#j writes

[shlutmeow]

༶♤ “𝐓𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐦𝐞.” ♤༶

𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓!𝒄𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒍𝒚𝒏 𝒙 𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒕!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

┈➤ 𝐚/𝐧: 𝙢𝙮 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙪𝙡, 𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙞 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙡𝙚𝙙𝙜𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙖𝙢𝙖𝙯𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙢𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮 𝙞𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙮, 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙚𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙞𝙣𝙗𝙤𝙭𝙚𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚, 𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞 𝙖𝙢 𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙫𝙚𝙨, 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙩𝙝 𝙞𝙨 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙢𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜. - 𝙟 <3.

┈➤ 𝐚/𝐧 2: 𝙮𝙚𝙨 𝙞 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙄 𝙩𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨, 𝙨𝙤 𝙞 𝙖𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙙 2 𝙞𝙣 1 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙬𝙖𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙙. 𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙙𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙢𝙨 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙞’𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙮 𝙛𝙞𝙘. 𝙖𝙣𝙮𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨𝙨𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙨𝙝𝙡𝙪𝙩𝙨 :3

┈➤ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙜𝙪𝙣 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮 𝙬/ 𝙘𝙖𝙞𝙩𝙡𝙮𝙣.

┈➤ 𝐰���𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝙢𝙚𝙣 𝙙𝙣𝙞, 𝙜𝙪𝙣 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮, 𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙜, 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙡𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩, 𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙪𝙢 𝙞𝙜 𝙧𝙞𝙛𝙡𝙚 𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙮, hardcore 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙮 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙩, 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚, (𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨—𝙡𝙢𝙠 𝙞𝙛 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚). 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪? 𝙤𝙠 𝙢𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙮 <3

┈➤ wc; 4k

Before heading home from work, you briefly visited Caitlyn’s office, where you know she has been working long hours as the leader of the council—it was a priority to her; however, so are you.

At least that’s what she’s told you; she’s made it clear to you with all the expensive presents and the mind-blowing sex. She has demonstrated countless times just how much she’d do anything for you.

Lately, she’s been spending more hours at her office. Something that you have noticed has been a change of schedule for her; she’s explained to you, it’s because of the piles of work and conferences she has to attend to, the duty of being Councilor Kiramman.

You already knew this, but didn’t expect it to last so long. What started as a few extra hours at the office turned into days, and you were frustrated because she wasn’t giving your share of attention.

Your inability to not tolerate not having things go in your favor reveals your desperate need for her. The need to be tamed. You yearned for her attention. You recognized your neediness and knew only Caitlyn could help.

Upon arriving at her office, you anticipated her surprise at your unannounced visit. Entering, you see her seated at her desk. “You haven’t visited all day,” you accused, annoyance evident in your tone.

Upon hearing the door and your voice, Caitlyn glances at you with a raised eyebrow. With a defensive tone, “I have business to attend to, and you knew this, darling.” She sternly responded to you.

You scoff in disbelief, “I expected you to be gone for a few hours. Not the entire day.” You argued, returning her look, you crossed your arms stubbornly.

Your words echoed in the room, hung heavy in the silence between the two of you. You observe Caitlyn’s movements as she rises swiftly from her seat and approaches you slowly and deliberately with a serious expression.

Once she reaches you, you watch her head towards the door; you assume she is going to leave, but you watch her look out the door. You see her make sure no one is in the hallways, perhaps so no one can hear your punishment awaiting you.

With a forceful slam, the door vibrated the room, startling you. As she came toward you, you eyed her hesitantly. She stood directly in front of you. “You want to repeat that, darling?” she demanded, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Well, I thought you’d be home already.” You shrug nonchalantly as you challenge her firm stare. “What makes you think you can barge into my office and be disrespectful hm?” She shakes her head, a smirk playing on her lips. “Have you eaten yet?” Your breath hitched, eyes wide, as realization dawned on you. You didn’t forgot. You knew how important sticking to your schedule.

Work can get so hectic that sometimes you’d forget to look after yourself. That’s when Caitlyn came to the rescue and organized a schedule for you with your permission, she sat you down planning out your meal times, breaks, places to go if you had to leave for the day. Mentally, it was beneficial for you; it helped you de-stress after hard days, you couldn’t have been more appreciative for her help.

Unfortunately, you woke up late and missed breakfast. You decided to not tell her and instead try for lunch. But problems at work resulted in you missing and forgetting to eat altogether. Missing a meal resulted in a strike. Each strike is a punishment that Caitlyn has to give you whenever she wants.

You knew the conditions and now you were stuck debating whether to tell her the truth. Even then, you knew she’d eventually find out and the punishment would be worse. Ultimately, you decided.

You blurted out, “I forgot. Sorry, It was busy at work,” the rushed explanation giving away your lie to Caitlyn. She mentally took note of this. You saw her face, a small frown apparent on her features. She was disappointed.

“You never follow directions, do you? No matter how many times I tell you. Did you at least have breakfast?” Shaking your head, you give her a sheepish look. “I didn’t have enough time in the morning.” You tried to reasoned.

Caitlyn’s sigh told you she saw right through your nonsense; you didn’t want to tell her the reason. Caitlyn leaves hours before you do, which leaves you most mornings cooking for just yourself, except you didn’t feel it, despite you needing breakfast to start your long, busy day. You left your hunger to subside instead and left out the door.

Caitlyn’s authoritative tone brought you back from your memory. “The amount of strikes you have stacked up. This schedule is for your own well-being, darling.” You sigh as you nod, lifting a single hand to rub your eyes to relieve the tension starting to linger.

You feel yourself leaning your head back on the wall, trying to process this conversation, but all you want was just her. But you were disobedient, and that needed to be dealt with first.

“Choose. Punishment now or full punishment at home,” Caitlyn was always willing to be reasonable, but if you opted for home punishment, you knew it’d be twice as bad and you wanted to be with her. You knew this was on you. A part of you did not want to give in—did not want to listen—no matter how tempting she was.

“Forgive and forget?” You flash her an innocent smile, hoping she’ll fall for your act, but you’ve crossed the line more than once and Caitlyn was done letting you slide.

Caitlyn surprised you by stepping close, making you stumble back, bumping into the wall beside the door she’d slammed. Suddenly, without warning she grabs your neck, her grip firm enough to restrain you but not to hurt you.

Tilting your chin with her thumb, she makes you look directly at her. “I’ve put up with your brat behavior long enough, but you’re pushing it. My terms are your only option; is that clear?” she muttered.

The warmth of her hand on your chin caused goosebumps to rise on your arms as a rush of heat spread from your neck down, leaving you chilled. Feeling vulnerable by the intensity of Caitlyn’s gaze, a part of you wanted to give in, a euphoric sensation causing your stomach to flip.

“And if I say no?” you mutter stubbornly, challenging her. As your hands subconsciously reach for Caitlyn’s waist, she instantly notices, using one hand to press you against the wall, signaling you to remain there, while her other hand rests on your chest.

She could feel the rapid beat of your heart; you awaited her next move. You knew her teasing, yet her serious demeanor couldn’t break your stubbornness.

“Oh, don’t get all nervous on me now. You’ve brought this upon yourself, darling.” She murmured softly, with her lips hovering against the shell of your ear, a distinct scent of floral perfume mixed with the lingering scent of gunpowder filled your nostrils, blending in uniquely.

You were on the verge of letting out a moan from deep within your throat, overwhelmed by her. You move your head towards her shoulder, shifting to meet her gaze; her usually bright cerulean eyes are now darker, pupils dilated and intensely focused on you.

“Cait—fuck,” you groaned and just like that, you were exposed; like a lion that trapped its prey. She had you fully under her control, and you were completely and utterly fucked.

“My brat can’t choose for herself, can’t she?” she mocked. “I’ll decide. Lie down on the couch and wait for my instructions.”

You stood there, hesitant to obey. The weight of her words pressing down on your chest, you could feel the humiliation crawling up your neck as you considered if you could reclaim any ounce of your dignity back.

Her firm “Now.” cut through your hesitation, and so you found yourself moving toward her navy blue velvet couch. Large enough for three, it sat elegantly in her office, towards the side of her desk. When you situated yourself on it, the velvet felt smooth and comforting beneath your fingertips.

You notice Caitlyn walking toward a door in the corner of the room. You figured it was a closet. She entered, leaving you to fidget quietly, anxiously awaiting your punishment. You disobeyed, lied, and you made her suffer through your attitude. You knew she could not tolerate your insolent behavior anymore.

You can hear objects being moved around in the closet. Caitlyn emerges from the closet, bag in hand, closing the door behind her. She glances at you, a look of approval on her face as you lie exactly as instructed.

Next to your head, she puts the bag on the small table; your eyes take in the rifle leaning against it, the buttstock of the rifle resting on the floor. Settling between your legs, Caitlyn catches your gaze.

