#i love getting stuff like this in my inbox because i have an excuse to endlessly talk | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heavysighing-dreamyeyes · 3 months ago

Note

God ever since reading A Gilded Cage I cant get the thought out of my head of a part 2 where Reader doesn't see Jason for a few days after the revelation. Like maybe he thinks he's being kind and giving us some time to process, maybe he's on his angst again, or maybe some outside factor has taken his attention so the only time he's able to visit is while we're asleep.

And the whole night of the reveal feels like a fever dream when we wake up but there's a blanket draped over us and a fuzzy little kitten purring up a storm on our chest (in my heart his name is Bean (short for Toebean)), so we're at least kind of sure it happened. But as the time passes with no sign of Jason our certainty begins to wane and until we finally get fed up and write on the notepad the first thing we've asked for since that night: "You."

Or something like that idek okay I've been over here clawing at my walls frothing at the mouth I never really even liked ak!Jason before reading your stuff and now I'm feral for him and its all your fault and I'm not even mad about it

A Glimmering Collar

AKA Part Two of this series. Ahh, nonnie, you literally cooked with this. I love when my fics inspire people enough to keep thinking on them! Seriously, ty for dropping these ideas in my inbox cause I had nothing going on in my brain for a part two initially. Hope you enjoy!

~2.6k words

You wake up to something tickling your nose. Your body feels heavy, your mind even more so. Nothing in you is ready to open your eyes, to face the fact that last night could all have been a dream. That he isn't– that was just a dream.

Something soft flicks your nose again, and you force your eyes open. You blink hard once. Then twice. It's a kitten. It's tiny, and it's sitting by your face. Every few seconds, its tail sways and brushes your nose.

Oh. You sit up slowly, trying not to frighten the small thing. It looks at you contently over its shoulder and meows. The kitten stretches as you stare at it, then plops itself directly on the blanket resting over your lap.

Huh. There's a blanket you definitely don't remember grabbing sprawled over your legs. You carefully reach down to pet the kitten's head. Your heart melts a little when it nuzzles your fingers and purrs.

You look around the room slowly. Nothing else looks different. The notepad is still in place, but the kitten and blanket all point to one thing. Last night was real. Jason is alive. Jason is the Arkham Knight.

You're trying to wrap your brain around that when the door flies open, nearly making you jump out of your skin.

"Good morning!!" A flurry of voice call from the doorway. Your eyes widen as three brightly dressed people strut their way into your apartment, "Are you ready for your shopping trip, hun?"

"My– excuse me?" You stumble out, tucking the kitten to your chest as you stand.

They giggle, and one of them steps forward, "Your shopping trip, sweetie! And spa day, of course. Oh, ha, we haven't even been introduced, have we? I'm Krystal with a K, she's Destini with an i and he's Robbi also with an i."

Robbi huffs and walks up to you to pet your kitten, "Why can't you ever introduce Destini second? She can be Destini also with an i, ya know."

The other girl walks up to you as well and picks affectionately at your clothes, "Because it's alphabetical that way, Robbi. Now you better go get dressed, we have brunch reservations and mimosa plans!"

"I– sorry? What?" You ask, eyes darting between the three of them. Whatever this is, you can't keep up. You've barely processed Jason kidnapped you, and now you're supposed to go get a massage and drinks?

"The boss wants you to go out," a flat voice cuts in. You're the only one that stiffens at the sight of two large men stepping through the door.

Krystal speaks up, "We're here to make sure you have a good time! And Mack and John are here to keep us safe!"

"Mack and John," You echo weakly.

"Your body guards, silly," Destini chirps, ushering you to your room. She plucks the kitten from your hands, "Now get dressed! Wear something nice!"

You stare at the door as she shuts it. What just happened? You hear them chattering happily in the kitchen, idly talking about pregaming your shopping trip.

Your whole mind is a mess, and you sluggishly get ready, thoughts whirling. You've barely talked to soul since you were kidnapped, and now you have five new names to remember, a kitten, and a day out.

You're not exactly sure if you should be unsettled or grateful at how quickly Jason worked to get you what you asked for. By the time you've opened your bedroom door, Krystal, Destini and Robbi are passing around a flask, and playfully trying to get your 'bodyguards' to drink it.

You wonder what they must think of all this. Who they think you are. You're struck with the realization that Jason must be paying them to entertain you today.

You don't get to linger on the thought before Robbi hooked his arm with yours, dragging you towards the door, "Let's gooo, the brunch place we're going to does the best pineapple mimosas. Or cherry, if that's your thing."

"Wait," Mack– or John, you're not exactly sure which one is which– stops you, "Boss wants you to wear this."

The girls and Robbi coo in awe when Mack opens a box, revealing a glittery, jaw-dropping choker. You waver at the sight of it. It's not that it doesn't match what you're wearing. You'd dressed up like Destini suggested, but it feels like some kind of trap.

You reluctantly pick up the necklace, eyeing how it catches the light, "Is it– are sure it's safe to wear this out?" Safety isn't really what you're concerned about at the moment.

You're more worried about the crushing weight that this means more than you understand.

John nods once, "There won't be any problems."

Krystal happily plucks the necklace from your fingers, and before you have time to argue, she drapes the necklace around your throat. "It's beautiful, hun. Just like you. Let's go get you something to eat," her voice is soft, measured, and full of so much understanding it makes you want to cry.

You don't know much they know, but when she hooks her arm with yours to guide you out the door, you have a feeling there's more awareness than their bubbly attitudes let on.

The day ends up being wonderful. Being around people, out under the sun (the sun Gotham does get), was rejuvenating. You had fun, joked, smiled, and for a day, it was almost like you didn't have a prison cell to go back to.

The food was delicious, the spa relaxing, and you didn't have to carry back a single bag. Krystal had flashed a black card at every payment, every place ever could want to shop at, reassuring you it's all been taken care of.

But the time you've collapsed on the couch, exhausted but content, the uneasy feelings from this morning are gone.

You settle on the cushions to wait for Jason. To thank him for listening or to yell at him for still keeping you here, you're not exactly sure yet.

But he doesn't come, you fall asleep in your expensive necklace and pretty clothes with one hand petting your kitten. He doesn't come the next day either, at least not while you're awake, but Krystal, Destini, and Robbi do.

Your friends, the people being paid to entertain you are nice, perfect even. They're exactly what you would have asked for.

Your kitten is perfect too, it cuddles with you at night and nuzzles under your chin after you're left alone, when the unease finds its way back to you.

It's been days since you've seen him. It's starting to feel like a lifetime. You know he comes back after you fall asleep, he moves things. You think it's his way of showing that he listened, that he came back because you asked.

The notepad, the one you haven't written on since that night, shifts closer to you on the glass table if you sleep on the couch.

The glimmering choker gets pulled out of the drawer every time you try to put it away. Your kitten has a growing collection of toys and things to climb on.

It's obvious he's visiting, so why won't he let you see him? Day five of dancing around each other breaks you. You want to see him, want to talk to him, and understand. You want Jason.

Your hand shakes a little, when you go to write on the notepad, and when you wake up the next morning, the paper is blank again.

You wait. You wait some more. All day you wait for him. No one else comes. It's strangely quiet, with just you and your kitten. You've just about given up, collapsed in your bed, when the glowing whites of his helmet catch your attention.

You sit up quickly and throw your legs off the bed as you stare into the doorway, "You came."

"Did you mean it," he asks, any emotion he's feeling hidden by the aggravating modulator.

"Mean what," You question, standing off the bed to walk closer to him, "Will you take the mask off?"

He doesn't move for a moment, just takes in the sight of you. The silence that drags almost makes you regret the question, but he carefully pulls off his helmet, "What you wrote. That you wanted me."

"I– yeah, Jason. I haven't– it's been days since I saw you," You only notice mid sentence that his hand is reaching for your face, it makes your voice waver. "You never answered any of my questions," You finish weakly.

His hand stills and he drops it, "Questions. That's what you wanted?"

You nod a little, searching his face for any hint of what he's feeling, but he gives nothing away.

He sighs softly, and looks away, adjusting his helmet under his arm. You think he might look disappointed, "I can't give you the answers you're looking for."

"Why not," You question softly, worried to push him away.

Jason turns his focus back to you, "I just need you to stay here. Please," he sighs out your name, and his hand twitches as if to touch you, "Don't fight me on this."

"That's not fair," You mumble, "Why am I here, Jason? You know I would have listened if you came to talk to me instead of– this."

Silence falls again, and he steps past you into your room. He sets his helmet on your dresser and picks up the choker resting on the wooden surface, "I wish you would wear this. I picked it out for you."

"Jason," You start, tracking his movements.

"I know," he cuts you off, "but I told you, you don't need to understand anything." You stiffen when he steps back towards you and guides you to turn around.

The air leaves your lungs as his gloves brush over your skin. He sets the necklace around your throat, and even after it rests heavy against your skin, his touch lingers.

"You just need to stay here. It's safe. I've given you everything you've asked for, and everything you haven't," Jason says softly, stepping out from behind you. His gaze lingers on your neck for a moment, and the stifling, unexplainable feeling sets back into your gut.

Your words stick in your throat. There's a sense of danger, one that doesn't make sense. Jason wouldn't hurt you. Not the Jason you know. But is this the Jason you know? The thought makes you want to tear the choker from your skin and throw it at him.

"It feels like a collar," You say quietly, and your breath hitches when his gaze snaps go yours, "I mean, it's pretty. Really. But, it feels– like it's more," You stumble out.

He nods slowly, and he doesn't stop himself from touching you this time. His fingers trace the choker, linger over your collarbones, brush along your pulse, "Maybe it is."

You blink at him, every thought flying from your brain, "What?"

He hums softly, hooking a finger under the shiny jewels to draw you closer, "Does that scare you? Knowing that you can't leave? Knowing that no matter how pretty these are, it's just another way to keep you?"

"You wouldn't hurt me," you say instead, it sounds like you believe it, but you're not sure if you're trying to convince yourself or him.

"I don't want to," He admits, fingers leaving your throat to trail up your jaw, "but I probably could."

"I don't believe that. I remember–" He tuts, tapping your cheek. Your heart drops when you realize he's mirroring where his own brand is.

"I'm not what you remember," he says firmly, before whispering your name, "I'm not that Jason. Not really."

"Then who are you," You ask, even though you don't want to know the answer. You want to pretend he's still something you know.

His eyes dart over your face, then back down to the necklace, "I'm still Jason. But I'm also the Arkham Knight."

"What does that mean," You push, reach up to grab his wrist, demanding his attention, demanding real answers.

"It means that you stay. It means that I give you what you want. Everything and anything except leaving," he says, voice lowering to something kinder, gentler, "it'll make sense eventually. You'll be happy here. Safe."

"Will that make you happy?" You ask, fingers tightening on his wrist. Half of you wants to pull him away, stop him from tracing patterns over your cheek, but the other part of you wants to press his hand closer.

Something flicks in his eyes at your words, "Yes."

"Will it keep you safe?" You murmur, eyes locked on his.

He doesn't answer, clenching and unclenching his jaw for a moment, "Safety is an option I don't have."

"It could be, if you wanted it," You say, dropping his wrist. It must be true. Even with all the secrets he's keeping, his evasive disappearing act, he could take off the armor. Leave behind the new symbol engraved over his chest.

He laughs a little and swipes his thumb under your eye, "I'm glad that you don't understand. It's good, that they didn't twist you into something unrecognizable."

"Understand?" You prompt, unsettled by his laughter.

"That they need to pay. All of them do," he smiles a little, it's a mockery of the one you remember. Jason traces the choker one last time before stepping back.

"You're leaving," You say, not a question, a statement of fact. He's leaving, without explaining anything again.

"I am," he affirms, moving to grab his helmet.

"I want you to stay," You breathe out and he freezes in place.

He exhales softly and faces you again, "You don't know what you're asking."

"I do. I want you to stay," You repeat, reaching out to push his helmet back towards the dresser.

"And then what?" He asks lowly, a warning, "What do you expect to happen?"

It makes you waver, "I– I don't know. But it's what I want."

It's another long moment of nothing before he answers, gesturing towards the bed, "Go to sleep."

"You'll stay?"

He nods at your question, unceremoniously dragging the chair from your desk to your bedside.

"Is that going to be comfortable–" You begin, settling yourself in the bed.

"You're overthinking it," he mumbles, waving at you to lay down. You do, watching as your kitten jumps into his lap, curling up like this is something that happens all the time. (You have the feeling it is) "Have you named him," he asks quietly.

"The kitten? Mm, no. Wanted you to," You say softly, carefully not to unsettle either of them.

"I wouldn't be good at it," Jason protests, eyes flicking between you and the kitten.

"I don't mind," You murmur, "anything's better than 'kitten'."

He pauses, so quiet and still you think he won't answer, "Bean," he mumbles, reluctant as the newly appointed Bean cuddles into his armor.

You smile, "Bean's a good name."

He doesn't answer, seemingly engrossed with watching the kitten.

You take him in for another moment, memorizing his face before closing your eyes. It's not an accident that you leave your palm open and face up by the side of the bed.

There's no more pleasantries exchanged, no sweet goodnights or the gentle touches against your face you've grown used to. But just as you finally start to drift off, as darkness finally draws you to rest, a warm, rough hand weaves itself into yours and squeezes.

Part Three

#arkham knight x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd #x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you

695 notes · View notes

soapyblubbles · 9 months ago

Text

*.•° 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 °•.*

pairings: poly!marauders x nymph!reader

summary: james introduces you to his two friends

warnings: implied “sharing.” do with that what you will.

a/n: who was gonna tell me that i actually have to check my inbox to know if i have asks 🙊 anyways this is set before pieces of me !! this is dedicated to the anon who asked me about nymph!reader back in august 😭

You tug roughly on James’ arm, mindlessly cooing as you pull him deeper into the cave.

He doesn’t understand anything that you’re saying, but still he nods along enthusiastically, intently focused on each syllable that leaves your mouth. You had been surprised when he showed up earlier than usual, especially when you realized he had brought others along with him.

The two trail behind uncertainly, their rising alarm resting sour on your tongue.

The long-haired one made you especially wary.

He doesn’t show any outward signs of being nervous but you sense emotions better than most. His wild energy puts you on edge. His aura is bitter, like the unripe fruit that dangles from the trees that tower over you when you journey into the forest. There’s also a hint of sweetness reminiscent of the nectar that the bees sometimes bring you.

