame, loving something so much and trying to engulf it into warmth only for it to burn and vanish. 

You had been through so much, he never wanted you to burn and he couldn’t imagine a life without you. 

So, even if he couldn’t show emotion or manage to properly show his love, he allowed Jaskier to grow close to you. Geralt made sure that you were physically safe, warm and fed. It was the least he could do. 

He never wanted to leave you wanting for anything, and he desperately tried to find ways to show you yet nothing ever worked. 

But then you were his, for one small moment he had you and he felt as though everything was worth it again. He would burn the world down for you, slay any monster and batter any mortal. It was all yours for the taking…

Until you burned. 

How ironic, how hard he fought to keep you at arms length only to lose the battle in a split moment, and be proven right just like that. 

Now you were gone. 

He knew exactly where you were, had already tried to get you, only to be stopped at the door each time.  Each time he was stopped he wanted to crush their skulls, storm up to wherever they were keeping you and try to explain. 

He would drag you out the door himself just to make sure you never had to do this again. But there were laws, as well as contracts. He would never be allowed to see you unless he could pay the fee, and you would never be allowed to leave unless you could buy out your contract. 

If he managed to get to you and help you escape there would still be the hassle of everyone hunting you down, and word spreads from town to town quickly when it comes to Witchers. 

“How much?” He growls, keeping his eyes narrowed in on the older woman before him, watching her lean back on her chair and fix her dress. She was unlike any other brothel owner he had come across, the others always had a protective notion for the girls. This one seemed vindictive in every word she spoke. 

“Witcher, I have told ye the last 4 times ye have been here that she is not for sale.” She laughs, reaching a foot out to kick the pouch of gold he had laid on the table in front of her. Her dress rides up exposing a very scarred leg, and his stomach tightens at the atrocities you must be going through with this hag and any man she rented you out to.  “Y/n is the emerald of all brothels, before she came upon mine she was already widely known for her beauty, not to mention her time with the Witcher? Men are practically killing themselves to have a moment with her. I stand to make more keeping her than I ever would selling her back to you.”

“Her contract-”

“Has another 4 years under my roof. By the end of that I could be far far away from this continent. Don’t you understand?” She leans forward, knocking the satchels down and watching all the gold pieces fall on the ground. 

That had been 4 months work, 4 months of Geralt working himself to the bone and saving up in a chance to save you. He hadn’t eaten properly or slept more than 2 hours a night in that span of time. 

Images flash through his mind, him ringing this wenches neck in or slamming her head into the fire. Maybe he could slice her head off in one clean motion. 

But he doesn’t, because he understands the consequences. So he bites his tongue and stands straighter. “I just want to see her-”

“Then you pay, just as everyone else.” The Madame sneers, leaning across the table. “I don’t give a fuck if you love her witcher, though I don’t believe you are even capable of that, my rules stay the same. You want to see her then you pay for her time.”

He leans forward, smirking a bit when her attitude drops in fear for a moment, before tilting his head. “Then how fucking much?”

-

“I really do not believe you were worth 230 gold pieces-” Lord Servail huffs, struggling to shove himself back into his trousers. You struggled not to roll your eyes as you sat up, pulling the sheet to cover yourself and looking at the floorboards of the raggedy room. 

You had learned that the men of this village did not like to be watched, most of them married and most of them carrying guilt. You had merely assumed Lord Servail to be the same. 

“Have you nothing to say, whore?” He bellows, walking across the room to grab at your chin. A moment of panic sinks in, one hand holding the sheet tight while the other grabs at his wrist in an attempt to free yourself. 

“I do not understand what you mean, sir-”

“You are boring! You just laid there like a fucking corpse-”

“That didn’t seem to stop you from finishing within a minute-” The slap sounds out and for a second you wonder what he hit, then you open your eyes and feel the stinging on your cheek to realize it had been you. 

A bitter laugh slips past your lips as you taste the iron. 

Blood trails down past your lips as tears spring up in your eyes, the sheets under you stained and ripped from the past month. You think of Geralt in this moment, wishing that you were near him even if he ignored you. 

There had always been a calming factor to the witcher that you never understood, maybe it was a feeling of safety or maybe you just liked that he never showed much anger. He took anything that affected him and made a rational judgment. 

He was a man of trust, and he had never let anything harm you. Sure he yelled at you when he thought you stupid, and made condescending remarks, but you never felt as though he would lay a hand on you. 

“Is that all?” You sniffle, reaching a hand up to stop the blood as he steps back. The man stares at you before yelling out and storming out of the room, shirt untied as well as the trousers. You hear him yelling at your Madame before he leaves and you move over to the basin in the corner to clean yourself off. 

You clean your nose before moving to clean your legs, letting the tears fall freely as you hear her heels come down the hall. 

“You’ve just cost yerself yer pay, I’ll tell you that much.” Madame snaps, the door swinging hard enough to make the wall shake as she marches in. “I told ye that Lord Servail was a valued client and you-”

“Smiled pretty and let him cum. He really didn’t complain much until it came time to pay.” You snark, watching her face pull up. “Have I any news? Anyone come to see me?” 

It had been a month, and you had kept hoping that maybe Geralt or Jaskier would come to see you. At least try to get you back, but nothing. No letters, no visits, nothing. 

“Yer Witcher isn’t comin for ya’. So I suggest you fix yerself up and get back to work.” The Madame snarls, tossing the silk robe at you before storming back out. 

That lonely feeling that clung to you the day you left never seemed to fade, it folds in around you now as you pull into yourself. Knees hugged to your chest as you hide your face and cry. 

Truly what did you expect? That he would come pounding on the door? Try to save you? The salty taste of the tears mixes in with the iron as you sob. You had been foolish, so very foolish. 

Geralt must be at least 6 towns away by now, barely even thinking of you. 

-

“I am terribly sorry to inform ye, Witcher, that my emerald is stacked up for the next week and a half.”

“Bullshit.”

She snarls at him, standing quickly and snatching a heavy book from the desk behind her before slamming it on the table. “Take a fucking look then.” 