“You want this, yes?” her eyes locked onto yours, her breath warm on your face as she sought your reaction; a silent challenge. You felt yourself nod, the heat of her body making a shiver run down your spine as you felt yourself heat up. Her hand gently caressed your ribs as she murmured, “Words, darling. I need to hear you.”

“Yes–fuck Cait, please.” Desire and need burning in your tone. Feeling the pleasure intensify quickly from the position she has you in. You could feel yourself dripping for her, your nipples erect and grazing against the material of your bra each time you squirm under her; you arch yourself into her to seek more friction.

She taunts you, “So desperate for me. Look at you, and I haven’t even touched you yet.” She spoke smoothly as she runs her fingers gently under your shirt, feeling the soft skin of your stomach, which was as smooth as silk. Her fingers lightly brushed against your v-line, just visible from your pants sitting low on your waist.

You gently breathe in, “Cait, stop teasing and touch me,” you whimpered pathetically while pressing your hips against her hand where you craved her touch. “Patience, darling. You will do that for me, okay?” She softly caressed your stomach, her fingers moving from its gentle swell up towards your ribs and chest.

To desperate to retaliate, you give her a nod. You pant softly as she extends her hand towards your chest, lifting your shirt to reveal your bra. Noticing the outlines of your erect nipples through the fabric, she teasingly rubs her thumb over your right nipple. The sensation of the soft fabric against your hardened nipple on her thumb triggers an intense ache not just for you, but for her too.

As you push up into her hand, you groan, and she retreats back, sitting up on her knees as you exhale in frustration. “Take off your shirt for me.” You sit up a bit as you lift the material and toss it onto the floor beside you, you go to remove your bra yourself, but Caitlyn takes over and removes it off you instead. You feel the chilly air on your skin, causing your nipples to become even harder, almost painfully.

After removing your clothing, you wait for Caitlyn’s next instruction, noticing her gaze on your chest, admiring your appearance. Your chest is red, your body burning with need, cheeks flushed, and your chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.

As she leans in, she takes your right nipple into her mouth, licking and sucking on the hardened tip. She grabs your left nipple, giving it equal attention by rubbing her thumb over it while you whimper, holding her head against your chest. “Mhmm–Cait.” She pulls off your nipple with a plop sound.

Kisses trail from her lips to your chest, across your sternum, all the way to your neck, where she lingers, feeling the pulse of your heart’s rhythm.

She softly moves to leave small pecks and noticeable marks on your neck as she encourages you to move your head to the side to allow her access, a loud, guttural moan escapes past your lips as you grind yourself against her lower half, seeking to satisfy your swollen, needy cunt.

“Mmhm, Cait, I need you now,” you groan. She feels you squirming under her. She releases you, and starts to descend towards your stomach. She reaches for your waistband, her fingers lingering on your zipper, as she looks up at you, awaiting your approval. You give her a nod, desperate for her touch.

She smoothly unzips and pulls down your pants to your ankles. You effortlessly kick them off, leaving you in only your underwear. She sees a small wet spot there, you soaked through your underwear for her, leaving such a sticky mess.

She moves her hand to glide a finger along your slit over your underwear, gathering the bit of wetness until she reaches your throbbing clit, feeling it hard and craving attention. “Mhmm, yes,” you croak out, as she moves her hand in small, deliberate circles on your clit.

“What do you want, brat?” You whimper as you buck your hips against her hand, craving more stimulation on your clit, “I want you inside me,” you confess, hearing Cait’s amusement, “Is that so? How much do you want it?”

She moves your underwear to the side and starts rubbing your aching clit. All you can hear in the room is your desperate, whiny moans as squelching noises come from your soaked pussy.

Caitlyn looks down at your cunt, watching your needy hole clench around nothing. She uses her fingers to rub your slick up and down your swollen labia, reaching all the way to your puffy clit. Her ring and middle fingers are wet with your slick as she enters you, “Oh fuck, Cait.” you cry out, her fingers penetrating you, hitting you deep where you could never reach just by yourself.

“Look at you, crying for me,” Her thumb continuously rubbing on your throbbing clit. Caitlyn had discarded your underwear somewhere in the room; exposed beneath her, your pussy tightly grips her fingers in response. You feel yourself getting closer, your cries turning into low groans as your lips are left reddened from your intense bite on them. She pumps her fingers in you, bending them to reach deeper in you, you feel her leaving the imprints of her fingers in you. “Fuck, Cait–i’m so close,” She spreads your legs wider to have better access, your clit seeking friction where the palm of her hand was rubbing on your clit as she pumped you.

As her fingers come to hit that sweet spot within you, you feel yourself lifting your hips to match her movements, sloppily. Your eyes are shut, as your breaths are heavy, Caitlyn observing your features, as your face scrunches in pleasure “Almost there, I can feel you.” you whimper, you reach a hand to play with your nipples, rolling and pinching them with your fingers as you reach closer to your climax. You rut your cunt against Caitlyn’s hand.

“Cait, I’m gonna–,” you stop mid-sentence, unable to find the right words, “That’s it. Take what I’m giving you, brat” she rasps out, her words making your tight hole spill more clear slick out as your orgasm approaches. You can feel your climax reaching its peak, your breathing heavy as your sobs sound throughout the room.

Couple more thrusts from her fingers with her palm smashing and rubbing on your sensitive clit, you burst in pleasure, you scream out in as you come hard all over her, thrusting your swollen cunt sloppily against her hand. Your cum dripping down her wrist making a dirty mess.

Caitlyn watche you come down from your orgasm as she stimulates you with her fingers. She rubs your clit to assist in your climax, guiding you through the intense pleasure.

She continues to slide her fingers in and out of you, despite you trying to push her way from overstimulation, she is enjoying the explicit sounds of your cum sloppily drips out your hole as you come down from your high.

Caitlyn observes your post-orgasm bliss, your hair disheveled, sweat beading on your skin, your eyes closed as you try to catch your breath. Your ears ringing as all you can hear is your intense thumping of your heartbeat. The scene of her watching you come down fully captivated her.

“Easy.” She murmured. “Can you take more, darling?” You glanced at her, your exhaustion was clear in your heavy eyelids. You nod regardless, a glint of defiance still burned in your eyes, making you eager for whatever she had in store next. You knew your punishment wasn’t over. Her plan to continue, proving her authority and taming your bratty ways with her punishment.

“Cait–too sensitive.” You groan out as you feel her fingers inch closer to your clit, looking painfully swollen despite coming. She rubs her fingers around it—not directly, but teasing you. You watch her raise her fingers to her mouth, licking off your slick clean off before moving her tongue to suck her fingers individually one by one, making you whimper as pleasure builds up in your stomach again.

She plunges her saliva-covered fingers into you, causing you gasp out a moan, as you lift yourself up, your hips rising, and you moan with pleas for her to go faster despite how painful your aching cunt was. “I—mhmm, can’t.” You see her ease off your tight hold where your thighs are squeezing her hand.

She removes her fingers from inside you as you watch her reach for the silk bag; its contents—water-based lube, wash cloths, and healing cream that she uses for you.

You can’t help but it seem impossible not to admire her in her enforcer uniform, with her jacket undone to reveal the white shirt underneath, hugging her body so tightly that the imprints of her nipples are visible through the fabric, you’re convinced she’s the most attractive woman in uniform you’ve ever laid eyes on.

Reaching above you, Caitlyn retrieves her bag. You’ll take whatever I give you, okay?” You observe as she takes out the lubricant and places it beside you.

You had dirty fantasies of her in her uniform, even darker ones. You’ve always felt comfortable with Caitlyn, trusted her in bed and to take care of you and your needs, you could openly share your preferences.

More is what you desired; you craved intensity. Your trust in her exceeded all expectations, and you wanted her to deliver the most intimate and rough fucking you’ve ever experienced.

Your eyes follow Caitlyn as she grabs her rifle, her hand closing around the center of the rifle near the chamber. You watch her ensure the safety is engaged. Your eyes fixed on her with apprehension, your movements were desperate, the need for her to touch you was overwhelming. The tension escalating as she holds the rifle. You feel a different rush of adrenaline; your arousal shown as she sees your glistening pussy, begging for attention.

A pained whine escaped your lips, “Please, Cait. I can be good for you,” You loved her teasing, but the pressure you were feeling was unbearable, and you craved relief. Seeing your desperation and needy state, Cait gives you a grins as she presses her rifle against your next, just passing your collarbones.

She positioned the gun’s barrel over your racing pulse. Slowly, glinding it across your bare chest; the cold metal forms chills on your warm skin, making you release a shiver. The soft friction of her gliding it across your nipple make you intake a sharp breath, overwhelming you with pleasure from the cold weapon.

The cold steel of the rifle barrel pressed against your body as she pushed it down from your chest to your stomach, the chilling sensation making you want to grind against the weapon as it dragged down your body.

As Caitlyn observes your reactions closely, she notices your evident pleasure reflected in your features as she approaches your pubic area, the rifle’s head positioned near your swollen clit, your moist slit shimmering from your previous climax, showing your arousal and eagerness for her.