If the long-haired one is the fruit then the tall one is the branches, balancing out his companions' wild nature with his never ending patience. That’s not to say he doesn’t have any chaos of his own. You can feel it writhing underneath his skin, especially when he shifts around every now and again, rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort. Though you think that it might be because of how he’s forced to hunch over every now and again, the tips of his hair brushing against the jagged ceiling whenever the floor of the cave gets too uneven.

The taste of honey dew makes your mouth water, along with a richness similar to the dark colored treats James brings you every once in a while.

“Are we almost there?” James’ hushes them and a frown forms on both their faces. You peer at them with interest.

“James.” The tall one scolds, his throat raspy with sleep. “Don’t ignore us.”

He rolls his eyes, “Yes, yes, we’re almost there. Merlin, all you have to do is wait a few more bloody minutes.”

“Well excuse me if I decide to ask a couple questions when you drag me in the middle of the forbidden forest at this hour.” The tall one hisses back, looking far more lively than he had moments before.

You tug on James’ sleeve, straightening up as his attention instantly falls back to you. “Yes, love?”

You gesture to the cave, turning back to stick your tongue out at the two behind you. Although they're infinitely confused, there’s no doubting the fact that you’ve piqued their interest.

“Bloody brat.” The two mutter in unison.

James ignores them, trying his best to listen to your incomprehensible, but excited mutterings.

“Found the poor thing bathing in a creek when I was roaming around as Prongs.” James sighs, clutching his wand tightly as he walks the familiar path.

They stop just as you reach the entrance to what looks like a house, gazing around in awe as the glass bottles and mason jars start to come to life, fireflies moving around in them restlessly. The unnatural glow coming from the small pond by the back alcove couldn’t be from anything but magic. You lead them further into the room, pointing to the small collection of rocks and other random items, sorted in a chaotic manner.

“Wow.” The shorter one whispers breathlessly.

You push James on your makeshift bed, made up of moss and hay. You sidle up to his side with a contented hum. “Brought her some stuff when I could. But for now I figured I’d share her with m’best mates.”

They both pause at that.

“What?”

“Trust me, the poor thing can barely even understand us.” He assures his tall friend.

Seeing how unconvinced they still were, he sighs and turns to you. You perk up at his attention, letting the small stones you were messing with fall to the floor as you give him a bright smile.

“You’re just a dumb little nymph aren’t you?” He coos down at you. You nod along eagerly, eyes shining with adoration as he mocks you.

“Such a dumb girl, who’s my dumb girl, huh?” His voice was not unlike the voice one would use when speaking to a puppy and you just smiled along, practically bouncing in place at his upbeat tone. You latch onto his arm, fiddling with the fabric on his jacket.

James sighs at your actions, pulling you closer into him, your teeth making a soft ‘click’ every time you bite down on the material.

Sirius gives Remus a heavy look, the long haired boy looking doubtful when Remus walks over, hunching over you. His slender finger trails up and down your calf. “Such a pretty girl.”

You must’ve understood what he said because no sooner did those words leave his mouth, did your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him forward harshly.

With a speed that surprised even him, his arms shot out to either side of your head, letting out a loud groan as a few small rocks dug into his palms, just barely managing to stop himself from crushing you.

You let out a series of loud clicking and chirping noises, unaware of how improper your actions were. He lets out a huff, rising to his knees as you continue to babble nonsensically. “You don’t do that. You understand? Tha’s not nice and someone could’a gotten hurt.” His tone is firm and you squirm in place, peering up at him with wide eyes.

James had never spoken that way to you before.

Bashfully, you turn away from him, hiding your face in the crook of James’ neck. “Hey mate, don’t be rude to my best girl. Just cause I’m sharing ‘er doesn’t mean you need to be a prick to the poor thing.” He grumbles, petting your head softly.

Remus just sighs, shaking his head at you two before calling out, “Are y’just gonna stand there all evenin’?”

Sirius, who was still wandering around the cave, shook his head, as if coming out of a daze. “Sorry mate, s’just cool in here.” He moves to sit down, but freezes when your head snaps to him. You bare your teeth, hissing with furrowed brows as you eye the way he’s just a little too close to James.

James lets out a booming laugh as Sirius’ features morph into a scowl.

Remus slaps James’ arm. “Be nice.”

#hunnie posts ➷#hunnie writes ☀︎#poly!marauders x reader #poly marauders #james potter x reader #james potter blurb #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin blurb #sirius black x reader #sirius black blurb #james potter #remus lupin #sirius black #nymph!reader #pieces of me au

864 notes · View notes

scrupulosity-comics · 1 year ago

Note

hey is racism one of your obsessions? also white and ocd. if it is, how u cope with it? i'm really afraid all the time to hurt my loved ones who are black people, and they're the majority of my loved ones. and how do u identify whats racism from whats an intrusive thought?

Most of my race-related OCD is abstract stuff like “if I move out of my parents’ house and try to live my own life outside of their control, I will have to find somewhere I can afford to pay rent, which will probably mean moving into a low-income neighborhood, which would mean inadvertently helping to gentrify the community, which would gradually push the original residents out of their homes and disrupt community ties and support systems and creating housing insecurity, so therefore I can’t move out or move on”.

I think that’s just part of a larger existential terror that I can only ever make the world worse by living in it—a net harm to the universe, molecule by misspent molecule.

I have been letting this ask sit in my inbox for weeks now because I’m convinced that anything I say will be destructive. What if my answer enables or excuses racism? What if my answer fuels the anguish of the mentally ill?

The rational and compassionate part of my mind insists that your loved ones (and mine!) understand that you (and I) are white, and have likely dealt with white peoples all their lives, and are capable of judging for themselves whether you are good to them and deserving of their intimacy. It is impossible to go through life without hurting and being hurt by people you care about—always you will have blindspots and miscommunications and competing needs. That’s just part of the curse of consciousness and being a social species. We all get a little blood on our hands eventually, one way or another… friendship involves knowing this, accepting this, and committing to avoid it and then, that failed, to make things right.

Again: your friends know you’re white. They have reason to expect the best of you or they wouldn’t be your friends. They choose to have you in their lives; trust them to trust you, and to recognize the difference between a beloved friend struggling with a treacherous and unkind brain and doing their best in an inescapably racist society, and a racist who whose bigotry makes them unworthy of their time and affection.

I do think racism obsessions are a particularly difficult manifestation of OCD to cope with because they’re hard to discuss at all without feeling like you’re implicitly asking for absolution. With other types of OCD, it’s common to seek reassurance that what you’re obsessively afraid of isn’t true—but what feels more racist than asking someone to reassure you that you’re not racist…? LMAO.

They say the “cure” to OCD, such as it is, is just to learn how to embrace the existential horror of uncertainty. Tall fucking order. Hell on Earth! But in a bizarre way I have found the rhetoric that “everyone is unconsciously and incurably racist” to be unexpectedly helpful… there is no total psychological purging and mental purification we can undergo, no amount of ritual self-flagellation that will drive the demons out, no pristine state we can aspire to and hate ourselves for soiling. Only mundane everyday commitments to compassion and empathy and solidarity and cleaning up our messes. But even then, a thought isn’t a mess. A thought I’d not a thing that happened or a choice you made. It doesn’t represent an alternate timeline branching off into a parallel universe where you have acted on it and hurt people.

Earlier this year I was playing a video game—during my lunch break I got to wondering what happened if you failed a skill check that I had passed in my own playthough, so I looked up a clip on YouTube and was so triggered by the answer (the player character calls his companion a racial slur in the heat of the moment, without meaning to, even if you’ve played him as a committed anti-racist) that I immediately spiraled and was close to throwing up in the broom closet, and when I got home I opened my own save and tried to make the player character kill himself as catharsis. It was an incredibly unreasonable guilt response to a completely fictional scenario that I hadn’t even gotten in my own playthrough, but in retrospect it was a safe way to explore fear of my own internalized racism hurting somebody and what might happen if my intrusive thoughts came true. It sucked and it was terrible and I was angry at myself for being crazy about it, but it ended up being a small dose of exposure therapy and practice at not repenting for nonexistent through self-abuse.

I dunno. This has been a long uncomfortably personal ramble but I hope it’s helpful. I don’t know if your friends know you have OCD (or how it manifests) and I don’t know whether telling them would help. But allowing yourself to trust others to trust you is far more useful than beating yourself up for thoughts you don’t want. I have on occasion warned people that I am cautious about doing certain things with them—particularly drinking—because there is a risk that I may spiral and show symptoms humiliating and uncomfortable to both of us, and I don’t want to put them in a position where they witness or feel like they have to help me manage the white guilt elements of my disorder. These conversations have usually gone well, and the mutual understanding to boundaries takes some of the tension out, which seems to reduce the triggers. It’s messy and awkward and maybe it limits who is willing to be friends with me, but IMHO it’s better than surprising someone.

As for determining whether something is an intrusive thought or actual racism, I guess my answer is: does it matter? Would you manage them differently? Intrusive thoughts may be an evil voice in your brain, but racism is an evil voice in society’s brain.

749 notes · View notes

chaethewriter · 2 years ago

Text

with(out) you

Jack Champion x reader

In which Jack follows his dreams, unbeknownst to you hurting.

word count: 2,2k

tagged: @viivvriv @genesis4545 @norrisgf @darkcrusadestrawberry @drxwstxrkxy @wafflehousewrold

A/N: requested by my fellow Jack pookies. this took me 5 hours to write my attention span sucks ass. DON'T GET INTO MY INBOX HATING— JACK IS MY COMFORT RN DURING THESE STRESSFUL WEEKS. Anyway to my other pookies, ily enjoy. <3 tell me what tou thought.

Are y'all in need of a part 2?

Jack's career was skyrocketing. You shouldn't be surprised: an important role in Avatar The Way of Water and Ghostface in the popular Scream franchises with a movie featuring Pedro Pascal on the way. Your boyfriend was going places and you couldn't be prouder, but his career skyrocketing also meant he was highly recommended among casting directors. You should be proud of him. You didn't want to be in the way of his success, but what about your boundaries?

He got fancasted in a romcom on social media, to which he grew interested in. He was the top choice, it was everywhere. The existence of the handsome actor named Jack Champion spread like wildfire. You didn't know all the details, but he got casted as the handsome love interest. Just the way everyone wanted it to be. He was trending thanks to this role and he couldn't wait where it would bring him. You were happy for him, but another side of you couldn't help but feel uncomfortable a the thought. You knew it was work, of course you did. It was part of his work and besides, he loved you, right? But you still felt uncomfortable at the thought of him holding another, kissing another, being another's. You never dared to voice these feelings out, though. And you wished you did.

News got out of the casting of the movie and media went into an uproar, everyone but you. The publicity of the casting meant that filming would start. He asked you to be there for him and you reluctantly agreed. You could follow college online, so you didn't have an excuse not to go with him. Was it selfish of you to think like this? You really wanted to be the supportive girlfriend one would see on television, and you felt bad that you currently weren't that person for him.

"Are you proud of him?" You would answer that question truthfully: with a nod, because you were proud of him and what he had achieved.

Being behind the scenes was anything but exciting. Sitting at a table somewhere behind the crew as you typed away on your laptop. Your gaze would occasionally wander in front of you, craning your neck to see Jack in his glory, working his ass off. You couldn't help but smile as you watched him in his role. It was amazing to see how he could go from being Jack to a fictional character. But your smile faded as the camera was rolling and Jack gave her a look similar in your eyes. A look he gave you when he looked at you. A look that wasn't only yours anymore.

You packed your stuff and discreetly left the scene, phone in hand as your thumbs typed away on the screen.

You should have communicated properly.

Jack's phone buzzed in his mother's pocket.

Her <3: I had to leave in an urgent, ily I'll see you soon.

Your relationship was rocky, not the same as before. Jack wasn't stupid. Something was wrong. He may be busy, but he always noticed any small detail that changed when it came to you. He didn't want to push you, so he decided to not push you further. What a mistake that was.

Not communicating your feelings properly.

Not pushing himself to ask you about it.

Was that your downfall?

With this lack of communication, filming continued, with you out of touch with reality. You still stayed in the city Jack was filming at. You wanted to be there for him, but being on set? That you couldn't do. You would be wandering around the city, sitting at cafes as your gaze would focus on the assignment in front of you. You only saw one another at night, when he met you at his trailer after filming. Sharing a small kiss before heading to sleep.

Even that was taken away from you.

As you, unfortunately, walked in during a kissing scene. A kissing scene that they had to redo continuously. Wrong perspective. Touchier. More passion. You couldn't help but watched how his lips moved in sync with hers as she pulled him down by his collar, his hands on her waist. Their bodies pressed against one another. The camera tilted as he pressed her against a nearby wall, deepening the kiss.

"Cut! That was amazing!"

You had already disappeared amongst the crew, your appearance unbeknownst to Jack.

As well as your feelings.

How could you ever voice yourself?

How could he make you talk?

Since that day, you hadn't kissed him on the lips. They didn't belong to you anymore. Was there anything of him that was still yours?

He had shared his longing gazes, his I love you's, his lips, his touches.

What was still yours?

Could you still call him yours?

Every morning, every night, he had leaned in for a kiss from you. His girlfriend. He didn't feel anything for the kisses he did for work, but yours. Yours would always give him butterflies. Made him feel like he was floating. Made his heart beat faster.

But his heart did the polar opposite.

It broke.

It broke as you leaned to the side, his lips landing against your cheek instead.

What had gone wrong?

He watched your expression. A forced smile. He couldn't help it anymore. He couldn't watch the process of your relationship falling apart.

"Baby, talk to me." His voice was soft as it cracked, holding your cheeks in his hands, basically forcing you close to him. Thus forcing your gazes to lock. Your eyes faltered, tears almost welling up in your eyes. Almost. Then your gaze traveled to his lips. Lips that not only you kissed.

"Soon, Jack." Your lips pressed against the tip of his nose as you lied through your teeth. Not knowing you weren't the only one hurting.

Communicating was important, you knew that. But communicating meant explaining your feelings. It meant ruining Jack's career. You couldn't bare to do that. So during the entirety of filming and after, this pain went on.

Him <3: We will be there in 15, my love <3

Her <3: see you soon x

The premiere of the movie. With flashing cameras, interviews, crowds and the first watch. Jack had picked you up with his mother. You were his plus one, of course he had chosen you as his plus on. Who else could he have chosen? Even though the two of you were arguing and you still didn't talk, he wanted to work this out with you. He had hoped this premiere could bring you closer.

If only he knew.

You stayed in the background as Jack walked past the rolling cameras, microphones pressed into his face as every interviewer wanted the first answers to their questions for the rising star. Beside him stood the his co-star, the two of them smiling as they spoke into the microphone. You envied her. Ironic, envying a girl while you were the girlfriend.