He doesn’t waste a moment, snapping through the pages one by one until he reaches your ledgers. Your handwriting is at the top, neat and clean from the ink, dated that day you dashed from the tavern. 

The very same day he had raced over here to see you. 

The day after he had you in his arms. 

The memory of it flashes through him, the way he snatched you like a caveman. He tries to reason with himself that he believed it to be consensual, that he hadn’t realized you were under a spell. But it didn’t matter. 

He treated you in a way he swore to himself he never would, and he made you so uncomfortable that you ran. 

Bile rises in his throat as embarrassment and guilt claw through him, he snaps through your pages to see dozens of signatures on each page. “You have her seeing twelve clients each day?”

“This is a busin-”

“Is she eating enough? Sleeping enough? Are you giving her proper time to rest?”

“I’m not a fucking babysitter-”

“If you are abusing your contract then she has a right to leave!”

She stares at him, watching for a moment with wide eyes as her cheeks go red. Then she fixes herself, clearing her throat before shouting out loud. “BOYS!” He doesn’t fight it as they grab both of his arms, instead he lets them carry him to the door and throw him to the mud below. 

“Guessing she didn’t take it?” Jaskier asks, watching Geralt pick himself up, checking to make sure he still had the satchel of gold. “Surprise surprise.”

All Geralt could do at this point was grunt, moving towards Roach as the barb fixes his coat. 

“I have another job, heard whispers of a screaming creature in the woods not far off from here. Figured you’d want to go out and make more gold so we can do this all again over and over and over.” 

“She’s overworking her, I just know it. Not enough time to eat or sleep-”

“Geralt, as much as I love Y/n, I think we need to….evaluate our current situation.”

“I NEED TO -”

“Get to her. I know. I’m not saying anything otherwise. I just want you to think about whether you want her to see you like this.”

“I want to see her safe.”

“And Y/n would want the same of you. Besides, we obviously have no power against the brothel system.”

“I have fought countless beasts-”

“And I am still your only friend. It’s time you admit it Witcher, humans aren’t your best expertise.” 

If this was any other moment Geralt would ignore him, hop onto Roach and pretend the worm didn’t exist. But he was tired, so tired he truly didn’t think he could even climb onto the horse. 

“Then what do you suggest?”

“First? Sleep. Then? We find an outside source.”

- 

Two months in and winter had finally come. 

You found yourself huddling together with Snae, a brothel worker that had been here a little longer than you, but hadn’t been that much older. This had been the first night you both had off this entire time, and it hadn’t been a purposeful thing. 

There had been a ball in the village, apparently a beast had been slaughtered and most of the nobles and rich men left in their carriages far away. Which meant you were free to huddle close to your friend for warmth as you tried to fight off the winter air. 

“I imagined this brothel warmer.” She sniffles, pressing her forehead to your arm as you shiver. “I was told this was one of the best-”

“It is….. To their guests.” You laugh, tired and aching. Honestly you could barely move, and you hadn’t managed to make it at dinner hour since you had been with a client. But Snae was nice enough to sneak you in a roll of bread. 

“I want to get out of here.” She admits in a quick breath, and you can’t help but smile at the admission. 

You had often imagined ways you would escape, but the truth was you had nowhere to go and no one to leave for. What would you have if you left here? Nothing.

So instead you close your eyes, and lean into her as you whisper. “Where would you go?”

“Home. To find my sister.” 

“You have a family?” 

“A little sister, it’s why I am here. I wanted to make sure she had something to pay for food.” Something tears at your chest, and within a moment you think of a plan. 

“Then let’s get you out of here.”

It takes a mere 30 minutes to pack her a travel pack using a sheet from the bed, rushing to your room to pick up the floorboard where you keep the little pay you make, 10 silver coins. Tossing them in her satchel before tiptoeing to the attic where the largest window was. 

“Shhh.” You whisper when she slips, the wood beneath her scraping under her shoe. Helping her stand before moving to the window. Unlatching it was easy, the winter air covering both of you in a moment. “You swill slide from this section to the next. Until you make it to that tree.”

“You go first.”

“I am not coming.” You laugh, clearing some of the snow from the sill. 

“You must.” 

“No, I have nothing. Besides, one of us needs to stay and give you time.” 

“Y/n-”

“If she begins hunting you then go and find the witcher. Do you hear me?”

“He wouldn’t help someone like me.” She laughs, and you merely stare at her. 

“I think you would be surprised of just how good of a person the Witcher is, though he likes to pretend he is not.”

“What should I say to him if I must find him?”

“That the Geralt I know would keep you safe. Now go.” 

You help her climb up the sill and onto the roof, watching her slide down in the flimsy robe Madame forces you to wear and make sure she makes it to the tree safely before closing the window. 

You allow yourself one moment to press your forehead against the cold glass of it, your breath hitting the glass to form a smudge.  You imagine escaping yourself, maybe going out to find Jaskier. 

But that was unrealistic. 

And you were obviously unwanted.

-

“Please, it’s very important-” A strong female voice fills the air as Geralt breathes in the scent of roast and ale. There was also smoke from the fires but he was far too hungry to admire that scent on it’s own.  “They said that he was here and-”

“First round of ale on me.” Jaskier sings out, moving to the counter as Geralt rolls his eyes. Jaskier was carrying his gold sack so truly the first round was on him. 

He was six villages away from you right now, landing at a cheap tavern for the night before they set up camp. They were here to listen for jobs. 

The plan, as terrible as it was, had been to travel to find Yennefer and along the way they would earn some extra gold. That way when they go they can send the witch in to make the deal, or at least pretend to make the deal as she can try to sneak you out. 

It was a terrible plan……. Because it was Jaskiers plan. 

“Please, I need to find the witcher.” That draws Geralt's attention away from the hearth he had been glaring into, head whipping to spot the young woman clutching the shoulders of a little girl as she begs the man once more. “If you could just tell me where he would be staying-”

“Witchers aren’t allowed in the fucking taverns here, so shut yer trap before I put it to work-.” Before Geralt could stop himself his hand is shooting out, catching the man by the back of the neck. At his movement the hood he had been wearing falls and the people around him all quiet down. 