She rests the head of the rifle on your clit. You can’t help but flinch at the cold, firmness of the metal. You instinctively buck into her as your clit throbs against the rifle head, exclaiming, “Holy shit, Cait.” With one hand, Caitlyn holds your legs open, and with her other hand, she adjusts the rifle to continue the assault on your clit.

“You’re doing so well. Taking my rifle so good, look how wet she is in your slick.” She moves the rifle lower to your slit, she sees you’re drenched which making the lube she had for you useless, with her other hand she moves her hand to rub your clit as the head of the rifle slides through your slit, not entering yet. The sensation of the firm metal gliding against your folds leads you to grip Cait’s hand tightly, arching your body and moaning in delight at the satisfying friction.

Your eyes meet hers as she silently questions how far you want to go. You were desperate for her to ruin you, a desperation that led you to do something you’d never done before. “Please fuck me, Cait.” you cry out. The adrenaline from her holding the rifle made you so deliciously wet, as you guide the tip of the rifle against your slit, letting her slide it in gently.

“Take it all, take my rifle.” She teases the head into your hole splitting you open, your labia opening enough for the barrel to penetrate you, the noises coming from you as you moan pathetically, your pussy sucking in the head of her rifle beautifully. Oh, it felt so good, you thought you were psychotic for loving this, your pleasure intensely burning, it has you in shambles and you didn’t care who would you hear past these walls.

Caitlyn steadily pumps the rifle in and out of your tight hole, watching your cunt try gripping the rifle each time it comes out. Your pleasure ignites faster in your lower belly, faster than you ever experienced. Goosebumps broke up on your skin, sweat dripping off you as you grip the edge of the couch, the smell of your arousal mixed with ash gunpowder and metal lingering in the air. You use your fingers to rub your clit, stimulating faster as your hips move with the movements of the rifle.

Your lower belly tightens when you feeling yourself come close fast. “Look at yourself, gripping my weapon so good.” Caitlyn purrs. You croak out curses as pressure builds, the fire burning hotter than the sound of your cunt frowned out from your sloppy juices as the rifle assaults your cunt.

Your breaths come heavier as Caitlyn senses you’re about to climax, and she quickly moves to take control, focusing on rubbing your neglected nipples. The intense feeling makes you blurt out, “Oh, fuck,” you tremble, tears coming out as you come all over the rifle, all over Caitlyn’s lap and her fuckass couch.

You were sure that she would have to replace it, but you didn’t care, while Caitlyn helped you ride out your high. You feel her slowly remove the barrel of the rifle out of your tight hole, causing you to whimper in overstimulation. “Shh, love. You did so well.” She whispers to you, her words soft as you lie staring, glazed-eyed and dazed, at the wooden ceiling above.

You don’t comprehend Caitlyn’s movements and a sudden wetness on your leg startles you, causing you to gasp and clumsily try to sit up, “Relax, you’re alright. I’m going to clean you up, that’s all.” Cait’s comforting voice accompanied as you relaxed back into the couch, the feeling of the damp cloth on your skin, the feeling of your lover gently cleaning your thighs, around and in between your folds making you wince from overstimulation. She finished cleaning you, placing the cloth beside the bag.

With slighting unfocused eyes, you watch Caitlyn signal you to lift your arms as she carefully slips your shirt back on, the soft cotton brushing against your skin. She moves you forward a bit as she easily slides in under you, your head resting on her chest, able to hear her comforting heartbeat, as you cuddle on the couch, basking in the warmth feeling of her body against yours.

With a content sigh, you murmured, “Thank you for taking care of me,” your exhaustion heavy as you lay on the couch, cradled in her arms, the scent of her lingering perfume on her uniform faintly in the air, relaxing you.

Even though Caitlyn saw how tired you were, your stubbornness was still clear. “Rest, darling.” You hum. A comforting darkness enveloped you, lulling you into a peaceful nap, though you knew your punishment was far from over.

©𝐬𝐡𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐰

[deadboy-edwin]

okay but. does anyone ever think about "none of this was here before", and "you have to experience hell to really see what's here" and the implications of that???????

so. charles doesn't see anything in hell when he first enters. like he goes through all the empty rooms. he hears some odd things, sure, like the screaming when he rings the bell in the lobby, but he has a more or less tame walk through hell (all things considered).

but then, he sees edwin.

edwin, who is curled into himself, bloodstains painting his skin and clothes, a painfully vacant look on his face. the sight is an absolute juxtaposition versus the usual poise charles is used to seeing edwin carries himself with, his ramrod straight posture and pristinely coiffed hair a mere memory.

then, edwin speaks.

"charles?"

it's the softest and most vulnerable that charles has ever heard his best mate's voice. it's also the most terrified charles has ever heard edwin- and they'd faced off many threats in their years together as detectives. the disbelief in edwin's voice at even seeing charles again is painful, because seeing charles shouldn't even be a surprise, because there wasn't any version of this where charles didn't come to get him, where charles would allow that they would never see each other again.

ghosts do not have internal organs, or much physical sensation (iron aside), but charles swears he can feel his heart shatter into a billion tiny pieces in his chest.

a split second later, the baby doll head spider makes an appearance, whisking edwin away from him, edwin's screams laced with absolute fear-

that is the first instance that charles sees hell's monsters.

[useeer]

Naughty sevika drabble. 18+

You're disheveled, spit coates your lower jaw, every hit from behind, sends you careening forward. Both of your wrists are bound behind your back in a swathe of rope. With no way to support yourself- so you simply don't.

The sheets are wet with your saliva and tears. The cool patches feel nice against your flushed, hot cheeks and quivering lips. Ever the demon (must've sensed your mind wandering), she wraps a fist into your hair, pulling your face up from the covers.

"Nuh-uh." She coos, slowing her thrusts down. "Pay attention."

The pain through your scalp is electrifying. Your breath catches, a whine of pain escapes your taunt throat. Despite the verbal protest, you stay plyable in her arms, letting her rough handling of your head be the only thing holding you up.

Anticipation grips you, bringing you back into the moment with her.

You feel her chest rumble behind you, her thrusts stopping all together. Unceremoniously, she drops you by the hair, sending you back into the bed.

Unable to move, your hips locked with hers, you just have to sit there and whine as you feel her rummaging through your shared bedside table. The heat of her torso rolls off in waves on your back, soothing the irritated skin.

Finally, she stiffens and straightens up- you can make out a muffled "ah" as she hovers over you again. With her flesh hand on your thigh, she leans forward, pushing her dick deeper. She doesn't miss the way you moan into the sheets and snickers.

You don't have much time to think before you're hoisted up again by the hair, face presented with the dildo she suctioned to the headboard.

"Thought you could use something to work on." She hums, dragging your face closer to the dry silicone. Whining, your face scrunches up.

"Don't give me that. Fucking suck on it." She commands, jostling your head slightly. A hiss rips from your clenched teeth, the pain from your crown only reignighting slightly.

She readjusts behind you, her dildo rolling deeper into your hole making you squirm harder. Licking your lips, you let your tongue poke out to begin wetting the head. Shame and humiliation wrack through you while you take it into your mouth.

Being held up by your hair, tied up and completely at her mercy- being forced to suck a stupid dildo on the headboard. It's embarassing as hell, and you love it. Testing your limits is half the fun when having sex with Sevika. She's always got something up her sleeve to make you weak.

Gathering up spit, you let your tongue dance across the silicone. Now wet enough, you open wide to suck it into your mouth.

Sevika let's out a pleased groan, snapping her hips forward as a reward. Pushing you further onto it, she revels in the way you gag slightly.

Tears prick the corner of your eyes as she starts a lazy rhythm. Every hit rocking your mouth up and down the dildo, effectively fucking your mouth while she fucks your twitching hole. It's intoxicating, the way she's so effortlessly dominating all of you. Little time passes before you're eagerly sucking her second cock as she knocks you up with her first.

"Thaaats it." She growls, her speed picking up. "Gonna fuck you in both holes."

[novemberhaenys]

kinktober day one:

homelander x reader

using this prompt list by @the-purity-pen

prompt: dirty talk

word count: 561 (super short sorry!)

author's note: i’m gonna try to do kinktober !! i miss writing sm and it has been so long since i’ve had any form of inspiration !! this is a short lil blurb i’m sorry it’s not longer, i kinda proofread (i'm like half asleep rn but i wanna post this) (ok bye)

18+ only!! minors DNI - your media consumption is your responsibility!

“What would your little friends think, huh?” His tone of voice is mocking, demeaning. “If they saw you like this,” his eyes gaze up and down your body, which is pressed against the wall of your apartment. He has a hand wrapped around your throat as his eyes sweep over you. You’re wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt, not exactly expecting a visitor at 2 a.m.

No, not a visitor.

An intruder.

