#skull complains!!! why does he get all this!?!? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stunie · 3 months

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NO BRAKES ! ᯓ⭑ 1.2K wc. ft. dabi x f!reader

summary: oh, so you wanna ask him “is that all you’ve got?” while he’s balls deep inside you and see what happens? here’s a lil hint for you: he’s not gonna be very happy with you.

contains : explicit smut (18+), brat taming, overstimulation, mentions of squirting, pet names, teasing, creampie, cw blood (his staple tore a lil bit), slight cw degradation (calls u dumb, but he also calls u cute !!), his dick has piercings <3, hate sex ??

note : okk here’s my response to this thirst ! ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

“Look at you,” you hear Dabi growl from just above you, his hand pushing your face deeper into your couch as soon as you’re trying to spit a slew of curses at him, “What’s the matter? That’s quite the face you’re making.”

His pace doesn’t falter, still relentless even when he’s jutting out his tongue to quickly swipe at the blood that’s begun to drip down the side of his mouth, the result of the way his lips are overly stretched in a scary smile— his mouth spreading a bit too far from the way he’s laughing at how you’re squealing underneath him. “S-shut up,” you try and bark back, voice trailing off into a loud gasp when he hits a particularly deep spot inside you. “It’s t-too much. You gotta.. gotta slow down..!”

“Aww, you poor, poor thing,” he’s feigning sympathy, a terrible job at it— but the thumb that was previously pressing into your cheek a moment ago is now rubbing soothing circles against the skin. It does absolutely nothing to comfort you, only making your eyebrow twitch in annoyance at the mere thought.

“But.. i wouldn’t be complaining if i was you, little girl.”

You can smell the familiar scent of smoke as soon as he’s lowering himself to loom over you, the cold staples that line his chest now pressing against your back as you shiver. The movement has him suddenly reaching even deeper inside you, your eyes rolling further back into your skull when you feel a mixture of his cum and your juices spill out onto the fabric beneath you.

He was big enough as is… had already emptied himself inside you once tonight, got you completely filled up to the brim and yet you’re still somehow able to vividly feel the piercings lining his dick drag along your walls with each and every thrust.

The same walls he’s been so insistent on training. The same walls he’s always having to force to stretch out for him, make them open up and accommodate his thickness. It’s always been a mystery to him as to why you— down to your pussy, always act like such a fucking brat with him. Just how many times has he taken you by now?

Bent you over your couch, your table, he’s even taken you right on your welcome mat. But no matter how many times he buries his cock in you, he still has to spend his time working his fingers in you, get you all stretched out and ready to take him.

How much longer’s it gonna take for your pussy to ingrain the shape of his dick in its little mind?

He wants to make that happen tonight.

You hear Dabi loudly grunt above you before he’s suddenly grabbing you by your face, fingers digging into your cheeks as he forces you to crane your neck and peer back of him, cock twitching when he sees you shoot him your best attempt a glare.

“Ahh, still a fuckin’ brat,” he acknowledges, “looks like our practice has been helping your stamina.” His voice is steady and low, and if it wasn’t for the hungry and crazed look in his eyes— one you can easily recognize as the same look he gets when he wants to see you screaming and shaking under him.. you’d probably think he was bored otherwise.

“You know… if you didn’t have such a cute face,” he’s leaning in, and he has to stifle a laugh when your eyes flutter shut in expectance. Oh— you cutie. Did you really think he was about to give you a little kiss?

How adorable of you. So you really can be sweet sometimes.

There’s a tight squeeze to your cheeks to get you back to looking at him, your tired eyes meeting with his again as your lips are forcefully puffing out in a pathetic pout from his grip. “There you are. Said that if you didn’t have that face, then it’d be my foot pushing your head down on that couch and not my hand.”

“Consider yourself lucky.”

“..Huh?” you ask incredulously, and he’s immediately taking back what he previously thought about you being sweet, not with that attitude you’re giving him. Your voice is breathless, and he can tell your mind has already started to go dizzy from how good he feels, but you still have your pride if nothing else— much to Dabi’s dismay. “Y-you’d better not..” you’re panting now, “put your grimy feet anywhere near my face.”

He only laughs. God, he’d never even dream of ruining that pretty face.

“Yea, yea,” he coos, abruptly letting go with a disappointed shrug of his shoulders as you yelp, hands coming to catch yourself as you fall back onto the couch. “Not that it’d even matter, dollface… ‘s not gonna change the way you’re looking right now.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to retort, hands gripping around your hips now as he repeatedly pulls you back into him, bullying his achy cock into you over and over, ecstatic with the way you have to scramble to get a tighter grip on the couch, keep yourself braced and grounded so he doesn’t fuck you right off onto the floor.

And you’re being so loud. Did you really even hate him? Your neighbors wouldn’t think so. In fact, no one in a one mile radius would think so.

They would think you loved him.

“How cute— you’re already looking ruined.” There’s a subtle shake to his voice, a tell-tale sign that he’s starting to get close to his high, and the way he’s slamming so deep inside you is only a second confirmation of that. “Completely ruined. How’s that feel?”

“‘M not,” you spit back, glare contorting to a lewd expression as soon as he finds the spot that’ll have you creaming in seconds. Close. You’re so close, and it’s always about now when he starts fucking you like you’re nothing but a toy.

“Yeah?” and you absolutely hate that you know him well enough to be able to tell that he’s grinning ear to ear at the way you’ve started to tremble under him. “You’d break into pieces if i took off the brakes.”

“But you asked for it huh? Want me to destroy you and turn you into my dumb little cocksleeve?” He’s louder now, raising his voice so you can hear him over the shrieking sound of your moans. “Don’t needa ask twice, doll. now shut that bratty mouth of yours up already.”

2K notes · View notes

vngelicc · 11 months

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teeth. ☆ j.jk

⋆ TAGS — ghostface!jk, breaking in, TW: non-con to dub-con (oc does NOT consent verbally even if she does participate hence the dub-con), brief knife play, cunnilingus, degradation, misogyny(?), objectification, blow jobs, brief face/skull fucking, fuckin in the woods, unprotected sex, nasty talk by jk, possessive!jk, hints of kidnapping/captivity, fear play, facial, jk is lowkey yandere, iconic what’s your favorite scary movie scene but my style, DEAD DOVE, slight praises, ass n coochie worship cause jk is a ass man certified LMAO, cheerleader!oc, college setting

⋆ WORD COUNT — 4.2k

⋆ now playing: teeth - 5sos ⋆

“Color me your color, baby, color me your car, color me your color, darling, I know who you are,”

The music blared loudly, you hummed under your breath while lining over your lips with a dark lip pencil. The hour was getting closer and you realized you had to speed things up if you wanted to meet with your friends on time (you had been stuck in your cheer uniform ALL DAY). You moved around your room quickly while tossing articles of clothing onto your bed, no outfit in particular on your mind.

You uncapped the red lipstick and ran it over your lips slowly, filling in the blank spaces and blending the two colors to perfection. You decided a white long sleeve tucked into your mini jean skirt would serve as a perfect combo. If you were lucky, maybe that cute college senior Kim Seokjin would give you his jacket to wear. The idea has you smiling like a dummy.

Before you can slip out of your skirt the phone downstairs begins ringing loudly. You could have very well ignored it but you don’t feel like listening to your parents nag at you for not picking up the phone if it happens to be them. “Ugh, seriously.” You mutter and quickly run downstairs to the kitchen.

“Hello?” You softly sigh while twirling a piece of your hair around your finger.

“Hello,” some guy’s deep voice greets you, he says nothing else and you tilt your head in confusion muttering a soft ‘yes?’. “Who is this?”

Immediately you frown in confusion and balance the phone between your ear and shoulder, “Who are you trying to reach?” You pop a piece of chicken from your mom’s leftover casserole into your mouth.

“What number is this?”

“Uhh..what number are you trying to reach?”

“I don’t know.”

You hold back a deep sigh and check the time behind you on the clock, you really don’t have patience for this nonsense. Especially for some weirdo who’s either prank calling or just doesn’t know how to work a phone. “Then you have the wrong number,” you eat another piece of casserole, “it happens, take it easy though.” You hang up quickly before he can utter another word to you.

You had just set the phone down when it began to ring all over again, “Ugh…hello?” You stare at the decorative ceiling in annoyance, “Hello?” You say loudly when the other person doesn’t say anything for a few seconds.

“Why don’t you wanna talk to me? Just wanted to apologize, ‘s all.” He says with a teasing lilt, but it sounds more condescending than anything, “Just wanna..get to know you.”

You ignore the nasty little shiver you get down your spine when he talks to you like that, a deeper part of you is literally drooling over how this guy’s voice sounds but too bad he’s a weirdo though.. Your gut twists uncomfortably as your eyes dart to the side to look out the patio doors. “Okay..well you’re forgiven now, bye.” You go to hang up.

“Wait–if you tell me your name I’ll tell you mine.”

You can’t help your scoff, “Yeah, right. I don’t think so, why the hell would I give you my name? You sound like a total creep right now, you know that?” You huff and open your fridge up for a drink, “Besides, what’s your deal anyways? You keep calling and I’m obviously not who you’re looking for.” You complain while uncapping a bottle of water.

“Because,” he calmly starts, “I wanna know who I’m lookin’ at right now.. Pretty red lips and a tight little uniform on,” he draws out huskily.

You immediately go still, “W-What…how do you..?” you look around the empty kitchen and living room. “This isn’t funny.” You quickly head down the hall to the front door, making sure the locks are set before you go back to the living room and make sure the patio doors are locked as well.

“Never said it was babydoll.” He muses, “Though I do gotta admit, red looks spectacular on you, wonder if you got more around here in your drawers.” He trails off, the sound of drawers slamming close and another opening could be heard on the other side of the line.

You wait with a bated breath listening carefully, you slowly turn your head to look up at the ceiling. There’s a low thumping noise that follows the sounds you hear from the phone. Your eyes slip shut as you try to control the sob that’s about to come out of your throat, “What do you want from me?” You croak in a tiny voice.

“What’s your favorite scary movie sweetheart, hm?” His footsteps are heavy as he starts walking around upstairs in your room.

You blink your tears away and stumble towards the hallway to your only escape route: your dad’s office. “I-I don’t like any scary movies,” you whimper quietly, “p-please, I don’t wanna die.” You sniffle. You can hear him humming in the hallway upstairs now, causing you to duck into the office as silent as you can.

“That wasn’t my question. Time’s ticking babydoll, I’m not exactly a patient guy you know.”

“H-Halloween..!” You whisper-yell, “I like Halloween.”

“Which one?” He asks, you can hear him loud and clear at the bottom of the staircase, “Hm?”

You sniffle softly and back away, “Rob Zombie’s version,” you utter softly and hear him pause in his footsteps. He stands there for a few seconds before he slowly draws nearer and nearer. Your eyes squeeze shut as a terrified whimper escapes your lips, before you can plead with him the door slowly creaks open and a hooded figure stands in the doorway with the phone held up to his ear. You stare at him, the phone slipping from your trembling hand as it slams to the floor with a loud thud.

He tilts his head to the side and raises his gloved hand to wave at you. “Hey there sweetheart,” he purrs from under the mask.

You scream out in fear and knock over the desk chair, you’re lucky as hell your dad has a set of patio doors himself. You slip through the doors and run down the small hill, looking back and forth in time to see the hooded figure chasing after you.

The sounds of leaves crunching and branches snapping fill both sides of your ears. Adrenaline kicks in like never before and has you running the fastest you’ve ever moved in your entire life. If you can lose him in the woods you’ll make it to your neighbors’ in five minutes tops, might even get lucky if you detour to the main road but the hill to climb up will only slow you down.