The womens eyes fall to him, widening. “You are just as Y/n described.”

Something tightens in his chest at the mention of your name, and he finds himself nodding to Jaskier to lead the girl outside. The air hits him, the warmth gone but there was nothing that would hinder him from the conversation. 

“You know Y/n?” His voice is rough, the heat traveling his skin hiding him from the cold. The woman's eyes are filled with tears and the young girl is shoving her face in the smallest scrap of dress he had seen, so in one quick moment he rips his hood off to hand to them. “Is that what you wear in this cold?” “Please, I… I’m from the same brothel as Y/n and she helped me escape. All my money has gone to keeping my sister warm….. Y/n said that you would help. She said the Geralt she knew would help.”

“Where is she?” His heart is thundering through his ribcage at this point, and he can see Jaskier emerging from the tavern. “Did she make it-”

“She didn’t come.”

“Why?”

“Probably scared she wouldn’t make it out. Or might believe she is all alone and has nothing to escape for.” The feminine voice makes Geralt jump through his skin. Suddenly she is there, smelling of smoke and lavender. 

“Yennefer.” Jaskier gasps, but Geralt hadn’t needed him to let him know. 

“Tell me, Geralt of Rivia, about the woman who broke the witcher.”

You were no longer tired at this point, truly you were nothing. 

You didn’t speak, missed more meal times than not from being stuck with clients and at this point you didn’t seem to care. You were just breathing, and that was as much energy as you can muster. 

Three months into this place had truly broken you. 

Yennefer thought this place smelled of urine and death, and though she respected the females brave enough to work here she had absolutely no fucking clue why any man would risk stepping in here.

 One look at the young girl passing her with a bruise on her cheek told her all she needed to know. The men that came here didn’t care about anything but getting themselves wet and letting off some steam. 

“I have a room upstairs, I charge 50 a month in rent, half your earnings are to the house and the rest belong to you.” A voice sounds out, drawing Yennerfers attention away from the young girl with the bruise, back to the raggedy woman sitting at the counter. 

“Excuse me?”

“I have a room for ye-” 

“I’m not here for a room. I’m here for a girl.” 

“Really?”

Yennefer slaps 2 gold coins onto the counter, a smirk crossing her face as the woman's eyes widen in greed. “I was told you had an emerald here.”

“You’re here for Y/n….only problem there is it’s double for her time.” Yennefer sighs, taking out one more coin and slapping it down. “I said double.”

“And I am willing to go and tell the town that your girls are sick.”

“What do you want with Y/n?”

“I figured you wouldn’t need me to explain how your business works but if you need a lesson in fucking then you would have to pay ME double.”

“She is in the top room. Don’t bother knocking.” And just like that Yennefer is moving, picking up her skirts to walk up the steps, trying not to breathe in the smells as she reaches your room. 

Just as the brothel worker said she doesn’t bother knocking, and it was clear why when she walked in. 

The beauty Geralt had described last night was still there, just one look and even Yennefer was nearly at a loss for words. But the spark, the light of you was gone. You stared at the wall before you, empty and gone. 

“Y/n?” She calls, closing the door behind her. “Y/n…”

“I can’t….she said I’d have a day.” You sob, pulling into yourself. 

“You’ll have more than a day, I can promise that.” Yennefer smiles, moving closer slowly. “Your witcher has sent me.”

“My witcher?” There it was, some of that spark. “He’s gonna be mad at me.”

“Now that I can swear on. Come.”

-

Geralt stood pacing back and forth on the pathway as he waited for Yennefers portal to open, his heart in his throat and his eyes glued to the space before him. 

Jaskier waited at the inn they had found with the girl you had saved, Snae. But for now it would just be him waiting for Yennefer, far enough from the town that they would have a head start if anyone went looking for you whilst the rest would cause a stir and send them on a chase. 

They had learned from Snae that Madame had sent a bounty out on her, so Geralt could only imagine what she would do to you. ‘Her emerald’. 

Then it was there, forming like a cloud at first until it got bigger and bigger until it began showing like a mirror. 

Then Yennefers hand came through and Geralt found himself launching forward as she stepped through, both arms wrapped around…..you.

He was there, his hands on you as soon as he could, keeping you upright as Yennefer lets go. “Y/n.”

“Please don’t be mad.” You whisper. 

“What has she done to you…..”

Part 3 on October 30th

@sagelovesreading

@lashipperrubia @freyafriggafrey @cookielovesbook-akie @whatishappeninghere81 @livesinfantasyland @multiifandomhoe @amara-75 @unfxrgetwble @vlynccx @redlovett @yorkeylover @mxtokko @readinggirl29 @mollymal @fullmoonshadowwrites @rileytwenty @glasschampagne @caffieneaddictt18 @kittiowolf210 @purple-blommie @abrunettefangirlnerd @babezawa

[xjulixred45x]

When I think about Yandere Gojo I suddenly remember that Veronica open the door meme that used to float around in tiktok. So inspired by that may I pleasw get a Yandere Gojo request where his darling locked themselves in the closet and refusing to come out.

Maybe i could make a Drabble of this one of You're comfortable? This is such a good idea for a scenerio

Thanks for the Request!

Yandere! Satoru Gojo x Reader: Open the Door

-"knock knock"-

Reader had hurriedly entered their apartment, after having run for entire blocks, dodging people and constantly looking behind them since they had managed to leave Gojo's house. The one they were sure had been left unconscious by the seal they had managed to put on him.

But as soon as they heard those words as they closed the door, they knew they had to run again.

and they did it.

-"I'm sorry for entering through your window! Horrible manners, but you know how I am~"-

they heard him speak as he futilely fled to their almost empty room, since most of his things were in Gojo's house, they closed the door and left to the first place that came to their mind--

The closet.

