#thus leaving an emptiness
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#this is a really good post #but also. Iâm obsessed w the casual use of the phrase âWei Wuxian piths himselfâ #what a description (via @morethanwonderful)
thank you! and yeah i. ever since i generated that description i have not been able to unthink it. there is i believe no more efficient, correct descriptor of what he did in the English language, and yet what a fucking thing to say.
jiang cheng is a funny character because i fully support either liking him or not liking him, but i see so many takes (especially when he shows up in a supporting role in fic) that seem completely unhinged until i pin down which of what i consider the fundamental facts of his character are just not being applied at all.
itâs like:
1) this is not a mentally well guy, especially after Plot starts happening, and he spends the entire story getting less okay. the only time we ever see any improvement happen in jiang cheng is when wei wuxian piths himself getting the guy out of his suicidal phase, causing many more problems going forward but fixing that one. jiang cheng is not okay and itâs all downhill.
2) he cares so fucking much. like you can write a jiang cheng who is a deeply selfish bastard and you have an excellent textual basis, but itâs not because he doesnât care about other people, at least the ones that are his; thatâs a different kind of problem than the one he has.
he would in fact be less of a problem a lot of the time if he cared less, because he does not have the emotional management tools to be useful about it. also the narrative is conspiring against him but like.
(there are a lot of ways to be selfish and jiang cheng and lan wangji are actually remarkably similar in the basic type of selfish impulses they have. they just have very different childhoods and values shaping how they act about it. and then lan wangji manages to become a mostly functional adult, while jiang cheng is generously an electrified pile of bad coping mechanisms. heâs functioning! but like. at what cost.)
3) jiang cheng is dutiful. even the most selfish jiang cheng is someone who perceives and values himself in terms of his function and obligation; he and wei wuxian have different personalities and worldviews, and for that matter expectations placed on them, but they both learned that lesson, presumably together.
4) sort of an extension of 1 and to a lesser extent 2, Jiang Cheng is emotionally insecure as a base state. his parents made some major errors, at least half of which should have been avoidable except they would have had to deal with their own shit first.
itâs not out of the question, in a different lifetime where he didnât get several years of compounded irresolvable traumas as his coming-of-age present and then left alone to stew in pain and denial for over a decade, for him to have learned to handle it better and even mostly get over it! that could have happened! it just didnât.
to an extent heâs insecure about different things as a grown man than he was as a boy, life experience makes a difference. heâs built confidence about some things and become absolutely shattered about others. but heâs a person who is easy to wound, in all kinds of complicated identity-related ways, especially by Wei Wuxian specifically, and his kneejerk response to that is to lash out in reply, whether the wounding was intentional or not.
the fact that Wei Wuxian spent most of their lives giving every evidence of being completely immune to being harmed by this reaction masked its toxicity until things got real ugly real fast.
jiang cheng absolutely has the capacity to not do this! itâs a deeply rooted bad habit, not actually a fundamental of his character. but it requires self-awareness, will, and (if heâs going to keep it up) a lot of practice. itâs not the kind of thing that just goes away on its own, even with a bunch of alterations in context.
i donât have like a closing argument here i just keep finding that takes on jiang cheng that donât work for me, whether generous or condemnatory, always seem to disagree with me on one of these main points.
#THE THING IS#it's a word that used to be common#and now survives as the technically exact term for a whole bunch of things#that are only thematically connected#the middles and cores of things#when they're soft#the spongy tissue in an orange. the spinal cord. the fill-stuff inside the hard sheath of a feather.#and 'to pith' is always to remove such a thing from that which it is encompassed by#usually with the implication of making the smallest possible hole in the thing on the way out#thus leaving an emptiness#when done to an animal it's usually a slaughter method via needle to the spine#and when said of a human it's usually a little more metaphorical!#but wwx found a different method alk;fjs;kl#mdzs#i often think this phrase but this may be the only time i've put it in writing so i appreciate the callout#hoc est meum#(i'm pretty sure 'pit' as in 'cherry pit' is the same word offset to hardness but i've never looked for the official etymology)#words words words
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please. i need alastor with his hair up so we can see the side of his head. second set of ears or smooth flesh prairie?
#hazbin hotel#alastor#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#alastor ears#alastor's flesh fields#bc husk has the ears on top as well#but his head is shaped like a cat and he has all the fur so it works#but alastor is mostly human shaped when he wants to be and his face head is distinctly skinful#so.#like imagine he's uncomfortable or embarrassed by it because it's *yet another* physical difference that#invites the taunts and abuse and humiliation he faced in life (and is thus very sensitive about in afterlife)#he already faces being a PREY animal of all things#so. imagine. he always ALWAYS makes sure his hair covers the side of his head. in his twisted victim mind the lack of ears makes him#Wrong and Disgusting and Untouchable and A Monster (and not in the satisfying fearful way he enjoys)#so he pushes it away. doesnt let anyone learn about his ugly disgusting mutation because surely SURELY if they saw it...#he could lose everything he's worked so hard for. because who would fear him? who would respect him? who would bother looking in his#direction? he would just be another lowlife Freak undeserving of love and attention andâ well#thats what he would tell himself. but then one day niffty's doing his hair like he sometimes lets her#and he's just enjoying letting her have her fun. kinda spaced out; mostly just enjoyjng the rare sensation of a touch he doesn't despise#it doesnt even register when she pulls his hair up (maybe into lil space buns or smthn idk) that it leaves his empty face on display for all#i can imagine angel being the most outwardly shocked. some loud exclamation that turns everyones attention to alastor and his earless face#just. everyone staring at him. and he realises. and he hates himself for slipping like that and oh no theyre going to hate him and tellâ#â everyone and he will lose all that hes been working towards with the hotel and he is just. So. mortified. think shameful reactions:#averted gaze; flushed cheeks; figeting under their stares; or perhaps the classic deer-in-headlights look as he freezes in shock#just as he feels everything crashing down around him. the others get ahold of themselves and share their reactions too#shock; confusion; endearment (charlie would 100% do a big AWW/want to touch it); reassurances galore when they see him retreat into his mind#they tell him it's normal (he's in hell; no longer a human but a demon; everyone looks odd by some standard)#they tell him it makes sense (he's a deer after all). they tell him his appearance is nothing to be ashamed of and that everyone is still#super intimidated and frightened by him âĄ; that it doesnt change anything; that theyre sorry for whatever led him to believe otherwise
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I am actually crying after watching that scene for like 15 times straight (gay). Everything in that scene just pulls at my heart strings.