"Everyone was amazing. The crew, the director, the cast. It was an unforgettable experience that for sure made me grow as an actor."

"Yes definitely. Jack was amazing to work with and I look forward to working with him more often. There was a bond that immediately clicked, which helped with our chemistry."

It made you sick to your stomach, watching them bond. Their chemistry had grown so much over the months. While you were brooding about your relationship, the two of them had grown so close. Why couldn't you just tell him how you felt?

With your head full of painful thoughts, Jack took you by the waist as he led you towards the venue. While he was proud to show you off to everyone as the cameras were shooting pictures of you, your mind was elsewhere. If only he had already connected the dots and gotten out of there with him, maybe the night would have turned out different.

At that point, you wanted to be anywhere else but there. The lights were off as the movie played on the big screen. You wanted to look away the entire time, the way your hands fiddled in your lap looking so much more interesting than the screen in front of you. But you wanted to support him, watch him act and praise him for it, so you endured the aching in your heart as you focused on your boyfriend holding another in his arms. Jack took notice of this. If he was honest, he could care less about whatever happened on screen: his gaze was focused on you and you only. The way you reacted to anything on the screen. His eyebrows furrowed, as if it finally settled in what was wrong with you.

"I love you, why don't you understand that?!"

"it will always be you!"

His lips pressed against hers, a heated make out scene on full display. The scene you had walked into. You felt sick in your stomach, tears welling into your eyes. You couldn't make a fool out of yourself, so you got up and left. Just like that. He watched you leave and shot up from his seat himself, covering most of the screen for the people behind him. He mumbled soft apologies as he rushed after you.

He had to find you and this time, he would make you talk.

To your dismay, he had found you fast. His long legs keeping up with your shorter ones. You stood in the middle of some empty hallway with your back facing him, your face in your hands as you sobbed. All the emotions you had kept inside you were bursting out, all at once. You were definitely overreacting. He was just doing his job, but why did it hurt?

"babe?" his voice rang through your head. He couldn't see you like this. You have been rubbing your eyes, your makeup was smudged for sure. He stepped towards you, slow but steady, "please talk to me? Don't tell me you're fine. Since I got casted you have been so off.." His voice trailed off, as if the realization finally hit. You were hurting. And it was his fault. The realization made him lunge himself at you, his hands settled on your waist as he pulled you closer. You felt your heart crack.

That wasn't only yours either. You pushed him away with your elbows, thus making him stumble back. "You're not mine anymore."

What?

Not yours?

You owned his heart. You carried it with you everywhere you went, unbeknownst to you. Your name was engraved into his heart. It was beating for you, and only you. He was yours. His mind, body and soul was yours.

"I'm yours, everything that has to do with me is yours."

You snapped. All your frustrations shot out, like lava escaping an active volcano.

You turned to him, your face covered in smudges as your hot tears rolled down your face. "Do you know how it feels to see my boyfriend be someone else's?! You held her like you do with me, you looked at her like you do with me. Hell, you never kissed me like you did with HER. So no, you're not mine. Because when I look at you, I just see you with HER. I can't do it Jack, and I'm sorry."

You held your arms to your chest, as if you tried to protect yourself from further heartbreak. The sight broke him. He never meant to hurt you and he wanted to prove you. A step closer to you was all it took for you to stumble backwards, "why didn't you tell me? I would have understood. Babe, We could have fixed this early on."

"No, Jack. Holding you back was never my intention. And look at you, this romance role made you skyrocket," your voice cracked, "you're a star Jack."

"If being a star means I am hurting you, then I don't want it. You don't hold me back, you could never hold me back. Please, I will do whatever to be with you. There are enough roles for me to get that doesn't include intimacy! Like horror roles, a cool badass side character. There is so much." he was rambling and he knew that. But he couldn't help it. He had to do whatever to make you stay.

"You always wanted to be a star and reach the charts, you-"

"I LOVE YOU! It will always be you! You would always be on my first place! I can't do this without you, please." That sounded incredibly similar. A familiar scream, so echoey that they had gained peoples attention. Phones were taken out, as well as flickering lights filling the room. But he could care less, he needed to fix this.

Yet you were thinking the complete opposite. You had to leave, you couldn't handle crowds. You could hear his pleads as you tried your best to make your way out.

He watched you leave, his tears rolling down his face as his hands were in his hair.

"Jack! Mind telling us what was going on?"

"Jack! Are you officially single now?!"

"Jack smile for us please!"

"Jack here!"

"Jack this way!"

Overwhelmed.

Aching.

He got on his knees as he cried, his face in his hands as he begged everyone to leave him alone. Begged them to let him cry at your departure.

This was his dream, but at what cost?

#chaethewriter #jack champion #jack champion x reader #jack champion imagine #jack champion is taking my brain over #jack champion headcannons #jack champion imagines #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader

1K notes · View notes

amerricanartwork · 11 months ago

Note

late holiday gift :D

@pansear-doodles , you strike again, but this time I shall RETALIATE!!

Firstly, I was not expecting something like this from anyone honestly, so thank you so much for the gift!! It's the first time I've ever seen anyone else draw my avatar thing before, but it looks cute in your style! Heck, I think this may be the first time anyone online (besides some Discord friends) has drawn stuff for me, so it's very thoughtful of you!

But this time you won't get away with dropping a drawing in my inbox without me returning the favor! You see, Pansear, I've wanted to draw characters of yours for a while now, and originally I was gonna do it as a Christmas gift, but when I wasn't able to finish in time I thought it may have been too late. BUT NOW you've given me the PERFECT excuse to share it, so...

Here we are! A couple sketches of your anthro Hunter (ft. a very enthusiastic Arti)!

Let me tell you, I've wanted to draw some of your designs for a while now, especially Hunter because your design for them reminds me so much of a fox and wolf and I love those already Plus, anthro anatomy is something I have been pondering for at least a year now, so it's nice to finally get to use it for legitimate art! AND this gave me a chance to practice more digital painting! But I didn't know if you'd find me weird for just randomly sketching your characters one day, so I wanted to wait until I had the proper excuse, which I do now!!

Well, merry (pretty late) Christmas, Pansear! Thanks again for the gift! Hope you like yours! :D

212 notes · View notes

dilutedconfusion · 4 months ago

Note

I love the way you write! I love Kid! I need Kid!! 😩

Anyway, happy to rewad whatever you write, but if this request inspires you, by all means, I would LOVE to read it.

I'm thinking about some protective, possessive stuff! Reader gets kidnapped and subdued. Or gets beaten, life hanging by a thread.

And Kid just goes ape shit. NSFW obviously because Kid is going to rip some troaths and all that protectiveness makes reader a little crazy.

Does this tickle your fancy? Writer's choice on everything, really. I would just love a crazy protective Kid.

Kudos for all your work and thank you for sharing your talent! 👏🏻❤️

I’M SO DEEPLY SORRY FOR HOW LONG THIS TOOK ME. I don’t know how long this request was sitting in my inbox but I APOLOGIZE and I hope this fic makes up for it 🧎‍♀️

OKAY besides that you didn’t have to be that nice 🫵 Like seriously making me blush and stuff you’re so sweet ilysm🤭 And since I literally cannot control myself I went a little overboard. I wasn’t planning on writing so much and I wasn’t planning on making it so intense I suppose. But you asked for possessive, life hanging by a thread, kidnapped scenario so here you go! I should’ve made it more NSFW in the more sexual way less gore way. But alas this request is more horror and fluff than anything. Oh and I also made the pronouns gender neutral because you didn’t specify so I hope that’s okay with you! I need to write more gender neutral readers anyways so it was a good excuse. I hope you enjoy it!

Shades of Red

Eustass Kid x GenderNeutral!Reader

Summary: You got kidnapped by bounty hunters. Suffice to say you and Kid aren’t taking it very well. Kid goes a little crazy and does some particular bloody things. It has a good ending though so no worries👍

Horror?? And Fluff I suppose.

Warnings: LOTS of explicit gore and blood.

Word Count: 8.1k

Water was thicker than blood.

Well, you had always known that. From your first cut as a child that was an otherworldly sting. It had felt so foreign from your previous non-existence. Pain was juvenile to you. Something to be feared in its unknowing nature. Something that would stain clothes. Stain water.

There was specific soft vignette of red reminded you of the way light looked behind your eyelids. Warm with light yellow tones around the edges. The tingle of your smooth skin left you to almost sparkle. A man adorned in all shades of red as if it was the only color that fit him.

As if it was the only color you ever wanted to look at. A color you desperately tried to view positively despite what was happening. Despite the splatters around you.

You hadn’t felt the sun in a while. Skin growing paler and colder with each passing night. The sun was a mere sixty feet above you since the earth swallowed you whole. An insistent dripping against your scalp made you want to snap your jaw in half. Digging into your skull to rip out the part of you that could still feel.

A puddle of water lay at your feet. The water from the unstable ceiling would constantly drip downwards. Drifting onto the chains that held up your arms to keep you on your knees. Swirling down your bruised wrists and dripping from your elbows. Going down your spine with a consistent cold shiver running through you. Your eyelashes dripped like crystals as your head hung low. Watching the water drip off your chin or the tip of your nose.

The puddle of water beneath you was stained red. Letting you watch as your blood swirled in its mirror-like gaze. Face to face with yourself until another drop landed and ripples formed.

The same sight over and over again. The same pain over and over again for what felt like weeks.

But you knew it hadn’t been that long despite how the hours crawled forwards. It took a lot of work being captured but at least the water kept you clean.

Your kidnappers wouldn’t want their little plaything any other way.

There was no enjoyment in watching you bleed if you were already bloody. They liked to start a fresh slate to give the blood some contrast.

Nothing has been explained to you. Not a single peep of why you were here, what they were trying to achieve, and why they decided to keep you alive. Any person who walked through the iron door in front of you stayed close to silent. Only opening their mouths to give orders or berate you. Those orders were always just to eat your food under the watchful eye of a guard. To get up and follow them to the bathroom during scheduled times. Not another beaten to near-death person in sight. It seemed like it was just you and them down here surprisingly. Either that or they wanted to make it seem that way. There wasn’t even a request made or some form of labor being put onto you.

You always listened because frankly, you had no other choice. These chains were tight and you were always guarded. As strong as you were, you were still weak. And as smart as you were, you had made the horrible decision to venture off on your own.

Some stupid fucking idea Kid would’ve called it. You could hear his yelling and screaming over you now. Pacing the tiny cell and telling you how much of an idiot you had been. How he had ordered you to stay with your assigned group on this last mission. That he expected more from you and he’d never seen you act this stupid. How he would leave you behind next time because he didn’t want to deal with your shit anymore.

Yet he cried the first time you got badly injured. Held you like a baby and took you to the infirmary just to scream and break an innocent chair. You never took his fits seriously because underneath it all you could feel guilt coming off him in waves. You could see the fear fermenting in a supposedly fearless man's eyes.

You supposed that keeping you captive, keeping you docile enough to not try anything, was a way to lure Kid into some kind of trap. He was a man with a high bounty and a lot to lose. And they must’ve guessed his lover was something worth fighting for.

But it had been too long and your throat grew tired of screaming and cussing out the world. They had you locked up tight, underground, on an island you traveled to by boat with your head stuck in a sack the whole ride there. Every box was checked off when it came to the perfect kidnapping. Nobody had even seen it happen so they had to have left some sort of cryptic note for the crew to find.

Or at least you hoped so.

There was a slim chance that they had no idea what happened to you. That this place was just a pit stop until you got sold to the Celestial Dragons. Or maybe until they worked out a deal with the navy for your head.

You desperately pleaded and hoped that these people were greedy. That whatever amount of money the dragons would pay or the small sum of your bounty wasn’t enough for them. They wanted Kid and all his other higher-ranking members so at least they would know where you are. They would be coming after you.

Yet thinking like that kept you in a whirlwind of guilt.

I fucked up. I deserve to die here. They shouldn’t…no…they can’t get involved in this. Their dreams are too important to get caught right now. Right when we were so close.

At some point your pain, your suffering, and self-loathing almost became…comical.

The mirth of it came out in crazed laughter. Looking down at yourself in the puddle's reflection as your laughing permanently bounced around the stone walls. A big smile on your face yet your eyes were screaming. Leaving an ominous, nearly insane echo to be heard throughout the facility.

The room was small and enclosed around you. Your eyes were dizzy as the world spun. Before the weight of reality struck you again, bringing you down from your manic high. Heart beating in your ears as you gasped for air, tears streaming into the bloody puddle once again.

Pain wasn’t juvenile to you anymore. But the more you lost yourself, the more you started to wish it were.

—————

This pain was juvenile. New and fresh despite being torn from an old wound. As if someone had dug into Kid's brain just to remind him of exactly how it felt to lose. Exactly how it felt to be hopeless once again.

He thought he would’ve known what to do, how to handle this. And for the most part, he did.

But in the empty cold spaces when no one was around. Whether that was the bathroom, his room, or the silent deck in the night, he broke.

There was no more sucking it up, no more biting his lips, no more anxious scratching of his skin or grinding of his teeth that could save him from the way he felt.

It should’ve been me.

Oh, how he wished he was angry and dare say he was. When Dive had informed him that you weren’t with her. That during a raid in your small group off in the safer corner of the fight, away from him you, had disappeared.

Just poof into thin air without informing anyone of where you went.

He had lost it.

That village burned that night. Warm fires in every inch, every crevice, and every person mauled. Each one of them did not know what happened. Not a boat spotted leaving the island. Not a single trace of where you had gone.

That anger hasn’t stopped. It’s still just as potent, just as ferocious and terrifying. More blood-curdling and scream-inducing than hell itself. Kid had felt more people's bodies go cold in his grip in the last few days than he had most of his life.

He wanted to feel it. He wasn’t killing for convenience so an annoying crowd surrounding him would break. He wanted to hurt people, to kill the right person as brutally as he could in case they had any chance of being involved with your disappearance. He took down that village of thugs, burned and quartered every man on a passing ship, and started bouncing to all the nearby islands looking to do just the same.

But so far he’d come up empty. Not a sign, not a note, not a welcomed reunion between the two of you. He’d walk into a building or down into the deeper levels of a ship screaming your name. Eyes blurring to find no one but the dead. All that hope in him snuffed out to embers. His crew watching little parts of him die.