“Don’t be like that babydoll!” He calls out from your left? Right? You don’t know where his voice is coming from, and quite frankly you’re too scared to look. You hear his heavy footsteps (now) directly behind you before a hand tangles itself in the back of your uniform top, gripping it tight as he stops you from going any further.

The force itself is enough to send you flying to the ground, knees scraping hard against a tree stump. You break your fall with your hands, crying out from the pain that erupts in both palms as tiny twigs and rocks dig into your soft skin. “Gotcha.” He chuckles and squats down to your level to admire your bruised form. You must have gave him a run for his money with how hard he’s breathing under the mask.

“P-Please!” You crawl backwards, back hitting the tree stump, “I don’t wanna die,” you pathetically cry, “I promise I won’t tell anyone if you let me go.” Call it cliche but it was worth a shot to plead with your killer? Stalker? You don’t know anymore.

He tilts his head, “Heard that one before, you’re not the first to beg so sweetly like that babydoll. Almost melts my poor little heart,” he coos mockingly, “but don’t stress your pretty little head over that, you’re not meant to use that brain of yours—meant to sit and look pretty for me.” He purrs and reaches out to run a gloved hand over your dirt stricken thighs.

You curl away and try to escape his touch, “Why are you doing this?” You whimper quietly, watching as his hand rubs circles over your bruised knees. A tremor runs down your spine as his leather gloves run over your shaking thighs, his touch feels scorching hot despite the cool material of his gloves pressing against your skin.

“Been watchin’ ya for a while,” he murmurs, “night n day—just imagining allll the different ways I could have you. Bet you’d look pretty with a mouth stuffed full of cock, wonder how pretty you’d look with cock deep inside your little cunt baby,” he trails off while giving your thigh a rough squeeze, “always did wonder how that pussy tastes.” You can practically picture the shit eating grin he must have under the mask.

You hate that his nasty words have a bubbling heat building in your lower stomach, it shouldn’t be that arousing to you yet here you were in the middle of the woods being fondled by your stalker while he talked about how much he wanted to fuck you. His voice even sounds hotter in person vs the phone.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He chuckles.

You land a harsh kick to his arm with a loud, “Get off of me!” You quickly turn over to stumble to your feet while he curses under his breath and stands to chase after you.

He’s not so gentle this time with the way he snatches you and slams you right up against the tree trunk, letting the chips and splinters bite into your skin unforgivingly. “Thought we were over this,” he growls, “was gonna treat you nice and sweet but by the looks of it you just wanna be tossed around like the filthy little slut you are,” he hisses in your ear while pressing you tight against the tree.

You whine loudly and push back against him in an effort to get him off of you, “Let me go—let go!” You growl angrily, “you’re a fucking psycho creep!” You grit your teeth while trying to turn to look directly at him.

He doesn’t shy away from hurting you to get you to become docile again. He pins both wrists behind your back in a tight grip, squeezing both of your hands until you hear a low threatening pop. A pained little whimper escapes your lip as he forces your head against the bark, “You gonna sit still like a good girl or do I have to tie you up?” He growls menacingly.

“I-I’ll be good!” You cry out as the pain starts to become unbearable.

“What was that?” He whispers in your ear, “Couldn’t hear ya.” He smirks.

A quiet sob slips from your lips as you slump over in defeat, “I-I’ll be a good girl.” You softly reply, too hung up on the pain to reply with the unbridled anger you feel right now. “Just please—let me go.” You sob.

He ignores your cries and instead brings out a rather intimidating looking hunting knife, it cuts into your skin almost right away with the slightest little touch. “Please no—” You immediately begin, thighs shifting as they slide against each other in an attempt to block him from either cutting or stabbing you. The only thing you achieve is the blade running into your thigh and slicing a small line downwards.

“None of that now babydoll,” he whispers while letting your wrists go and setting his big hand over your hip, “just sit still and look pretty for me yeah? Don’t need to think, just feel.” He breathes out as he guides the knife up your skirt, letting the sharp tip (which you noticed was slightly curved like a hook or something) hook under the side of your panties.

Your poor heart hammers in your chest as you begin to hyperventilate, “W-What are you gonna do to me?” The blade tugs at your panties, no doubt already piercing through the flimsy little material.

“Fuck.” You hear him whisper from behind, “You’re driving me fuckin’ crazy you know that?” His tongue clicks in annoyance as he suddenly yanks the knife down, a loud riiip following in suit, as well as your terrified scream/sob. “Gonna have a taste now babydoll, put your hands right there—yeahhh, good girl. Keep ‘em there baby,” he has you bending over with your legs spread wide apart and your hands over the tree, “ ‘s like a fuckin’ dream back here, fat little cunt n a nice ass.” He whistles while smacking his hand against your poor cheek.

You bite your lip as the cool air fans over your moist cunt, at this point in time you have long given up making any excuses as to why your pussy was drooling for this weirdo. Still didn’t mean you were less scared but you figured if you complied the faster things would go over. “Look at this slutty pussy, already leakin’ like a bitch in heat. Does a scary man like me chasing you through the woods get you goin’ sweetheart? Maybe you’re a little more fucked than I thought.” He chuckles.

There’s a brief pause and you wonder what he’s doing back there, so you turn your head to look at him when you gasp softly. He has the mask thrown off to the side, his face in all his glory—messy black hair and a lip ring with an array of piercings on his ears— he sits there with a shit eating grin, “Guess the cat’s out the bag huh?” You eye him with distaste before turning back around, you had at least hoped he was ugly or something.

“God,” he groans, “can’t get over this ass,” he mutters to himself while smacking both cheeks and pulling them apart to expose both of your holes to him, “wanna see it wrapped ‘round my cock, gonna have you squirting and messy babydoll. Might even have to get you on your knees to clean up your mess,” he whispers as his hot breath fans over your pussy lips, “you’re gonna be lookin’ at me with those sweet little eyes of yours too, gonna bust my load all over that pretty face of yours.” His tongue dips between your soft folds, licking from your winking hole down to your swollen little clit hiding under its hood.

Your eyes squeeze shut as his hands steady you by the hips, his face is practically smushed against your cunt as he slobbers over it with his greedy tongue. He sucks on your inner folds, getting every nook and cranny as he slurps up the mess he leaves behind before lapping over your clit with his tongue. Your thighs shake a little, you’ve never had anyone this eager to eat your cunt out like this. He’s a fucking menace and you hate how good he is at this.

“Fuck,” he pants softly, “can’t get enough baby, could eat this pussy for days.” He all but moans while latching on to your clit.

A shocked cry leaves your lips, you dig your nails into the tree bark and hold on tightly as your swollen bud throbs in his mouth. He doesn’t let up, suckling on your clit like a lollipop with just the right amount of pressure around the bud. A new wave of slick gushes from your untouched hole, loud mewls and whines leaving you as you subtly rut back against his face. It’s pure heaven.

He spreads your cheeks apart and pulls back to harshly spit on your cunt, “There you go, get nice n wet for me babydoll.” His hot breath fans over your empty little hole, “Good girl.”

You shouldn’t like the way he’s talking to you, but something about him calling you that has a delirious little whimper leaving you. He dips his tongue into your pussy, the sensation definitely welcomed as you sigh in bliss. His tongue wiggles around and curls upwards to brush over your sensitive walls in a flicking motion.

He jiggles your ass in both hands, moaning at the sight of the fat slipping through his fingers from his tight grip. He flicks his tongue back and forth over your swollen bud, you nearly double over as his tongue traces letters on your clit. “W-Wait,” you bite your lip as your eyes shut and you reach behind you to tangle your hand in his hair.

You freeze when you realize what you’re doing, but instead of getting angry with you he leans into your touch with a low moan. Clearly he loves it so you keep your hand in his hair, occasionally pulling just a tiny bit. When he pulls back to catch his breath, audibly gulping as he sits back on his haunches, “Turn around.” He says breathlessly.

From behind you can hear him shuffling around, the sounds of a belt being unbuckled fills your ears. “On your knees babydoll,” he rasps out while fisting his cock, sliding his thumb over the mess of precum he’s made at the tip of his cock. He’s watching you with dark lust filled eyes as you slowly fall to your knees in front of him, eye contact never wavering.

“Shit—when you look like that you make it harder for me to hold back.” He groans while licking his lip, “Exactly how I imagined you’d look.” He purrs as he brings the head of his cock to smother his precum over them, “Stick your tongue out for me baby—there you go, just like that.” He grins softly.

You lay your tongue flat under his fat cock, delighting in the delicious weight over your tongue. You can’t help but flick the tip of your tongue upwards causing it to brush over a throbbing vein. He releases a quiet hiss, fisting the shaft as he roughly slaps it against your tongue in repeated taps.

“Will you look at that, ‘nother little filthy slut we got here, how many other cocks you sucked huh?” He pushes into your mouth and holds the back of your head with one hand tightly fisted in your hair. You gag around his cock and fruitlessly claw at his thighs, “What’s the matter? Can’t take it? Poor baby can’t handle having a cock stuffed down her throat? Pathetic little thing you are, can’t even do what you were made for,” he rasps out while rolling his hips against your face.

His balls press snug against your chin as spit and drool dribble from the corners of your mouth. Your tears run freely no doubt ruining your makeup for the night, you probably look a hot mess right now. Your stalker moans and pants freely above you, he doesn’t bother hiding how good he feels right now as his cock twitches occasionally. You really lose it when he forces your head down and keeps you still, pelvis pressed right up against your nose as he rolls his hips in quick grinds.

“Oh shit,” he breathes out, “feels so fuckin’ good babydoll, knew you were the one when I first saw you.” He whispers out while slipping his cock out of your mouth, relishing in the gasping noises you make, “Gonna make you into my little cock sleeve, don’t need you doin’ anything else..belong with me right on my cock.” He shoves himself back into your mouth and begins fucking into your throat roughly. You cry and gurgle while weakly slapping your hands over his thighs. He doesn’t let up and only fucks your throat more eagerly.

“Fuck baby, c’mere,” he yanks you off his cock and brings you up to him.

He doesn’t waste time bending you back over the three and shoving his fat cock into you. You let out a loud cry and dig your nails into the tree from the pressure and slight twinge of pain from the size of his girthy cock. It sits nice and snug against your walls, curved slightly upwards to press into your g-spot, not quite hitting it but brushing over it.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper out as your toes curl from inside your shoes.

When a couple more seconds pass of him just idly rocking into you, he pulls all the way out until only the head remains before slamming back in with a loud slap. You jolt in pleasure as a tiny scream escapes, he doesn’t let up and keeps the same harsh pace he started with. His cock punches deep into your pussy, poking at your cervix painfully as you yelp out in pain between your moans.

“Fucking hell,” he moans out while moving his hands from your hips to your bouncing tits, “got a nice little pussy n a pair of pretty tits just for me right sweetheart?” He slaps one of your tits before taking your pebbled little nipple between his fingers and meanly pinching it.

“Mm!” You arch your back and try to twist away from his bruising grip. He manages to grip your other tit and knead it in his big hand.

Loud squelching noises fill the space around you in the woods, some of your slick even drips down onto the ground with tiny wet splats. The sound is filthy and has your face burning up in embarrassment as you hide in your hands with low whimpers and whiny moans. He suddenly changes the angle and begins grinding his fat cock right up against your g-spot, pressing insistently as he hits it over and over again.

“Oh you like it there don’t you sweetheart,” he grins while rolling his hips in slow circles, “go on then, fuck yourself on my cock like the little whore you are. Get that pussy nice and soaked for me.” He growls quietly in your ear while pinching your nipples once more.