Sipping tea (I am assuming it's tea)!!!! Comfy clothes!!! The way they are so comfortably sharing each other's space!!!
The way Wylan opens up to Jesper and tells him that Ketterdam has never really felt like a home. I haven't read the books yet but from the fics I do know that he has had an abusive childhood and his own house surely could have never felt quite like home either.
The way Wylan tries to be so nonchalant while saying âso of course I came backâ and then the way he says with conviction that there's no one better than him!!!! I am so proud of him đĽš
And then the way Jesper is listening to him so intently and then makes that key with the coin he was playing around with in his other hand and the twinkling sounds in the background đĽš
It's so obvious that it's a key but Wylan does not assume and asks Jesper what the key opens. The way Wylan is a bit unsure and then hopeful but still processing the information that yes indeed that key is the key to the kingdom inside Jesper's room that could be their home :"",,,)
And I cannot even process that kiss right now. ...
I am just so emotional right now. Wylan and Jesper and their love means so much to me đđđđŤśđź
#wylan hendriks#wylan van eck#jesper fehey#wesper#six of crows#shadow and bone#shadow and bone s2 deleted scenes#head empty only wesper#i literally have no expectations from netflix#yet i cannot help but hope a little#hope against hope that we would get our six of crows spin-off#or shadow and bone s3#just anything that would ensure that the crows (and the actors who play them) don't leave us so soon#the characters are all so rich and every single one of them has their own story to tell#like from the perspective of a psych master's and whatever we have been given thus far -#- soc spinoff could show really good portrayal of how mental illnesses and the stigma surrounding it impacts one's life#also like be gay do crime and found family#also as a bisexual person who lives with mental illnesses and a fucked up family my found family means everything to me#so found family or chosen family will always have my heart#anyway how did i manage to start a whole other rant in the tags#i will shut up now :)
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feeling very embarrassed about the thinness of my life tonight...
the lonely city: adventures in the art of being alone by olivia laing
#it's getting bad again...#i'm spending too much time in my room and thus have too much time to think#and my mind keeps circling around these negative thoughts#i keep thinking how empty and pathetic and yes thin my life is compared to others#and i know i shouldn't compare myself to others but i can't help it#it seems like other people are living such exciting and vibrant lives and mine is just so bleak and boring#and it's so stupid that i think that way bc i literally just came back from a lovely trip to paris a couple of days ago#but now being stuck in these 4 walls again i can't help but see all the things i'm lacking#it's like i've come back to this gloomy reality after my trip#i also start a full-time job next week and i'm so scared...#but at least then my mind will be occupied with other things and hopefully i won't have the time to have such pessimistic thoughts#i really think bc i have too much free time this week & i barely leave my room i'm going a little insane#i wish i was one of those people who use their free time doing productive and creative things but i just rot in bed#âď¸#olivia liang#words#quote
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Man the grief is a hole thing really helps. But unfortunately now I am realizing my own patterns. Fuck.
#i am trying to shove other things into the hole#i am making the hole wider because I'm shoving too many things into the hole#I'm scared everyone else doesn't have a hole and is going to leave me behind because theyre sick of me being like this#and thus making the hole worse by trying to force them to like me#the hole won't get smaller but i cant stop trying to fill it#i just. fuck#i feel so goddamn empty#and I'm making it worse! i know I'm making it worsen#if i stay i rip myself apart if i leave i get replaced#i dont know what to do#and maybe im overdramatic. maybe they actually care and me going would hurt them#but i just#im trying to force them to fill the void in my life and it's going to kill me#it almost killed me actually#genuinely it almost killed me#but if i leave i get a bigger hole#i know I'll grow bigger than it if i stick it out.#but the thing is. i dont know if I can#i don't know if Id live if i lost anyone else#genuinely#so.#candyskiez vent#tw suicide#if you make a sex joke i will eat your organs
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Vent
#im so relieved that the only way you get to percieve me is through curated pictures and videos. that youll never see me in my bad days#or in my ugly clothes#or with horrible skin waking up with a hangover#youll never see my truly bad side#and im happy for that#your empty sweet promises lets me be the prettiest version of myself to you even if im not much to write home about compared to your friends#im perfectly fine with you never learning of my bad habits#never knowing how despicable i look when i cry or how pathetic i am about horror#not knowing how my body looks without posing#not knowing how i snore or how i am messy or how i dissociate staring into space#im happy you never get to see the truly ugly parts of me#even if youve already experienced me breaking down or being extremely attached over text#youll never have to handle that irl#thank god#i love you#your fake affection lets me pretend im better than i am#your many fake promises will never come true and thus you will never be disgusted by me#you wont have the chance to see me as anything but an annoying but averagely pretty person on the internet. im scared of meeting you.#and if you for some odd reason ever end up meeting me. i think it would hurt even more because once you leave youll never come back.#id never see you again. youd be out doing something else experiencing new exciting adventures meeting new gorgeous people#and giving empty promises to other love struck idiots like me. and theyll fall for you just as much. and theyll realise how youll never stay#youre never going to change#youre never going to belong to anyone. to anywhere. youll be a free person that destroys the hearts of us bystanders that you seduce#how am i ever to love someone else when you're this great. who would ever compare. who would even begin to be on your level.#i know youre so out of my league it catches me off guard every time you give me attention.#even if the only attention you give me is sexual.#it always leads to it being sexual.#i guess thats what im being kept around for#i wonder what you feel when you think of me. if you ever tell others about me. if you ever think of me. if i matter#but i know you dont feel anything. i know. im just another friend.
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love you, love you, love you;
mr. crawling x reader
plot: some things are best expressed without the need of words â themes: spooning/cuddling, smut, maybe yan vibes â w.c: 1.1k
a/n: my first homicipher related fic. i want to try one for mr. silvair & mr. gap next, bc they were also my favs. this game has been taking over my life so much lately. like itâs been in my dreams, haaah.
masterlist ⢠ao3
Mr. Crawling was always loud when he was excited within your company; his laughter filled out the vast empty spaces that were otherwise unadorned with familiarity. Whatever you once sought from those winding corridors was ever-fleeting, temporary, leaving you stuck within the confines of his company.
Yet, when he felt what you could only interpret as affectionâthatâs when Mr. Crawling then became differentâquiet, soothing, kind but also�� curious.