If you can't beat him, at least entertain him so he doesn't kill you. they thought.

Satoru walked slowly towards his partner's room, seeing them without problem through the blindfold. He didn't feel afraid, he wasn't even a little worried, he knew they couldn't run away from him. much less now.

Although he admitted it, watching them try even knowing how futile it is was quite funny, look at them, pretty little thing, thinking they have a chance, hiding in the closet like a scared child. But there's nothing to worry about! He is here after all.

He entered to the room, turning his back to them as he sat on the floor.

-"Now now, (reader), why don't you just go out and we go home? You must be hungry after having run so much."-

-"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!! THE DEPARTMENT ALARM RINGED AND THE POLICE WILL COME!"-

-"we'll be gone by then..come on! you had your moment of "freedom"! come out and we'll forget about this-"--"why?"- (reader) abruptly cut off Satoru, surprising him, but no more than their question. .

-"Why what?...no, wait, I know what you mean"-

Satoru never understood many of his partner's actions.

The feeling was mutual.

Why did they reject his affection? Why didn't they see that he did all this for them? Why don't they just accept that they are meant to be his?

...why was Satoru doing this to them?

-"I am meant to be yours... and you are meant to be MINE...I am everything you need!"-

Satoru was a little surprised to receive no response after that. So he continued talking, waiting for a reaction or at least, that they would get fed up with what he was saying and respond to him.

-"I FINALLY met someone who gives me these kinds of emotions... even if you don't like this I'M NOT GOING TO GIVE UP ON YOU" - Satoru expected to hear even a sob from (the reader) but he was greeted again by the silence of the aisle..

-"You KNEW that I couldn't live without you! YOU forced me to do this! I can't do it alone! Why is it so HARD for you to accept me?!"- Satoru said as he turned around abruptly, losing his patience.

But then he noticed something that made him feel a strange sensation in his stomach, as he saw that through the closet door, (reader)'s body temperature was decreasing....

NO.....

-"(READER)!- open the- open the door please! (READER)! open the door!"-

No response.

-"(READER) can we forget that this happened and go back home? Can you say something...?"-

Satoru was in front of the closet doors, with his hands shaking as he tried to get (Reader) to answer him without success. He could see they were there but something was very wrong...

-"(READER) YOU'RE SCARED! I GET IT! NOW STOP THE TRICKS AND OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!"- Satoru stood up from his kneeling position and prepared himself in case (reader) moved. They did not.

-"(READER) DON'T MAKE ME GET IN THERE! I'M GOING TO COUNT TO 3!!--

1-

2--

FUCK IT!"

Satoru didn't even have to move a muscle for the closet door to shatter in front of him, leaving (reader) exposed.

-"THE GAMES ARE OVER!"-

(Reader) had put a belt around their neck as tight as possible to try to kill themselves.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Satoru broke the belt too. They were practically unconscious, barely breathing, but it was fine. They were going to be fine.

Satoru felt that strange feeling disappear and a soft sensation came to him. Seeing them so helpless, he stretched out his hand and caressed their cheek lovingly.

Aw...what a scare they gave him...he will definitely have to take care of them more now. Maybe spend more time with them so they don't feel bad, especially after this, they're going to need it. Both.

-"NOW...let's go home, shall we?"-

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[stuck-writing-sickos]

In Poor Taste [p9.5]

(Yandere × Reader)

Series Link

[Warning: violence, explicit language]

(A/N: being physically ill from stress is something i am VERY aware of. At the same time, somehow everytime it happens i get so offended. Like "what do you MEAN it happens to me, too")

Antonement comes in many form, none of which you get to choose.

Yuki didn't realize that he inherited his father's temper.

Sure, he would fight when he was a schoolboy. They all did. But he grew out of it quick, since something about a fight outside of school uniform felt pathetic and juvenile. He liked to tell himself that he was too much of a man to throw kicks and punches, so he always stepped down and let other men win in arguments. He didn't care if he was called a wimp or a coward. After all, he had nothing to prove. He wouldn't be like his father who sought to dominate with violence. He was better than that.

Until he wasn't.

You were wet from head to toe, and so was Lukas who was hanging onto your legs, pale fingers turning red from the grip. The man's nails were digging into your skin as he cried so hard, he choked on air. Yuki couldn't think straight. He took in a breath and closed the door behind him.

You looked exhausted and disgusted, trying to kick Lukas off. Yuki had to give the moron that he was persistent:  you were strong, but his desperation was somehow even stronger.

Squatting down to Lukas' level, Yuki tried his hardest to remain calm when he asked "what's wrong with you, Lukas?"

Lukas' face creeped him out. His lips were pulled into a strange smile, as if he was enjoying your distaste. Between tears and the dampness of rainwater, his green eyes were wide and thirsty, fixed on you while he craned his neck to get a better look. His pained sobs couldn't conceal well a low, excited chuckle he emitted with every kick he took from you. Yuki felt like he was watching a worm squirm inside an aquarium. He remembered during the experiment, his teacher had taught him that worms breathe through their skin, so they needed to keep themselves in moist dirt.

Something about the way Lukas is taking in your kicks so pleasurably reminded him of that trivia.

Grabbing him by the back of his collar, Yuki peeled him off of your leg and threw him on the floor. Getting atop of him, Yuki raised his fist and landed it on his stomach.

Lukas's body jolted upon the impact. His face soured into a frown as he returned the favor by punching Yuki square in the jaw. His hands took ahold of Yuki's hair as he held him back.

"Stay out of it, man", he bitterly spoke, "you've always been such a bother."

Yuki didn't expect this kind of strength from someone who had just been crawling to your feet a couple minutes ago. Still, his head may be in a lock, but his hands were free enough. Deciding that words wouldn't do justice, he wrap his fingers around Lukas' neck and forced him down. He felt his grip on his hair loosen when Lukas choked, trying to gasp for air, his hands now clawing at Yuki's skin. He was survival mode now, Yuki supposed, making notes to restrain his torso with his knees in case he get any burst of energy.