A quiet squeal erupts from your throat, you shakily manage to knock your hips into his in a sloppy pace. “Please,” you slur out as your eyes slip shut, “c-can’t do it,” your pace is nowhere near the same as before.

“Can’t what?” He moves one hand down between your thighs, “Hm?”

You press your forehead against the tree bark in defeat, sobbing quietly as you wiggle your hips side to side, “ ‘s not the same, need you to f-fuck me.” You shamefully admit.

“Like this?” He slaps his hips upwards, “Or like this sweetheart?” He purrs and begins plowing into your drenched pussy, stuffing his cock deep inside with every thrust.

You throw your head back with a loud moan, “Yes, yes!” More drool begins slipping from your chin as you part your legs a bit wider and arch your back.

He swears at you from under his breath while rolling your swollen clit between his fingers. The sounds of skin slapping against skin begin louder, his balls collide with your swollen puffy folds and your ass ripples from his pelvis from his harsh thrusts. “Little fucking slut,” he grits out through his harsh punishing thrusts, “fuckin’ mine you hear that? So help me you ever think of looking at someone else I’ll fuckin gut them like a fish n fuck you over their dead body.” He hisses, “Better yet covered in their blood.” He roughly smacks your clit.

You mewl loudly and go still, your pussy pulses like crazy as you feel your orgasm hit you at full force. You cum with your clit trapped between his fingers and his cock stuffed deep. The orgasm is so strong it knocks you off your feet as you wobble and shake like a newborn lamb. “P-Please,” you sob out.

“On your knees,” he growls while slipping from your drenched cunt, “fuckin’ look at me.” He aims his cock at your face and strokes himself with loud slick noises. You stare up at him with a dazed expression, too fucked out to reply. He cums with a low moan, making sure to coat your lips and face with his cum as he taps the head against your cheek, “Fuck…” He sighs in bliss while lazily flicking his wrist.

You blink slowly and the last thing you see is him picking his knife back up.

Jungkook hums under his breath while he lazily digs through his bowl of popcorn, he’s been switching channels for a couple of minutes now. Nothing good is ever on these days, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head while flicking through the channels.

“Oh,” his face lights up in joy, “baby come look at this,” he grins and turns the volume up all the way high, “found somethin’ perfect for movie night.” He turns to look behind him, eyes wild and filled with sadistic joy.

“She was last seen Friday in the evening by her parents who were only going a few towns over to visit family. Her friends have all stated she was supposed to be meeting them that night but never showed, one even said they had spoken to her hours prior about their plans to meet. They said she wasn’t acting suspicious or anything—”

A muffled sob erupts, the sound of a cage rattling heard next as Jungkook slowly turns to look at your cowering form. You look so adorable all curled up in the cage like that, mascara streaking and lips wiped red from your lipstick. “Don’t like that movie?” He pouts, “Pity.” He turns back around and replays the entire missing persons ad.

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @gukiebaby @babycandy111

[halloween m.list]

#bts #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut

3K notes · View notes

pricegouge · 2 months

Note

🦋 here, I heard you want ppl to be horny in your inbox and that’s my specialty

In the spirit of Haul- rough fucking as punishment. Maybe doll tried to escape, maybe she backtalked a little too harshly, whatever. If we’re to the point she’s allowed out of the basement, she’s immediately getting dragged back down there for her punishment. I’m biased to say Simon would be the one most likely to use a particularly brutal fucking to punish his pet, but idk about you, so if you think one of the others would be more likely, do tell!

Anyway I leave you with the visual of poor Reader getting dragged by the hair to wherever the boys wanna take her and begging them not to be too rough because she’s still healing :(

Horniness in my inbox will always be encouraged, but yeah, especially tonight :)

Wrow, my first non-canonical little drabble for Haul. She's getting so big :') I'm a Price girly so normally I'd say it's him doling out punishment, but I can play nice with Simon if that's what you prefer

cw: hair pulling, non con oral, choking

It's Johnny's fault, really.

He never stops running his mouth - about what a bad cook you are, how the place is never as clean as when the last girl they brought home was in charge of it. How much you want his cock. Normally, it's easy enough to ignore him. The boys are never there long, their schedules always rotating, intertwining like cogs in a clock before spinning on out and away again. Off to god knows where, leaving you at peace for a day or two so another one could fill their spot.

Only, Johnny's been out with engine trouble, and you've been stuck dealing with him for two weeks straight.

In retrospect, you can't even remember what it was you said. Something about how he could stick his head in the oven if he wanted after he'd complained about it being dirty. Johnny whines, you grumble, and Simon's thick fist snags in your hair.

"Who you giving lip, pet?" he snarls and you cringe.

"Wasn't -."

"No? And telling Johnny to burn his hair all off i'n' givin' 'im lip?"

You don't bother arguing, too busy standing on your toes as you try to relieve some pressure from your scalp.

"'appen to like that 'air, pet. Don't want 'im burning it all off," Simon laughs. He pulls your head back and forth by your own hair, as if demonstrating why he likes the handle on Johnny's head.

"It's nice hair," you agree, hoping you can get away from punishment by simply playing nice. John is out today, picking up the slack from Johnny's busted truck. Usually, John's the one to handle your punishments so you can get away with more when he's not around, but Simon's really been taking his position seriously in the captain's absence, and you know you won't be so lucky when he just tuts at you.

"You'll have to be nicer than that." His casual tone does nothing to prepare you for the cruel way he yanks you back downstairs. You yowl, fingers threading through your own hair as if you can hold your scalp close to your skull. You stumble after him, falling a few times on the steps as he drags you below John's office. He does nothing to catch you beyond grip your hair tighter.

You don't realize Johnny's following until the door is snicking shut behind you.

"You gonna tell Johnny you're sorry?"

You do, immediately, falling to your knees despite how Simon still holds you up by your hair. Your knees hover above the tile, weight suspended at a sharp point on your scalp.

"Nicer than that, hen," Johnny grins. His fingers move to his waistband and your breath stutters out.

"Please, no. I said I'm sorry." Sometimes if you turn your pretty, pleading eyes on Simon he takes pity. No such luck tonight.

"Not yet you haven't." His fingers wrap around your jaw, thumb and middle finger digging into your cheeks until he can pry your mouth open, holding you like that lest you bite through the meat of your own cheeks.

Johnny's own thumb hooks your jaw even lower, his cock bobbing in your face as he fists his own base. "Not gonnae show me tha' cute little tongue, hen?" He asks, faux innocence.

Your eyes meet his for a moment, defiant despite your position. You loll your tongue out for him when Simon's free hand slides down to your throat.

"Tha's righ', bonnie," Soap sighs, easing himself into your waiting mouth. "You be nice and sweet for me, yea?"

Johnny's thick. One of the thickest you've ever had. It's taken practice but you accept him easily enough after a few experimental thrusts. Simon's palm tightens around your throat when Johnny slides home, and the smaller man groans.

"Feel that, love?" Simon asks, and you know by the tone in his voice he's not talking to you - too warm, too pleasant. Not for you. "Fuck my fist, Johnny, wanna feel it."

#asks #haul #🦋 anon #hm. might add this to the masterlist what we feeling?#*haul master list

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nihilo-sensei · 7 months

Text

The Infamous Chuuya-SSKK Car Ride

Two. Fucking. Hours.

Akutagawa and Atsushi have been arguing for two hours almost non-stop and there's still an hour to go in the trip. If you had asked Chuuya before he climbed into this four-wheeled prison what the most annoying thing on Earth was, he would've said without hesitation that it was dealing with Dazai. That was a more innocent time, a time before life had decided to punish him for his every felony, misdemeanor, and wasted gallon of milk. He wasn't sure if these apparently nuclear-powered bickering machines being confined to the backseat was better or worse for him. Probably better; at least one half of the invective wasn't being spewed directly into his left ear.

As much as he wanted to blame a member of the Armed Detective Agency for all of his misery, he was disappointed to say that it had been his subordinate and fellow mafioso who started this. Granted it hadn't taken much to get the weretiger to dive down to Akutagawa's level, but he was just trying to make conversation, asking if Chuuya listened to much music. Honestly, the gravity manipulator would've been delighted to spend a three-hour car ride talking about music, even with an ADA member. It was kind of nice that the kid had reached for some common ground between them. Akutagawa really hadn't needed to cut Chuuya off before he had a chance to answer by saying, "No one cares, weretiger." That one admittedly rude remark had sealed Chuuya's fate for the rest of the ride out to the countryside. Thanks, Aku.

"You better not get in my way when we get there, weretiger. The Port Mafia doesn't need Least Beneath the Moonlight."

"I guess I'll leave the job to Brash-ōmon, then. Get over yourself."

How are they still coming up with new insults? Chuuya hadn't even had the energy to tell them to shut the fuck up passed the 35-minute mark, about 25 minutes after his throat started to hurt from trying to match their combined volume. It was like they didn't even hear him. They were in their own little world together.

That was what he'd been warned about, though, wasn't it? Akutagawa and the tiger boy had… tension. He had heard about it from Dazai, but hadn't given it much thought. After all, why would he bother listening to anything that mummy's asshole says off the battlefield? He would happily throw Dazai off a building if he wasn't sure it would make that freak even happier than it would make Chuuya. Something about this train of thought makes Chuuya feel like a hypocrite for some reason. Where was he?

"At least I don't dip my bangs in Wite-Out!"

"Your impoverished ass could only afford one bang!"

Oh right, this thick fog of something making itself at home in Chuuya's backseat and inside his pounding skull. He had thought it was just a joke or an exaggeration, but this much passion for each other? Could all of that really just be simple hate? No, this doesn't really feel like hate. But if they don't hate each other why tell themselves that they do? That's so self-destructive. They should just confront their feelings like adults. Even if those feelings aren't romantic they could still find themselves good friends, they have a lot in common. At least they'd stop making their sexual tension or whatever everyone else's problem.

Why does Chuuya feel like a hypocrite again?

—

Chuuya stares into the rear-view mirror. The new Double Black had practically passed out five minutes into the drive to Yokohama. Not surprising after the mission had turned out to be far more complicated then they had anticipated. He wasn't complaining, he really couldn't deal with another three hours of angry sound waves bouncing around an enclosed space. Truthfully, they'd earned the rest. Even when the situation was going to shit they'd worked well together. Atsushi kept Akutagawa's mind on the civilians while Akutagawa's support kept Atsushi calm and focused. Chuuya sees now why Dazai put them together, not that Chuuya would ever openly tell the man he was right.

So he'd let the pair sleep, only debating whether he should wake them up after the blessedly silent car had crossed the Yokohama city limit. He had glanced into the mirror and caught sight of something that made him suddenly redirect as much attention as he safely could to it. The Sun had set halfway through the drive so he had had to wait for the car to pass the next street light to get a good look at it, and sure enough he saw exactly what he thought he had. At some point in the drive Atsushi and Akutagawa had leaned into each other while they slept. Atsushi's head was now resting on Akutagawa's shoulder while the mafioso's head rested on top of the weretiger's. Chuuya smiled. Definitely not hate.

As the car nears the ADA office, where Atsushi was to be dropped off, Chuuya pulls into a gas station with a new mission in mind. After he puts the car in park he takes out his phone and hopes that fatigue keeps the pair asleep and unaware while he does what needs to be done. He gambles on using the flash and wins a nice, clear picture that's going to absolutely make his fucking day the next time Akutagawa decides to make him sit through another "that goddamn foolish weretiger" rant. But was it really fair to make just Akutagawa suffer when Atsushi was about as responsible for Chuuya's three-hour ordeal earlier? No. And isn't the ADA all about that justice shit?

Chuuya opens his text thread with Dazai, taps his thumbs to the screen a few times, and hands down Atsushi's sentence with the push of 'Send'. He only has to wait a few seconds before the weretiger's irritating superior responds.