And when you would usually sleep, he would stand watch, knelt over the floor as per his usual stance but sometimes crouched near you, sometimes leaning back against the wall with his legs pressed up against his chest. He would watch you as his life depended on it, unwavering in focus and with eerie intensity. He would watch as your chest rose and fell, leaning close on occasion to catch the sweep of your breath and sometimes, he would trace the pad of his milky fingertips in long, languid strokes against your face. Always so delicate, so tender, but for the most part, quiet and even shy.
Having once caught a glimpse of Mr. Gap in your blanket space, however, set something territorial off for Mr. Crawling and he was never able to recover from such an invasion. The very idea that someone else was able to infiltrate what he deemed to be your spaceâespecially someone who he disapproved ofâwasnât something he could stand for. Especially with the sort of trickster Mr. Gap was, he couldnât bear to see you get hurt. It would kill him on the inside (and on the outside, too).
So, just as you were getting into bed to rest up once more, he too, slipped in under the covers with you. At first, you were startled as usual, turning to face him with confusion evident in your eyes, murmuring out some words in a language that he still could not understand. He repeated something back, the meaning lost and indecipherable upon your ears, though soon surrendering to emphasis using gestures instead. A hug to bring you closer, a reassuring pat on your head and a small, longing kiss over your nose.
You listened to his words again, repeating over and over like a broken record.
Perhaps he meant no harm, after all.
You turned your back to him and settled into his chest, finding that he was surprisingly warm for what he was. His taller frame encased your body, wrapping his ashen arms around your waistâaccidentally brushing the fabric that sat over your breastânicking the cloth ever so slightly. Your breath hitched in surprise and as though in sheepish realisation, he withdrew right away, terrified that you were upset with him.
You drew out a long breath, reminding yourself again, that after everything that has happened thus farâŚ
That, Mr. Crawling does not want to hurt you.
That Mr. Crawling has only ever helped you.
So perhaps, right now, Mr. Crawling only wanted to be closer to you.
You relaxed your breathing, settling into his comforting shadow once more and allowed for his presence to envelop you. He repeated the soothing motions of his grappling arm, although he held onto you softer that time. His hands explored your body with a delicate touch, as though afraid of breaking you��of upsetting you againâhis motions growing confident the longer that you didnât protest. It wasnât long before he, otherwise not disturbed by your lacking, conscious awareness, decided to explore further with you. Mr. Crawlingâs fingers didnât ask for permission that time, creeping beneath the clinging fabric, feeling your skin against his palms, inviting a pleased, almost delighted smile to curl on his lips.
The silence remained unbroken as Mr. Crawling continued his explorative focus on you; the quickly-building evidence of his need growing harder the longer he pushed himself behind your body, the repeated touches arousing something warmer within him. To both his surprise as well as your ownâyou were not repulsed, allowing him to creep even lower, below the skirt of the dress and up, brushing his hand up to your exposed skin and, reading into itâyou communicated your consent from the moment you parted your legs, allowing him to get even closer.
Confidence surged in Mr. Crawling as he pushed himself into your hilt, allowing his hardened length to slip inside. Betraying the stagnant silence, he shuddered out a ragged gasp before giving into his own rising need; grinding himself into your sopping sex with steadily increasing fervour. His fingers clamped around the curve of your hips as he held you in place, slamming every last inch of himself deep into your core.
Ever touch-starved yet wanting nothing more than to surrender to the sensation of you, Mr. Crawling continued to drive his cock into your needy cunt, soon wrapping his winding arms around your body and holding on tight. He bucked intensely as you soon succumbed to breathless whimpers, incoherently begging for his name. Equally desperate whines rolled off the slip of his tongue as he found his lips pressed into the crook of your neck, dampening your skin with sloppy wet kissesâas many as he could give.
It felt overwhelming for you in a way to be worshipped like this but you did your best to keep up with such intensity, especially as the warm, tingling pleasure built up inside of you, too. You held on just as tight as he did, your hand seeking out his ownâfingers weaving into his bony digitsâinterlocking and squeezing tight the closer you got, your grip and otherwise clenching need tightening simultaneously. To feel him losing himself inside of you was dare you admit, addicting, feeling him completely fill and stretch you out leaving you almost dizzied from the impaling force.
Mr. Crawling, like you, soon surrendered to the rolling bliss from the flick of his hips, feeling a surging warmth mount and rise, encouraging him to lose himself to the searing heat of the moment and you. Encircling your body in a possessive hug, he suddenly began to mutter out a new word in a strained mantra, again and again.
Given how desperate he seemed to be, you understood the meaning as âcloseâ, especially as his actions grew more stained and less controlled.
âClose, close, close,â he repeated.
It didnât take his chased release to catch up as his hips grew to a stutter, rutting out one final pump before melting into you. Mr. Crawling cried into your neck, spilling out the entirety of his overflowing love, feeling the pent-up devotion trickle down your thighsâyet not letting you move awayâstill retaining his claim on you.
Instead, he kept you even closer than before, not allowing you to part from him ever again (despite understanding your yearning for rest).
Words were never the problem, it seemed.
Mr. Crawling would have always found a way to⌠connect with you.
#homicipher#mr crawling#mr. crawling#homicipher fanfiction#homicipher x reader#homicipher x you#homicipher x mc#mr crawling x reader#mr crawling x you#mr crawling homicipher#homicipher headcanons#homicipher smut#mr crawling smut#homicipher mr crawling#yandere x reader#x reader fanfiction#cross posted on ao3#x you smut#x reader smut#xposted to ao3#i wrote this after a nap after playing the game for 4 hours straight and then i had this like dream about it#and i woke up ferally desiring mr crawling like it was insane#i wrote this with possessed and perhaps crazed love#i am very normal about fandoms thanks#yapping in tags again i see
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like i see rex and wolffe and go yay! because i know they are still alive in 10+ years. but there is not one hide nor hair of that man my best friend in the future and it does scare me
#if he shows up just to have an emotional conversation with one person and then die in a passion i will also be upset to be fair#but the implications of rex thinking obi-wan's dead thus leaving empty the world in my head where cody goes and finds him do scare me#as well#sorry the thing is that this show is not technically about him but the fact that he was in one episode has ruined me until the series finale
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this panel from the world guide of falin being surrounded by other girls while laios is all alone kills me because. that's it. that's the key difference in their journeys.