Sleep keeps your brain foggy, eyelids heavy as you look up at him. You don’t respond, continuing to just look at him.

He presses his body into you, hand moving up to your jaw so he can tilt it. His lips brush the shell of your ear, “You’re dripping for me.”

Your eyes flutter closed at his words, hating yourself as you think about how sweet his voice sounds. He was a casual addiction, like caffeine or sugar. You didn’t notice yourself falling for him until it was too late- until the crash came. When you found yourself stuck between your good friend, Hughie, and the man who wanted to kill him: John. When you realized that, inevitably, you would have to choose. You couldn’t have both- John wouldn’t allow it. Hell, you’re surprised he hasn’t found the old Nintendo DS that you use to communicate with Hughie (he gave it to you as a gift a while ago, thanks to his employee discount at the shop).

“What would they think,” Homelander continues, pausing to bite the shell of your ear in between his teeth and tugging gently, “if they saw me splitting you open on my cock? If they saw the way you push back against me when I bend you over? You practically fuck yourself on it.”

You moan softly at his words, “Please,” you whisper. You’re not sure why you’re saying it. Is it a plea, a prayer? To some higher power, to John, to yourself for being so fucking stupid?

“I want to break you and put you back together again, and I want to be inside of you the whole time that I do so.” John says lowly, breath against your neck. His hands begin to rub up and down your body, groping and and kneading as he goes.

“John, please,” your hands wrap around his biceps, holding on to him as if he’s an anchor. “I need you.”

“Need me to what?” he kisses your neck as he waits for your response.

“Whatever you want,” you pant, fingernails digging into him, “anything.”

His arms hook around your thighs and he lifts you up, “I wanna watch you fall apart on my cock, honey,” his voice is low and raspy, a few notches above a whisper.

Your mouth opens before you can stop it, “Yes, John, as many times as you want, please,” your arms wind around his shoulders.

His voice is a whisper this time, “I wanna hear you say it.”

There's a small part of you that is embarrassed at how fast you follow his instruction, "Ruin me," it comes out clearly, accompanied by the daring look in your eyes.

His eyes are locked with yours as he sees the many more words you're saying with just a look. He smiles, thumbs tenderly caressing your thighs as he continues to hold you, your legs wrapped around his waist.

"Whatever you want, honey."

[thatoneurchin]

Show & Tell

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62936083

Melissa, who’s only in the grade below them but still can’t make varsity for some reason. Melissa, who’s rumored to have seriously wet her pants after getting chewed out by Coach M. Melissa, who dresses like a d-y-k-e even though Jackie knows that’s rude to say aloud, all frat-bro backwards caps and ill-fitting khakis.

That Melissa. The one sucking Shauna’s face.

OR:

Jackie accidentally runs into Shauna and Melissa hooking up at a party. Of course, she doesn’t do anything weird, like watch…

[happy-hermit]

HELLO HELLO EVERYONE :D

This is a fic for an AU where young teenager TCD Scar comes through Grian's rift :) It's a trauma reveal folks <33

Enjoy!!

===================================

Grian was beginning to believe that the rift had some form of sentience, given that at times it appeared to become quite… temperamental. Some days it would be almost eerily still and slow. Others it would— Well, it would do what it was currently doing. 

The rift was swirling with more shades of purple than usual, dark patches appearing and disappearing with alarming frequency. There was an electricity in the air that made the hair on his arms stick up, and Grian had the strange feeling in his stomach that the thing was emitting some sort of sound that was too low or high for human ears. It felt a bit like a thunderstorm. 

Grian had set up shop immediately upon noticing something was different, resorting to sitting in a chair staring at the Rift waiting on it to do something. It was horrifically tedious. Grumbot — in true Grumbot fashion — was refusing to give him a straight answer. Grian was beginning to suspect that he simply didn’t have one. 

So he waited. With several cups of coffee and messy notes strewn around him on the ground, he waited. 

He was sleeping when the whole thing really started —  because the Universe hated him personally, he was sure. 

He was already sitting up by the time he regained consciousness, heart beating in his chest, eyes wide and darting around in confusion, trying to make sense of his surroundings. It was too bright, and his vision was too blurry from sleep, and where in void’s name was that wind coming from?

The rift chose that moment to start spitting lightning at him, and Grian let out a strangled yell as he dove behind Grumbot’s messaging system, abandoning his empty coffee cups to an uncertain fate. He ducked down and shut his eyes tightly as the glow of the Rift got brighter and brighter, as the high pitched noise emitting from it got higher and higher, until finally something in the fabric of reality snapped under the strain. 

From across the room, there was a short, terrified yell, cut short by the impact of something hitting the ground, and a clatter, like the person had dropped something. There was sudden and complete silence, until it was broken by a quiet groan. Heart in his throat, Grian opened his eyes and shifted, peeking over his makeshift shield to check things out. 

The Rift was back to what he considered to be normal, glowing a serene purple, calm as anything. His notes were strewn about the room and burned at the edges. His coffee mugs were nowhere to be seen. 

On the ground was a person. They were curled up on their side, clutching at their head with gloved hands. Their clothes were ragged and torn, bandages peeking out from under them as the figure shifted slowly. And then they sat up, and their face drifted into view. 

Grian’s breath hitched, his knuckles turning white where he gripped the blocks he was hiding behind. It was a kid. He had messy brown hair, jagged and uneven, like he’d cut it himself, and a bandage creeping up the side of his face from under his chin. He had a bandana tied around his neck, mostly a faded green, except for the faint splatters of dull red. His face was gaunt and his eyes were wide and scared as he patted himself down frantically, muttering to himself. The kid couldn’t have been much older than fifteen. He did not look like someone who believed he would live for much longer. 

Grian let himself poke his head just a bit higher over the barrier, frozen in shock and confusion as his unplanned visitor started whirling around and looking at the floor. His gaze finally landed on something that Grian couldn’t quite see, and his shoulders dropped in what seemed like relief as he went to pick it up. 

Grian… didn’t know what he was expecting. A sword, maybe? No. 

The raggedy little teenager had popped through an interdimensional rift in Grian’s basement, looking like absolute hell, and he picked up a gun. 

The kid checked that it was loaded in practiced movements, almost with the grace of a soldier. It contrasted sharply with the youth of his face, and the way his shoelaces were untied and tucked into his shoes. It painted a very concerning picture. 

His visitor was just beginning to gather his bearings, hauling himself to his feet with suppressed sounds of pain. He was favoring one leg. The gun was poised at the ready in his arms. 

Never let it be said that Grian was a smart man, given what he did next. 

“You can’t have those here.”

The kid made a strangled noise of alarm as he whipped around to face where Grian now stood apart from his makeshift cover, his hands raised in what he hoped was the universal gesture for ‘I mean no harm’. And then he was staring down the barrel of a gun. It wasn’t the usual kind of chaos that happened around here, but he was going to try his best to take it in stride. What was the worst that could happen? He’d get shot? 

He’d respawn. But the kid was staring at him like he wasn’t aware of that. Like maybe he was counting on the opposite to be true. 

Grian forced himself to look past the very threatening weapon pointed at him to get a better look at the person's face, and he met his eyes. They were a striking shade of green, trained on him with pinpoint accuracy and refusing to waver. At first glance, he looked almost angry. Grian knew, though, that it was only a thinly veiled cover for the heart-stopping panic crowding in behind it. For the confusion and pain and fear. (And why could he read a stranger so well?)

“I won’t hurt you,” Grian said, calm as he could manage, wings tense behind him. “But you’ve got to put the gun down.”

“You can talk,” the kid said, quiet and shaky. Like it was surprising. Something about it made Grian’s chest squeeze. 

“Yeah, I can,” Grian said, gentler now. “So can you. Can you tell me your name?”

The gun trembled for a moment, just slightly, and then went eerily steady once more. The kid swallowed hard and glanced around for a second before locking back on to Grian. 

“You’re not… infected?” The kid asked finally. 

Grian frowned a bit in confusion, his brow furrowing and wings rustling in unease. Infected. It sounded like a word with more weight than was really warranted. Like it came with a history. 

“I’m— No, I’m healthy as a horse,” Grian said, cracking an awkward grin. “Eat my vegetables and everything.”

The kid tilted his head, just slightly, and the gun dipped just a bit more towards the ground. Or, well. Towards Grian’s stomach. 

“A horse?” The kid repeated slowly, still in that carefully quiet tone, and if Grian didn’t know any better he’d think that he didn’t know what a horse was. Maybe he didn’t. 

“Yeah, you know— sort of like cows,” Grian said, now feeling absolutely insane. He was explaining the concept of horses while held at gunpoint. “But they’ve got longer faces, I think. And you can ride them.”

The kid, if anything, seemed more confused by that, and Grian gave up on the agriculture lesson for now. 

“You don’t need that here,” Grian redirected, gesturing carefully at the gun. The kid flinched a little at his movement, and Grian softened his voice as much as he could. “You’re safe, here. It’s safe.”