So amid silence, when the pain that he should’ve been handling, that he should be familiar with resurfaced, he cried. He’d kneel over on the floor or press himself against a banister to weep. That low rugged voice gasping for air as he struggled not to choke. Wiping his eyes, his hands reaching out and grasping at the air for childlike comforts. The remembrance of your soft skin dancing along his fingers. Your soothing voice told him that it was going to be okay. He could nearly see you in front of him. Those eyes of yours filled with so much love for a fool like him. His chest hurt so bad he could feel bile building up in his throat. Swallowing it down through wet sniffles and snot-covered lips.

He was a mess. If he didn’t find you soon…he didn’t know what he would do. He wondered if you left on purpose. That you didn’t love him anymore and left without saying anything. Without taking any of your belongings because you were so utterly desperate to get away.

Finding his touch disgusting, his love suffocating, and his personality exhausting.

He wouldn’t have blamed you if that was the truth. It took a lot to love someone like him which is why it's never happened before. At least not in a romantic way.

He never told anyone that he thought this. Because he knew that they would all brush it aside. Saying that you would never leave him and you were far too in love with him to do something like that. But the idea dug in like a lobotomy through his eye. It was piercing him until he tore apart into someone he wasn’t. His face just shards in a broken mirror.

He needed to know what had happened even if you did leave on purpose. Because on the chance that you didn’t, that someone had hurt you, then there was a price to pay in blood.

And Kid intended to squeeze out every last drop of it.

—————

It had been a normal day underground.

The newspaper was in his hand as he slumped slightly in his chair. The hallway is just as cold as ever. The watch on his wrist ticked and the camera's persistent red light monitored the area.

He knew he couldn’t doze off. After the captives' recent round of hysterical laughter, he knew they were on edge. Of course, he had solved the problem as was ordered. Bringing earplugs just in case the laughing kept going on but the brass knuckles seemed to do the trick. But of course, he and the other men had made a bit of a mess. The whole room smelled of copper from the blood and could nearly smell it oozing out of the cracks of the door.

It was as if it was still painting his skin with that lovely shade of red. Darkened and dried into the cracks of his hands as he washed it off. Now leaving him without a trace, hoping to chase that high again despite this person being ‘precious cargo’.

Though you couldn’t have been that precious considering they were pawning you off to the navy. They usually wanted all bounties dead or alive. But this was a special case where the navy wanted you alive for questioning. And that no matter how much his boss wanted to, they couldn’t question the captive under certain terms. They were bounty hunters, not pirates, so any shred of information about this big-shot Eustass Kid was like gold to them.

I don’t know why we’re not interrogating them anyway. They already look like they're losing a couple of screws, might as well dig deeper and see what pops up. It's not like the navy will figure it out.

He let out a little grunt of anger, flipping to the next page with a grimace. His boss was a careful man with very specific plans. Finding this little victim perfectly alone and ripe for the taking was a strike of luck. But because his boss was always prepared for an opportunity, they snatched you up while on the run off an island. Taking to sea as a raid ensued and followed suit to their hideout so hidden not even the town uptop knew about it.

They had done this before and they would do it again. There were even a few other inmates locked up in different sectors. They were never allowed to see each other just in case they tried some kind of revolution. So they all roamed the halls and went to the bathrooms at different times. It was the perfect kidnapping scheme. Letting them slowly rake in the big money without putting themselves in danger.

He heard a rattling of chains from inside the room. Starting slow but slowly getting a bit louder. A light rumbling came from it as the unstable ceiling pinned with metal to hold up the chains groaned.

He slapped down his newspaper in his lap, turning his head towards the door with a yell. “Shut the fuck up in there! You need something, you're going to have to wait for it!”

He turned back to his newspaper letting out a little groan as the rattling stopped. Not a single word came through the door so clearly it was for nothing.

Goddamn, I swear they just do this shit to mess with me.

He shifted a bit in his seat to get more comfortable. Smacking his lips as he eased down. Taking a quick look at his watch to check how long it was until they were given another scheduled bathroom break.

An hour? I swear if this motherfucker pisses themselves again I’m going to hose them down till they bleed.

Another grumble of annoyance rose in his throat. Rolling his eyes a bit as he scratched at the back of his head. Suddenly he heard the same stupid chain rattling. This time much louder and quicker as it scraped and groaned at the ceiling. Cracking his jaw before slamming down his newspaper on the floor and getting up. Opening the small slot just at eye level to look inside.

“I swear to fucking god if you don’t quit that shit right now say goodbye to food for a while you piece of shit!” He watched you with a burning in his eyes. Your face tilted downwards towards the floor like always. Unresponsive and half-dead looking from all the wetness crawling over you. Like some sort of bog demon rattling at the chains and tugging on them incessantly.

He slammed on the door trying to gain your attention. The loud metal banging didn’t make you flinch in the slightest. “Hey! Do you hear me right now you crazy bitch? If you don’t stop I’m coming in there and you know what that means.” He nearly growled, his voice presently hungry for another beating session.

You didn’t stop, if anything you made it worse. Flinging your weak body a bit as you gripped onto the chains. Putting your weight into it so the metal slammed against itself. The stone ceiling crumbling a bit as a rumbling ensued.

“God fucking damn it!” He screamed, his slightly sweaty hands gripping the key on his belt. Ripping it off him, he undid the latch and pushed the door open. His feet walked over blood stains and wet puddles as he latched the keys back on. Cracking his knuckles as he hovered over you. “Is this what you want?! Wanna feel my fucking hands beat into you?!” He quickly grabbed you by the hair tugging your face up to look at him. Your face vacant and almost lifeless.

You finally stopped rattling the chains and pulling at them. Hands falling limping and racking against the cuffs. He held his fist in the air ready to punch you. Looking forward to that sweet silence he oh so craved. But for some reason, the rumbling didn’t stop.

Your chains had already stilled. The ceiling still shaking slightly and sprinkling dust. A crescendo of rumbling shooting across the floor and up into his bones.

He looked up and around the room. Still holding onto your hair tightly as he tried to figure out what was going on.

Is that an earthquake?

But the rumbling got louder. Nearly chattering in his skull. His grip loosed slowly, letting you set your head down but you didn’t. You stayed looking up at him. Sweat was building in his palms when suddenly the lights went out all at once. Sharp static flickers and fuses snapping in time.

But then rumbling stopped. Filling the room with a dark silence so thick he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Grabbing onto his flashlight at his side he felt this horrible feeling of anxiety growing in his gut.

I’m fine. Everything’s fine. We’re prepared for an earthquake and this power outage is probably just part of it.

His thumb traced over the button to turn on his flashlight. But through the open door, he heard it. His body freezing in place as if he was frozen in ice.

It was screaming. Not just a light yell of panic or someone barking orders. It was true blood gurgling screaming coming from somewhere in the facility. Echoing off the stone walls as he slowly turned his head around. Pointing his flashlight at the cell entrance before flicking on the light.

It quickly filled up the space with a warm circle of light. But instead of the light shining onto stones in the hallway, it hit something else.

A wall of blood in the shape of a man.

Bright and rich in color it reflected into the guard's eyes. It was visibly dripping and he could nearly feel the heat coming off of it. Not a spec of skin or clothing was visible from how thickly it managed to glob onto his wide demeaning chest.

The guard blinked as if caught in a dream. His mouth moved to say something but it was far too dry. As if all the life had been sucked out of him at that very moment.

He saw some sort of metal arm on the monsters left-hand side. His eyes carefully tracing down it in the dark to spot the shiny glimmers of blood of what looked like a human spine in its grasp, half of it trailing off onto the floor. The bones cracked loudly under his grasp, making the guard flinch backward, almost stumbling into you behind him.

The man sucked in a gasp of air. Tears filled his eyes at the horrid monster in front of him. Tilting the flashlight upwards until it reached the monsters face.

If he knew any better, he would’ve never done that.

His face was equally covered in blood. Slightly smeared around so bits of his pale skin shot through. His shiny scars and pinned-up goggles on his head gleamed light back at him. Damp hair from all the blood lying down onto his skin.

But the worst part was his eyes.

That burned into the guard's mind. So horrid. So piercing he felt his breathing stall. Almost choking on nothing as he felt himself passing out. The darkness around him turned darker but the monster wouldn’t allow that.

The monsters body bounded forward. His metal hand letting go of the spine as he dropped it with a wet thud on the floor. The wall of blood came closer with each loud thundering footstep. He grabbed the guard by the head, fitting his entire skull into his metal fist. Picking him up off the floor easily and clamping down around his skull. Feeling it splinter and almost cave under the pressure. The guards screams were muffled as he clawed at the metal arm. Kicking his feet in the air and almost hitting you in the process.

The monster turned towards the door once again, away from you before the final snap ensued. A loud deafening crack and then nothing but the sounds of warm blood sputtering on the floor. The man's flashlight fell to the ground. Rolling across the stone to cast an eerie light across you.

The room stayed silent for a while before he dropped the man's body to the floor carelessly. Blinking tirelessly to spot the monsters shadow in the dark with tear filled eyes.

“K-Kid?” you murmured. Your voice was so rasp and weak he could barely hear it. Turning around to face something he could hardly stomach to see.

His eyes traced over you like he almost didn’t think you were real. Soaked from head to toe in water, you kneeled in front of him in a pool of blood. Dark deep bruises on every visible limb. You’re lip cut and swollen as it wobbled from the tears. Tears coming out of a very prominent black eye with red lacerations all around your face. Your clothing torn and in shambles, as they stuck uncomfortably tight to your wet skin.

Kid had seen the inside of many men but the sight of you nearly broke him apart.

Your disheveled features and colorless lifeless skin made his breathing hitch. Tears instantly flooded his eyes just to drip down his face. Mixing in with the blood now drying on his skin. His heart tore in two as he nearly fell into you. His large knees hit the hard ground and splashed up the puddle of blood. Wrapping you in a warm gooey hug he gripped his hand into your hair, shoving his head into the crook of your neck.

“I’m s-sorry…I’m so sorry…I’ll never let this happen again.” He croaked out into your ear between sniffles. Your hands were still bound so you couldn’t grip him. Just tugging at the chains helplessly as you let out a wry whimper of pain.

“K-Kid…” you mumbled, the crying getting even worse, “I thought I was dead…I-I missed you so fucking much. I’m so sorry I fucked up…I..” You trailed off into a whimper. Words escaping you as reality became as sharp as a knife, yet comforting as his touch.

Hearing your voice caused him to let out a weak gasp of pain. Trying to be gentle as he gripped his flesh arm around you a bit tighter. His metal one at your side, both arms desperately trying to not put pressure on your wounds. With a little flash of purple lightning escaping his hand and tingling the back of your head, your chains came off. Bruised weak wrists getting an instant relief as your arms swung down to land weakly onto his shoulders. The blood rushed back into them as you gripped him tightly, pressing your chest flush against his despite all the blood.

Without a word, he tucked his metal arm under your legs. Scooping you up easily, he kept your face pressed against his chest. Walking out into the hallway as his feet dodged the guard's body and left over spine.

“I want you to keep your eyes closed okay baby? Just stay up against my chest until we get out of here.” He mumbled to you softly. Listening to your staggered breathing as you cried on him.

You barely even heard him. Just shoving your face further upwards until you reached the crook of his neck. Closing your eyes as you tried to take deep breaths. Fingers nearly clawing into his sticky blood-stained back as if he was going to disappear.

Kid traced his bloodied footsteps back from where he came from. Finding a few splattered bodies along the way. The worst of it was at the entrance. Clasping onto the back of your head a bit tighter he dug his hand into your hair. Glancing weakly over at the piles of dead bodies still warm and oozing onto the floor.

Every single person in this underground facility was completely slaughtered and he made sure of it. The rest of the inmates the crew found in separate cells set free. Running out into the night with a smile and urgency like never before.

Honestly, he didn’t even realize he had gone so far until it was over. Having slashed every single person that came his way into loose mangles. Usually, he’d move on to the next person when a deathly slash was inflicted on them. But he couldn’t stop, rumbling the whole underground facility as he tore into stone and bone. Effectively splattering his entire body with a thick layer of blood.

A part of him still hadn’t calmed down since then. His eyes were still jumpy as he used his haki to check his surroundings. There was no relief for him until you were home, safe, and healing. No amount of blood could quell how his heart clenched for you.

His crew, who was guarding the entrance for any extra visitors, saw you curled in his arms. Some opened their mouths to say something but Kids eyes stopped them. Your sniffles turned to silence as you stilled against his chest. There would be no grand reunion until you were home. Exhaustion covered you like a blanket as he walked you out into the warm air of freedom.

—————

It was an aching feeling. First at the crux of your back on something far too stiff then into a plush embrace. Your head lulls backward into something to catch you. Tight itchy fabric fumbling you awake. Peeling your slightly crusted-over eyes open and expecting to see that same blinding light from before. To hear only the muffled voices of those around you as you barely stayed lucid. But the world had cleared and surprisingly you weren’t somewhere sterile, you were somewhere warm.

The rafters of the wood above you creaked as the boat shifted on the sea. The room was dark and drafty as a window nearby blew in sweet cold air. That familiar scent of the briny seaweed lapping at your nose. You tried to sit up and immediately were met with a warm hand across your chest, pushing you back down.

“Quit moving.” With a turn of your head against the pillow you saw Kid lying mostly naked on his stomach beside you. His hair was loose and hung a bit over his eyes and the back of his neck. Soft and relaxed and not spiked like most people saw it. One side of his pale face squished against the maroon pillow. Blinking at you tiredly in the low light of the dark.

“Shouldn’t I be…in the infirmary?” You mumbled, softly touching his hand now laying on your chest. Feeling along his fingertips and the deep scars on his skin.

He immediately grimaced at that, letting out a gruff groan as he sat up slightly to roll onto his side. Now facing you more directly but keeping his hand softly over your chest as if to feel your heartbeat. “I’m the Captain and I’ll put you where I want you. You didn’t need to stay there anyway. The worst is over and I’m watching over you. Like that doctor could ever take care of you like I can…”

He rolled his eyes, knowing damn well no one knew you like he did. He may not have the medical experience but he was going to take care of you, it's the least he could do. You watched him silently for a moment, chewing your otherwise slightly split lip tenderly. Your other free hand feeling at the bandages around your hips. The doctor seemingly left you only a roll or two away from being a mummy.

“I don’t…I don’t remember what happened.” You said a bit hesitantly. Everything after him saving you felt like a fever dream. It was hard to tell what was real and what wasn’t. Kid could see the uncertainty written deep into your brow. Taking his hand and running it up to swipe his thumb over your cheek.

“I brought you home and patched you up. You mumbled and cried the whole time in the infirmary. Clinging onto me and whimpering like a dog through all the stitches,” he said with a slight huff of a laugh before mellowing back down into something solemn, “but you’re okay. Nothing severe.”