as laios states himself, he left the village in order to create a home for him and falin elsewhere. a home that won't collapse due to others' hatred and fears like their old home did, a home where they are loved and accepted unconditionally. but as he soon found out, even before earning money, or having walls surrounding him and a roof above his head- what he so earnestly desired was to meet other people who will accept him for who he is as well. instead, he kept being tormented by those around him, shunned and sneered at. his loneliness quickly became all-consuming until he truly had nothing left except for the monsters in the pages of his book, but even that became a target of mockery and destroyed. that's why ever since the day he left the village, he never felt that he truly made the right choice. so he kept running away: unable to resist and unable to accpet.
and an ocean away from him there was his sister, who never managed to fully fit in herself. but unlike him, she met a person who became a home to her and learned what a true friendship was for the first time in her life. and laios clearly realizes that too when he finally sees falin and marcille together, he can tell his sister obtained the greatest treasure there is on her own- the exact thing he never managed to find anywhere himself, thus coming back empty-handed to the sister he left the village for.
but when you read this part of the manga, laios's focus is on falin's loneliness, not his own. he talks about how it hurts thinking about all those moments she had to spend alone because he wasn't there for her, so it almost sounds like he's the one who couldn't bear her suffering and therefore decided to not let her go again. but we do get a glimpse of their first meeting after that almost-decade long separation in the manga, and then we see more of that in the world guide and daydream hour- and it becomes abundantly clear that it was falin who was trying to protect and save him from this pit of loneliness and depression he was in.
so instead of just doing his best to atone for leaving her behind in the village and making sure she is never lonely again, it might also be that laios was desperately clinging to the one person in the world he felt that accepted and loved him unconditionally. those words he used to describe his motivation to stay by falin's side are the exact words she would've used as well; she couldn't bear leaving him behind in this state. in a sense, they were each other's shackles.
but then she did. she died for him and their friends, and ironically enough, it was by leaving him alone like this that he was finally able to stand on his own and put his full trust in others. to have the courage to reveal who he is and give others the opportunity to accept him after such a long time of hiding. it was a long journey, but his hiding finally came to an end when he faced the others after shedding his monster form. and i love that the person who was falin's "home" all those years away from laios, marcille, became just as meaningful to him during their time separated from falin- the first one to find him and show him that he isn't alone anymore. just as he did for her.
so at the end of the story when falin talks about all the places she would like to go, it's not just that she wants to pursue her own dreams- but that she actually feels free to do so and go anywhere she desires. and one of the main reasons for that is that her brother finally found new people he wants to be with; his own home.
#im listening to fmab sad soundtrack while writing this im gonna die actually#dungeon meshi#laios touden#falin touden
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á´á´á´Ęá´ÉŞÉ´É˘ á´
á´á´á´Ę
featuring: protective!heian!sukuna, kindhearted!servant!reader. slight angst/hurt -> comfort. synopsis: you're sick. to your surprise, you're rescued by the man second closest to death himself. masterlist
you should've known he wouldn't come. sukuna has never set foot in the servant's headquarters in his life, let alone to chase after a sick servant. you lower your head, trying to ease the headache that has plagued you through the day.
sukuna loves his bloodshed and his gore. him and death would be good friends, you think to yourself. he wouldn't care if your body was burnt or buried, you think to yourself; wouldn't care if you died at all.
the room the others put you in is empty. ash spreads neatly over the cold floor. the scent of kibble haunts the atmosphere. it's where they put the dogs before sukuna killed them.
ever since you took care of the king of curses while he was sick, the other servants had been careful in keeping a distance from you. not in ill of heart; they're simply terrified at what you must've done to survive in your week long stay with the monster. honestly, you don't blame them.
but now when you're laying on the freezing ground, struggling to breathe, it's hard not to.
'this is where you live?'
your eyes look up. shock. then, with all the strength you can muster, you heave yourself one step away from the man at the doorway, which only serves to piss him off more.
sukuna ryomen, in all his glory, looks down at you. bending down to pick you up like a limp doll to be seated against the wall, he seems to revel in his regained strength. you can't help but feel happy for him, to have survived this fatal disease. not many men can attest to that...
then again, he is no ordinary man.
'i asked you a question.'
you nod, a small thing, barely a movement. he seems to clench his teeth.
he takes off his long white coat, flaunting a layer of dried blood, and drapes it over your shoulders.
yet it doesn't end there. he retrieves from his pocket a bottle of what looks to be a golden syrup.
you know exactly what it is.
he takes your hand and wraps it around the flask, making you hold it, sparing, not one, but two of his eyes, to stare at you, making sure you do as he commands.
'swallow.'
you shake your head. you know he's asking you to do. this is a medication is so rare for your disease that no sorcerer has found in over a hundred years. he's brought this thing of myth right to your very lips. now he's asking you to drink it, and thus take away any chance of it saving anyone else's life.
you scowl, but the tickling sensation in your throat grows stronger, eventually erupting out of your mouth in a harsh cough. you look away from sukuna.
'leave,' you whisper, weakly. 'don't wanna infect you.'
'i survived the illness already. i've developed an immunity.'
you shake your head again. you couldn't threaten your king's health with your own weakness. you just couldn't.
'i can't take this.'
he growls. without any notice, he swallows your lips in a kiss. in the momentary haze, you could hardly resist, fisting the front of his kimono to ground yourself. then, you feel something sweet, honey-ish, hit your tongue.
with his hand locked on your chin, it forces you to swallow.
you pull back, pushing him away. he groans.
he wipes his mouth, still with two eyes staring.
no... no, why did he do that?
'y-you- how? no... why did you waste it on me?' you whisper, desperately searching his face for an answer. 'i'm just a servant. you could've given it to a princess, or a scholar, or priest-'
he grabs you by the arm and forces you into his arms. its heat astounds you, and you find yourself crawling closer. a vague thumping sound seems to press against your ear-
oh. you calm your breathing.
it's his heartbeat.
alive.
'sleep in my room tonight,' he demands.
what did he say? you strain your mind, trying to replay what he said earlier. no... maybe you heard correctly.
'but i'm no concubine,' you respond, instantly.
his arm supports your waist, helping you up effortlessly to your feet. he then directs two of his eyes to the doorway, his cadence low and domineering.
'it doesn't matter.'
he leads you placidly through the servant's quarters. you notice all conversation cease at your entry, bodies dropping into a low bow. a small voice in you whispers that it's where you should be too. you tug at sukuna's arm.