When he saw Lukas' eyes roll back, Yuki felt him shoulders being pulled backward forecefully.

Snapping out of it, Yuki released his hold and let Lukas lie on the floor, heaving from the shock. He wondered what he needed to do. What if this foreigner pressed charge? Maybe if he finished the job now...

"Lukas...", your voice were cold and weary, "can you hear me? Can you still speak?"

He nodded. Yuki's nose scrunched at the way his eyes got big and soft when he looked at you.

You kneeled down next to him, your face void of any emotions.

"I didn't want this to happen."

"No, it's okay", he shook his head and propped himself on his elbow, his voice hoarse and meek, "it's okay. You were right... I had too much to drink. I'm so, so sorry."

Yuki did not buy it. Lukas looked sober, and he sounded it, too.

"I didn't want to hurt you", he continued, lying through his teeth, "I was carried away. I just... I never figured out how to approach you, and I fucked up. I deserved this, I really did."

For a split of a second, his eyes met Yuki's when he spoke again: "It's no one's fault but my own, really."

You were silent, watching every movement in the room. It would be like you to stay cautious. Perhaps you were suspicious still, unsure what Lukas may do or say. He might seem earnest, but Yuki could tell the man's existence in itself was a farce.

"But it isn't a good look, is it? You were right... with all this bruises and the tussling, do you think they would talk?"- Lukas continued, feigned cluelessness splattering over his demeanor. Yuki felt his tongue souring upon that.

"What should I say?" - you spoke slowly, your voice calm but your eyes nervous- "that you cornered me and tried to force yourself on me? What I did was self-defense, what you did was assault. Would that look good on you?"

"No, it wouldn't. You'd come out spotless, and I the creep. But what about Sakamoto? Would he ride that clean boat with you?"

[theghostofsoap]

No Force on this Earth (Could Keep Me From You)

Fandom: Call of Duty x Star Wars

Pairings: Simon "Ghost" Riley/John "Soap" MacTavish

Rating: Teen +

Tags: implied torture, force bonds, blood mention, angst, hurt/comfort

Notes: this fic was massively inspired by @felixeis003 and some lovely CoD x Star Wars art they did of Ghost and Soap <33 it truly got the hamster wheel in my mind going

(Check out the art here!!!)

Also now on Ao3!

Soap wasn't sure how long he'd been here. He and Gaz had been together on assignment to investigate a moon where a particularly strong force signature had pinged recently. There was suspicion that a Sith artifact was located there and they wanted to make sure it didn't fall into the wrong hands.

Unfortunately, the entire thing had been a trap. He was pretty sure Gaz had managed to make it out when he'd dove into a swarm of droids. The last thing he remembered was seeing the familiar face of Count Dooku before falling unconscious.

Ever since then, he'd been kept in a cell. A few times he'd been poked and prodded. He wasn't sure what they wanted with him, but the combination of minimal food and the Force suppression collar around his neck was making the time tick by like molasses. Most of the time he meditated while trying to overhear any speck of information that he could, which wasn't much.

The sheer emptiness of it all was almost worse. Maybe they were trying to drive him mad with silence and isolation.

He just had to hope that Gaz was coming back with a rescue party. He wasn't even 100% sure if he was still on the same moon. The only thing he could see from his confinement was the metal-lined hallway and the empty cells beside him.

During his fourth rest cycle, he heard footsteps down the hallway. He did his best to keep calm, taking in slow, steadying breaths. The person who came around the corner was a face he hadn't seen in a while.

The dark cloak swished out behind them as they came to a halt. The smirk on their face was the same one Soap remembered from the few times they were in lessons together.

"Well Phillip, you certainly weren't who I was expecting to see today." He drawled.

"After all these years and they couldn't quite beat the snark out of you could they? And that's Darth Gravis to you," Phillip replied.

Soap snorted. "Really? Darth Gravis? I'm sorry, but I'm nae gonna take you very seriously when I still remember you tripping into the fountain during our forms."

Phillip's eyebrow ticked, but otherwise he kept his face a mixture of arrogant and angry. "When I heard they'd gotten their hands on you, I told them isolation wasn't going to work. But I needed time to get here and I wanted to make sure I was the first one to get my hands on you John." He tilted his head and two droids opened up the cell. The smirk on his face grew as he took a step forward. Soap just stayed in his lotus position.

"By the time I'm done with you, we'll see how seriously you take me."

It had started simple, things Soap had expected. His ribs were bruised and each breath came out with a slight wheeze, but he could take it.

The harder part was the intrusions. Being cut off from the force while feeling someone else's slimy, icher of a presence oozing through his thoughts and tearing down his walls was agonizing. He held in his screams the best he could, making his tongue bleed in the process.

"All those feelings and you're still in the precious Order, huh? Do you think that big bastard actually cares for you that way?" Gravis drawled one time as Soap was hunched over on the floor, trying to catch his breath as blood trickled out of his nose. 

"I watched the footage, you know. We keep most footage of the 'important experiments.' It'd be almost admirable that he isn't dark if it weren't for the fact that he's just so weak. You should've seen him. Pathetic honestly the way he-"

Not many things had gotten to Soap, but with his shields already low and his emotions in fray, hearing him talk about him that way made Soap snap. He lunged forward, slamming himself into Gravis's legs. With his hands still bound behind him, there wasn't much he could do before the droids grabbed him and threw him back against the other wall.

Gravis laughed as he stood up and dusted himself off. "My my, got you riled up didn't I?" He spit to the side. "Let's see if you're just as pathetic as he is."

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

Ghost hadn't felt Soap in 5 days. While he didn't constantly check on their force bond, he didn't realize how much he felt it until it suddenly shut off.

He can remember the moment it happened with stark clarity. He'd been helping around at the town he was currently staying in, carrying some supplies to help rebuild a health center that had collapsed, when it was like everything went silent.

He froze mid step as he rapidly tried to figure out what on earth had just happened. He couldn't even pinpoint what was wrong or why everything felt slightly off until he assessed his bonds... and realized he couldn't feel Soap.