A little part of you eased into that knowledge. His hand against your cheek feeling like perfection.

I’m okay. You repeated in your head. Your eyes fluttering slightly as they became more foggy with tears. Wet crystal like droplets in the corners of your eyes.

Kid saw this and slightly panicked. Not wanting you to cry anymore, your eyes still puffy from all the tears you had already shed. He slipped his hand off your face and started to sit up. His big body making the bed shake a little as he started to stand up.

“I can go grab you some food. They put you on a IV from all the blood loss so you must be feeling shitty.” He mumbled, the cadence of his words a bit hitched and frantic. You quickly reached out and grabbed his arm, tugging on it slightly to bring him back down.

“No…no it's okay. Maybe in a bit but…” you paused, his head turned back towards you as he watched the tears well up even more, “Kid I-”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

He had cut you off. Leaving you to nearly let out a whimper of pain. You’re chest swimming with guilt as he lets you ease him back into bed. Sitting up and looking down at you with his legs crossed.

His face was starkly stiff as he watched you. Those golden globes of his muddy with feelings yet you barely even noticed. Having trouble looking right at him as you stared down at the bed. “But I fucked up. I mean I badly fucked up. I put all of you at risk and I acted so selfishly thinking I could go out on my own-”

“Baby it's fine.” You let out a shaky huff of air when he cut you off again. Not feeling at all comforted despite his version of ‘fine’. With your face becoming a mess of lines and reddened cheeks he could see you were hanging off the edge. And no matter how much he wanted to drag you off of it, no matter how much he didn’t want to see you cry, he let you talk. Your voice coming out in barely composed gasps.

“But it's not though. I just…I want you to know I’ll never do that again. I won’t go against your plans. I won’t be overly confident in the face of battle. I got myself in that mess and I can’t imagine how hard it was to try and pry me out. All that time wasted…” At this point, a tear had already slipped down your cheek. The side of your face pressed deeply into the pillow as if you were trying to burrow your way out of this. Not looking at him once. Just curling yourself up into a ball of shame in front of him.

He hated every second of it.

“Wasted? It wasn’t a waste because I wanted to do it. I needed to do it. Every person I killed and every single moment spent towards finding you instead of going after my goals was worth it. I’ll set aside days, months, years-shit my whole fucking life to find you. So stop that.” He paused, looking around the room for a moment to gather his thoughts. Your whimpers had gone a bit quiet. Looking up at him almost a bit anxiously from his annoyed tone. Not feeling any better despite how passionate he was about saving you.

You still were curled in a ball with tears in your eyes and he wanted anything but that. So taking another deep shaky breath he continued in a softer tone. “You can do whatever you want during a battle and we all know my plans aren’t foolproof. If I didn’t listen to you, if this whole crew didn’t listen to you on occasion, this boat would be 100 feet under. You didn’t put us at risk, we’re always at risk.” His voice was stern but sincere. Looking down at your gorgeous face despite the tears just hoping and wishing you understood how he felt.

“Quit making it sound like you did something wrong…” He grumbled, scratching the back of his head lightly.

You didn’t say anything right away. Letting his words stew and ferment in your mind. They eased down into something more manageable. The silence between you is a bit uncomfortable but necessary. Kid eyeing you with a worried expression as you slowly composed yourself. Using the back of your hand to wipe your tears as you sniffled lightly. Unfurling yourself a bit and un-shoving half your face out of the pillow.

“Did they leave a note or did you just find me?” You murmured out, voice weak but more steady. Kid didn’t expect that to be your first question, he wanted to hear you forgive yourself but he supposed seeing you calmer was enough. His fingers fiddlingwith the legs of his boxers a bit to distract himself from how nervous he felt.

“There was nothing. I went to all the surrounding islands before I landed on the one you were at. The ‘boss’ of that so-called operation was planning to give your head to the navy. Spineless slimy fucking bastard should’ve never touched you. Shoulda never left you out there.” He didn’t look at you much as he spoke. Chewing on his words a bit and thinking it over. He could still see that boss in front of him. Spine ripped out clean as he lay there on the floor. His little spineless joke had made a few crew members laugh, but he held himself back from trying it on you. It wasn’t the time.

“Kid, you were busy fighting the big shots. That’s how it always works. I’m the idiot who got swept up when no one was watching.” Your voice came out more pleading. Not expecting Kid to be talking bad about himself for what happened. To you, it seemed like it was completely your fault, but clearly, Kid thought differently.

“First off, you're not an idiot. Smartest damn person I know.” He exclaimed, pointing his finger at you. His eyes meeting yours in a much more serious tone. “Secondly, I’m keeping you closer from now on and we're making you a vivire card. I don’t know why I haven’t until now. What a fucking idiot move that was.”

You watched as he swept back his hair again. The very soft-looking curls of his hair becoming more fluffy as they sat in a cute-looking wave on his head. You eyed him a bit, eyes narrowing as you regarded yet another way he was putting himself down. “Well if I can’t call myself an idiot then you can’t either. So stop that. You…thought you were enough to protect me. To keep me by your side at all times. That’s not an idiot move because you do protect me. You always have.” You tried to say that with so much certainty that Kid could feel it. But of course, he still seemed a bit pissed. Looking away from you again and back down at his lap.

“Well, aren’t you being too kind to a guy who let you down…” You frowned at that. Knowing for a fact Kid wasn’t the kind of guy who liked talking about his feelings you didn’t decide to dig deeper. But you still wanted to know what happened. Why Kid seems so bummed despite you being safe.

“You…you were covered in blood when I saw you down there. What…happened?” You asked quietly, picking together parts of your memory to try to make sense of it.

He hesitated. Swallowing thickly before giving you the only answer that wouldn’t make him out to be so…horrible. “I did my job.” It was a good enough answer. He could see by the way your eyes squinted it wasn’t quite what you wanted but you didn’t say anything more. “And don’t worry. The crew hosed me down before I got on the ship. Didn’t want to stain the tub. I knew you woulda clawed my eyes out if I did. But I washed us nice and clean. Under your nails and behind your ears and everything. You just conked out on my chest…which was rather cute by the way.”

The idea of you asleep against his chest as he washed you made your heart skip. Feeling a small smile quirk at your lips imagining him taking care of you so well. “I…I missed bath time? Dang it. I can never convince you to take a bath with me usually.”

“Well, you can put me in another one of those death traps soon if you want to.” Kid let out a sigh, feigning annoyance but smiling down at you regardless.

“Good because I was going to guilt you into it again anyway.” You quipped, your smile becoming more mischievous as you gripped onto the blanket near you and hid part of your blushing face.

Kid couldn’t help but laugh at that a little. Eyes narrowing as he watched you, his voice coming far out more smooth and sweeter. “Of course you were.”

“Oh and umm…thank you for cleaning me up. I wasn’t going to claw your eyes out necessarily. Getting covered in blood wasn’t your fault or anything.” You mumbled, fingers now tracing the texture of the blanket as you spoke.

Kid watched you for a second before responding. Chewing the truth and deciding to ask just in case you did remember too much. “It sorta was…I mean I overdid it. You don’t…remember too much of it right?” His voice hitched a bit at the end there. Eyes more wide and expectant as if he knew you were going to nag at him for how…extra he had been.

“Too much of what? I mean…I remember the guard getting…crushed. I don’t think I could ever forget that. And seeing you all covered in blood is still pretty vivid in my mind.” You said innocently as if even that didn’t bother you. You knew Kid could be a cruel man in battle and had gotten used to it. So you didn’t get what he seemed so worked up about.

“Well…that’s not exactly ideal but better than nothing.” Kid stroked his hair again, a nervous habit that always gave him away. The corners of his eyes tightened and his gaze went anywhere but you.

“What? Did something bad happen after you saved me?”

“More like…before I saved you. And it was all over the ground. Lots of guts and gross shit I don’t need you seeing.” Kid's answer rolled off his tongue awkwardly and slowly as if he was cringing the whole way through it.

“You saying I can’t handle gore and stuff? You know I can.”

You piping up defensively instead of in utter disgust for him was a bit of a shock. Kids lack an eyebrow raised in confusion. Looking over you and seeing that in fact you weren’t barfing in your mouth a little.

Well then clearly they didn’t see it. They weren’t lying.

“Well it was especially…gross this time. Even Killer complained that I accidentally splattered him.”

Your eyes widened at that. Finally putting it together just how far Kid must’ve gone when battling that crew. You looked him up and down a bit more carefully and still didn’t see a single wound. Which meant it wasn’t for fighting reasons, it was for you.

“Really? Well…shit. Killer is like…the king of being chill with a bunch of blood on him. Must’ve been bad.”

Killer really was the king of being okay with blood and gore. It's one of the reasons Kid had become so proficient in handling it himself. So for Killer to complain despite being the very man that taught Kid how to rip spines out cleanly was unexpected. Dare say concerning.

“It…was.” Kid swallowed a bit thickly, still almost ashamed of how he acted despite how good it felt. He was mainly just worried about your opinion of him. He didn’t want you knowing how brutal he could really be but from the light smile on your face, he realized you took it more as a compliment than anything.

“Then um…thank you for protecting me and my soft little mind.” You reached out timidly and touched his knee in front of you. Patting his thigh softly before mindlessly tracing little patterns on his skin. It made sparks fly up his spine feeling the soft pads of your fingers on him. His cheeks turning red as he watched your hand. Not at all interfering with the little ways you showed him you cared.

“You don’t need to thank me.” He said quietly, pausing for a moment before chewing on another thought. It made him nervous to say this. Hell, he would rather talk about anything else. But with a feigned layback attitude, he let it go. His heart far too heavy to keep it inside anymore. “Ya know…for a second there I thought you mighta left me. Got tired of the whole pirate life. Found some other man…to wash behind your ears.”

You listened to his soft mumbling, eyes hazy with tiredness now turning sharp from the shock. “Wah-Why would you ever think that Kid? I’d never leave you. Even thinking about it is making me uncomfortable.” You stopped tracing his thigh. Instead, planting your hand firmly onto it. Your head perking up out of the pillow to look at him more.

Kid half expected you to say something like that. You were always the more vocal one about your feelings compared to him. Whilst you were screaming at the tops of your lungs how much you loved him, Kid would only croak it out in private. Pale skin always cast in an embarrassed flush despite how long you two have been together. “I know I know. I bet the crew woulda said the same thing if I had told them. That you’re too smitten and in love with me to just…leave.”

“Well of course I am! I’m pathetically in love with you and if I ever did leave, which is never happening in a million years, I would have told you beforehand. I’m not some sort of…cruel person to just slink away like that.” That last part made you both frown immediately. Your face strewn with pain and Kids full of guilt.

“I know you’re not, I know. I just got…scared that maybe…I was the one who made you go away.” He could feel his stomach drop saying that. Immediately regretting that he even brought it up. You were back and safe and telling him you loved him yet he still felt like he was the problem.

You could see that look of unsureness written all over his face. It made your voice go firmer, hand gripping his thigh a bit tighter as you leaned your body upwards. “Kid I got captured and nearly beaten to death. Why would I ever choose that over you?”

“I know that now but when I was looking for you…god, I don’t know. This conversation is stupid.” Kid flopped over onto his back. Bouncing the bed slightly as he pressed his head into the pillow. His eyes closed yet his lips tilted into a twitching frown. As if he was trying to tackle something going on in his head.

You’re brow furrowed and your heart ached. Bridging the gap between the two of you as your chest softly pressed against his arm. He popped his eyes open, feeling you move around and press up against him. His mouth immediately opened in complaint. “Stop moving already you need to-”

His words were cut off as you tucked his lips into a deep and needy kiss. Propping your elbow up and laying your chest against his wide one. One of your hands tracing up his pec, the other going up to softly play with his hair. Usually, he always took the led but you beat him to it. Lapping your tongue against his unpainted lips before slipping inside. Drinking him in with slow languid movements that were slightly rough from passion. His rigid body relaxed beneath you as his hand made its way to the arch of your back.

Biting softly on his lip as you pulled away, a surprisingly soft loving smile adorned your rosy cheeks as he stared up at you, nearly bewildered. His sharp honey eyes were wide and glassy. His sweet-smelling skin a beautiful shade of pink.

“I love you, okay? I won’t ever stop loving you. No amount of pain or mistakes or anything you think is wrong with yourself would ever deter me. You bleed for me, you bleed others for me, and you are the reason my heart's still beating. And even if you didn’t do any of that, if you were the most unsuccessful and incapable person on this planet, I would still love you. So please stop making up reasons why I wouldn’t love you because it's an insult to how much I do. Which is a fuck-ton if I needed to say it clearer.”

You simply smiled at him as he took all of that in. Blinking in surprise as a little gasp of air came out of him. The kind of breath that he was probably holding in. But as soon as he did he softened even more, a light smirk on his lips as his hand ran up your back to touch your hair. “Did you have that speech prepared or does being perfect just come naturally to you?”

You let out a little giggle at that. Kid always had a way of turning even the most intimate moments into something sweeter. “Well it was originally supposed to be a part of my wedding vows to you but I tweaked it a bit to fit the moment. Did I do a good job?”

“An amazing job. Though you thinking about marriage already is going to give me heartburn. But if I had any feedback to give, I would say keep the fuck-ton part in. Lays it on thick ya know?”

“Will do handsome.” You mumbled through a smile. Easing yourself into a more comfortable position and laying your head on his soft chest. His hand immediately pressed against your lower back. Rubbing his rough yet warm calloused hands across you. Staring up at the ceiling as he let out another deep sigh.

“I love you.” He whispered. Voice a bit more rasp and his face full of bliss.

“I know ya do dummy.”