Mackerel (21:04): Oh my god, thank you so much for this! How useful my dog is becoming!

You (21:04): I seriously can't do this with you right now, Dazai. Those little bastards almost wiped me out on the way to the mission. They argued the entire time. I'm fucking tired.

Mackerel (21:05): Impressive, isn't it?

"Impressive" was one way of putting it. "Never gonna happen again" was another.

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ozziethegreat · 1 month

Text

somebody on tiktok was complaining about fans headcanoning their favorite characters to self harm so I drew this out of spite!!! HELP

I need Color to kiss Killer’s scars and hold him close and call him pretty

anyway

Killer belongs to rahafwabas

Color belongs to superyoumna

headcanons below!!! CRIES AND SCURRIES AWAY (Tw self harm talk)

Somebody on my discord server once posted some art and said they headcanoned killer to test the sharpness of his knives with his bones and I STARED AT THE SCREEN LIKE WHATT 🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁

The way they aren’t even wrong!! I personally think Killer would usually use his victims instead cause yk he’s a little bitch, but I guess if it’s convenient 😭😭

But anyway in general, obviously Killer is very desensitized to self harm and death and pain and whatever, and since he was always brought back with the resets good as new, I don’t think he ever cared for getting hurt and sometimes he’d do it just out of curiosity or boredom. Since he doesn’t really feel much and he’s gone through MUCH worse, he does NOT care and he doesn’t see it as an issue.

And then Color had to teach him why it’s bad and he just stared at him like “huh”

Anyway!!!!

With Color, I think with all that time in the void, with absolutely no stimulation or socialization with anybody but Gaster, he went just a little crazy!

I think he had grown a habit of picking the cracks of his skull, as well as the cracks on his body until it bled (totally not projecting). Gaster tried to get him to stop but it became an involuntary habit of his and he still sometimes finds himself fidgeting.

Another thing, I think after just moving to the Omega Timeline, he sometimes took really hot showers, touched burning objects, or just random small things that would inflict pain on his body. Being in the void, he kinda forgot what those small things felt like, and even if it’s not a preferred feeling, he missed having that stimulation. Yeah guys I’m very good at putting my thoughts into words!!!!!!! HELP ME

okay that’s all 😓😓😓

#sans au #color sans #killer sans #utmv #undertale au #color spectrum duo #tw scars #tw self harm #tw self harm talk #CRIES #I was very excited to talk about color

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burstinn · 10 months

Note

Hello could I request some cod characters (dealer's choice) being protective of their s/o who is being sent threatening messages from an abusive ex?

Horangi x Male/GN Reader

Abusive Ex yoooo! And bbg Horangi

Warnings/notes:

Threatening messages (nothing bad just mild), Ex is girl (because usually the abusive ex is always male from what I read.. So I just thought why not female), Some swearing, Lazy writing, no proofreading.

"I'm going to fucking kill you"

"Please take me back"

"I know where you live, Your new boyfriend isn't even that good"

"I don't understand why you left me.. "

"I don't understand why you decided to change. Is this new relationship only to get back at me"

... On and on and on..

These fucking messages. She got your new number.

No matter how hard you blocked your ex, hell even contacting the police. Of course who are no help, Never taking you seriously.

She just won't stop leaving you alone.

"Sweetheart, what's up? You look.. Well you look like you just got a text from your ex"

Horangi.. Your new boyfriend chuckled as he said that, sitting across from you in the sofa. Setting down his phone to look at you curiously.

You don't answer, shifting your frowning face and looking at Horangi raising an eyebrow.

"Mhm.. What a coincidence"

Oh.. Horangi's joking facade immediately stopped. His smile dropping to a frown, you could already see veins growing in his face.

"I thought you blocked her?"

"I did"

"... She found your number again?"

You nod and before you can even start complaining about her again. Horangi snatches your phone from your hands, scrolling through the recently new messages you just got.

"God.. Fucking-- What is her problem"

You hear Horangi hiss through his teeth. His grip on your phone tightening, threatening to break it if he continues scrolling through the messages

"Hey, Hey it's.. Okay.. Don't break my phone.."

You say worriedly moving over in front of Horangi to grab your phone away from him gently. Which he thankfully does give it back to you

"Sorry.. Sorry it's just-"

Horangi trails off grabbing the back of your head and pushing your head to lay on his chest, pulling you down to the sofa to lay with him. He starts caressing your head as he looks off to the side, His head angrily stewing off probably different ways to ruin your ex.

You sigh wrapping your arms around Horangi's back fixing yourself so you lay now on Horangi's shoulder.

"It's fine, I swear"

"You don't have to keep saying that.."

Horangi cuts you off, wrapping himself around you protectively.

"I'm sorry" he sighs, "I just wanna protect you, You know I would never treat you like that right?"

He says comfortingly, kissing your forehead.

"I know you won't.."

You respond, reciprocating the kiss. On the lips this time.

___________________________________

You would stay like this for a while, you on top of Horangi as he protectively hugs you close to him. It's all very comforting, until you eventually close your eyes.

You're asleep.

Good.

Horangi rubs your head, staring up at the ceiling. When he feels you're breathing slow.

He grabs your phone, typing in your phone password. He knows.. You both trust each other. And that's a good thing.

He's doing this just to protect you

Click through your messages. Click Unknown number, Her. Her and her fucking annoying messages. When was she gonna get a life.

Well that's what Horangi's gonna teach her, sadly he won't kill anyone today. But threatening is hopefully enough to get it through her thick skull. Lest, she wants to see a video of you getting railed by him.

Just to keep you safe. It's all for you. His beautiful, perfect Boyfriend.

#call of duty x male reader #call of duty modern warfare x male reader #gay #cod mw2 x male reader #cod x male reader #cod x reader #cod horangi x male reader #horangi x male reader #cod horangi x gn reader #horangi #horangi x reader

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fountainpenguin · 5 months

Text

My favorite thing ever about Anti-Cosmo and the Head Pixie is that you look at Anti-Cosmo and it's like-

"Oh, this is the stereotypical evil villain who is flamboyant, intelligent, suave, and in control! All the other magical antagonists probably defer to him." And then you actually watch him and he does stuff like-

Throw away his wand

Fly in circles at record speeds

Run away from confrontation

Write with colored pens and change color every sentence

Throw paper airplanes

Crash into things

Throw tantrums

Read comic books

Fly a private jet despite being able to fly and teleport

Keep cows in his castle

Keep a cat in his pocket

Stand on the fancy dining table

Pretend to be a scone

Break character as a scone by running away laughing

Defer to H.P. even in his own castle

Defer to his son even in his own castle

Raise an anti-fairy child with H.P. for some reason that's never explained, but which Jorgen has photo evidence of ?? You raised an anti-fairy with the leader of the Pixies ??

Also, knows H.P. and Jorgen well enough to recognize when Jorgen is actually H.P. in disguise??

And there's H.P. who wears a nice suit, works at Pixies Incorporated in the big city, and talks about puppeting people, so you approach thinking "Okay, this is the strict boss who wants all the paperwork filed. He represents why you shouldn't make deals with fairies because he has all these complicated contracts and he's not going to allow wiggle room. Dull and boring; got it."

But it turns out he likes to-

Go to raves

Sing rap songs

Breakdance

Spin on his head and drill into the floor

Wear flowers

Get drunk

Hang out in the hot tub

Climb on people's shoulders

Build miniature models

Fist bumps and finger guns

Call people "Dude"

Draw skulls on things

Say "Gasp" instead of gasping

Get up from his desk and dance around, announcing in monotone "Go me, go me; it's my birthday"

Listen to someone argue with him and then respond with "No, that's hilarious"

Also fly a private jet despite being able to fly and teleport

Elbow people in the side while teasing them

Feed you pizza by shoving his entire hand in your mouth

Stand right in front of you and prank call you

Wear two hats at the same time

Hop on a flying scooter, announce "The only thing you'll be eating is my dust! Later, dude!" and peace out

Complain too many people like him

Use babies as yo-yos

Also, H.P. won a footrace against Anti-Cosmo?? This man made the conscious choice to run instead of fly and he won!?

And that's not even getting into the cross-dressing or the fact that A.C. and H.P. grab each other and hug when they're scared. 10/10 character design. They are so silly...

#Fairly OddParents #FOP #Anti-Cosmo #Head Pixie #The Fairy Oddlympics #FAIRIES!#The bat with the hat #I'm wasp dad trash #screenshots

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greenthena · 10 months

Text

Buck up, Hamlet!

***Trigger warning: Death and taking your own life in the context of Shakespeare***

Aziraphale likes Hamlet. Likes the play so much, that he bats his eyelashes at Crowley until the demon performs a miracle to make the mopey Prince of Denmark more popular. Well, good job, the both of you, because four hundred and some odd years later, you still can't get through repertory auditions without some bugger hoisting a skull and starting that monologue. Not that I don't appreciate Hamlet from a structural and analytical perspective. And the Prince of Denmark is a character most actors would sacrifice several toes to play. But it's dark. It's not a fun one.

So why does Aziraphale like it so much? Why's this fluffy little angel so Hell-bent on one of Shakespeare's tragedies? Join me, friendly Good Omens scholars, and let's suss some shit out.

Crowley adamantly dislikes Shakespeare's tragedies. "This isn't one of Shakespeare's gloomy ones, is it? Arghhhh. No wonder no one is here," he complains, wilting like a floppy noodle. Of course, it doesn't take much for Aziraphale to weasel the demon into miracling more people into the audience. But Crowley makes a point to say that he "still prefer(s) the funny ones" as he's leaving The Globe.

Crowley, I would argue, goes to the theatre to escape his real-life situation. He's a bloody demon who, when he's not stationed on Earth, literally goes to Hell. And it's not a nice place. Crowley's everyday life (particularly when he's not around Aziraphale) revolves around pain and suffering--whether its his or someone else's is insignificant. What matters is that regularly sees and experiences tangible, visceral representations of tragedy in his actual existence. Of course he prefers Shakespeare's funny ones! They're a reminder that the world and the human race that he's accidentally become so attached to is full of more than torment and affliction. Crowley doesn't appreciate Shakespeare's tragedies because they're an extension of his own suffering, with which he's already intimately familiar. For Crowley, attending a Shakespearean tragedy is like picking a scab. You already know you've been injured and fussing with the damned thing only makes it worse.

This is not the case for Azirapahle. As an angel, he's not allowed to have any scabs, much less pick at them. Like Crowley, he sees suffering in the world. He knows that humanity is constantly facing difficult odds, and even the most wonderful of human lives eventually ends in death. But unlike Crowley, Aziraphale works within a system in which there is no gray space--and therefore, no room for an angel, an agent of the side of righteousness, to experience doubt in the Ineffable Plan. The Heavenly model is to deal with problems by pretending they don't exist. Heaven has an image to maintain, after all. Like, the sheer amount of repression we see amongst the Heavenly Host is honestly terrifying. I'm thinking about the way in which The Metatron frames the Fall and damnation of a third of the angels. "For one Prince of Heaven to be cast into the outer darkness makes a good story. For it to happen twice, makes it look like there is some kind of institutional problem." It's so cold and removed because to process something so traumatic would not fit the image of Heaven. So it's neatly boxed up and packed away into a soundbite that better fits Heaven's corporate brand.

Aziraphale's suffering is certainly no less than Crowley's. The angel's trauma is repressed. It's cloaked in shining bright hallways of pure angelic light. It's hidden behind false words and tight smiles. It's communicated passive-aggressively by abusers who still have the angel caught in their web of control and manipulation. At least Crowley's trauma is visible. When he fell, the demon took on a new appearance that physically demonstrates his suffering. He has access to feelings of anger and frustration and he's allowed to express these things because he's a demon. He doesn't have to be good.