'i'm only a servant, sukuna.'
you know what it looks like, a servant clutching onto a man, more god than human. a man who has slaughtered villages, blood staining the base of his kimono crimson, and turned half a province on its head, just to save you.
'whatever you are in my eyes is what you are to the world,' he states, his expression unchanging. 'if i deem you a queen, that is who you are.'
exiting the servant compound, you know you can't say no- not like you wanted to. the wide expanse of his chest is comforting.
yet however sweet this feeling remains, you can't help but gulp. perhaps this is the closest a human has ever come to courting death.
#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna ryomen#jjk#jjk sukuna#jjk x reader#jujutsu sukuna#sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#ryomen sukuna#sukuna fluff#ryomen x reader#jjk fluff#sukuna angst
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DP x DC Prompt/notion # 5
Bruce finished logging the last details of tonightâs patrol and reluctantly pulled up contingency file PT-961. âHnn,â he grunted to the empty cave, staring at the folder on screen but making no move to open it yet. His children were all out for the evening with various excuses: doing research on a case, homework, visiting a friend, etc. He knew they were really with Fenton for a movie night of courseâŚthe third such movie night in the last several months since they started sneaking over to visit the man.
He'd put this off long enough, making excuses to himself about assessing the situation before coming to any conclusions, it was past time he did something about it.
Cli-click. There. The file was open.
Heâd made this contingency plan years ago, creating it only a days after Dick had moved into the manor and updating as needed as the family had grown but it hadnât been touched for years.
PT-961 In The Event That More than 50% of the Children Form an Attachment to a New Parental Figure (see file HM-962 if less than 50%) 1. Initial Research: a. Attachment levels â see pages 1-36, graphs I-XLVII b. Assessment of New Parental Figure c. Background and character 2. Intentions â harmful a. If wanting money see contingency files (GD-01 to GD-207) b. If mind control â magic see contingency files (SMM-M-01 to SMM-M-508) c. If mind control â science see contingency files (NAM-ES-01 to NAM-ES-904) d. If criminal intentions see contingency files (CAP-C-201 to CAP-C-508) 3. Intentions â positive a. Option 1. Hire them - See Family reaction projections pages 37-75 - See likelihood of job acceptance pages 76-94 - See possible outcome projections pages 95-127 Note: Option 1 has the highest likelihood of job acceptance and a positive outcome in the event New Parental Figure has an annual income of less than $42,300 and/or is greater than or equal to age 57. b. Option 2. No interference/Let the Children decide what to do - See Childrenâs time projections pages 128-209, graphs XLVIII-LXX - See possible mission/patrol interference scenarios pages 210-293 - See possible outcomes pages 294-362 Note: Projections for Option 2 show a near 100% likelihood of interference with patrols/mission. Note: Interference resulting in increased potential for injury or delay in treatment of injuries estimated to be 68-94% more likely. c. Option 3. Custody arrangement - See potential arrangements pages 363-482, graphs LXXI-XC - See possible outcomes pages 363-401 Note: The majority of projections show Option 3 is unlikely to be successful. Both the children and New Parental Figure are predicted to be uncooperative in time and custody arrangements with no other controlling factors. d. Option 4. Engage in a relationship - See family reactions page 402-481 - See New Parental Figure reactions pages 482-568 - See possible outcomes pages 569-757 Note: For possible romantic or similar relationships see contingency files (DM-401 to DM-879) Note: In the event Option 1 is nonviable, Option 4 has the highest likelihood of a positive outcome. e. Option 5. Arrange for New Parental Figure to leave - See contingency files (ROI-G-301 to ROI-G-809) Note: High likelihood of one or more children discovering the arrangement for the removal of New Parental Figure leading to high likelihood of estrangement. Also likely to be ethically questionable.
Bruce double checked his notes on Daniel James Fenton. He was 2 years younger than Bruce, earned a high income as a freelance engineer and had multiple patents that gave him enough passive income from royalties that he could easily maintain his current lifestyle without working. There were no indications of any criminal history or ill intentions and thus far all of his interactions with the children appear to have been positive. More than positive given that every single one of his kids was now âsecretlyâ (or secretly in so far as they were aware) spending time with him.
He steepled his hands in front of his face and focused on the data displayed on screen. Â The best option to take in this case was obvious.
*****
Ding-Dong! âIâm coming!â Danny yelled as he dropped the laundry basket on the couch and headed for the front door. âWhy is there always a package delivery on laundry day?â he muttered to himself. Well, hopefully the delivery guy wouldnât mind his no clean laundry ensemble. Surely, theyâd seen worse than Dannyâs ancient, too small NASA t-shirt and the bat themed pajama pants Sam bought for him when he moved to Gotham.
âHi there, sorry I was doing laundry andâŚuhhâŚyouâre not the delivery guyâ. Danny stared at a sharply dressed smiling man holding a dozen roses on the other side of his door.