#one piece x reader #x reader #eustass kid x reader #eustass kid #one piece #eustasscaptainkid #kid pirates #one piece eustass #massacre soldier killer #killer one piece #tw; blood #tw; gore #request

126 notes · View notes

asmogorna · 7 days ago

Note

Okay so there’s this ww artist on ig called like tooth lilys or something and he’s always causing drama in the ww fandom and he mouthed off about your art and now heaps of insta ww fans are like talking about you :| free publicity?

ahhhh so thats whats happening .. lmao thats crazy

i checked out their story, and i sure doooo love how they leave some things out when talking about both situations that they mentioned to make me look worse ..

ok so

warning, yap session incoming

the "will wood in a (miku) binder" thing happened back in fall 2023 when i was still semi new to the fandom and didnt know a lot of things. so tho i to this day i dont think it was that big of a deal, i wouldnt do it today

it was an artwork made for shits and giggles, the context of which i have explained here before. i never meant to imply that will wood is trans and i certainly dont "headcanon" him as that. my curse is that even when joking around i tend to try and make my art look good, so i get why people thought it was unironic. and i know that it sounds like a lame ass excuse, but it legit didnt cross my mind that people would think i drew will wood as a trans guy or smth. legit my only thought process was "funny haha internet thing" + "my favorite thing" = "good idea"

now the usage of his real name is something i am genuinely sorry for, but it was an accident and a genuine mistake on my part. i remember seeing someone mention it casually in some comment section, and assuming that it was ok, since i didnt know he was in any way against it. (i also thought that it was the same name that he used in "the real will wood" in that one section cus it sounded a bit similar).

when i was informed about the fact that he doesnt want it spread around i deleted the post right away and apologized, so bringing it up like something i did on purpose and out of malicious intent is a tad bit .. misfitting, if you can use that word

now the hot topic of the day: my waywood art

i have said this before and i will say this again, how i feel about rpf is solely based off how the people involved feel about it

to clarify: i never drew anything inappropriate or even suggestive with them, the "worst" thing is 2 simple sketches of them smoochin. or. this.

idk if this is what they were referring to when talking about me drawing will wood and gerard way "making out" (specifically. because i think "making out" implies to be more sexual stuff than small kisses). and if so, then it once again feels like blowing things out of proportion

and now the point i want you to get: will wood wouldnt give a flying fuck

like i said earlier, i never drew anything inappropriate, because that would actually cross will's existent and real boundaries. you know, the ones that he stated

im not making some conspiracy theories about him being gay, like some people seem to imply in their inbox messages to me

im not sending a whole ass smut fanfiction to litwtc gmail or something, i dont bother him in instagram dms asking if he wants to fuck gerard way, im not shipping him with people who he actually knows personally and has to look in the eyes of from time to time

im not doing anything that he would actually care about

him and chris have joked about him being attracted to gerard before, and though im not saying that you can joke about everything theyve ever joked about, i feel like in our case its clear that will clearly doesnt care about the implications ? (i generally believe that ww fans would get their panties twisted about less things if more of them listened to what these 2 talk about so calmly on litwtc but i digress)

if he saw that some random teenager on tumblr is drawing him and gerard way (gasp of horror) holding hands, he'd laugh at it max and then move on with his day

people are treating the whole situation like i posted pictures of him from when he was a kid or leaked patreon content or drew him fully naked or anything else that, you know, would actually affect him in one way or another

what im doing is innocent fun which isnt even likely to reach either of them. will wood very rarely checks tumblr and, once again, i genuinely dont believe he would care. and gerard way aint got no internet + he doesnt care x 2

it is weird but rn this is what brings me the most joy, even if its silly to say. both will wood and gerard way mean a lot to me and putting them in situations together makes me happy. i am but a child full of fun whimsy

i wont be posting any more explicitly romantic art to avoid more drama, and i also wont be responding to all the anon messages i received because there are like .. too many of them. an overwhelming amount i'd say. sorry about that

i really didnt mean to cause such a fuss, and i understand why some people might be uncomfortable with what i do

i fully understand why you would dislike my waywood hyperfixation shenanigans, and i dont have a problem w you over that, but treating me like pure evil because of a thing so insignificant is just.. overdoing it

once again, i will be toning it down, but it really isnt the end of the world if i dare to draw will wood and gerard way being a tad bit gay (which is, i apparently need to mention, not me actually saying that will wood the alternative musician is a homosexual gay who is in a genuine for real actual real gay homosexual relationship with gerard fucking way the lead singer of my chemical romance. i think speculating on other people's sexuality and gender identity is boooo tomato tomato tomato)

sorry for the rant and sorry to all who were disappointed by my lack of remorse. come back in a couple years when i turn 18 and stop having fun and artistic freedom

thank you for your attention and i hope i at least cleared some things up to those who werent w me throughout every event where i get involved in fandom drama

bye bye

#asmo goes blahblahblah #my chemical overreaction #idk should i tag this with the will wood tag #on one hand i probably should so more people understand my perspective but i also dont want this to be a better drama than it already is #bleh whatever #fun fact the will wood in a miku binder situation caused me to be anxious about every artwork i post #cus im afraid i didnt consider that people would see the obvious implications that arent actually there #im gonna close my inbox cus #once again #stressful #but yeah. i guess thats it

49 notes · View notes

kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

Note

Your last story about virgin reader was amazing. Do u think after that she would get kinda addicted to doing it with könig and he just happy to show her all the moves with tips and tricks sometimes make she cry because shes too oversimulated 😼 have a nice day 💕

Asdfgjs anons you can't just drop stuff like this in my inbox and then simply walk away… No but seriously speaking I love how both of you imagine König overstimulating the shit out of our poor sweet innocent reader because that's exactly what he would do!!

Now having branded her as his, König wants to show her everything, teach and guide and introduce her to the world of pleasure – it’s basically his duty now that he has taken her purity.

Man gets so addicted to pleasing her (especially when there's no other form of distraction or activity for him to throw himself into), and because he's super petty and competitive he has to overdo himself every time; show her something new, take things a little bit further, pry a new noise out of her... Suddenly, it’s not about getting his needs satiated; it’s about making her cum, louder and harder, or better yet make her cum two times. Three times. Make her squirt or cry, make her shatter so that she can’t even walk (and therefore, can’t leave him.)

And he doesn't have to do anything else but wait, because his pretty girl always comes back for more. She's practically begging with those soft eyes and shy attempts to flirt, even if she still insists on tiptoeing into his room with a book or a box of cute little cupcakes as her chaste excuse to visit. Usually those items end up sitting on his table, untouched, as he dedicates himself to eating her pussy instead. He even allows her to use him as a fucktoy – as humiliating as it sounds, he loves it when she straddles him and starts to use him in whichever way she wants. He doesn't even have to do anything: he gets to simply watch and enjoy the show.

And lord have mercy when his back gets better... He can finally show her how it feels to be taken by a real man.

#answered #yandere könig #to be completely honest #this au lives in my head rent free #corruption kink is real you guys

354 notes · View notes

moonlight-tmd · 5 months ago

Note

Prowlbee, ShockBee, Blitzbee

Kink head cannons.

Oooh dear- that was bound to get into my inbox at some point. Welp, here we go.

ATTENTION: this blog has a unique version of interfacing so read this post to know what's up!!

(CW: A whole lot of dirty)

ProwlBee

Prowl would defo be into breeding and all the animal-related kinks. Even tho Cybertronians have different biology from earth's animals he still finds ways for them to work stuff out. (octopus breeding, for example) They have a bunch of different poses to do the deed that they like.

Roleplaying as feral and broody are one of the ways they go at it.

Bee defo has some marking kink and loves to leave scratches and bites all over Prowl.

Prowl is mostly the bottom, although he doesn't mind having a go at Bee when the mini wants it.

They both love some sensory play- Bee's horns are sensitife to help him navigate the surroundings but also are very fun to play with during the act. Prowl is sensititve to sound and light so having Bee vent and whisper into his audial defo does things to him. Blindfold makes it even better.

I guess they're into bondage a little bit- I mean, most female animals are pinned down while the male breeds them therefore Prowl would be into being tied up/having limited movement and letting Bee wreck him while he helplessly struggles.

BlitzBee

Both of them are a bit of masochists- c'mon what did you expect.

They're reallly into marking, although Blitzwing has to be very careful because Bee is much more fragile than him.

They're switches, but Bee's topping score is a lot higher than Blitz's.

Blitzwing is into praise, he never really got any and loves when Bee whispers all those sweet things, dirty or not, into his audials while he ravages his insides. Bee is 50/50 on praise and degradation; he loves when Blitzwing tells him how much he loves him/his frame while also scolding him for trouble/being an aft.

Size difference. Bee loves to be strangled by Blitz's thick meaty tentacles and have that sweet sensory input all on him. Bee's tentacles are thin but quite long and very easy to get into all the little cracks and crevices at the sensitive spark chamber.

Blitz's glossa itself is a lot like a tentacle so Bee loves it when Blitz lick his tentacles and with it- Bee's still a little bit nervous when Blitz brings his intake close to something so small and fragile as his spark chamber but trusts him to not eat it. (which Blitzwing would NEVER do, not to his hummel)

Bondage for Blitzwing. I cannot stress enough how much he loves being tied up by Bee and having him do all the amazing things to him- he was scared at first but began to absolutely love it over time. Bee likes to have power over Blitz like that.

Edging, these two cannot go without having as least a little bit of teasing. They both love to make the other one beg them to finally do some real action.

Vore. Blitz is adamant to squeeze Bee into his intake and have him be all snug and comfy inside...and maybe have some more kinky action going as well. Bee wasn't as excited for this as Blitz but it eventually rubbed off on him and he gets a little horny whenever Blitz licks or puts his limb into his intake. To Bee's surprise, Blitz actually put effort into preparing himself to eat Bee; Blitzwing has eaten a lot of stuff over his years of existence, many which were not made for consumption, his fuel tank could handle almost anything. He made sure his throat could fit something larger and that all the system commands worked perfectly so he wouldn't accidentally digest Bee (which was very alluring and kinky but he couldn't allow it.) They have one of those giant spools or wire that Bee ties around his leg/arm so Blitzwing can pull him out easier. Whenever he's inside Blitz, he has to have this protective shield-coat (think like a glove around his whole frame) over himself so his own exposed parts don't get damaged by Blitz's internal fluids... also his paint, he does not have an excuse to explain why he's missing paint/has to get new one so often. Blitz loves having an "internal massage" done while he (and Bee) self-service. Bee loves the tight space and its walls squeezing him everytime Blitz moves.

ShockBee

Shockwave/Longarm loves to be in control. He loves to immobilize Bee and tell him what to do/say as well as delay/force his overloads.

Bondage is a huge thing for both of them, Shock/Long doesn't even need a rope to tie Bee up and have him all exposed. Same with Bee, he'll just maneuver his way around enough and have Long/Shock tangled up in his own limbs and at Bee's mercy.

Shock/Long loves to praise Bee- just tell him every single thing he loves about him and how good he's doing.

Bee loves how Longarm's body is all thick and plumpy. Loves to grope it when the mech least expects it during the fun. He's surprisingly flexible which allows them to try out a bunch of different poses.

Now for the bonus fun! AUs!

Cyberbeast AU (ProwlBee)

Prowl knows Cyberbeasts are like earth animals and that they too have their breeding season once a year. During that one week Prowl is basically kidnapped and ravaged over and over and over again- Bee, quite literally, is trying to breed him real good and Prowl loves it.

Prowl is into doing it while Bee's in his beast alt. He loves when Bee growls and bites at everything he can and rubs his scent on him. Even in half alts he does it.

Bee loves getting praise, he puts on intentionaly displays to further enchant his mate. Prowl is half into body worshipping Bee on this- he's just so amazed by the beauty of his one and only.

Prowl is always the bottom, he has no choice (not that he complains) but to get pinned down, barely able to ventilate and get wrecked.

Prowl actually persuaded Bee into wearing collars and leashes while they do it. They have a pet/owner roleplay whenever that happens.

Warframe!Bumblebee AU (BlitzBee)

Brasshorn/Bumblebee loves having Blitz immobilized and left to his mercy. He loves to be in control but in a way that'll let him drown Blitz in pleasure and bliss and not command him.

Brass/Bee loves to praise Blitz and worshipping his frame as if it was the most perfect one to ever exist.

Blitz really wants to top but Brass/Bee doesn't let him, only for special occasions (he has to be functional for work).

Blits is into BDSM and really wants to be ravaged by his mate but Brass/Bee is always careful with him- unless he begs long enough, then he'll wreck him in the best ways possible straight on his workbench.

Civil!Blitzwing AU (BlitzBee)

Blitzwing loves when Bee dirty talks and degrades him, Bee loves when Blitz praises him.

Blitz loves a bit of pain play- he's full of dirty little secrets he has yet to uncover.

Part-Insecticon!Bumblebee AU (BlitzBee)

Feeding kink. After hatching from the cocoon, Bee can produce honey. Blitzwing loves to eat it, more so when Bee sits on top of him and feeds it to him- even more so when it's mouth-to-mouth and they can enjoys all the sweetest kisses in the world.

Praise and worship, wings specifically. fligh frames have in-build thing for wings; Blitz adores Bee's sparkly wings and knowing their history he doesn't hold back about them when he's praising Bee. Bee is often too overstimulated to do the same but he'll let Blitz know by grabbing his wings and caressing/pulling at them.

Bee has a valve under his abdomen after hatching, and it gets really leaky when the two have fun. Blitzwing has Bee (carefully) pinned down with one servo while he passionatelly make out with him, ravages Bee's insides with his tentacles, and roughly fingers the valve giving Bee way too much stimulation on all ends. Bee loves it, even though he's numb for the entire day afterwards.

Bee loves to rub himself on Blitzwing and leave the sweet perfume on him, Bee got claws too so he'll leave tiny scratches on Blitz- most often his wings, to claim him into the hive.

Sparkeater!Bumblebee AU (ShockBee)

Since Bee and Long/Shock can't really interface because of the risk of contracting the disease, they have to come up with other ways to pleasure themselves. One way is to self-service one another.

Long/Shock has acquired an improved lab protection shield-coat (force field that sits on you like a glove) before he came to earth, this allowed them to actually interface without (most of) the stress about transmitting the disease via energy/fluids. (it shift with the body but never lets anything inside)

It's a rarity for Bee and Long/Shock to play the life and death game, but when they do- Long/Shock brings Bee a live spark to devour before they have fun, Bee uses his sparkeater form to get all kinky with bondage and marking (always with protection). Long/Shock loves the sense of danger when Bee licks his tentacles, slowly inching closer to his spark chamber. Bee would never do this to him and with a tank occupied he's barely any hungry.

Also some stand-alone Bee kinks cuz I like him-

Bee loves dress up, he'll put on fancy lingerie for his beloved and behave the part of a good "caretaker" while pleasing his mate.

Bee is a certified top, sometimes he bottoms but mostly he's in charge. Tiny top bias showing-

Choking/Squishing/Size difference. He loves a good hefty mate, and almost everyone is bigger than him so it makes sense- the bigger the better.

Praise- this guy loves to get his ego rubbed, especially during fun times. He loves the attention thoroughly.

Always aftercare, he'll do his best to actually take care of his beloved after the fun.