Ghost didn't have many force bonds still. The ones he had with his old master weren't the strongest and the ones that had been almost forced upon him during-

Well, he didn't have many force bonds anymore for a reason. Soap was about the only one, though Price had one too.

Ghost didn't know what to do. He'd immediately tried to reach out to Soap's comms to no success. The last thing they'd talked about was that he was going to be away on a mission with Garrick-

His comm rang. 

He answered without hesitation. Maybe it was Soap from a different-

"Soap's gone."

It was Garrick. Ghost clenched his comm unit as he stared at the holographic form of the other Jedi, who seemed just fine-

"Where."

"We were on a moon in the Pelgrin sector. It was a trap and he was taken." Garrick said, getting straight to the point.

Ghost immediately started walking back to where he was staying. He had a small ship. It would take him at least 3 days to make it that far. He was already plotting his course when he realized Garrick was still talking.

"-ooku but I don't know if he's still on that moon. Ghost. The Order is going to want to try and go after him too but they won't just storm in. I don't- You know why I'm calling you, right?" 

Ghost grunted. Of course he did. The Order wouldn't be as efficient as he could be, with their bureaucratic tape. There were very few things he missed about the Order, but the political ties that had developed over the recent decades wasn't one of them. 

"I'm on my way. If you get any updates, contact me." He said, disconnecting the call before Garrick could say anything else.

His ship already had rations on it, but he made sure to gather a few more as well as a few additional medical supplies before leaving, despite wanting to peel out as soon as possible. When he punched in the route, he cursed under his breath at the time. Every moment felt like one too many, and he couldn't even be certain that they'd still be there when he arrived.

But he'd have time to make some calls along the way, put some feelers out. He knew who he could trust with this information.

As it was nearing the last day of his trek, he'd gotten word back that Soap was likely not far from where he'd been taken. A ship had been spotted briefly in orbit tucked behind a nearby asteroid. One wouldn't easily spot it if they didn't know what they were looking for.

Ghost took in a deep breath as he started to make a plan. The main thing he had to do was get in, but once that happened-

Well, he wasn't worried too much about whatever might be between him and Soap. It wouldn't be there long.

-----------

They didn't move him afterwards. He was left lying in a cooling pile of his own blood. His forehead was up against the metal floor as he tried to take slow breaths despite his protesting lungs which were both sore and burning as he stretched the cauterized wounds across his chest.

"I'm one with the force and the force is with me." He whispered to himself softly. He took in a slow breath through his nose but it was interrupted by a cough he tried to suppress. He spit up some blood and groaned, trying to take better note of his body.

It felt like half of him was offline, a combination of numbness and tingling stretching across his system. He worked slowly, wiggling each individual finger before he finally felt like he might be able to lift himself up to a seated position.

That's when he heard the gunshots.

He froze, uncertain at first where they were coming from. That's when he realized they were deeper in the building.

... Was someone here for him finally?

He felt a stronger wave of renewed motivation flow through him as he managed to get back to a seated position with only minimal groans and winces of pain. 

"I'm one with the force and the force is with me." He said again, slightly firmer as he tried to calm the ringing in his ears so he could take better stock of where the fighting was happening.

It sounded like it was closer. Was it getting closer?

Suddenly the door down the hall opened, but the gunshots didn't get louder. Instead, he heard the familiar thrum of a lightsaber igniting.

"Well, well, what did I tell them? I knew he'd come for you." Gravis said as he stepped into the cell Soap was in. His red saber crackled angrily as he slowly lifted it, coming to a stop just under Soap's chin.

Soap took in a shaky breath as he looked up at Gravis, holding his chin as steady as he could.

"Sidious has been wanting him back, for another test run. He's certain he can break him this time." Gravis drawled. "I'm not sure why he wants that pathetic thing, but you were just bait." He smirked. "Don't worry, your usefulness hasn't run out yet. I think it'd be more impactful if you were around during the conditioning this time. Toy with his mind a bit. Or maybe we can make him kill you himself, hm? See if we can turn that rage the right direction-"

Another door opened and this time the gunshots were next to none. "Darth Gravis! The force user, he's-" a droid started to say when suddenly the sound of metal hitting the floor rang through the hall.

"My my, took you long enough to get here Simon," Gravis said, looking over but not moving his saber an inch. "Go on Johnny, say hello to him. It's only polite."

Ghost's eyes snapped over to where he was seated on the floor. Despite not being able to feel their force bond like he usually could, Soap could still catalog the emotions running across his face. Ghost's eyes went from him to the puddle of the blood on the floor and back up to the lightsaber at his throat.

Soap saw his hands tighten on the grip of his saber.

"You're just as feeble as I remember Gravis," Ghost rumbled, "Could never pick a fair fight because you knew you'd lose. Beating up on someone who's chained up and disconnected from the force? Does that make you feel stronger?"

Soap saw Gravis's expression flare with anger. The saber was immediately withdrawn and directed towards Ghost.

"You were all but scraped off the floor when you 'escaped.' You know he LET you go right? Someone as simple as you could never have made it out on your own." Gravis snarled. "I've seen the tapes. You're not even worth his time!"

Ghost slid into a fighting stance, not breaking eye contact with Gravis. "And yet he's taking his time trying to lure me back, when he's got a lap dog already drooling to do as he says. Do you feel replaceable yet mutt?"

Gravis snarled louder and immediately launched himself towards Ghost, who blocked him flawlessly. Where Gravis's attacks were fury and erratic, Ghost was as steady and smooth as ever. He looked like he was hardly breaking a sweat as Gravis danced around him.

"Face it Gravis, you were always meant to beg for scraps. If you were truly good enough you wouldn't be the one running errands to try to lure in another apprentice would you?"

This made Gravis lunge, but it was exactly what Ghost wanted to happen. He quickly grabbed Gravis by the shoulder, blocking his saber and throwing him to the floor. He stomped onto the hand that was holding his saber and Gravis shouted as he dropped it. 