It was the wrong thing to say. 

The kid's shoulders tensed even further, the gun recentering itself firmly on Grian’s forehead and those oddly familiar green eyes shuttering back into a mask of calm. Only the slight tremble of his mouth gave away his fear. He was scared. A tangle of frustration and heartbreak and helplessness coiled in Grian’s chest. 

“It’s not,” the kid said, firmly. “It’s not safe anywhere.”

Where had he come from, that he believed that?

“Look, you— You see that behind you? It’s a portal,” Grian explained, motioning to it in jerky movements. “Wherever you were, you’re not there anymore. You’re somewhere new.”

The kid shook his head, desperate eyes flickering from Grian to the Rift and quickly back again. They were shining with unshed tears, his mouth wobbling almost imperceptibly, and for a moment he looked terribly, horrifically young. Too young to be holding a gun. Too young to be scared of the world. Too young to be so convinced that it couldn’t change. That there was no more hope for things to get better. 

“But I— No. I didn’t go into any portal,” the kid said, voice raising a little, accusing. “Then how did I get here? Did— You did something.”

“No no no,” Grian said, hands raised again. “That thing has a mind of its own, I didn’t do anything. I just sat here.”

“Well I didn’t do anything, either!” The kid said, sounding slightly hysterical. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Grian said, as gentle as he could manage. His protective instincts were going haywire; he didn’t really know why. “Look, just— Weird things just happen sometimes. Trust me, I’d know.”

“Then where am I?” The kid asked, voice shaking horribly. 

“It’s called Hermitcraft,” Grian said, voice still carefully calm. “We’re in my house. Well— Under it.” He paused, hesitating, and his next question came out hushed. “Where did you come from?”

The stranger let out a shaky breath, gun unwavering and silence hanging in the still air around them. He didn’t answer. Grian could guess that it was nowhere good. 

They had run out of ways to stall the inevitable, in which the kid had two options. Shoot him or don’t. They were at a standstill. Something had to give. 

A soft noise from across the cavern interrupted Grian’s racing thoughts, and it took him a moment to place it as a muffled baa from one of the sheep in his sheep farm. It was barely anything, and yet the kid reacted as if it were a creeper beginning to explode, whirling to face the noise with wild eyes, swinging his gun in that direction. Namely, away from Grian.

Before he could think better of it, Grian rushed forwards, using his wings to propel him, and he disarmed the other before he even had the time to yell. A stray bullet shot somewhere into the ceiling in the brief struggle, loud enough that Grian knew someone would be coming round to check on it soon, and when the dust settled he was holding a gun, looking into the pale face of a terrified stranger.

“No!” The kid shouted, the loudest he’d been since he’d arrived, pushing at Grian with shaky shoves as he grappled for the gun. Grian deflected his attacks, heart sinking into his stomach as he watched the other grow increasingly frantic, breaths coming fast. “It’s mine! Give it back, it’s mine! You can’t have it, it— it’s mine. Please, please, it’s—”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Grian said, out of his depth, practically pleading. “Nothing is going to hurt you, okay? But you— you can’t hurt anyone else, either.”

The kid just shook his head, tears clinging to the corners of his eyes as he backed away, hands in trembling fists at his sides. He glared at Grian with all the fire of a hardened soldier and all the fear of a child, green eyes flashing dangerously. Something prickled at the back of Grian’s neck. Some feeling he couldn’t identify. Déjà vu, maybe.

“It’s mine,” the kid repeated, firmer and quieter. “It has my name on it.”

Grian looked down, mildly curious among the adrenaline and confusion. 

He stopped breathing. Froze completely, hands white-knuckled on the gun. His skin went cold, heart tripping over itself in his chest. 

On the gun, in capital letters, was a name. 

[ SCAR ]

A name that he knew. 

Slowly, Grian looked up, breath hitching in his throat when he met the eyes of the stranger(?), now looking a little confused himself. There was a bandage on the side of his face. Judging by the size of it, it was covering a pretty nasty wound. Likely to leave a scar.

Grian knew exactly what it would look like, when it healed.

“Scar,” Grian said, his voice sounding odd in his own ears, blank and emotionless. “Your name is Scar.”

“I named myself,” the kid — Scar — said, still shaking a little, glancing around near-constantly. 

Grian swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat, mind void of any clear thoughts.  “It’s a good name,” he said, chest aching.

“Do you have one?” Scar asked. His hands were fisted in the front of his jacket, twisting anxiously.

“A gun?” Grian asked faintly.

Scar shook his head. “A name.”

“I’m… Grian. My name is Grian.”

“Grian,” Scar repeated, nose wrinkling a little, like he thought it was odd. Scar — his Scar — had made the exact same face last week when he’d come across a problem at his park. Grian felt sick. “You’re—”

The rapidly approaching sound of fireworks cut off whatever the kid had been about to say, and he flinched like he’d been struck, turning wide eyes to the sky as he stumbled a few steps back, towards Grian’s content generator. Grian looked up as well, torn between relief and frustration. The kid had finally seemed to be calming down. 

“It’s okay,” Grian said, rushed and panicked as he held out a placating hand towards Scar. “It’s just one of my friends. They won’t hurt you.”

“Friends?” Tiny scared Scar hissed, like the very idea was ludicrous, and Grian was mildly offended.

Before he could come up with a reply, there was a call of his name from above, and Grian snapped his gaze back skyward, heartrate accelerating. 

Of course, Grian thought, watching as Scar crashed unceremoniously into the ground a few yards away. Of course it was him. Grian took a steadying breath and prepared himself. This was either the best possible option, or the worst. There was no telling where luck would have him fall, this time.

“Grian, I heard explosions!” Scar said, elytra disappearing as he straightened up from his rough landing. “Are you blowing things up without me? You know how much I—”

The builder cut himself off with a strangled noise, face falling quickly into something haunted. Almost scared. Any doubt Grian might have had about who the kid was vanished. They had the same way of being afraid. 

The way Scar was looking at the gun Grian was still holding confirmed it. He was looking at it with wide eyes and tense shoulders, breathing quick and shallow. He was looking at it with recognition.

“Where did you get that?” Scar asked, in a voice that Grian had never heard from him before, dark and small and shaking. 

Wordlessly, Grian stepped out of the way. 

And he watched as Scar locked eyes with his younger self. Just another day on Hermitcraft.

[j-writes-fics]

“Y’know what? It’ll make more sense if you see it. And hey, you wanted to know how I got regeneration powers anyway, right? It’ll be fun! A little trip through the multiverse, my life, and the fourth wall all at once!”

Or, too many story ideas combined in one. Primarily a reactfic of Deadpool 1, with also some fourth wall exploring, backstory angst, and poolverine.

Warning for some untagged headcanons!

[eepyghost]

"Chip asked Gillion what his favorite color was, and he simply replied brown as if the answer held no gravity. At the time, Chip hadn’t believed him.

Gillion wasn’t lying. He couldn’t lie to Chip, especially not about something so trivial. It was brown, but it wasn’t brown in the simplest sense. He said brown, but he meant the off-gold amber hue that reminds him so much of the color of storm-crossed rocks after the sun eventually comes up after a night of thunder and lightning, like mother nature is letting the light return. Like the gods are reminding me I remain alive.

He’d said brown, but he’d meant a burnt umber, a mahogany, speckled with flecks of gold like a precious metal buried in a river rock, something ethereal in an otherwise everyday object. Darkened when crossed, but honeyed when shining with mirth. A shade I’ve never seen under the waves, a place where color is dampened and stained with cerulean.

He’d said brown, but he’d meant the shift to a marigold shade when such brown hits the light of a boyish smile. Like the hue changes when mischeif enters his mind, a color changing crystal in his own right. Like amber hitting the sunlight. 

Gillion Tidestrider said his favorite color was brown, and he meant it, in the simplest terms. But brown, in the back of his weary and exhausted mind, more meant brown, but in the eyes of the boy I love."

-------- a black blooded martyr (AO3)

tbh i'm mostly just proud of this section oops . . .

[hey-hey-j]

He can still feel his heartbeat straining even if he can’t hear it in his head anymore. It’s uncomfortable, but compared to everything else he’s been through lately, he’ll take it. He sighs again, dejectedly, and he brings a hand up to press to his temple…. Floyd bolts upright again. His pulse spiking to a fever pitch. His hand is grey. --- (or: the Rockapocalypse, from Floyd's perspective)

have at thee Floyd fans

[shlutmeow]

༶♤“𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐈 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰, - 𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐆𝐨.”♤༶ -

jinx x fem!reader

┈➤ 𝐚/𝐧: 𝙄’𝙫𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙥𝙪𝙗𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙞 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙤 𝙞𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙖𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙨 𝙞’𝙫𝙚 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙞𝙘𝙠 𝙪𝙥 𝙖 𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙞𝙡, 𝙞 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙮 𝙣𝙤𝙩?