âNo, Iâm Bruce Wayne. I-â
âOh, shitâ
Bruceâs eyes narrowed. âYou know.â
âUmmâŚâ Danny gulped. He was not expecting to deal with Batman on laundry day! âYes?â He straightened himself, squared his shoulders and looked Bruce Wayne AKA Batman, the father of the kids that his core had recently come to recognize as his own, in the eyes. âYes,â he said firmly. âI know.â
âHnnnâŚâ Bruceâs voice dropped a few octaves. Not quite Batmanâs signature growl but much lower than he had been speaking. âWell then, that simplifies things. These are for you. Would you like to go out to dinner with me?â
ââŚWhat?!â
#dpxdc#dp x dc#dc x dp#dcxdp#fic prompt#so basically bruce has a contingencies in case the batkids found a new mom or dad#and the best option is to marry Danny#it's only logical#he has lists#and charts#they're color coded
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the more I play the more I think lucanis basically knows it's illario who betrayed him right from the beginning (he's had a year in the ossuary to think. not that many people knew where he was going. when you ask him 'did Illario know you'd be on that ship' his only answer is the hardest flattest 'yes' you ever heard). so it's not so much about figuring out who the traitor is (because that's ludicrous. we all know. immediately. they didn't really bother to hide it lmao) as about methodically closing off every single avenue of denial lucanis has clung to that whole time with as much or little gentleness as you might prefer until he has no choice but to admit it. because the moment he has to admit it, he'll have to do something -- feel something -- about it. and that's such a catastrophic event in lucanis' inner landscape (he has had TWO people in this whole entire world up until now and will do anything to hold on to them with a heartbreaking child-like desperation, even at and especially through the detriment of his own self) that he'd rather just. not. what if we quite simply. didn't. what if we just stayed here in the emptiness where we can both pretend you didn't hurt me in a way I should never forgive. I have so much practice in that with caterina already it's always worked out great for everyone so far. (press x to fucking doubt but that's trauma logic for you lol)
after everything illario did, so much of the storm of lucanis' emotions around it is 'what the FUCK did you get yourself tangled up in this time and how do I get you out of this mess safely'. what's worse: the fact that your brother murdered you, or that he put himself in horrible danger doing so and thus exposed you to the risk of losing him forever. lucanis' heart certainly has an opinion here and it's fucking unhinged (affectionate)
the themes of dissociation in lucanis' character in general makes me feel nuts. allllll these contradictory messy things he needs to cut off from each other because they can't coexist or be easily reconciled inside him. but all remain stubbornly true separately anyway and will have their due one day. love and resentment. tenderness and fear and rage. terror and longing. love and freedom don't coexist. the burned out golden child anthem is playing in the background. he was always caterina's favourite and he has to keep striving to deserve that dubious honour with every breath he takes and then, presumably, mercifully, some day he will die and be excused and can rest. and until now he's suppressed all the -- natural, healthy, protective! -- negative feelings that threaten the few attachment relationships he actually has, at the cost of ever actually having his needs for connection and safety met and leaving his core self imprisoned and compromised. and spite goes 'what. no. that's dumb fuck that' (*spite voice* I do not understand that and even if I did I would not respect it) and does not allow him to fall back into that, which I think is what saves his life, ultimately. it took being possessed by a demon for lucanis to even contemplate telling anyone he loves 'no' in any way, but hey. whatever gets you there right lol
lucanis is dealing with the freeze response allll the way down baby. and he was even before the ossuary, that just turbo powered it and brought it to a breaking point way before it could happen naturally. but something was going to break eventually no matter what, and I'm just glad that in the end, through the power of friendship and also pure spite, it doesn't have to be him
#I am worried about him all the time. but also: his found family of godslaying maniacs and also the power of love. there are reasons to hope#when there was only one set of footprints in the sand that was the veilguard party holding lucanis in their arms#and going 'excuse you he said no FUCKING pickles!!!' while he's like 'đĽşshould you guys really be -- ' 'YES'#dragon age#dragon age: the veilguard#dragon age: the veilguard spoilers#dragon age spoilers#lucanis dellamorte#dragon age meta#there's some messiness to his arc but what mary kirby managed to capture here about how this works. is everything to me#he is so exactly for me. I'm sorry for all the people he turned out not to be for. but not for him being for me#the gift of looking at him and hearing 'you're more than what you're going through' and be forced to annoyedly go 'okay#MAYBE that could be also be true for me. maybe.' he's going through it. and also so much more and the funniest person in the world#he's so worth it to still have in the world!!!!#I'm so glad we don't get to 'fix' his relationship with his family and especially caterina actually#that is stuff that would need to happen on a time scale waaay outside of the one in this game#and there's Something very real in having to go 'this is not for me to decide for you. who you love and what you do about it is yours'
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Sooo much angstttttttttttt đ
I need the boys to wake up and do whatever it takes to fix it, please, I can't take the angst đđđ
Does this count as fix-it? đ¤ hope you enjoy, anon! Also this turned out far longer than i thought it would lol
First Part
Another shift slowly happens within the duchy, palpable. The whispers of servants echo louder than ever, growing sharp and cutting in the empty halls you once used to frequent. They still avoid you, but now they wonder and whisper of your health. Itâs not just them; the men youâd once hoped youâd at least be on an amicable basis with slowly change as well, the longer your absence haunts the halls and galas.
John is the first to act. Itâs hesitant at first, awkward even, as though he canât figure out how to approach the shattered remains of what heâs ignored for so long. He stands outside your door one evening, his shadow stretching under the flickering candlelight, fist raised to knock. But he doesnât. Not at first. He falters, as if the weight of his guilt roots him to the spot.
When he finally does knock, itâs tentative, barely audible.
ââŚAre you awake?â His voice carries a softness youâve never heard before, but it grates against your numbness.
You donât answer. Your eyes barely flick towards the door, not moving from where you are curled on your side.
He lingers, sighs, and leaves.
You had intended to let yourself waste away, in all honesty. Only your mother doesnât let you; she bursts into your room one day, sneers at the miserable sight you make, and insults you to the high heavens. Nothing new, even if her digs hurt, even if she says she isnât surprised by no one loving you when you are like this, but she forces you to eat some nibbles and then into a shower; she doesnât care. She is simply tired of having you be an embarrassment and hiding away from the public eye.
Thus, you no longer stay in your room. You donât bother with jewelry, with heavy gowns or complicated hair styles or even clearing the layer of dust off your furniture, you just leave your room. Thankfully,
Unfortunately, that means passing by the maids and servants. It means passing by them. It means interacting with them again, though no longer initiated by you.
Simon is the second, and less direct. He lingers in places you begin to re-frequent; the library, the gardens, the corridors near your room. He doesnât speak, just watches from the periphery, eyes heavy and intense. Once, when you brush past him without acknowledging his presence, he mutters something under his breath, his fists clenching at his sides. But he doesnât try to stop you and you don ask what he said.
He probably didnât mean you, anyways. You doubt he wants to speak to you, the obstacle.
Johnny falters the most. Though your interactions with him were few, youâd occasionally hear from the servants about how fun he is in general. His smiles, though theyâve never been aimed at you, look quite fake to you, jokes half-hearted and dying on his lips whenever you pass on rare occasions.
One day, he brings a tray of food to your room himself, hoping to coax you into eating with something heâs cooked just for you. You answer the door, see him holding it, and shake your head without a word. Even if it looks delectable, like the dishes John would get.
âPlease,â he says, his voice cracking. âI- just try a bit, hen.â
But you close the door before he can say more. He will try again and often, sometimes just leaving the tray, but you never touch it. Youâve lost weight, you know, and the only reason you are getting some nutrients at this point is because you occasionally sneak into the kitchens late at night for tiny snacks to tide you over. If Johnny knows itâs you, heâs never said anything.