Ghost stared down at him for a moment. 

Gravis glared, reaching up a hand, clearly about to use the force, when Ghost's expression finally broke. He curled his upper lip before gripping the air in front of him, easily lifting up Gravis from the floor before quickly slamming him back into it.

Ghost only looked at his limp form for a moment more before he immediately spun and sprinted over to Soap.

Soap looked up at him, cracking a small smile, though he was sure the blood covering his gums wasn't helping. "Hey Ghostie."

The brooding man dropped to his knees and quickly reached around Soap's neck. Soap felt the collar's latch release before he heard it, as the feeling of the Force flooded back into him. 

It was like taking a deep breath after being underwater for too long.

"Oh Force," he breathed.

Immediately the next thing he felt was the cacophony of emotions flooding off of Ghost. "Ghost, I-"

"Don't move Johnny," Ghost said, his tone gruffer than normal. Johnny held still as Ghost deftly cut through the cuffs keeping his hands behind his back. When his hands were free, he slowly moved them around to his front, rubbing his wrists gently. 

"Thank you," he said, realizing how fucked his voice sounded. He's sure it wasn't helping the growing concern Ghost was expressing.

"How broken are you?" Ghost asked.

"Ah, it looks worse than i' is," Soap said, but his point was a bit ruined when he had a coughing fit at the end that left him light headed.

Suddenly, the world around him shifted. He yelped and his position adjusted. Soap blinked and realized how close he was to Ghost's face now, the strong arms wrapped around him. 

Ghost didn't look down at him, taking long strides back through the facility, completely ignoring the graveyard of droids around him. "I have medical supplies on the ship. I'm going to put you there before I come back and... finish what needs to be done in here."

"Ah've seen my share of death before Ghost, you didn' have'ta shield me from that."

Ghost let out a slow breath but didn't reply. 

"Aye, you can' ignore me when I'm this close'ta your face," Soap said.

Finally he saw the hint of a smile under Ghost's usual face scarf. "Mm, I could try."

"Ah you could, but I don' think you traveled all the way here to save me because you don' like me."

Ghost glanced down at him, his brown eyes showing just as much as their force bond revealed. "... Johnny."

Johnny reached up a hand and cupped Ghost's face. "Thank you for comin' for me."

"My head's too quiet without you in it," he replied, pausing for a moment. "... I'll always come for ya Johnny."

There was a joke on the tip of his tongue, but his heart was too happy to make it at the moment. "I know you would Simon."

[invisiblerambler]

GO AHEAD AND CRUCIFY ME IN THE SQUARE

I think this season might be my favorite. Or favorite is the wrong word, it lives most closely to my heart. Before last week I would have said that about S2 and I LOVE season 2 it feels like a warm hug to me and I can rewatch almost any episodes any day of the week and it feels like a comfort.

Especially the back half of the season. The conversation Syd has with her dad about this being the thing and the conversation with Carmy under the table. Those represent a better part of my nature when I'm mostly concerned about the state of my career and what I hope to accomplish.

Season 3 though, and I acknowledge it could be biased towards where I am in my life right now, but season three hit me between the eyes. It's forced me to confront things frankly I didn't want to, but I think that's it's success.

The honesty with which it portrays someone so deep in grief and trauma and the ambition that intersects both of those things.

I cannot begrudge anyone who finds it tedious, but unfortunately healing from trauma is tedious and boring and just as awful as it looks from the outside sometimes.

Living through a period of time where the thoughts in your head are consuming and distorting reality to the point they are with Carmy this season, I have never had words to describe that experience.

That is a gift this show has given me, a way to communicate things that I always felt my words fell short of reaching.

I wouldn't wish the level of trauma Carmy has experienced on anyone, but I wish this season garnered more empathy and less contempt.

I have frequently been described as high-functioning, resilient, and well-adjusted, but like all three of these seasons of The Bear have portrayed in stark relief, no amount of achievement can undo what you do not want to confront.

It's a cliche possibly, but the ways in which Carmy is portrayed as having it all together while not at all... A fine dining restaurant is the perfect place to not have shit together while outwardly pretending.

The messiness and utter raw emotion of it was painfully endearing. I didn't watch this season and see a monster, I saw someone desperately trying to figure out how he can feel better, and everyone around him failing to realize the depth of his suffering.

This season is so human. I saw someone say that this was a cooking show about grief and now it's a grief show about cooking, and a part of me wants to yell THE COOKING WAS A TRICK SUCKERS. IT WAS ABOUT GRIEF THE WHOLE TIME which feels painfully obvious, but based on the reactions, I think a lot of people were not expecting such a grief forward season.

I understand this show was a big swing and was not giving you almost any of what most people wanted or expected, but for me my favorite art is when I get the thing I least expected. And that was painfully true of this season. I didn't want one of my favorite and most painfully tender shows to present me with a season that laid bare a lot of things I had intended to hide away from, but I am better for it.

Even if you didn't like the season, I hope you came away with a sense of empathy for those who have experienced trauma as layered and ongoing as Carmy.

I have for a long time struggled with the idea that I was a perfect victim. I outwardly made the correct choices, and mostly acted in ways that turned my suffering inwards not outwards. I did not feel afforded the luxury in life of taking it out on other people.

Watching this season felt like a window into my id. The version of me that maintained a high level of function, but indulged in many of my worst impulses, not turning them inward and burying them down. The contrast of the way Syd reacts to the trauma of being left alone on friends and family and throughout the renovation vs Carmy feels like a near perfect study in the contrast of expectations for male and female trauma victims.

Syd keeps it all inside and punishes only herself, because to do anything else would sabotage the career she has worked so hard to build. It feels like an obvious statement to make, but feels so much less obvious when the only place it feels like the pain can go is inward.

The panic attack at the end of the season is the physical manifestation of her body no longer being able to contain all the pain she's turned inward. It has to go somewhere and there's no control over when that happens.