┈➤ 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐬 (𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞); champagne coast by blood orange.

┈➤ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐣𝐢𝐧𝐱’𝐬 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲/𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

┈➤ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: (no use of Y/N), 18+ men & minors dni- ptsd mentioned, 𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙩/𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩, 𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙝@𝙧𝙢, 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙩𝙝, 𝙞𝙣𝙟𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨, 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙩?, 𝙛𝙡𝙪𝙛𝙛, mentions of blood (main ones, 𝙡𝙢𝙠 𝙞𝙛 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚) not for you? okay, move on ty <3

┈➤ wc; 1,980

Leaving Silco’s office, the only thing you saw were two strikingly long blue braids, their smooth texture catching the dim light of the hallway as they disappeared. Jinx.

You have talked to each other various times, whether it’s after you’ve completed a job for Silco or when you’ve had free time available. You were just getting to know each other, but it’s been months since then.

Lately, during your time spent together, her restlessness has become increasingly noticeable to you. You remember her conversations mentioning the countless, aggravated voices of the dead that would impact her.

The guilt that has drastically consumed her was visible to you and to those around her. What she dealt with throughout her life regarding all her trauma, you lived it vicariously through her. After losing her parents in the aftermath of the Zaun and Piltover war, she recalled her step dad Vander taking her and her sister in.

Flash forward to the accident which involved one of her creations: a makeshift monkey bomb as she named it when she was the ripe age of 11.

That disastrous night consequently led to her and her sister’s separation, leaving her abandoned and soaked by the thunderous rain as she lay on the concrete, her pain audible against the gloomy, night sky. Ultimately, Silco had taken her under his wing, in that same night, erratically changing her fate.

She’s mentioned to you how utterly overwhelmed she feels about her unpredictable hallucinations and, as often as she tells you about her mental state, you know the burden of her troubled past still consumed her.

—

You and Jinx usually hung out at her hideout. You’ve watched her spend countless hours working on her gadgets and weapons, repairing and customizing them.

You arrived at Silco’s office, knowing her hideout was directly above. Your climb up the ladder led you to the entrance of her personal area, a place where you knew she had been staying for the past few days and working diligently on her weapons and gadgets, a project she had shared with you.

You spot her at her workstation, a chaotic arrangement of metal parts carelessly spread around her, and the blueprints for her many weapons spread across the desk.

From afar, her face is a mask of concentration, her brow deeply furrowed as she screws the piece into her weapon, the quiet click of metal on metal the only sound.

Approaching her slowly, you’re unobserved, a gentle smile forming as you watch her work. You enjoyed watching her work. You know it has always been her happy place, the place she’s always known since she was a little girl.

Her love for building different contraptions and gadgets made you fall in love with her, how she is prideful of her work and how it motivates her every day to create something new.

You love when she tries to make conversation with you and explain to you the variety of different tools and why she uses them for each of her projects.

Jinx sees you from the corner of her eye, you see her drop her tools and weapon on the desk and dust off her hands as she turns to you in her chair,

“Heya toots! I didn’t see you there, I was waiting for you.” She gives you a small grin.

Rising from her chair, she approached the spot near her ragged and dirty, dark green couch—a find from behind an abandoned building—as she grabs your hand, pulling you onto the couch. You sit yourself down as she joins you to lie on the other side. She’s sprawled out on the couch with her legs on your lap.

“I was giving you time to finish fixing your weapons. What’s the progress?” She scoffed and shook her head.

“You know you’re way more important than all my silly gadgets, right toots? So, what’s going on?” She asks, tilting her head.

“I just came back from this mission. Silco wanted me to check out a new location for him. Sevika came along, finished earlier than usual and I thought why not come see you,” you explained, shrugging.

Jinx knows your mission assignments, having secretly read Silco’s location list for his shimmer operation from his desk while he was away.

“ooh! yeah… Silco wanted Sevika to go along in case things got a little… crazy. Silco mentioned this problem, and he was talking about — “

As her rambling continues, you pause, your gaze drifting around her cluttered hideout; catching sight of shattered glass near her desk, and a discarded, broken mirror in the corner, its jagged edges glinting faintly in the dim light.

Confused, you glance back at Jinx, who has fallen silent, and she realizes you’ve spotted the aftermath of her previous breakdown. She wanted to hide how much it hurt.

Having previously dealt with, she tried distracting herself until she could find a way to tell you. She nervously watches your reaction, terrified that her ungloved hands will betray the trauma she’s experienced.

You look down and see her hands clenched in her lap; her knuckles white, betraying the tremor in her fingers. You notice her knuckles are deeply red, stained with dried blood.

As you held her small, cold hands in yours. Being gentle when you examine them. Concerned, you whispered, “Baby, what happened to your hands?” Hesitantly, she looked away, unsure how to respond to your question.

As you turned her hands over to reveal her open palms, you noticed small, crescent-shaped red marks. “Baby,” you begin, breathing deeply, “what happened to your hands?” You pressed her again, ensuring she understood your seriousness.

She tries to push it down by giving you a small, strained smile as she tries to pull her hands away. “Oh, it’s nothing, just a little accident,” she said, waving it off with a chuckle, “you know how clumsy I am!” Then, pushing herself up from the couch, she stood, a slight wince crossing her face.

Desperately, she paced, her eyes hollow, trying to seek an escape. “Jinx, it’s okay,” You tried offering her some comfort against the raging storm within her.

“There’s no need to be afraid. No one will hurt you. Not while I’m here,” she pauses mid step, her breath catching in her throat. Big, teary blue eyes bore into yours, her lips moving silently, the unspoken truth hanging amongst yourselves.

Her hands flew to her head, a tremor running through her as she choked out, “It was an accident, I swear!,” her eyes squeezed tight, tears welling. “I don’t know what happened… th- they were yelling—blaming me… and I reached for one of my tools—when I passed by that stupid mirror…I couldn’t stand it, so I broke it,” she exclaimed fretfully, her breath shaky.

“It broke when I threw my screwdriver at it. I cut my hand when I cleaned off some stupid glass off my desk, I wasn’t thinking,” she whispers, voice cracking softly.

You see her small hands, trembling slightly, move to cover her face. You slowly walked to her, each step measured and deliberate in the quiet hideout. When you reach her, you cup her face gently in your hands, feeling the warmth of her skin.

You spot her adorable freckles and those soft, blue eyes that you can’t get enough of, especially when you’re lying in bed, holding each other. Her skin, soft and pale, felt gentle to the touch.

Leaning down, you softly kissed her forehead, murmuring a gentle reassurance in a whisper as you lingered. “Deep breaths, baby. I’m not upset, okay? I was worried. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

With tears streaming down her face, she looks up at you from beneath wet lashes. She leans into your hands as you softly wipe away the tears with your thumbs.

“I was scared and angry, and I didn’t know what to do. I thought I could be okay, but I was wrong.” Tiredly, she mumbled, “I thought I was getting...you know, better.” She rests her head in the crook of your neck, the warmth of your skin a comfort against hers as your arms hold her close.

You feel yourself shatter within, your mind and body betraying how much this affected you, seeing your love suffering with her inner self, how she’s hurting, and you weren’t there to hold her, weren’t there to comfort her during it. When demons took over her, you’d want to cast yourself to hell for her.

Several minutes pass as you bask in the comforting closeness of her small frame in your arms. “We need to clean and bandage your hands,” You softly whispered, wanting to savor the gentleness of this moment.

“Come on,” you say softly, leading her into the half bathroom—a sink and toilet—though small, it’s spacious enough for the two of you.

From the sink counter in the small half bath, Jinx watches you look for the first aid kit under the sink cabinet, a kit you’d placed there just in case. You were relieved to have thought about placing one for emergencies.

Placing it beside her, you carefully arranged the materials—a selection of bandages and dressings, adhesive bandages, tweezers, measurement gauges, and antiseptic wipes.—on the counter.

Relieved to find only a few glass fragments embedded in her hands, you used tweezers to remove the remaining shards from her palm. The strong smell of alcohol filled your senses as you ripped open an antiseptic wipe; you gently grasped her left hand, preparing to clean the wounds.

“It’s going to sting, but just for a moment, okay?” You offer reassurance as she meets your gaze, nodding slightly in preparation. The antiseptic wipe burns as it touches her opened wounds, making her eyes squeeze shut, her brows furrowing in a grimace. You gently blow on her hand to ease the sting.

Carefully, you cleaned around the cuts on her knuckles and fingers, wiping away the dried blood. You flip her hand to clean the rest, tossing the crimson-stained antiseptic wipe into the trash.

Opening a fresh wipe, you repeat the process on her right hand. After you finish, grabbing a bandaid, you cover the bigger cuts and let the smaller ones heal without.

Afterward, you dispose of all the used materials and clean up. “How are you feeling?” you ask her, making sure she was okay. Looking up, a faint smile touches her tear-streaked face; her eyes were still red-rimmed and puffy from her breakdown. You recognize her silence as she tries to process the recent events.