Kyle is quieter, yet more present. The guilt eats away at him the most; he knows that his lack of care and respect had a part in the way the rest of the maids and staff treated you. He spends his evenings pacing the hall outside your room, his head bowed, mumbling apologies that youâll never hear, wondering which one is best.
Once, he catches you in the garden alone, his mouth opening as if to speak, but you pass him without so much as a glance; you already know he wonât care for you have to say or ask for, heâll just say he is busy, so you just donât bother.
He stays frozen in place, his hand half-raised, the words stuck in his throat.
The servants, per Kyle and Johnâs orders, begin to change. Their guilt is slower to manifest, but itâs there and itâs evident in the way they rush to fulfill your needs despite your reluctance. They clean your room with quiet efficiency, no longer treating you like a burden, even though you hadnât asked it of them. They leave fresh flowers on your desk and vanity, extra blankets on your bed, and freshly pressed gowns in your wardrobe.
You ignore all of it. Itâs a waste of everyoneâs time snd effort. You arenât worth it.
Yet despite their heavy guilt, they return to and continue serving you.
But nothing changes the heaviness in your chest, the emptiness that refuses to leave.
One day, closer to the date of the annual winter gala hosted by the emperial family, you step into the dining room unannounced, your presence startling them all. Itâs the first time youâve joined them in weeks. You move slowly, your posture rigid and tired, your expression unreadable.
âDuchess,â John starts, his voice uncertain, rising from his seat.
ââŚJohn,â You sit without meeting his eyes, your movements slow and deliberate. The table is silent, the tension suffocating as John, Simon, and Kyle exchange uncertain glances.
John clears his throat. âItâs good to see you, wife.â
You donât respond.
The meal is awkward, stilted, but itâs necessary for you; you need to get reused to John for your eventual reappearance in high society. Johnny offers you dishes with a hesitant, hopeful look in his eyes, and Kyle pours your wine with an unsteady grip. John and Simon try to start a conversation, but their words falter and fade when you donât reply.
Still, they try. Over the following weeks, their efforts grow.
John begins carving out time to spend with you, awkwardly hovering near your door, waiting for even a crumb of acknowledgment. He starts leaving small notes for you- apologies and quiet promises to be better. They pile up on your desk, untouched but not thrown away. You want to believe, but you feel jaded and tired.
Simon offers you quiet companionship, instead. Standing at your side in the garden or library, saying nothing but ensuring youâre not alone. He speaks softly when he does talk, a one-sided conversation with only the occasional hum or noise from you, but heâs undeterred.
Johnny keeps cooking for you, leaving trays of food outside your door with little notes attached: Eat a bit, bonnie. Just for me. You donât eat much, still have very little appetite, but you do start taking bites here and there, and itâs enough to keep him trying.
Kyle offers small acts of service- holding doors open for you, keeping anything you might need available at hanf, ensuring your rooms are kept warm and comfortable. His words are rare, but his actions speak of endless guilt and the quiet hope that he can earn even a sliver of forgiveness.
The maids and butlers follow suit, their movements quieter, their service more thoughtful. They stop muttering, their eyes full of remorse whenever they see you. They bow in respect, and no longer treat you as if you arenât a part of the duchy.
But you keep them all at armâs length. Their guilt is evident, their efforts genuine, but the wounds theyâve left on your heart are deep. Forgiveness, if it ever comes, will not be easily earned. For now, you let them try, watching their clumsy attempts with a mixture of numbness and quiet satisfaction (that you do feel guilty over, but truly canât help).
Several weeks before the gala, John comes to your office. He sits down, and waits until you are finished with your paperwork before he speaks. You are in a beautiful dress- Simonâs gift- and your hair is in a delicate style, done by your maids. You look pretty. You feel nice, even if the numbness remains. These days, itâs less.
âDuchess, I was thinking,â he began, voice soft and patient. âit might do you some good to get away for a while. A change of scenery.â
You turned to look at him, the suggestion pulling you from your numb reverie. His blue eyes searched yours, and for once, there was no coldness, no distance. âSomewhere quiet,â he continued, âwhere you can rest⌠away from all of this.â
The idea of leaving the suffocating walls of the manor, and the heavy tension of the duchy was tempting. And yet, you hesitated, unsure if you could trust the gesture or if it was just another attempt to smooth over appearances.
âIâll take care of everything,â he added quickly, as if sensing your doubt. âYou wonât have to worry about a thing. You can choose who youâd like to go with, or even if you want to go alone. Itâs entirely up to you, Duchess.â
Johnny and Kyle appeared in the doorway then, Kyle holding a tray with a steaming cup of tea, Johnny with a small, hopeful smile and a plate of your favorite biscuits. Even Simon lingered near the threshold, his gaze steady but tinged with something softer than usual.
They were all waiting for your answer, their expressions almost pleading. You could feel the weight of their guilt and the sincerity of their offer. It wasnât much- not enough to erase everything that had passed- but it was something. A step forward.
ââŚIâll think about it.â you said at last, your voice quiet but firm. And for the first time in a long while, you saw a flicker of relief in their eyes.
#noona.asks#cod x reader#cod#cod x you#tf 141 x reader#tf 141#tf 141 x you#cod imagines#john price x reader#poly!141 x reader#poly 141 x reader#poly!141#poly 141#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley imagines#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x you#ghost x reader#johnny soap mctavish x you#johnny soap mctavish x reader#soap x you#soap x reader#kyle gaz x you#kyle gaz x reader#kyle gaz garrick x you#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz x reader#gaz x you#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader
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priceâŚ.. in a.. a.. cowboy hat
girl... you have no idea what you have done to me with this ask. Cowboy Price!?? I had so much fun with this, I might even do a part 2! I'm sorry this took me so long - I really hope you like it!!! âĄ
18+ mdni - cw: chasing, spanking - 3.2k words
John Price owns the ranch that neighbours your father's. You've got a habit of climbing the fence between them, snooping around Mr Price's property and leaving traces of your misbehaviour behind. This time, he catches you.
Hereâs part 2!
Daddy had warned you about wandering onto Mr Priceâs property. The lichen-coated fence that separated his land and your fatherâs spanned miles; carving through tall dry grass, through woods of oak and pine trees, over a bumbling shallow creek. It was easy enough to climb over, but there was one little gap in the barrier, where the splintering planks had fallen from their fastenings. Tucked under a towering cottonwood tree, hidden by the grass, it was easy to wander through as if it were more of your own land on the other side.