#maccadam #tfa #ask box #blitzbee #prowlbee #shockbee #tfa headcanons #naughty tag #tfa au #warframe!bumblebee au #civil!blitzwing au #cyberbeast au #part-insecticon!bumblebee au #sparkeater!bumblebee au #tfa bumblebee

70 notes · View notes

suzukiblu · 1 year ago

Note

i am literally for real obsessed with your timberkon pink kryptonite fic so i definitely would love to see another sneak peek, but i'm also loving all the superfam stuff you're putting out!!! something that i wish you would write because i love your works (and have since the darcy lewis stucky days) and i think you would do amazing things with the pairing is jaytim, but i know thats not everyones cup of tea

(i realize now that you were probably aiming for an ask rather than a reply so here it is in your inbox too hskdhsh)

Thank you! ❤️ And oh, asks and replies were both fine for this, no worries. I try to just specify in-post whenever I have a preference but it's not gonna bother me either way.

I DO like JayTim to read, but I've never really felt a particular bug to write it myself? At least not yet, anyway, that may one day change. Though I miiiiight still put Kon in the middle because I am who I am and all, haha.

I'm planning to update the pink K fic on AO3 tomorrow, though I'm pretty sure I've already posted enough of chapter two in excerpts on Tumblr to have posted basically all of it by now and I'm trying to avoid doing that with chapter three, sooooo instead please accept the beginning of this very niche Superfam omegaverse pack dynamics AU instead. I've been looking for an excuse to post this whole big long thing anyway, lol.

Read-more for length, 'cuz there's kind of a lot here, haha.

The representative from the wet nurse agency shows up fifteen minutes early with an unusual-seeming omega who can't be a day over nineteen, being generous. Bruce makes a note to look into the agency's hiring practices a little more closely. The current situation is something of an emergency, unfortunately, and he's only had time to run the intermediate-level background checks so far.

Maybe this isn't the prospective wet nurse, he halfheartedly hopes, and they're just another representative; one who's in training or just here as backup. The kid smells like milk, though, and also why the hell would the agency send out an omega representative? Omegas are typically secretaries and clerks and almost all do in-office jobs, where they're "protected" from the outside world.

The practice is stupid and demeaning and borderline abhorrent, but it's a step up from the days when an omega couldn't get any job that wasn't as a nanny or a sex worker or some fucked-up combination of the two. Clark being an actual reporter is something that was practically unheard of two lousy generations back, and even now Clark is still an unusual exception in his field. Typically, an omega writing for a newspaper would be doing gossip or advice or something domestic, not investigative journalism.

So no, there's no way that this particular omega is anything but a wet nurse candidate, unusual-seeming and concerningly young or not. And Bruce had insisted on the candidate coming to meet them in person, even when the agency had very unsubtly implied that it would be better to just have the milk delivered.

Bruce is absolutely looking into this agency's hiring practices. An omega this age should barely be presented. One who's already allegedly producing enough milk to be a viable wet nurse for what they're requesting . . .

It's concerning, yes.

"Master Bruce, the representative from the Waterton Agency and her associate," Alfred introduces politely, gesturing between Bruce and their guests. He doesn't look or smell disapproving, even in the mildest notes, but Bruce knows he is.

Of course he is, with an omega who might be being either abused or taken advantage of or outright trafficked in the manor.

Bruce should've run a better background check.

"Hello, Alpha Wayne. My name is Ellen Travers," the agency representative greets tightly as Bruce steps into the parlor. She's a harried-looking blonde beta with graying hair who looks very unhappy to be here and is doing a very bad job of hiding the nervous dissatisfaction in her scent.

She doesn't introduce the omega.

Bruce puts on his stupid "Brucie" grin and strides right up to Travers, sticking a hand out to shake. She puts on a weak attempt at a polite smile in return and takes it.

"Hello there, Beta Travers, thanks so much for coming out here on such short notice!" Bruce greets her with a lie of cheerfulness, but Travers continues to smell nervous and upset and her smile is no less forced. And the omega . . .

The kid smells downright sullen, which is not a typical scent to catch off an unfamiliar presented omega and doesn't do anything to make him seem any older.

And yes, he's definitely unusual. He's much taller than Travers–about Bruce's own height, in fact–and has a very broad build and a surprising amount of muscle on him on top of that. Bruce knows full-grown alphas who'd kill to be built like this kid. He's also much more "handsome" than "beautiful", and frankly couldn't look less like the kind of sweet and pretty little things the agency had advertised on their website if he tried, much less the soft and maternal type Bruce had been expecting to actually have show up, given the specific requests he'd made.

Well, it does make sense. Bruce obviously wasn't going to provide the agency with either a Kryptonian genetic profile or a Kryptonian pup's exact dietary needs in search of a suitable wet nurse, but the nutrient requests that they'd made would likely necessitate an omega of a similar build to Clark's to supply–hell, the kid even resembles him a bit, funnily enough. They've already had four agencies tell them that they simply didn't have an appropriate candidate on staff, and the milk samples they'd been able to provide hadn't proven very helpful.

Bruce has no idea how the Kents ever fed Clark, but Martha had at least had the advantage of having a pack bond with him. A packmate's milk always does miles better by a pup than a stranger's or any kind of formula ever could.

Though she'd had some very odd cravings while nursing him, she'd told them. And Clark had still grown up underfed, even with formula and yellow sunlight to supplement–the Fortress had observed marked evidence of childhood malnutrition in him, he'd said.

Occasionally Bruce wonders what a properly-nursed Kryptonian raised under a yellow sun from infancy would've actually turned out like.

The thought is . . . well. A thought.

A thought that still makes him leery of how Jon Kent might grow up, sometimes.

Those concerns aside, though, the really unusual thing about this omega isn't either his physique or his face. Bruce is perfectly used to omegas with "nontraditional" looks after knowing Clark and Diana this long, to say nothing of various other Justice League members or other superheroes and villains he's known, or of both raising and reuniting with Jason. But this omega isn't as demurely dressed as mild-mannered Clark Kent would be; he's wearing opaque sunglasses and an alpha-cut studded leather jacket and alpha-style jeans and an inconveniently inaccessible plain black T-shirt with no sign of a nursing bra underneath it, nothing soft or appealing in either his clothes or his posture. If anything, he looks aggressive; tense and guarded and ready to start some shit. Even Jason usually puts up a temporary illusion of traditional omega mannerisms when he's meeting strangers as a civilian, if only so he'll be underestimated. This kid isn't even pretending to make the attempt.

And the kid smells completely and undeniably stray, too. Bruce can't catch a single note of packscent coming off him. Not even the scent of whatever pup got him milked up enough to qualify for this job. Unbred omegas sometimes lactate in heat or when under stress or if someone in their pack either has or adopts a pup, but a stray who doesn't smell particularly distressed or anything like he's on his cycle shouldn't be producing any milk at all.

At least not without using the kind of stimulants that Bruce explicitly forbade when filling out the agency application, anyway. Those medications are necessary for some omegas, obviously, but in this situation . . .

Kryptonian pups don't respond well to getting anything like that in their milk, they've already very thoroughly learned.

The omega also has spiked stainless steel piercings in his ears, snake bites under his mouth, and two curved barbells in his left eyebrow. All his other jewelry is heavy alpha-styled rings and bracelets, and his nails are painted a chipped black. And he is, notably, not wearing any kind of collar or necklace, and his neck is completely unmarked.

Bruce is in no way oblivious to the obvious message that an uncollared and unbitten omega's neck presents when left so obviously bared. Especially on a stray one who's dressed like an alpha and standing like he's expecting a fight.

He cannot imagine why this kid is working as a wet nurse.

None of the theories that come to mind bode particularly well, though.

"This omega is our most fitting candidate for your needs, Alpha Wayne," Travers says, her smile turning increasingly forced. Bruce thinks he can safely translate that expression as that of a beta who did not in any way agree with that assessment but was stuck following orders. "She fulfills all of your nutritional requests, including the necessary iron content and the prioritized fats and proteins, and, of course, is not taking any manner of lactation-inducing stimulants or supplements."

"He," the omega corrects, sounding dubious. Travers's mouth tightens. Bruce knows a lot of old-school traditionalists who won't call a male omega "he" or a female alpha "she", no matter what said omega or alpha's preferences happen to be, and makes another note about looking into this agency more thoroughly.

Much more thoroughly.

"She isn't available for direct nursing, unfortunately, but her milk is a perfect match to your requests and she produces both excellently and reliably; her supply will be more than enough for your needs," Travers continues as if the omega hadn't spoken, and the omega's lip curls in obvious annoyance as he rolls his eyes with no attempt to hide his exasperation even in the presence of an unfamiliar alpha.

Bruce thinks of Jason with a brief pang, and pushes the thought aside. It's not the time.

Maybe he could've asked Jason for help with this, if he'd been a better father. A better alpha. A better . . .

But he wasn't, so now there's an annoyed stranger standing in his parlor instead of a content packmate curled up in their nest.

"Really?" he asks, tilting his head and blinking down at Travers with a deliberately surprised expression. "The consultant made it sound like you'd need multiple donors, for the amount we're asking."

If one goddamn barely-presented kid is actually producing enough milk to even half-feed a Kryptonian pup . . .

"This omega produces sufficient quantities for your needs, Alpha Wayne," Travers replies with another forced smile. She must know how ridiculous a statement that is, when she's talking about a stray kid and not a fully mature omega with at least a couple of litters under their belt who's well-established in a stable pack, but she says it with conviction all the same.

"Oh, good!" Bruce says brightly, because he's supposed to be a stupid knotheaded playboy who wouldn't know a damn thing about nursing either way. "That'll be convenient, then."

Frankly, he only wishes one omega could produce what they need right now, but requesting that much milk from one agency for just one pup would be immediately flagged as suspicious, and definitely turned down outright. They're still looking for other candidates under false names, but at the rate they're going, they're going to need to keep supplementing with formula, which already hasn't been going well.

If Clark could get milked up himself, this wouldn't be a problem, of course. A Kryptonian omega could easily produce more than enough for one Kryptonian pup, especially under a yellow sun. Clark nursed Jon without a problem for years and was actually overproducing when he was, Bruce knows very well.

Unfortunately, that's not an option anymore. Not since . . .

Clark would never forgive himself if something like that happened again.

Never.

And Kara and Karen are both alphas, and Jon's a beta and only ten anyway, and the only other living Kryptonians they know of are either remorseless criminals imprisoned in the Phantom Zone or the sickly little pup who's slowly wasting away upstairs.

Formula and concentrated yellow sunlight haven't been enough. Clark can't get milked up anymore. They haven't been able to synthesize any appropriate supplements either in the Fortress or in working with the Justice League or STAR Labs or even in collaborating between them.

And the pup is just getting weaker, and quieter, and sicker.

A human wet nurse probably won't even help that much, at this point, but . . .

Well, it's the best chance they have to keep the pup alive until they can synthesize something. Maybe the only chance, now.

"We strive to provide to our clients' convenience, Alpha Wayne," Travers says, and the omega rolls his eyes again. Bruce is less and less convinced of him being an adult in any way but the presentation of his pheromones.

It's rude to address an unfamiliar unpacked omega directly, especially as an alpha. Technically Travers is chaperoning them in a professional situation, though, and Bruce has increasing suspicions about this omega's personal standards so far as "manners" go anyway.

And everyone knows Brucie Wayne is stupid and shameless, of course.

So he flashes the kid a grin, and he says, "Well, it's great to meet you, we appreciate you making the trip! What's your name, Mr. . . .?"

The kid blinks at him, clearly surprised both to be spoken to and to be called "Mr." instead of "Miss" or "Ms." or even "Omega". Travers looks absolutely scandalized.

Bruce really doesn't approve of the kind of traditionalists who won't introduce an omega or use their stated pronouns, though, so fuck if he cares.

"Her name is Carly, Alpha Wayne!" Travers interjects quickly, her tone a little bit too bright to be genuine. "Short for Caroline."

"Just Carl," the kid corrects, shaking his head. Travers's mouth tightens again. It's not a very typical omega name, so no surprise.

It occurs to Bruce to wonder if Carl might be a trans alpha, which he probably should've thought to wonder as soon as he saw how he was dressed and got an impression of his personality. Obviously the kid's at least not currently on HRT if he's working as a wet nurse, but that doesn't rule out the possibility of him being transgender all the same.

Actually, affording gender-affirming care is definitely a reason that a kid like this one would be working this job, especially if said kid's family weren't supporting them. Wet nurses make more money than most other fields that omegas without a diploma can expect to get into, at least short of sex work, and Carl is very obviously too young to have graduated college yet.

Actually, Bruce still isn't even sure if he's old enough to have graduated high school yet.

He's going to burn down this whole damn agency if they're knowingly employing a minor as a wet nurse.

"Nice to meet you, Carl," he says easily. Carl's eyes narrow consideringly, and then he folds his arms and smirks, crooked and casual.

"Sure," he says. "Nice to meet you too, Wayne."

Travers looks agonized. The last non-alpha stranger who called Bruce "Wayne" instead of "Alpha Wayne" was a beta terrorist who was in the middle of kidnapping him, and he's not sure any omega who wasn't an active supervillain ever has, so he's not surprised by her reaction.

Carl is still watching him with the same cocky smirk, though, an obvious challenge in the expression and his posture both. Bruce puts another point towards the possibility of him being a trans alpha, though he's not stupid enough to actually ask if he is, especially not in front of someone the kid works under. Presentation aside, Carl might not be out, and Travers is currently at least professionally following traditional manners, so Bruce doesn't have much hope for this agency being all that progressive and doesn't want to accidentally get the kid fired.

Though if Carl is a minor, Bruce is going to have to see if he can't slip him a business card and find him another job. Especially if he's going to be burning down the agency he's working for.

"Why aren't you available for direct nursing, if you don't mind me asking?" he asks in a curious tone, because he still can't smell a pup on the kid and most wet nurses who aren't nursing their own pups do direct nursing, and he wants intel about the agency's typical practices. Carl shrugs.

"Stubborn tits," he replies, pushing his chest out as he gestures at himself with no apparent sense of shame or self-consciousness, and Travers looks increasingly agonized. Bruce is just increasingly missing Jason, himself. "Milk flows too slow and the pups always get all fussy and stress out about it. Which, whatever, pups are weird anyway, they're not really my thing."

"'Weird'?" Bruce repeats, carefully noting the lack of possessives in reference to any potentially dysphoria-triggering anatomy. Still not a confirmation, but another point. Carl shrugs again.

"I'm afraid Carly doesn't bond appropriately with pups, Alpha Wayne," Travers interjects quickly, and Carl scowls at her. "She has an unfortunate detachment disorder."

"I 'attach' fine," Carl grumbles sourly, jamming his hands into his jacket pockets. "I just don't like kids."