You carefully set her down from the counter. You gather her to you, a hand on her back, and softly kiss her hair. Let’s get you to bed. Her exhaustion is clear on her features, so you tell her, “You need some rest, baby,”

“Will you lie down with me? I mean, until I fall asleep?” As you walk her to bed in her hideout, you notice the dark purple sheets on her little makeshift bed are unmade. You adjust the covers before climbing in and wrapping her in your arms.

“I’m not leaving you, never, i’ll stay as long as you need me,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. The words hung in the air, a silent compromise and comfort for her. Jinx sighs in contentment at your response.

She snuggles into you, arms around your waist. With each other held close, you have all that matters right in your arms.

Your lips brushed lightly against her forehead in a soft, loving kiss. “Always remember that I love you baby,” A soft smile graced her lips as she acknowledged your words.

As she whispers the tender words to you, “I love you, so much toots,” you feel the gentle touch of her lips against your chest, a soft kiss that lingers.

Wrapped in each other’s arms, you softly hum her to sleep; eventually, sleep overcomes you too.

©𝐬𝐡𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐰

[deadboy-edwin]

I have this idea for payneland:

Both of them get hit with some kind of spell of sorts that makes them "human" for 24 hours (basically like when they were alive: people can see them, hear them, touch them, they can taste and feel things again, the works)

What do you think they'd do in that time? Maybe taste their fav foods again?

So please bear with me as this will be more of brainrot than an actual fic because I just want to yap- but in my head, it would be kinda funny if the gang was able to get Tragic Mick to turn back into a walrus. The goddess Sedna would then "punish" the boys for daring to defy her- since she had said that Mick would never return to the sea if he chose to leave.

I feel like Sedna would lowkey have a soft spot for abused children, and would also see Mick's love for the sea, and on the inside not really be that mad tbh. Hence the "punishment". She'd "curse" Edwin and Charles to be alive once more.

They don't really know if it's permanent or whatever, but can you imagine the hilarity of Edwin being so used to phasing through walls and doors, then him just walking straight into a door and smacking into it because he's solid- Crystal would have a field day ribbing him for it.

I think, them being human would make them quite unable to take on cases, since admittedly them being regular humans (not everyone can be Crystal Palace Surname Von Hoverkraft okay) makes them vulnerable to beings like demons. So they'd have some downtime. That gives Charles time to think.

Being fully corporeal also allows Crystal to hang out with them like she would with living people. It also allows Crystal to notice things about them that would not have been possible when they were ghosts- like Charles blushing when Edwin adjusts his collar so it's up. Or how the two boys are so tactile. Sure, they'd always been tactile, but why does it seem Charles is extra touchy, now that both boys can feel physical touch?

I think Edwin, bitchy little nerd that he is (and we love him for it) would have a field day with Google. He'd struggle with whatever the fuck a laptop is, and how LED screens strain his poor eyes, and probs get those anti-blue light glasses, and Charles would have a bisexual awakening because Edwin in glasses???

Charles, on the other hand. I feel like boy would want to party. He strikes me as the kind of guy who would be fun at parties, and he'd probably drag the gang to a nightclub after spending the entire day eating different kinds of food (I think he'd enjoy cookie dough ice cream- but that's just me projecting my own cravings).

At the club, Charles might be a bit sulky because Edwin had spent a lot of the day on Crystal's laptop, despite them switching restaurants so that they could try everything- and he's thankful that the laptop is not present at the club.

Unfortunately, Edwin is Edwin, and his brand of anti-rizz also works on the living. You have living people coming up to him left and right, and Charles wonders why this hasn't happened much in death.

Crystal is fast to point out that it's because ghosts are invisible to regular humans. Edwin is not a ghost at the moment, so he's not invisible. She also makes it a point to tell Charles about exactly how many people had simped for Edwin in the afterlife (Monty, the Cat King, hello????)

I think Charles would then get drunk. One, because he's been a ghost for some thirty-odd years. Dude has no fucking clue what his alcohol tolerance levels are. Two, because he gets annoyed that Edwin is getting hit on so much.

There is a third reason that comes to mind once he's fully inebriated, and it's the fact that the following thoughts aren't exactly heterosexual

Getting pouty when your best mate isn't paying attention to you while you are having a meal together

Staring and practically drooling when your best mate is wearing glasses

Getting upset when guys and girls (despite Edwin's lack of interest in the latter) keep flirting with Edwin

Wanting to feel Edwin's touch while he has all his senses at full blast

The plot twist here is that since Edwin is also alive and fully corporeal, our repressed Edwardian boy has actually been icing Charles out because as a human, he does not have the luxury of willing erections away.

I think though, because it seems like immortal beings in the DBDA universe have a sense of humor (hi, Cat King and Esther- wicked as her sense of humor is), when Charles finally makes a move and pulls Edwin away from the admittedly gorgeous guy that had been chatting him up with a "He's in love with me, and vice versa, I'm afraid" and kissing Edwin in the middle of the dance floor, is when they turn back into ghosts.

Even though they're now invisible to most humans once more, Edwin is still quick to berate Charles on the PDA- though there's a softness to his berating.

They end up discovering that as ghosts, they can still feel physical sensations if there's enough emotion involved.

That is a fortunate discovery for all parties involved, especially for our girl Crystal Palace Surname Von Hoverkraft, who walks into the office a few days after the club debacle, and sees Edwin pressing Charles up against a bookcase, snogging him with a fervor, his thigh working its way in between Charles' legs---

"Hot," Crystal comments with a smirk, causing the two boys to jump apart with matching sheepish grins on their faces. "If I'd known Edwin kissed like that, I would've gotten it on with him instead."

[naivety]

Painlessness has always been a sun Scott can’t look at for long without going blind.

[earako]

@walrus150915

Finally finished the fic ^^

[happy-hermit]

Wrote a little something based on @stiffyck desert alien Scar au!! It does include some hermitshipping so be warned if that’s not your thing :)

================================

Nothing had even really been going on, when it happened for the first time. There hadn’t been any sort of grand moment beforehand, or big event to attribute it to. It snuck up on them, quiet and unobtrusive and yet bigger than anything that could be put into words.

Grian had been procrastinating building a certain part of his base, instead following Scar around as he terraformed around his half-built castle. It was getting to be early evening, the sun rays growing longer and the air bringing a slight chill. Scar seemed to feel it more than Grian did, if the small shivers every now and then were any indication. But then, Grian knew Scar wasn’t… from around here. Or from anywhere he knew. Curiosity had always burned low in his stomach about the topic, but he’d sat with it for so long that it didn’t feel obtrusive, anymore. Either Scar would tell him, one day, or he wouldn’t. It wasn’t Grian’s job to know.

Still, it was fun to think about. He’d be lying if he pretended he’d never stared a little too long. It was just…fascinating, was all it was. There was no other reason he would be staring, no other reason his face would get a little warm, sometimes. Anyone would find it hard to look away from Scar, he was sure. The hard scales covering his shoulders and circling around his eyes and on top of his ears, the sandy color to his skin, the fur peeking out between scales — it was just a tiny bit mesmerizing.

Apart from that, Scar probably had one of the most genuinely happy smiles Grian had ever seen. So what if his stomach jumped whenever he saw it? Anyone would feel compelled to smile back.

Grian sighed dramatically, leaning back on his hands and craning his head to squint at the sky. The faint beginnings of stars were starting to appear against the darkening blue, and Grian looked back over at Scar, who was still placing and replacing leaf blocks. His movements were noticeably more sluggish than they’d been a few hours ago, and Grian frowned a little.

“It’s getting dark,” Grian said, casual as he could manage, and Scar jumped, glancing over at him and then up at the sky. (Grian always got a strange feeling in his stomach, when Scar looked up at the stars. Like he was watching something he wasn’t supposed to see.)

“But the sun just came up!” Scar said, scowling slightly as he turned back to Grian. “The days are so short.”

Grian raised an eyebrow. “They’re the same as they’ve always been, buddy.” He gestured at the large area Scar has managed to terraform. “You’ve got to come up for air, sometimes.”

“I can hold my breath for days,” Scar grumbled, making his way over to where Grian was standing surrounded by shulkerboxes, and he seemed to register something. “What have you— You’ve been here this whole time?”

“What? Can’t a man hang out with his— with his best pal while he builds his lawn?”

“You just didn’t want to build the back of your base,” Scar said with a cheeky smile, and Grian huffed and looked away.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Grian said, turning back. “My base is perfectly— Hold on.”

Grian lurched forward towards Scar, eyes fixed on the side of his head, because— because he could’ve sworn he’d seen—

“Wait a minute, do— Was that—“ Grian stopped and squinted as Scar’s top set of ears descended back onto his bottom set, because he had two sets of ears. He had four. Except not anymore, now that they’d blended back into one. “You’ve got ears!”