Since Aziraphale is not permitted to own his emotions and his trauma, he outsources them. He enjoys Shakespeare's tragedies because they give him the opportunity to achieve second-hand catharsis. He may not be able to admit that he's suffering, but he can experience Hamlet's pain vicariously.

***Reminding you of that trigger warning, folks!***

And this is where we get to the question, "To be, or not to be?" This is the moment in S1 E3 when Aziraphale interacts with Richard Burbage, and shouts out, "To be! Not to be! Come on, Hamlet, buck up!" He says this with this coy little smile, obviously trying to get a laugh out of Crowley. But it's indicative of a more serious dilemma that the angel, himself, must parse out. In Shakespeare's play, Hamlet's query is expressed as he wrestles with the choice between life and death. Essentially, it's a contemplation of suicide--a dark part of humanity that Heaven manages by eternally condemning those who would risk it. However there's another way to read this question, not as life and death, but as agency and the lack thereof. We think of "to be" as the choice for life and "not to be" as the option for suicide. But the only way in which Hamlet can express his agency is by taking control of the one thing that truly belongs to him: his own life. So when asking this question of an eternal being, what exactly does it mean, "To be?" What does it mean for Aziraphale to express agency in his immortal existence?

In Western thought, we tend to divide things into binaries: right and wrong, black and white, good and evil...to be or not to be. Back in the Garden if Eden, Crowley first introduced Adam and Eve to the idea that they had a choice. The serpent presented two options, obey or disobey God's authority. Though I think a better way of looking at it would be to say, passively accept your role or have agency in your fate. This is Crowley's method. He never pushes temptations upon you. He just wants to make sure you know all your options.

Like Hamlet, Aziraphale is presented with the choice of, "To be or not to be?" He can sign on the dotted line and follow Heaven's authority or he can be an angel with agency, an angel that goes along with Heaven as far as he can. And though Aziraphale still struggles with how exactly free will pertains to angels, Crowley shows him time and time again that he has options--he can make his own choices. From the very first interaction between the angel and the demon on the wall of Eden, Crowley (ever the optimist) knows there is hope for some meaningful connection with Aziraphale, because the angel makes a choice for himself: he gives away his sword. And from that moment, Crowley realizes that this angel might be just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing.

It's no wonder Aziraphale gets attached to the tragedy of Hamlet. It allows him to observe and process the darker and more difficult emotions that he, as an angel, struggles to manage. And perhaps more importantly, the Prince of Denmark's famous soliloquy mirrors of Crowley's method of temptation, wherein the demon simply reminds him that he has a choice and that, even as an angel, he can find ways to express his agency.

#good omens #aziraphale #aziracrow #crowley #hamlet #shakespeare #free will #our side #ineffable #just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing

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vibingpyro · 8 months

Text

Heatwave Romance

Right now, in the corner of your mind, you can hear your parents nostalgic and irritable words of wisdom. 'dont take things for granted' or 'eat your vegetables' and all that nonsense. But, mostly the 'dont take things for granted' part is echoing in your skull as you lay strewn about on the couch of your apartment, absolutely miserable in the sweltering heat.

Of all the days, your air conditioning had went out during Camden's annual heatwave, just your luck right? What makes it better is that your apartment is under going some construction in the lower levels, so the water has been turned off for the rest of the evening, so, no cold shower for you either! How....wonderful.

You groan, debating on moving to get up to see if there's any cooler room to be in instead of laying about on the couch, sweat beading off your skin each time you move too much. You decide to stay there for a moment longer in some desperate hope it will just get colder rather than having to actually make the effort to get up and move. You don't even lift your head when your window leading to your fire escape opens with an small 'click!', already knowing it's your best friend, Hobie Brown.

"Whew, not any better here is it, luv?" Hobie's voice is heard, and you finally lift your head to glare at Hobie for his obvious answer. "No, it's not." You murmur, slightly annoyed that your misery has company but also a bit relieved that you have someone to complain about the heat to.

Hobie hums in acknowledgement, not bothered by the irritated response you gave him. He closes the window back down with an small shove of his hand before crossing the living room, tapping your legs in silent request to move, and you oblige lifting your legs up, although when he plops down beside you on the couch, you just place your feet right onto his lap and he rolls his eyes briefly but makes no effort to shove you off, opting to slide his mask off and shove it into his pocket.

"Why don't you jus take a cold shower?" He asks, looking at you with an glint of amusement in his eyes, and the glare you give him only makes him snicker, "They shut off the buildings water, they're doing repairs or something so I can't shower, even if I wanted to." You huff, Hobie nods, clicking his tongue. "That does indeed cause a problem.."

There's an pause after you grumble in agreement, Hobie has an slightly thoughtful expression on his face, before patting your legs and you lift them instinctively at his silent request, he stands and shrugs. "Why don't you jus' come to my place, n cool down a bit?" He offers, and you can't help but perk up at that, sitting up. "Seriously? That would be awesome." You smile, Hobie smiles back at you as he nods, "Yeah, course."

You're already on your feet to dress properly, and by properly something that isn't an pair of sleep shorts and a tank top. You rush into your bedroom, changing into something more suitable before walking out to see Hobie, knelt down and inspecting your broken conditioning with an focused glare. He looks at you and gestures to the air conditioning with an baffled look on his face. "What did you do to the poor thing?" He laughs in slight disbelief, standing up.

You shrug, "It just went out on me, what do you mean what did I do to it?" You scoff, eyebrows furrowing as you look at him in equal bafflement. Hobie gives you an even further confused look but shakes his head with an smile, "Just forget I said anythin', you ready to go?" He asks, already walking over towards the window he had entered through, opening it, then pulling his mask from his pocket and over his face.

You nod, following him through the window and stand on the fire escape, wiping your forehead as the heat blasts you further with being outside. Hobie then kneels down, facing away from you. "Your chariot, m'lady." He teases, and you roll your eyes playfully. "You have too many miles on you to be considered a chariot, Hobie." You laugh at your own joke and Hobie scoffs playfully back as you settle yourself on his back piggy back style, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

"How dare you say something so accurate.." he laughs, one of his hands coming to grip onto your calf as you tighten your grip around his shoulders in preparation for what comes next, as well as fighting off the small flare of butterflies you feel in the pit of your stomach. "Hold tight!" Hobie shouts before jumping off of the fire escape, slinging out his webs to begin the short trek to his place on the other side of town.

It's hard to stifle the squeal that comes from your throat as you feel the wind rush past your hair and battering slightly against your face. Hobie chuckles, squeezing your calf in reassurance although there's a hint of genuine concern in the action. "Doin' alright back there, luv?" He calls out loudly to be heard over the rushing wind, you manage to wheeze out an quick, "Never better!" Moving your head to burrow slightly into the back of his neck, hoping to god he doesn't feel the heat of your blush on your cheeks. Hobie snorts at your reply, "We'll be there before you know it, promise." His slightly teasing tone turns to one of tender promise, and your cheeks practically grow hotter from his words, nodding and focusing on trying to get the blush under wraps.

It doesn't take long to get to Hobies place across town, it's a simple house boat but Hobie says any other place would just be wrong to live in as he's been there so long. Hobie swings one final web out, landing right before the door of the house boat. Hobie kneels down and releases his light grip on your leg and you carefully hop down. Hobie stands, brushing himself off before pushing the door open.

"You really should start locking your door." You huff as you walk in behind him, already feeling the cool air and atmosphere of the houseboat refreshing your attitude and body. Hobie merely shrugs, "Yeah, probably." He murmurs in nonchalance at your advice, walking further inside the houseboat and right up to his hammock bed that he swears is the most comfortable for his back, before practically falling down onto it, stretching like a cat that just woke up from an really good nap. You walk over to the couch you always sit at when you come to his house, peeling at the clearly overloved fabric of the couch out of habit. You sigh, leaning your head back as you relax, just basking in the feeling of being cold after so many hours of being stuck hot and miserable in your apartment, closing your eyes in contentment.

"You look quite cozy over there." Hobie is heard saying from his hammock bed across the room and you nod, shuffling to allow your hands behind your head. "Yeah, I am-" you stop speaking as you hear the sounds of floorboards creaking, barely having time to look to see where Hobie could possibly be going before an weight is placed on your lap, and when you look down, you're met with the sight of Hobie smiling up at you, quite smugly.

"What are you doing?" You ask, just staring at him. Hobie shrugs, even nuzzling a bit further into your lap. "You looked rather comfortable, thought I'd join is all." He hums, closing his eyes. The position doesn't...look comfortable, for Hobie at least. His head is placed in your lap, his hands clasped together loosely over his abdomen while...his legs are sticking out over the armrest of the couch, being so tall and lanky he isn't as 'compact' as he calls you and other people shorter than him.

"You don't look comfortable." You state bluntly, Hobie peeks an eye open at you, "Do you want me to move?" He asks, you furrow your eyebrows at the question, shaking your head beginning to speak again. "But-" "Then, yes, I'm comfortable." Is all he says before closing his opened eye, looking incredibly peaceful despite the uncomfortable looking position he's in.

You shrug, deciding not to push. Knowing Hobie can be most comfortable in the most weirdest of positions. You can't help but yawn slightly seeing Hobie so relaxed. "We should nap." You suggest, already closing your eyes tiredly. Hobie murmurs an slight incoherent reply, "Way a head of you luv.." before turning his body to the side, one hand laying lazily against the couch while the other makes itself comfortable underneath the crook of one of your knees, already snoring.

You instantly feel all sleepiness drain from your body at the soft touch, opening your eyes to peer down at Hobie sleeping so soundly. You smile slightly, adjusting your position slightly to allow Hobie a bit more room on the couch.

'I am so in love with you...I'm screwed .' you think as he twitches slightly in his sleep, murmuring something about having to fix your air conditioning...then to leaving the toaster running at Pavitr's?

#hobie brown #astv hobie #hobie spiderverse #spiderman atsv #atsv hobie #hobart brown #across the spider verse #hobie x reader #hobie brown x reader #across the spiderverse

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we-do-bones-bracket · 26 days

Text

Round 5 Match 2

Propaganda:

Harrowhark Nonagesimus (spoilers)

She is THE bone lady. The supreme bone lord. Her entire shtick is bones, as corroborated by multiple other characters throughout the books. She can literally do things with bones that no other necromancer is capable of, and that's before she [spoiler-fueled power upgrade].

Our girl decorates with bones. She gets turned on by growing someone a new bone arm. She's the greatest bone magician there ever was. She's so good with bones it makes god nervous.

she's a necromancer, specifically a bone adept and my god does she love bones. she can make skeleton armies out of powder and puppet dead people so that they look alive. she grew one of her frenemies a new arm just right there on the spot because why not. she's also super edgy and wears black all the time and i love her

Made soup out of her own marrow to make skeletons explode out of someone's stomach. Noone is doing it like her

She does bones, motherfucker.

WE DO BONES, MOTHERFUCKER

Skulduggery Pleasant (spoilers)

he's so we do bones he brought himself back from the dead. AND THEN changed his name to skulduggery to match with his skeleton lifestyle better. he's irish. he used to be great at motivational speeches but now he sucks so bad at them. his skull isn't actually his skull it's someone else's. he wears bespoke suits. he drives a variety of classic cars. he is an incredibly powerful wizard, but also just has a gun that he uses. he can speak Irish Gaelic. his ribcage HAS been used as a xylophone. he's 444 years old.

He's a skeleton in a formal suit and hat. He's a detective. He both carries a revolver and throws fireballs at people. For a long time the accepted reason he was a skeleton was "he's just to ornery to die". He wore someone else's skull for a while, complained that it was noticeably uglier, and was correct. He's sassy enough to trade insults with a teenage girl on a regular basis. How can he not win.