Travers grimaces. Bruce keeps pretending to be an oblivious idiot. He has met omegas who don't like children. They exist.

They're just all deeply, deeply traumatized people. Or clinically insane.

Or both, frequently.

So . . . "detachment disorder" seems likely, yes.

Bruce doesn't consider either sex or gender to be the end-all be-all of a person, of course, but there are certain biological imperatives that no one can deny as existing, and a lactating omega faced with a theoretical hungry pup–really, just about any omega faced with a theoretical hungry pup–is not ever going to say they "just" don't like kids. Usually the problem with omega wet nurses is them liking kids too much, in fact, and getting distressed or depressed when the parents wean the pups and they won't be seeing them again. The decent agencies have psychological support for that in place and typically offer paid leave between long-term clients. The Waterton Agency does up to a month, which is one of the reasons Bruce chose it.

So yes, Carl is almost definitely traumatized.

Though really, a wet nurse who won't be around much isn't the worst thing, considering. Neither Clark nor Jon started developing any especially noticeable powers until they were older, but they can't assume anything based off a sample size of two, especially when said sample size is made up of biological relatives. And even if they didn't have to worry about that, well, the manor is frequently full of vigilantes and the cave is right underneath it. There's a lot that a regular guest could notice, especially over however long they might need to be nursing. Especially because nursing is a quiet, out-of-the-way activity that takes a while, and it would be very easy for someone to forget to keep their voice down or to not do a damn quadruple-backflip off a chandelier at the wrong moment.

And there's a reason Clark and Lois brought this problem to the shadows of Gotham, as opposed to staying in bright and sunny Metropolis with it. They've got something to hide right now, and a lot to figure out.

Plus if even a molecule of kryptonite gets involved in this situation, even secondhand . . .

Power Girl and Supergirl and Steel are the ones taking shifts watching Metropolis right now, and everyone is just going to leave it at that. Superman isn't coming out for anything less than the apocalypse.

"Well, the Lane-Kents will probably want you to meet the kiddo either way, if you don’t mind," Bruce tells Carl, offering an easy shrug. "Peace of mind, you know how it is."

"Not really," Carl says. Bruce debates slipping the kid a psychiatrist's business card, but he'd probably take it as an insult.

"Er, yes, Alpha Wayne," Travers says awkwardly. "Actually, we were expecting Alpha Lane to be with you . . . ?"

"Lois is currently stuck in Metropolis traffic thanks to Metallo bashing up half of downtown this afternoon and Clark is upstairs getting the kiddo around. Little guy just woke up from his nap," Bruce replies with a pleasant smile, making another note of how Travers left off the omega member of the couple's last name, and also apparently doesn't expect to be meeting said omega at all. He is increasingly regretting choosing this agency, though he may yet manage to do some good in the world by subtly dismantling it. Or maybe just by buying it outright and doing a little restructuring.

Or a lot of restructuring.

"Wait, it's not your kid?" Carl asks, wrinkling his nose with a puzzled expression. Travers looks pained. The Waterton Agency isn't Gotham-based, so Bruce isn't sure why she apparently expects Carl to be up on the Wayne pack's current members, especially considering how she keeps talking over and outright ignoring him. Bruce has a hard time picturing her bothering to provide the information herself, at this point.

"Oh, no, just doing a favor for some visiting friends," he replies smoothly, still wearing the same pleasant smile. Which is a lie, of course, because actually the Lane-Kents are part of his secondary pack and "visiting friends" therefore in no way covers what they are to him. The Wayne pack is both his primary and his family pack, obviously, and the Justice League is a loosely-connected tertiary pack, but his secondary pack lacks both an official name and public recognition, because explaining to the public why Brucie Wayne's secondary pack is two award-winning reporters from Metropolis, a random museum curator in Gateway City, a decorated Navy SEAL, and occasionally a cat burglar with commitment issues is just not going to work out for anyone's secret identities.

And that even without counting how everyone knows about Lois Lane and Steve Trevor's respective very public connections to Superman and Wonder Woman, much less ever explaining anything about Selina. Bruce, meanwhile, still isn't sure how he ended up in a pack with any of these people. Clark and Diana definitely have a lot to answer for either way, though.

Mostly he blames Clark. Diana has more decorum. Clark is just . . . Clark, so now Bruce gets a scarf and cookies from Martha Kent every Christmas, never mind that he's technically Jewish, because God forbid he ever tells her that and she starts sending him Hanukkah presents instead. He cannot handle eight nights' worth of Martha Kent's colorfully-wrapped scarves and lovingly-packaged cookies. That's just not a thing he can do.

He doesn't even celebrate holidays, except when Dick cons him into it. Which admittedly he's been doing more often again the past few years, but–

This is off-topic, Bruce reminds himself, but then gets distracted as Carl cocks his head a little and frowns over something. Bruce instinctively wants to brace himself for trouble at the sight, because that frown actually very strongly reminds him of Clark's "what the hell weird and concerning thing did I just notice with my super-senses" frown, but A) Carl doesn't have super-senses and B) Bruce just heard the stairs creak, which means the actual Clark is finally on his way down to meet them. No one else in the manor would ever make the steps creak any way but deliberately except for Lois or Jon, and Jon is out on a walk with Damian and Titus while Lois is, again, currently stuck in Metropolis traffic. So: Clark, definitely.

Also Clark tends to make the stairs creak a lot louder than either Lois or Jon do, given the very notable size difference there.

"Has Alpha Lane authorized you to make decisions for his pup's care, Alpha Wayne?" Travers asks with another forced smile. Bruce is resolving to check specifically her background too, at this point.

"No, no, that won't be necessary, good ol' Clark's right here," he says, waving a hand dismissively. "It's his pup too, and he knows much more about ones this age than I do anyway."

"Yes, well, omegas tend to get a little . . . irrational about the idea of sharing their pups with a wet nurse," Travers says "politely", like she thinks she's stating a fact. Bruce would say something cheerful-sounding and subtly insulting back, typically, but Carl's frown is deepening and he looks a little bit . . . odd, maybe, or . . .

There's a strange little pup-call from the stairs, very quiet and echoing in unusual registers but still recognizably one all the same, and just as recognizably resigned-sounding. It's a pup-call that clearly expects to go unanswered, at this point, which is something that Bruce would like to never hear again in his life, given the option.

Though it's better than a pup who's given up on calling at all, he supposes.

He tries not to grimace at that thought, though he's sure Clark's grimacing enough for the both of them right now after hearing a call like that. The pup is starving, and they just can't feed him properly. At this point sending him back where he came from might be kinder.

Honestly, if Bruce didn't know exactly who his parents were, he might've already insisted on that.

It's just–

The pup calls again, even quieter. Travers looks perplexed.

"Er," she says. "I apologize, Alpha Wayne, but is the pup ill? We can't be around them if they are, it's against agency policy."

"Oh, the kiddo just sounds like that," Bruce replies dismissively, and then lies, "Vocal chord deformity, apparently. We're not sure what caused it, pediatrician thinks it's something genetic."

Well, it is genetic. Jon calls in exactly the same registers, and according to Martha and Jonathan so did Clark.

So it's genetic, yes. Just not a deformity.

Carl's expression looks–odd, still. Bruce isn't sure what to think of it, but it makes him a bit wary. A detachment disorder doesn't imply an actual negative reaction to the presence of a pup, obviously, but . . .

Clark steps into the parlor with Lor-Zod sitting on his hip, the pup no older than two or so and looking small and listless in his arms, his dark skin all washed out and his previously bright eyes gone dull and tired. When he first crash-landed in Metropolis in the rocket he'd been wrapped up inside, Clark said he'd popped out of it energetic and excited and clamoring for attention in toddler-level Kryptonian, but he's been slowly fading ever since, wasting away without the nutrients that they just can't provide him. He's probably only made it this long thanks to the sun.

Again, Bruce has no idea how the Kents ever fed Clark, though he was already at least three by the time they got him, which probably helped. A pup Lor's age is capable of eating solid food, obviously, but milk or formula is still a major part of a pup's diet until they're four or five, if not older, and the longer the better. Hell, most kids still at least semi-regularly nurse for as long as their dam can manage to stay milked up, or even until they present themselves. No one can wean a damn toddler and expect them to thrive.

Or even survive, in Lor's case.

Lor opens his mouth in another weak, resigned little pup-call, and Clark's own mouth tightens as he restrains himself from answering it and giving the pup false hope for milk he just doesn't have, and Bruce steels himself to–

Carl croons.

Travers startles. Bruce is . . . surprised, a bit. A detachment disorder doesn't really imply the kind of omega who'd croon at a pup they've never seen before in their life, after all.

It's an unusual and unpracticed croon, as if it's a sound Carl doesn't make very often, which Bruce supposes would make sense. Lor responds to it immediately, though, shifting weakly in Clark's arms and pup-calling again.

Carl, with absolutely no manners or decorum whatsoever, sweeps right past Travers and Bruce and Alfred and just plucks Lor straight out of Clark's arms. Which–forget the kid calling him "Wayne"; that's a damn etiquette breach. Hell, Clark probably only didn't take Carl's head off for snatching up his pup without permission because he's so clearly dumbfounded that he actually did it.

Bruce is slightly less dumbfounded due to having spent five seconds in the kid's presence, but still, what is he–

"Carly!" Travers chokes in horror. Carl very obviously doesn't even hear her and just starts purring at Lor and cuddling him close in a way that really doesn't even slightly imply "detachment disorder".

And then Bruce figures out what was "odd" about Carl's expression, before.

"Huh," he says, a little bemused. "Did he just go into feral drop?"

"Alpha Wayne, I assure you, this is not the Waterton Agency's standard of behavior!" Travers sputters, sounding even more horrified, and Clark just blinks and tilts his head.

"I think he did, yeah," he says, looking perplexed. Carl continues ignoring everyone in the room except for Lor and just purrs louder at him as they both nuzzle into each other. Lor makes more very distinctly Kryptonian pup-calls at him, and Carl croons back with no apparent concern over their strangeness, sounding absolutely goddamn enamored.

That is definitely not a detachment disorder, Bruce thinks. There is no possible way that an omega with a detachment disorder just went into full feral drop over a pup at first sight.

Or possibly first sound, he's realizing.

Bruce is perfectly aware that omegas can feral-bond with distressed pups whether they mean to or not, but he's never seen it happen this fast outside of a warzone or a natural disaster. He's heard hearsay and read studies about particularly compatible sets that have done it under less stressful circumstances, but distressed and starving pup or not, he wouldn't have even expected a human omega to be capable of bonding with a Kryptonian pup like that.

Or at all, frankly. Deliberately created and carefully cultivated pack bonds are one thing, but . . .

Lor chirps, the sound still a little quiet and fragile, a little weak, but also undeniably hopeful, and Carl gives him a low, rumbly purr in reply and yanks up his inconveniently-cut T-shirt to expose his chest with no trace of hesitation or modesty. He's already leaking sweetly-scented milk, already adjusting his grip on Lor to let the pup get at his chest as easily and comfortably as possible, and Lor latches without a moment's hesitation and immediately starts to nurse.

And then Lor purrs. Carl just watches him with undeniable adoration, still paying no attention whatsoever to anyone else in the room.

Alright, then, Bruce thinks carefully.

Well, that just happened.

"Thought you didn't like kids, Carl?" he inquires casually, putting on an easy grin, and Carl finally seems to come up enough to remember that the rest of them exist, though he still doesn't actually take his eyes off Lor.

"I would literally become a supervillain if this kid asked me to," he replies dreamily, keeping Lor cradled in one arm and tracing a finger down the pup's cheek with a soft, besotted expression that's unmistakable for what it is even with the sunglasses on. He looks like he might just burn down the world if someone tried to take Lor away from him right now, and his pheromones are so all-encompassing and so cloyingly sweet that Bruce genuinely might need to see a dentist after this.

"Well usually I'd say we keep Batman in the loop on that kind of thing around here, but if the kiddo asks, it only seems fair," he jokes with a laugh.

"I would drop-kick Batman off a roof for you," Carl informs Lor lovingly as he strokes his cheek again and then skims a fingertip along the little barely-visible scar splitting his eyebrow. Lor keeps purring sweetly and Alfred coughs to conceal a low chuckle. Clark looks a little pained to be watching one of his pups nurse from another omega so easily and eagerly, but his mouth quirks in amusement at the comment anyway. Bruce doesn't dignify any of them with a response, because he is an alpha with dignity and also is in no way threatened by a passing comment from a barely-presented kid who clearly isn't even combat-trained.

. . . although he also isn't going to be stupid enough to try coaxing Lor away from the omega he just feral-bonded with just yet either.

Then Tim walks by the doorway, takes one look at Carl with Lor, and trips over literally nothing and into a full faceplant on the foyer floor. Bruce pauses, then raises an eyebrow.

"Alright down there, Timmy?" he asks. Tim scrambles back to his feet, looking more genuinely mortified than he's ever seen him.

"Fine!" he blurts. "Fine. Everything's fine. All the things are fine. Uh. What? Who?"

"This is Carl," Bruce says, gesturing to the kid. "Wet nurse from the Waterton Agency. And his escort, Beta Travers. Carl, Beta Travers, this is my son, Tim Drake-Wayne. And also Clark Lane-Kent and his pup, Chris Lane-Kent, who I'm assuming you've figured out are your prospective clients."

"Yes, Alpha Wayne," Travers says with a grimace. "We gathered."

"Ngh," Tim says, looking at literally everything but Carl and Lor. His face is bright red, which is an unusual amount of embarrassment for him to be showing just over tripping. Typically he masks that kind of thing a lot more effectively. Bruce would almost think he was actually embarrassed by watching Carl feed Lor, but Tim's literally never been affected by anything but passing curiosity when seeing a pup nurse before, so that seems unlikely. And he's a male beta, if still an unpresented one, so it's not like he's got any reason to care all that much about it anyway.

So his reaction does seem a little odd, yes.

Hm.

"Chris," Carl coos adoringly down at Lor. Bruce is in no way stupid enough to think that he absorbed any of the rest of that introduction or has even noticed Tim's presence at all. He wouldn't even put money on him having noticed Clark's presence, in fact, except as a pup-delivery system. The kid is very clearly in love with the pup in his arms and doesn't give a damn about any of the rest of them at all.

Detachment disorder. Sure.

#bruce wayne #kon el #clark kent #chris kent #tim drake #superfamily #timkon #lowkey but it's there lol #omegaverse #not sfw #this-was-a-terrible-idea #rinfic #wip: the wet nurse omegaverse

231 notes · View notes