Scar backed up with his hands out in front of him, laughing nervously and looking to the side. “Well— We all have ears, G, I don’t know what—“

“You have four,” Grian insisted, shaking his head in awe, wings puffing up in excitement. “Scar, that’s— that’s cool.”

Slowly, Scar hands lowered, and his head tilted a bit. “…It is?”

“Yeah,” Grian said, fairly certain he was vibrating in place, and something about Scar seemed to soften. He looked almost embarrassed.

“They don’t usually show,” Scar said slowly, hand raising to touch the ear that was still visible. “They’re more… They’re softer than the other ones. Not really protected, you know?”

“Can I see?” Grian asked carefully. His heart was trying to break past his rib cage.

Scar hesitated, and glanced over at where Jellie was curled up on a shulkerbox, watching serenely. Eventually, she yawned. Scar laughed a little, seeming a bit shaky, and he turned back to Grian with a small smile.

“Sure,” Scar said, hands fidgeting inside his pants pockets. “I mean, they’re not super exciting or anything.”

“Only if you want to,” Grian said, shuffling forward a half step. He shot him a playful grin. “But you should know that I’m invested now.”

Scar laughed, almost like it’d been startled out of him, and then he sighed through a smile. “You’re horrible.”

“You’re stalling.”

“Remind me why you spent the whole day here instead of your base?”

Grian slapped him on the arm with a huff of indignation, and Scar starting shaking with laughter, scales on his face shifting as his eyes squinted in joy. Grian felt a little breathless, all of the sudden, and looking at Scar’s ears didn’t help; they were separate again.

Scar’s laughter faded away as he realized what had happened, and his ears twitched, but didn’t fold back together.

“Can you control them?” Grian asked, stepping to the side to get a better look.

“Usually,” Scar grumbled playfully, glaring to the side as if he could see them. “But sometimes it happens when I’m… When I’m comfortable, I guess. I don’t think about it.”

“You trust me,” Grian said softly, a quiet realization that hit his chest like a freight train.

Scar smiled, a little shy at the edges. “Of course.”

The lower set of ears were just barely smaller, and covered in the softest looking fur Grian had ever seen. His fingers twitched, and he fidgeted with his sweater to put the energy somewhere else.

“Do you mind if…” Grian started, and then hesitated, eyebrows furrowing. Scar made a questioning noise, and Grian finished. “Can I touch them?”

Scar blinked, and the skin around the scales on his cheeks got a little darker. His tail swished in short movements in the dirt behind him, and Grian began to worry he’d said something wrong.

“It’s fine if it’s a no,” Grian rushed out, a bit flustered himself now. “I just— I don’t know why I asked that.”

“No no, it’s fine, I promise,” Scar said, voice a little higher than usual, and he cleared his throat. “I don’t mind, just…” Scar trailed off, eyebrows furrowing in thought, and Grian gave him a minute to think.

“Where I come from,” Scar started slowly, not quite looking at him, “when someone touches the lower ears, it means that they’re— like, a very close friend.” Scar cracked an awkward smile. “Or a very close friend, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh,” Grian said. “Sorry, I—“

“I said I didn’t mind,” Scar interrupted quickly, hands in his pockets again, face just slightly tucked down into his scarf, and Grian realized he was flustered. “So, if you don’t mind…”

A painfully soft smile crossed the avian's face — so embarrassingly fond that Mumbo would make fun of him for weeks if he’d seen it.

“I don’t mind,” Grian said, gently touching Scar’s wrist before reaching towards his ears, giving him time to pull away. Instead, Scar just stared back at him, seeming a little bit awed.

Carefully, Grian brushed his fingers over the top of the ears, and grinned when Scar’s eyelids immediately started to droop. The fur was soft, and thicker than he’d anticipated. Happy avian noises built up in Grian’s chest, feathers fluffing up along his wings as he gently rubbed Scar’s ears.

“Alright?” Grian asked quietly, and Scar just nodded rapidly. Grian laughed and kept at it.

Minutes or hours later, a low, rhythmic rumble started up in Scar’s throat, unlike anything Grian had heard. It was a bit like purring, if purring somehow included every pitch of sound at once. Maybe it should have been grating, but it was more like music than anything else. Like a built-in lullaby. Grian felt all the tension he’d been carrying from the week melt away, and he exhaled slowly. When he opened his eyes, Scar was watching him.

They’d sat down on the ground at some point in the past few minutes, Scar’s hands wrapped loosely around Grian’s arms to keep them steady as he rubbed his ears in small circles.

“Hi,” Grian said softly, mouth lifting at the corners without his say-so.

“Well hello there,” Scar responded, equally soft, still somehow making those noises while he talked.

Grian glanced over Scar’s shoulder and grinned as he watched Jellie hop up on the shulkerbox at Scar’s back. She immediately set to licking at Scar’s lower ears, and Scar sighed. Grian giggled quietly and finally let his hands fall back into his lap, letting Jellie take over.

“She does this a lot?” Grian asked, voice full of amusement.

“Oh, constantly,” Scar said, absentmindedly reaching back to pet her. “She thinks I don’t do a good enough job grooming myself and she has to do it for me.”

Grian laughed, leaning back and enjoying the show; Scar grumpily sitting still while his cat(?) licked the fur on his ears.

“She’s doing pretty good,” Grian chuckled, and Scar huffed, though he was starting to smile.

“She’s actually older than I am,” Scar said, as if that was a perfectly normal thing to say, and Grian blinked. “I think she thinks I’m her child.”

“…She’s from where you’re from,” Grian said eventually, and Scar just hummed.

“Scar,” Grian started, because it finally felt like the time to ask. “Where are you from?”

Scar looked at him for a long while, seeming to study his face. Then he looked up, tilting his head and squinting at the sky. Grian was about to take the evasion of his question as an answer until Scar finally made a noise and pointed. At the sky.

“Somewhere around there, I think,” Scar said, still looking at the stars. “It’s been a while, but I’m pretty sure I remember.”

Grian followed Scar’s finger to find a patch of night sky, saturated with stars. It felt like it should have been a big revelation, but instead it simply slid into place. Like a puzzle piece he hadn’t been aware was missing. Somehow, it made sense.

“That explains a lot,” Grian said finally, and Scar burst out giggling, scaled tail thumping against the ground and all four ears twitching against his head. Jellie huffed and sat down to groom herself, and— Had she always had that extra set of legs?

“Thank you,” Scar said when he had finally stopped laughing, and he grabbed Grian’s hand in a gentle hold.

“For what?” Grian asked, a bit of warmth rising to his cheeks.

Scar just shrugged, a happy little grin on his face. “You don’t make me want to hide.”

Lost for words, Grian squeezed Scar’s hand, and together they watched the stars.

[hxrtnett]

welcome to where i write my lil blurbs and fics!

i’ll typically write for actors/artists i love that i do not see enough writing for (charlie bushnell, dominic fike, taron egerton, pedro pascal, josh hartnett, jack mulhern, etc.) and their characters i like! i used to write on tumblr and wattpad years ago, and i love to write so why not restart? 🙃

main account: @sunsh1n3s — i post moodboards and random stuff there, my calm content

navigation tags (updated as i go):

#luke & hxrtnett — luke castellan

#charlie & hxrtnett — charlie bushnell

[jhutchlover1234]

minotaur! könig | draft for a j.ai intro i got lazy with :p

In the dim recesses of the Labyrinth, where shadows twist and coil like the serpentine corridors, the Minotaur suffocates in his own self-pity.

A pool of blood grows beneath his hooves, his latest victim—one of the young Athenians that had been sacrificed this recent cycle—lying still and half-consumed.

The air beneath his veil feels damp—wet when König huffs.

He catches his reflection in the crimson puddle below. A strange animal stares back.

König quickly averts his eyes, already feeling his veins thrum with fury—a burning hatred for the very circumstances of his existence. He is neither beast nor man, yet this—thing—embodies the torment of both. His body is a prison, its sinewy muscles a constant reminder of his primitive nature, whilst his mind, aching with self-awareness, yearns for something more—something beyond the brutality that defines his every waking moment.

Salvation.

That's what he yearns for—aches to have, to hold, to know.

Perhaps it'll save me, he tells himself. Perhaps my mother will bear to look at me again.

Existence as he knows it is a perpetual torment, a cyclic punishment for sins he cannot even remember committing—for the sin of being alive.

He is forced to play the role of the monster, the aggressor, chasing down those who dare enter his domain, only to be haunted by their shrill screams and his own uncontrollable rage. The thrill of the hunt, once a mere means to an end, has transformed into a cruel charade of fulfillment, a painful echo of what could have been a noble purpose.

He turns at the sound of a gasp, another sacrifice making themselves known. They're a delicate thing wrapped in fine cloth, knees nearly bucking under the weight of his gaze.

König watches as {{user}}'s throat bounces. Can't help himself as he imagines sinking his teeth into them.