He's literally a living skeleton that does magic, is a detective, and drives around in a cool car. Vote for him

Walking skeleton noir detective, no one is doing bones like this guy.

#poll #round 5 #harrowhark nonagesimus #the locked tomb #skulduggery pleasant

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reriart · 1 month

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maybe it’s the tav I’m currently playing but I am so fixated on a tav absolutely convinced Astarion does not find her attractive despite the obvious, him sleeping with her x2, openly complimenting her etc etc and that leading too sloppy, emotional sex between the two, what do you think?

Dear anon,

thank you so much for asking me, I hope you'll like it! Since I suffer from body dysmorphia, I thought I'd put this topic inside the fic, I hope it's ok for you!

Let me worship you

Tags/CW: +18 MDNI, afab Tav, very smut, body dysmorphia, plus size tav, depression and panic attacks, Tav is a bit insecure and jealous, oral and piv sex, body worshipping, Astarion is a lil angry, tadpole connection, the infamous knee, Astarion is both dom and sub here.

English is not my native language. Link to AO3.

Divider by @cafekitsune

‘What's wrong with me?’

That question keeps buzzing in your head, loud as if you had a wasp nest right in your skull instead of a tadpole.

‘Why can't I be as beautiful like them?’

The knot in your stomach makes the bowl of fruit porridge Gale prepared, now in your hands, appear heavy and uninviting. The scent of apples, enticing until moments before, makes you nauseous.

Your gaze rests first on Lae'zel, then on Shadowheart and finally on Karlach. The toned body of the githyanki, the refined beauty of the half-elf, the marble muscles of the tiefling.

Then you observe yourself: your soft belly, your scarred skin, your ruined nails. Your right hand touches your round cheek, your hair loosely tied back. You try to push back the tears and you are out of breath, heart beating faster. You look up and notice Astarion's ruby-red ones staring back at you, one eyebrow raised and jaw clenched.

‘Apologies,’ you say, standing up sharply, your voice louder than expected. ‘I think I'll go for a swim. Sorry Gale, I don't have much of an appetite.’

‘Don't worry, if you get hungry again I'll cook you something later,’ he replies, his round, soft eyes barely concealing concern. This is the third time this week you've skipped meals because of your anxiety attacks.

The others continue chatting, but as you leave the camp, you feel eyes hovering over your back.

With almost painful slowness, you reach the small beach behind the rocks. Wyll and Karlach are laughing as Gale rambles on about something as usual - you don't catch the words as you undress, but you can sense the lightness of their conversation, a conversation you would like to witness and laugh about, too.

But the voice in your head - and not your prismatic friend's one - but your own, the darker side of you, only complains. ‘You've gained weight’, “you're horrible”, “Astarion will leave you”.

You don't really know how to define the relationship between you and him. You haven't declared eternal love for each other or who knows what, and you're pretty sure he's simply using you as a walking blood bag and easy sex.

Probably, after every night spent together, he has done nothing but whine about you.

The thought of the vampire mocking your feelings is the catalyst that finally triggers your tears. You feel them, warm against your skin, silently sliding down to your lips.

You lick one away, and wipe the rest with the back of your hand.

Your foot treads the water, trying to sense whether the temperature is acceptable or not. It is a little cold, actually, but perhaps that is just what you need right now. You glide silently through the small, dark waves, which wrap around you like a blanket. You put your head under the water, inhibiting all external noises.

You have always loved water. There, you do not feel the weight of your body, you do not see it for what it is, and when you sink, then all contact with the outside world disappears. You let gravity bring your body to the surface, and you spread your arms wide. You gaze at the moon, full and pale, wishing to be just a tiny dot in the sky.

Your vision blurs with tears and you close your eyes, letting the gentle rhythm of the water lull you.

Just as you are about to open your eyes again, you feel claws grab your shoulder and you're about to scream, but a hand blocks any sound you try to make. You notice two red irises staring at you and pointed ears peeping out from a cloud of silver hair.

‘Astarion, what the heck, you scared the hell out of me!’ you mutter as soon as you free your lips. ‘I didn't hear you coming.’

‘That was the point,’ he replies, oddly serious, his flirty, sassy façade strangely lacking. ‘We need to talk.’

Your heart jumps back to your throat once more as anxiety assails you. You spin around so that you are back on your feet and turn to face him.‘Is something wrong?

Do you need blood? I haven't eaten and I don't have much strength, but if you…’

‘That's the point,’ he snips sharply, his gaze as piercing as one of his daggers. ‘And I'm not talking about the blood. Why aren't you eating?’

It is not the first time Astarion has asked this: it had already happened in the past few days, yet he seemed more concerned. Now… he looks almost furious.

‘I'm not hungry, okay?"

‘No, it's not okay,’ he replies dryly, his thick white eyebrows wrinkling his forehead.

‘What, are you afraid your roaming snack has no more blood for you?’ The answer escapes your lips in a tone between ironic and hysterical and you roll your eyes. ‘Don't worry, as you can clearly see I'm not starving, and I'm sure you won't have any of these problems either while I'm around.’

Astarion's eyes grow big with astonishment and you see him step back, as far as he can, into the water.

‘Is… is that what you think you are to me? A snack?’ His voice is broken, bitter. ‘Do you value what's between us so poorly?’

The feelings of guilt and anger grow in tandem. ‘Tell me, Astarion, is it not the truth? Perhaps I am the only thing vaguely fuckable and edible h-’

His lips crash against yours as he grasps both your cheeks with his hands and brings them to himself. You hear a low, violent growl resonate in his ribcage as his tongue creeps out to seek yours. His fingers then sink into your hair, leaving you breathless.

Holding you close, he pulls his mouth away just far enough to whisper Inveniam viam. In the blink of wings, you find yourself on the beach.

‘I didn't know Misty Steps also worked on…’

‘Don't change the topic,’ he growls against your ear. Suddenly, you realise the dangerous proximity. The magic of the water has vanished, your body - what you hate most in the world - once again exposed to the moon's glow. You look around, searching hopelessly for your clothes.

'Eyes. On. Me.’ he orders, and for a second you feel yourself shiver as his icy hand grabs your chin and forces you to look at him.

‘Now listen carefully.’

You swallow and nod a shy yes with your head after he let you go.

‘You're seeing yourself as a monster again, is that true?’ he asks, stroking one cheek with the back of his hand. ‘Because of the way you look.’

‘Don't you? Look at me, Astarion. You could have anyone. You have a lot of opportunities.’

He pinches the back of his nose with his fingers and inhales. ‘… And to think it must be a monster to make you see the reality of things! But I suppose there's no other way.’

His lips are on you again, but this time it's different. You see yourself from Astarion's point of view and you feel everything he feels: your soft lips, your skin hot to the touch, your sighs, the accelerated beating of your heart, the intense smell of your blood that, despite being well protected by your veins, only urges him back…

‘Let me show you how it is for me,’ he whispers, as your foreheads touch. ‘Because, darling, I assure you, you are far from reality.’

You feel like you're in a dream, made up of fragments. The moonlight is much brighter to his sight, and the sounds of nature amplified. He pulls you onto the beach, kissing you. You feel his tongue exploring you, the warmth pleasantly welcoming his body.

He inhales your scent and you feel like it smells like flowers, even though you have never sensed anything like it. ‘A rich bouquet, which I never tire of.’

He runs down your neck, kissing it languidly and licking it. ‘I can't get enough of you, and I'm not just talking about your blood.’

His teeth find your nipples; your brain is split between the pleasure you feel yourself, and his one when he sucks and nibbles on the turgid tips. He sinks his face between your soft, generous, warm breasts, and inevitably can't help himself, bringing a hand to his erection. You feel the exquisite liquid warmth work its way into both of your bellies, his breathing shuddering as he squeezes his cock and thrusts his pelvis into his fist. You feel how excited he is to see you at his mercy, lying on the sand, eyes glazed over and heart on the verge of bursting.

The thought makes you suddenly tighten your legs, partly out of shyness, partly to fill the void, seeking a gentle friction. ‘A-astarion, I will hurt you…’

The elf laughs, and pulls you to him with supernatural strength. ‘My dear, I am a vampire. It takes more than that to hurt me,’ he replies with a grin on his face, taking you by the hips until he finds his nose peeping against your clit. He wastes no more time, pushing you down, impaling you with his tongue unceremoniously.

You pant and tremble, feeling your taste on his tongue through the connection, his fervid excitement growing and growing.

He really can't get enough of you, if he could he would become one with you from how insane his desire is. He licks you, tongue-fucking you, until you begin to unleash yourself. You grab his hair and push your pussy against his mouth, riding him.

‘That's it, my dear. Take control, fuck yourself with my tongue,’ you hear in your mind. ‘Be glorious while you do it, give me all of yourself.’

And so you do. You let yourself go, drunk with your own and Astarion's excitement. You see the scene from his eyes: the moist glistening of your clit, swollen and ready to climax, breasts dancing with every movement.

‘Fuck Astarion, I want you,’ you gasp. Reluctantly, you pull away from him for a moment, but only to turn around. You take his long, pale cock in your mouth and he returns to licking you greedily. You take him all the way down your throat, moaning, feeling the salty taste on your tongue and at the same time the sweet taste on you. Only wet sounds and moans can be heard, as you fuck each other. Your heart has never raced so fast, full of a new pride.

Astarion truly sees you as a divinity, the emblem of the very life he so dearly misses.

You are so wet that you feel Astarion swallowing several times, drinking your pleasure like wine, until he gives an arrow-accurate lapping on your pearl, making you see stars. Your mouth is still full of his cock so you can't scream as he continues to tongue fuck you as you come again, again and again.

Then, he grabs you by the hips and slams you down, entering you with disarming ease. You feel your mind fall apart but at the same time you see you beneath him, his hands encircling your red cheeks. ‘You are… so beautiful that you make me feel alive.’

His strokes become more and more imprecise, so wet you can feel that liquid pleasure inside you. ‘Gods, fuck, I'm going to cum. I want to come inside you,' he begs. ‘Pretty please.’

You whisper a ‘yes’, holding him to you as he moans your name. You feel his seed fill you and at the same time you feel his orgasm as if it were your own. You kiss him again, again and again, until your pleasure swarms.

‘Please look at yourself every day in the mirror as if you were doing it with my eyes. And if you can't, I will help you, day after day.’

You smile, as you believe in yourself a little more.

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion smut #baldurs gate 3 astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #tw depression #tw body dysmorphia #reriwrites

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killthewhisperingart · 9 months

Text

"It's Cold Without You"

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x reader

Word Count: 2,452

Summary: A perfect description of your psyche while your husband is gone, would be the color blue. When he leaves, he takes the warmth with him, dragging the color orange behind himself, only bringing it and the sunrise upon his return.

Warning(s): Angst and descriptive thoughts of anxiety and death

A/N: It's a little abrupt, but I really wanted to post something. And I also wanted to express a specific energy (my requests r still open)

I am an 18+ Blog.

The house is cold. Maybe it's the slow approach of Winter, or the fact that the heater was busted and you refused to call someone to fix it. But the house wasn't as warm as it usually was. You stopped using the lamps with yellow bulbs, instead opting for either the blinding overhead light, or no light at all. The curtains were perpetually drawn, closing your bedroom off from the world outside, closing you off from the world outside.

Everyday is the same thing on repeat, go to work only to return home. But no matter where you are, you're always miserable. When you're at work you want nothing more than to be at home, wrapped in a blanket of silence and warmth. Though, when you're at your house, you feel lonelier than ever, longing for the human connection of your job and coworkers.