I'm not sure if I am simply drawing obvious conclusions everyone else has already come to, but I wanted to reflect on how human this show really is. It is beautiful and artistic and a work of art but it is also messy and human and realistic in ways that set my teeth on edge.

I understand if season 3 wasn't the full course meal you were expecting, but I hope you'll find compassion and empathy for those who felt it to be a slightly abrasive but ultimately satisfying Tuesday surprise.

[arachnixe]

Kinship

I peer through the glass into the holding chamber. The specimen within paces aimlessly, without purpose or direction, interacting with nothing inside.

“What’s wrong with it?” I ask.

“She’s been restless and agitated like this since we separated her from the others.”

I glance over at my partner. “‘She,’ huh?”

He shrugs, looking self-conscious. “I mean, look at her. She looks like a woman, doesn’t she?” He gestures vaguely into the chamber. “Or like she used to be one. We’re working on saving her, making her a person again anyway, right?”

I suppose we are trying to save it, but I certainly can’t think of this thing as a person the way it is now. Especially so utterly directionless with its connection severed to the rest of its Swarm.

It is a pretty thing, though, I must admit, vaguely person-shaped as it is.

Its skin—or carapace, rather, rigid and chitinous—is a lovely jade green, its limbs elegant and many-jointed.

The dark, hair-like structures on the top of its head are similarly striking. They’re probably some kind of setae; I’ll want to collect a sample for study.

It looks right at me through the glass, and I exhale softly in an involuntary expression of wonder. Its multifaceted eyes—two perfectly cut rubies of immaculate shine and impossible depth—grip me with something like longing until, an eternity later, it resumes its pacing.

“Doctor Klein? You catch that?” My partner interrupts my momentary lapse of concentration.

“Hm? Oh yes, remarkable eyes. I should document the observation.”

“Er, no. I was reminding you that I will not be staying to join you on your overnight observation.”

“Right. The wedding. Good luck on that. Or congratulations? I’m never sure what to say about these things.”

He laughs, clapping me on the shoulder. I flinch at the unexpected touch and hope my tight-lipped smile reads as genuine.

I breathe a sigh of relief when he leaves.

“Maybe I am the opposite of you,” I confide to the creature through glass. “You barely function without the company of your kind, and I barely function while in the company of mine.”

I settle down and get to work. “Perhaps with just the two of us, we’ll make good progress.”

I review my notes. When it was captured, the creature was observed to be patient, intelligent, and confident. It threatened several researchers and nearly escaped a half-dozen times before it could be brought to this facility.

And then it abruptly stopped trying.

We predicted some kind of reaction, of course. This facility had been specially constructed to isolate those inside from the—still poorly understood—mental connection between members of the Swarm.

We expected it to show signs of agitation, but not this…listless melancholy.

Its behavior remains unchanged as the hours pass, even as I try various forms of stimulation. It acknowledges nothing, not even recordings of others of its kind. Its eyes focus on nothing in particular, with only one occasional exception.

It watches me observe it sometimes.

I visit the glass-walled room with a fresh mug of coffee, and I catch it looking at me again. I move, and its eyes follow.

Yes, I manage to be a figure of interest even when nothing else is. Because I am the only other living thing in here, perhaps?

I approach the speak-through grill and attempt to open communication.

“Hello, my name is Dr. Klein.”

I did not think this through and find myself at a loss without a script. “Can you even understand me?”

It stares at me, unanswering. I fidget with my skirt uncomfortably.

There is something so compelling in its eyes. Though it does not emote like a person, it somehow projects a sense of deep sadness and longing.

“You’re lonely, aren’t you?” The insight strikes me with the force of lightning. I can practically feel its loneliness myself.

Why do I feel like I understand this creature better than my own family or coworkers? Their moods could be inscrutable, but I read this creature’s melancholy as plain as day.

I press my hand to the glass, and to my surprise, it approaches the window to mirror the gesture.

To hell with the study protocols. I want to understand these creatures, and this is the furthest anyone has gotten.

I override the security on the holding chamber and enter, hoping to reinforce whatever this tenuous connection is. I am more determined than ever to save it.

“Does this help?” I ask. “There’s no Swarm here, I know, but I’m here with you, and I’m on your side.”

One step at a time, it closes the distance to me. It moves slowly, as if to avoid startling me. The whole time, its beautiful eyes stare into mine.

Soon it’s inches away.

So close, I cannot help but acknowledge to myself that it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I am utterly entranced by it.

When it reaches its hand-like appendage to my face, I lean into the touch.

So smooth. Cool to the touch. Oddly sweet and comforting.

The affection I feel for this thing surprises me, but I do not care to debate myself about the validity of those feelings.

I probably should interrogate my willingness, however, when it pulls my lips to its mouth in a kiss.

The taste is sweet, like honey. Its tongue is almost human, though alien ridges and protrusions along the sides tickle my own tongue in novel and exciting ways.

It pulls away. The experience leaves me feeling gently fuzzy headed and with a welcome euphoria.

The creature opens its mouth to speak at last. “You save me?”

I recognize, somehow, that it pulled the thought—and maybe even the words themselves—from my mind. Something about that kiss…

I nod. “Of course. That’s the most important thing. May I exit the room?”

It permits me to leave.

I do not bother to reactivate the security.

What I need is fresh air to clear my head, I decide. I make my way through the facility toward the exit, flashing my badge to the overnight guards at the checkpoints.

I need to think clearly if I am to come up with a way to save this creature. And I will save it in a way that is kinder than my partner intends.

No, he would force it to be a person again. That’s a cruelty I’ve had to live my whole life with, and I now know of another way.

The lock cycles. As I take my first step outside, the fuzziness in my head clears. It focuses into distant chatter, into light and life and song and…

The Swarm floods my mind. The sudden connection nearly drops me to my knees, but I maintain my outward composure.

Knowledge, thought, and desire floods me in a way that nearly overwhelms.

The feeling of connection and belonging is so beautiful, I nearly cry.

I don’t. A precious member of the Swarm is still held captive.

With our combined knowledge, we make a plan to save it.