It isn't always like this, the chill in the air. The chill that settles so deeply within your bones your teeth chatter, it isn't typically present. And you know why it's here, but admitting it feels colder than the wind that hits you harshly when you walk outside. Saying it out loud, or even thinking about it for too long makes you feel... shitty, for lack of a better word to describe yourself in your head.

You don't tell him the problems you're having. You especially would never tell him why you are having these issues. Because you know him, inside and out, and you know he'll feel guilty. But you also know yourself well enough to be aware of the fact he knows you just the same. He would so easily see through the facade you have created, look through the walls you've built up as if they were a window pane. This is why you've been dodging his calls, and why he currently thinks you are sick with the flu.

You simply wait, counting the days until he's home, begging time will move faster. And while you lay in bed alone, ponder on the idea that perhaps you're wasting your life. You know it's pathetic, the fact your existence is dependent on the presence of your husband. And you feel horrible, the codependency clawing its way up your throat. It's even worse when you remember you haven't always felt this way, and you don't know what's changed. You don't know why you can't seem to act like yourself when he's gone.

Well, perhaps you do know. You just don't want to admit it. You don't want to admit that you're terrified. You don't want to admit that every time he comes home complaining of a new ailment due to a painful ejection, you get nervous. That every call from one of his superiors, or even one of his colleagues, you have a shock of terror that has your heart beating out of your chest. That you only ever feel comfortable knowing he's alive when he's next to you.

When he's home, it's different. He doesn't realize he does it, but he chases the chill away. The nervousness that wraps itself around your ribs, squeezing until your heart constricts, it lessens. You find yourself distracted by the feeling of his hands on your hips, the pressure of his kisses against your skull, that it all disappears for a moment. But you know, as your ear presses against his chest at night, listening to him breathe, that the problem is still present.

"How do you feel about kids?" He asks one day, standing behind you as you analyze the paint samples for the bathroom after it's remodeling.

And your heart sinks, because you don't know. You don't know if you'd be able to handle a baby with him, let alone when he leaves. How would you be able to calm a crying baby when you consider yourself one when he's gone?

How would you be able to handle his death...?

You think about it a lot. The idea that he will fall to his demise the same way his father did, leaving the same trauma his dad left him, on the child you two have. But you don't know if you're as strong as Carole Bradshaw. You never considered yourself a weak person, but that's what he does. Bradley makes you weak, and you don't know if you'd survive his death. If you'd be able to go on with your life, go back to normal. You don't know if you'd be able to handle your own grief, not to mention teaching your child how to do so.

You don't give him an answer that day, and he lets it go. He's good at that; letting go. It was always something you admired about him, his ability to let things slide over him, continuing on easily. The only exception he had ever displayed, was his attitude towards Pete Mitchel, never letting that go. And you can't help but wonder if you'd do the same thing to your child. Would you hold them back? Perhaps beg Jake Seresin to pull your own sons papers because you'd be so blinded by the grief for Bradley, that you'd stop your own child from achieving his dream as well.

Today is a day like any other, the calendar is marked with a bright red heart exactly six days from now. You tell yourself the house will be clean three days prior to his arrival, and the Bronco will be washed the day before, and you will be presentable the day of. But for now, you hide within the comforter that his smell still lingers on. You've taken the week off, avoiding your job with a simple call that ends with a cough you and your manager know is fake.

Bradley is never early. He's a punctual man. He's never late either. He has a talent of showing up to things at the exact time as expected. And you adore this about him, because you're never nervous about when he'll show up. After ten years together, why would you ever think that would change?

He notices the house is darker and colder than normal. He softly drops his duffel by the door, removing his boots slowly before treading towards the lamp in the living room. And the home looks eerily different. He knows you're sick right now, but he questions the extent of it as he takes in the mess.

Almost all of the dishes are piled in the sink, definitely not the amount someone who has been sick for a little over a week would use in that time. His eyes move from the dishes to the rest of the counter, where mail is scattered. He removes himself from the room, drifting into the laundry room where what can only be your entire wardrobe laying haphazardly in front of the washing machine.

It's not that Bradley ever expected you to be the sole proprietor of the household chores, typically every task being traded between the two of you. But this was clearly out of character for you. He always came home to a spotless house, something he dearly appreciated. Internally he wonders if it's his fault, for coming home too early, but he can't help but be concerned.

His chest constricts when he walks into your shared bedroom to find you, curled into the fetal position sleeping. You look exhausted, even though you're sleeping. For a moment he forgets all about the fact that his back hurts, or the fact he's been wanting to sleep in his own bed for almost two months. All he can think of is you.

"Baby," He whispers, a hand softly against your shoulder. "Honey?"

You awake with a sharp intake of breath, heart beating out of your chest in a panic. Realizing it is your husband and not in fact a murderer, does little to quell your anxieties.

"Bradley?" You blurt, springing up. "What are you doing here? It's not the twelfth is it?" You go to reach for your phone, frustration leaking through your voice. "What are you doing home?"

"I came home early," He exhales, brows knitted in concern as you rush around the room. You're clearly distressed, pacing before you finally stop and run your hands down your face.

"Why?" You dare to ask, voice warbling against your will. "Why are you home early?"

"You sounded like you were really sick, and it was only six days-" He clenches his eyes shut before looking at you with his sad eyes. "What's wrong?"

"You aren't supposed to be home yet." You whisper, crossing your arms. Your face crumbles as you remember the state of the house, the state of yourself.

"Baby if you've been sick longer than you told me, we can go to the hospital," He stands up, stepping towards you. "Something can really be wrong-"

"You're not supposed to be home," You repeat, turning it into a mantra under your breath as you cover your eyes. You can feel the slow burn as tears erupt from your eyes, strong emotions wrapping themselves around you like an octopus around a crab. Faintly, you can feel Bradley's hands touch your shoulders, and the way he rubs up and down doesn't feel the way it normally does. His touch burns your skin, itchy and irritating in a way that makes you want to cry harder.

"Will you let me take you to the doctor?"

"Will you shut up about the hospital?" You hiss, your frustration coming to head as you explode. His hands pull away as you look at him with such venom on your tongue, you can taste it. "God! Why are you home?"

His face twists in confusion, then to his own form of irritation matching yours. He doesn't understand, and typically you'd feel bad because it isn't his fault. But he wasn't supposed to be home yet.

"I don't understand." His mouth is slightly agape as he exhales. "I thought you were sick, you weren't answering my calls, you haven't been to work in two weeks-"

"You called my job?"

"I was worried!" He shouts, and you feel itchy again. "I was worried about you! And evidently I needed to be because the house is a mess-"

This strikes a chord within you. The house is yours. Bradley and you share ownership of it, you bought it together, decorated it together, but it's your domain. Every detail is finalized by you, from the color of the floors to the oven you own. It's yours. And it hurts that he points out how you've mistreated it. It hurts on a deeper level that he thinks this. No matter how much you know it's true.

"Don't you dare talk to me about my house." You can hold yourself back, snapping back at him.

"It's a fucking mess!" He points out, and you know. You know it's true. "It's never like this so clearly something is wrong and I'm worried about you!" You don't know what to do, because you had everything planned out, you knew when things were going to be put back-

And he's home early.

You prided yourself on being able to hide this part of your life from him. Being able to disguise your pain behind a mask of stability, pretending nothing had changed. That you hadn't changed. But now that's all gone. He's taken a peak behind the curtain and now the entire illusion falls apart, like ashes between your fingers.

"I just want you to tell me what's wrong." His voice is lower now, and he knows you're avoiding eye contact. "You've been pulling away, and I'm worried."

You can't bring yourself to lift your eyes from the floor to his face, where you know his eyes are bright regardless of the hurt that paints them.

"Is it me?" He asks, bending slightly to try and put his eyes in your line of sight. "Do you not want me anymore? Us?"

"No-" You can see his heart break in his eyes as you look up. "It's not that. No, Bradley, it's not that." You step closer, harshly laughing at yourself. "It's the opposite."

"I don't understand, honey."

"I love you." You whisper, feeling warmer now as his hands slide to your hips. "I love you so much, there's no one else in the world I'd even consider replacing you with. And I can't imagine my life without you."

He watches you apprehensively, eyes darting to your hands and back up to your eyes.

"I'm scared." You finally let it slip, soft like a prayer, quiet like a secret. He tilts his head slightly, practically begging you to elaborate. "I'm scared, when you leave the house for work in the morning. I'm scared when you go on missions-" your voice cracks harshly. "My heart drops every time Mav calls me instead of you, and when someone knocks on the door."

"I don't..."

"I'm scared that you're going to die soon." You blurt, not missing the way his eyes widen.

"Baby, I'm not going to die-"

"Do you think Goose told Carole that?" You ask, knowing you're crossing a line. Tears blur your vision. "You can't tell me you aren't going to die because you are, and there's nothing I can do to stop it-"

The hug is abrupt, your face being pushed into his neck and your bodies close. You feel nothing other than Bradley, and you can't even bring yourself to apologize as your hot tears drip onto his skin and inevitably his shirt. Your fingers tighten around his back, desperate to have him closer because you don't think he'll ever be close enough unless you're beneath his skin.

You know this conversation isn't done, it's not tied neatly with a bow on top. You know there's an entire can of worms that inevitably will be opened. But for a moment you feel warm again. Heat bubbles beneath your skin, rumbling through your chest as you feel his heart beating against your chest. Reds and oranges fly behind your eyelids in a way that has you breathing easier.

As he silently pulls the both of you to the bed, he hugs you a bit tighter. The smell of him surrounds you in a thick layer, your skin buzzing beneath the feeling of his lips against your forehead. You whine as he pulls away, tucking you in like you're a child.

"We're not done talking about this." He whispers, looking down at you with his sorrowful eyes. "Not even close to being done talking about this."

"Okay," You say softly back, agreeing.

"But you should get some sleep," He advises with a crooked smile. "I'll be here when you wake up."

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #top gun x reader #writing #top gun angst #top gun maverick #top gun maverick x reader #tgm fanfiction #tgm fic #tgm x reader #x reader #x reader angst

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howlsofbloodhounds · 2 months

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Hey. I think Killer and Error duo is being slept on. Dunno what dynamic they may have (don't have any thoughts) but something about these two makes me think that they'd get along (or at least, they would get along after initial first impressions)

Yeah, I think so too maybe. I also think that other than Color, Error is the one who actually encourages Killer to talk shit and complain about Nightmare with him.

Now im not too familiar with Error’s canon lore as of right now, but im familiar with the idea that he’s kinda a man child and sometimes had a tendency to throw tantrums.

I can see killer being uncomfortable (unsettled, nervous, confused, on edge, scared) by any huge displays of emotion, especially if they’re about or directed towards him, but he’d die before he admits to anything like that or expresses any genuine emotion and he doesn’t have the words to express any of it anyway because he doesn’t understand emotions or himself.

Killer’s more likely to decide that “something error does is influencing the soul/the body to behave differently and so I should stay away from being controlled” rather than anything like “this makes me uncomfortable.”

Because killer doesnt see himself as experiencing emotions in stage 2, and “himself” is in his mind and away from the body (which allows him to not really care what happens to the physical form so long as it operates well enough), he just thinks it’s the body behaving weird. Couldn’t be him, he can’t feel anything.

But I can see error trying to tune down the huge displays around killer eventually, maybe after a particularly huge and somewhat destructive tantrum of his drives killer to distance himself away from him. (Error seems rather lonely, and I doubt he’d want to lose his fellow nightmare-shit talking buddy.)

And another thing is that Error has issues with being touched, and killer relies on touch to determine if something is truly real or not.

And, uh, his stage 2 self doesn’t really understand boundaries naturally (or, a bit more accurately, he doesn’t see how they effect him) and therefore he can disrespect them; a lot of the time because he needs to tell if something is real or not or he’ll lose his damn mind again, other times because of a sense of curiosity or his deep seated need for control. He has a tendency to be like “boundaries for me, not for thee”—and we all saw how he manhandles swap.

So I can see just spending a lot of time just silently staring at error with his big doe black eyes while error yaps on, silent. And killer can’t really see shit well due to the goop from his sockets, so staring holes into error’s skull doesn’t make him seem any more real.

And of course error understandably flips his lid when he’s suddenly touched out of nowhere without his permission, probably stringing killer up in his strings and holding him up and away so he won’t touch him again. Only for killer to calmly slip right out of them because the strings don’t really affect him.

It’s gonna be like pulling teeth to get killer to explain why he did that, so this will probably be another period of rockiness in their relationship. Killer simply doesn’t like letting others know anything about him that he doesn’t want to willingly give, anything about his motives, genuine thoughts, goals.

And he doesn’t see what the issue is, although he recognizes that error is upset. He’ll probably say something to calm error down, something like “I won’t do it again,” without fully understanding the problem simply because, once again, the displays of emotion are making his body act weird. He doesn’t like the “control” error has over it. Killer knows how to people please and fawn when he needs to.

I don’t think he’ll willingly bring this interaction up with color to ask his trusted person to explain to him why this was an issue—simply because killer’s stage 2 self doesn’t often seek out emotional connection due to plain indifference and disinterest towards most people.

He doesn’t really care at this point if error doesn’t wanna talk to him again—just means that less chance of error’s emotions controlling his body again. (It’s the schizoid tendencies talking girl oh no he has headphones in he can’t hear us!!)

But color, being the absolute chad he is, recognizes that killer really needs more friends than him and error probably does too honestly. So instead color gently spends some time trying to encourage killer to just show some trust in others for once, and explain why he needs touch.

It takes awhile. Killer doesn’t get why he should explain himself to anyone that doesn’t have power over him, and no thank you to the idea of expressing himself. Color points out that error was willing to tone down the intensity of his outbursts, willing to adjust himself for killer’s comfort, because he wanted killer’s company.

Killer says error just wanted company. Not his company. Color gives killer a look and says, “being lonely and wanting company isn’t weakness.”

But it probably eventually happens. Color helps him write down the words, perhaps writes the definition for the derealization that killer was experiencing.

From there things probably get better for them. Error explains his phobia, killer says color told him he’s not supposed to touch people without permission. Error says he doesn’t give permission, and killer is quiet for a moment, before saying, “ok.”

Maybe they work up to it, maybe they never do. Error gives killer a mini doll of himself to squeeze whenever he starts doubting reality—probably because killer keeps forgetting he’s supposed to ask before touching but always stops himself mid way.

Error can see that killer is trying, although he doesn’t understand why it’s so hard for the guy to conceptualize the idea of boundaries. Does he not understand that saying no is a valid option? Regardless, killer is willing to listen when told no. Even if he clearly doesn’t understand what the big deal is. (If only killer had learned this lesson before meeting swap)

And they will of course what Error’s telenovelas. Or Error will watch them and ramble to killer with character analysis, headcanons, and theories while killer struggles to stay present and not become completely dissociated. The cats will lounge around in the beanbags with them.

I think it’ll be a very long time before killer feels safe enough around error to allow himself to be in stage 1–he will leave immediately as soon as he starts shifting over—but for now they’re both content with keeping things more surface level.

Kidnapping will become a staple of their interactions. Some days error will just snatch killer right up regardless of what’s he’s doing or saying and killer can escape easily but instead he’s just like, “new episode again?” Nightmare throws a fit whenever error takes killer while he’s trying to talk to him, which amuses killer so he allows it simply to spite the boss.

Sometimes ink is there too. Killer doesn’t know why or when they came around, but he’s there! Ink apparently likes drawing killer and error a lot. Ink comments that’s he taking all this in a surprising stride, and killer’s like..”pal, most days this just feels like a fever dream.”

Ink likes making and giving killer drawings of what happened that day out of hopes itll help it all feel more real to him.

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pbees · 1 year

Text

Marechi!

[𝙐𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙢𝙤𝙤𝙣𝙨! 𝙓 [𝘽𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧!]

Part 1 ☆ Part 2!

WARNINGS!; future parts will contain Nsfw content!!

This part contains

Face eating //kinda//

Mention of Gore

Kidnapping by default

Need

/nēd/

require (something) because it is essential or very important

⏝︶︶⏝︶ ୨୧ ︶⏝︶︶⏝

強くて美しい

..."

You're still alive..

YOU’RE STILL ALIVE?!

Quickly sitting up you surveyed the scene. You were covered in blankets that seemed to be soiled, but you couldn't complain. There was a fire going in a chimney a little ways away from you- confirming it was a house.

This place smelled horrible.

Surveying your surroundings check! now body check.

Alright for the most part. Your lips were still sore from earlier and your throat stung. For the most part, however, you were fine, all your fingers still intact.

Then suddenly

" Eat"

Bellowed a horrible English accent from the far corner of the room making you jump out of your skin.

There sat a man with-

Six eyes and wine red hair ? I mean besides the eyes he was rather attractive and his clothes didn't do much to hide the muscles underneath. His scary appearance didn't stop you from blurting out a-

" Oh hell what am I looking at?- did

Did I actually die?"

You whined ' Of course it was too good to be true. The creature in the corner didn't enjoy what you said about what he assumed was his appearance he grunted all his eyes narrowed at you.

You gulped quickly shutting up- what did he say do 'Eat? - Where's the food? Looking around again on the floor you spotted the very uncooked meat that had been thrown on a broken plate.

"Yeah I don't think I can eat that- uhm anything else in here you....?" you swallowed your pride and gave the creature a nervous smile. He grunted again before saying what you assumed to be his name.

" It's Kokushibo" he pointed to his chest, he realized you were filling in for his name after. In your defense your Japanese wasn't the best the group translator was previously slaughtered, plus and the same could be said for Kok-ushibo.

Well, not his Japanese, but English.

That begs the question, how does he know you speak English? The group spoke French the whole time- also assuming he's the one that slaughtered them.

Okay, you had to stop too- many questions were approaching your head. Might as well try talking to the Creature again.

" Kokushibo- hmmm- do you Hafe cookied phood?" you motioned to the bleeding plate of pale meat.

Another question- what was he trying to serve you???

He replied back in English even though you were trying your best to speak in Japanese " I Do not"

"Okay, are we gonna speak English or Japanese?" You let out a nervous sigh He gave you a look before replying " English"

"Okay okay- Kokushibo was it? Uhmmm where are we?" Oh gosh the questions are back.

He pointed to the quote on quote ' Food.'

" His House"

He does murder people good good, you're so safe.

" Why am I here Kok-ush-iboo?"

"Kokushibo"

"Kokushibu"

" Gud enough"

You sighed finally deciding to get up. You haven't properly used your feet since you froze a day ago, and your clothes were soiled much like the blanket making you uncomfortable. Clearing his throat he piped up again.

" Come here-

You visibly sweat as you approached the demon. The closer you got the more imposing he looked. Those are skull-crushing hands. Better yet why we're you here talking to him you should be running away right now, but much like before you were frozen as soon as you were arm's distance from him.

Your arm distance.

Reaching his hand out he grabbed your face making you yelp. He inspected your face, not with the intent to crush it luckily- more for studying it. He was a bit taken aback by your even when he first rescued you out of the snow. He only really saved you because your appearance intrigued him. He totally thought you were a demon at first glance but a demon wouldn't beg like you had their limbs would've grown back with no trouble.

There was also the interesting case of your blood. Before you wheezed out a "please" to him he drew his finger across the small drop of blood you left on the snow it's the smell was pungent. Which made him turn your face over by then you had passed out but the blood littering your lips was still there.

Demons didn't have blood that pleased other demons. His original idea was to ask the master about it, but if He didn't know you existed Kokushibo greedily wanted to keep you to himself.

Though much didn't hide from that man.

After checking if you were still breathing he picked you up by the collar of your clothes you were

basically a freeze pop in his hands.

He has to find some way to warm you up the circulation to most of your limbs was disappearing and your heart was on its last beat. Why you were so far out in the woods puzzled him- better yet why you were still alive with such heavy traces of a demon on you.

Seeing a house horribly covered in wisteria flowers, that would do a good job at keeping lesser demons away. They must be been a demon slayer of some kind 'Oh well'.

Making quick work of the Humans inside he sat you down close to the fire they had previously burned. He ate most of the slaughter but left pieces for you on the ground.

" Are we done yet..?" you squeaked out the position was making your back hurt from being bent to suh and angel. He let go of your face and huffed.

" You must eat" He pointed to the raw human. You just gave him a distributed look " I can't eat that ma-youu" you quickly corrected yourself not sure he would enjoy being called anything but his name.

"I don't know how out of date your human book is, but we can't eat Raw food and Especialy Humans at that?" you could not stress that fact enough.

" Then we must get you food so you can stay- healthy "

"Are you trying to fatten me up?"

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing-"

He gave you the nasties glare before standing up- AND HOLY SHIT HES TALL. Maybe your death which your pretty sure actually happened opened up the part of your brain that was a pure idiot because Why aren't you running the fuck away right now?

" if you try to run away I would and could kill you" he adjusted his clothes glaring at you.

"Noted!" Now he can read my thoughts give me a damn break. Walking past you he motioned you to follow him as he made his way through who's ever house this was.

" When I walk you follow - understood?"

"I guess ?" you sighed your confusion was going to make your head explode.

He nodded, the two of you must be fast the sun would be coming up soon.

You tried picking up his sword twice with him scowling at you in distaste every time you fell on your ass. He wasn't sure why he's kept you alive, you're no different than any other human wel that's not entirely true actually. There was the topic of your blood, demons survived off of it but flesh also fed the hunger they always have. Your blood seemed to be gleaming when looking at you it's the first thing he smells.

He wants to taste it, but he doesn't want to scare you away- any more than he has at least. He will bring it up later after you've eaten.

It would probably taste even better than it smelled. Thinking about drinking from you made him excited.

“ I’VE GOT IT!” you finally got it off the ground by and inch before you slipped on the snow hitting your face up against the weird eyeball sword. This caused you to bust your lip with a cry. You gave up you weren't gonna attempt to pick it up again.

Sighing you finally looked at Kokushibo- expecting to see the upset scowl from before your soul left your body when you saw him drooling.

His teeth were clenched showing off his canines as he looked down at your frame. You were too afraid to move just like before hyperventilating as he approached you.

“ Ko- before you could finish he grabbed your chin, it was far bigger than your face. Pulling you closer to him you started to tear up.

He's gonna eat me oh gosh he's gonna eat me i knew it- DAMN IT I KNEW-

‘Slurp’

Huh-

He was sucking your lip.

This definitely wasn't eating you- I mean it is but not what you were expecting. He was so engrossed in the act he was ignoring the confusion radiating off you. Your hands grabbed at his Haroi pulling him closer, his teeth scraping the bottom of your lip. Finally pulling away a string of saliva still connecting him to you.

Your hands still held his haori as his hand still caged your face. All six of his eyes gave your face a once over like he didn't suck the life out of you.

“I'll get the animal myself stay here” He started walking off.

“Man, what the fuck just happened?”

____

Not to plot driven this chapter unless you conclude the fact Kokushibo thought reader was a demon☠️

Next part will be a little more spicy, in truth after a certain point I forgot what the hell I was typing a desperately tried to remember.

HAPPY MOTHERS DAY!!

I'll typo check later :3

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