Mr Price was a reticent man. An arguably shadowy figure, who you might occasionally see on horseback up on the hilltops of his ranch, tan cattleman hat bowed as he surveyed his acreage. You had met him, once or twice, as a girl. Then, he was in his early twenties, tall and aloof. Eldest of three sons, all three of whom had enlisted and served, sent to fight a war whose nature you were oblivious to in your innocence. He had been absent for years, and once his father was taken by whatever cancer he chose not to treat, John was the only one of the three to return.
His father you had known, vaguely, only as a man that your father despised with an unwavering passion. Some daft rivalry, dating back long before you were born. Whatever enmity existed between old men had not quite been passed on to the last remaining son, it seemed â where there might have been out-and-out conflict, existed only cold disinterest.
Thus explained your intrigue. You found yourself strangely captivated by him, in a nosy sort of way, once he had finally come home. Suddenly bearded and jaded, no longer the bright-faced young man you had distantly remembered, he had picked up where his father had left off. He lived alone, as far as you were aware, in his inherited six-bedroom farmhouse, atop a five-thousand-acre piece of natural splendour. Donât bother the man, daddy would tell you, heâs not our friend.
But you had always been at the mercy of your impish curiosity. You couldnât help it. It was an impulse, a compulsion, to stick your fingers where they didnât belong. You would habitually explore his acres when you came home from college. Youâd peek into his empty old shacks, pet his mooing cattle, pick handfuls of wildflowers from his unkempt fields.
Sometimes youâd sneak into his stables. Youâd coo at his horses, stroke their velvet snouts, feed them the flowers you had plucked with a smile. They had grown to like you, his sweet horses, you wished you could know their names. They probably liked you more than him, no doubt, the mysterious little neighbour that would sneak in at dusk and feed them treats.
But your most regular habit â one that had gotten you into trouble before â was your proclivity for picking bunches of glossy red cherries from his rows of fruiting cherry trees. The orchard was under-loved and weedy, but those glimmering little baubles of ruby were just too delightful to let fall to the grass and rot.
He had caught you, once, while your arms were stretched far above you, reaching among the droopy branches and floppy leaves to pick the brightest sun-ripened cherries. You had heard him yelling;
âHey! I see you in there, missy!â
Lips stained red, slick with sweet juice, you gave him a puckish grin before you ran off like a rabbit and hopped back over the fence.
âThereâll be trouble next time I catch you over here, little lady,â he had roared after you, watching you clamber over the oaken planks, âYou hear me?â
It didnât stop you, of course, whatever threat he threw at you. If anything, it emboldened you. Now you meandered down the rows of cherry trees like they belonged to you, picking the prettiest ones, popping them behind your teeth and meticulously nibbling the flesh from the pit, spitting them into the grass as you moved onto the next.
You left a trail wherever you ventured. Little wet pits and green tooth-pick stalks in piles around the place; in stables, along pathways, among the cows. Sometimes youâd leave juicy red fingerprints on doorframes, on the planks of the fence, on horse snouts â perfectly incriminating.
Today was no different. You wandered in scuffing sandals along an old dirt road, green sprigs of grass almost covering it entirely. Some old route that settlers may have followed state to state, spotted occasionally with two-hundred-year-old milestones, ignored just enough to have been spared from crumbling to dust.
Shaded by a cottonwood, humming to yourself, you created a little tipi with your cherry stalks on the flat top of a mile marker. Balanced them carefully as you licked the fruity flesh from your teeth. And when a gentle breeze blew it over, scattering your creation, you leaned over the stone to pick them from the dry gravel around its base.
One, two, three, fourâŚ
At the familiar rumble of a truck trundling over dirt, you straighten your spine, palms resting on the edge of the milestone as you look over your shoulder. A dusty Chevy square-body had already coasted to a stop behind you, red paint faded and matte after a decade or two of proper use and neglect.
There he was, the enigmatic man, hanging his elbow out of the open window. Mr Price squinted through the glare of the afternoon sun, crowâs-feet pinching, eyes barely shaded by the cattleman he wore even inside his truck. Your throat bobbed with a swallow as you caught his eye; the flitter of adrenaline buzzed in your chest, toeing the line between nerves and excitement.
With a disapproving suck of his teeth, he grumbled at you, âWhatâd I tell you about catching you back here?â
Plucking the short skirt of your cotton dress downward, to cover where it had ridden up, you spun around to face him demurely.
âYou said thereâd be trouble,â you answered with a simper, shyly scratching the back of one hand with the fingernails of the other.
âMhm,â he grunted in agreement, tapping the metal door with his palm. He flicked his head in gesture for you to make your way around to the passenger side. âGet in.â
A crease pulled between your brows as you frowned at him. âWhat for?â
âIâm takinâ you back to your daddy,â he barked, irate and impatient, âIâve got some words for him, too.â
You absently kicked the rocky dirt with the heel of your sandal, pouting at him. âWhat words would those be?â
With a snort, he rocked his head to peer out of his windshield, then back to you. âTo keep a fuckin��� handle on his daughter.â
âDonât think thereâs anything you could tell him that he hasnât already tried,â you mumbled, attempting to subtly flick the handful of cherry stalks you had collected to the ground.
He chuckled at that, breathy and hoarse, a hint of frustration in his throat. âI believe that,â he scoffed, âcâmon. In. Donât make me ask again.â
You chewed on your lip, squinting in challenge as you stood up straight. âOr what?â
Glowering at you for a moment, his nostrils flared in frustration, as he seemed to swallow what must have been an inappropriate retort. Instead, his arm retracted through his window, and following the thud of the handle he swung open the door with his forearm.
With a hop he landed in the dirt, dust rising from under his well-worn leather boots. You hadnât seen him up close in as long as you could remember, and Christ, how he towered over you. It may well have been the looming shadow of his sizzling anger that made him seem so daunting, so delightfully thrilling. You felt the shiver of gooseflesh tingle down the nape of your neck as you tilted your head to look up at him, sheepishly watching his steady approach.
âYouâll be in more trouble than I will if you lay a hand on me,â you spat, with a faint curl in your lips, almost daring.
He gazed down the bridge of his nose at you, wearing a snide and thin smirk, curled under his dense beard. But as his gaze raked you up and down, his sneer shifted quickly into a pout of disapproval, eyes caught on your chest.
âCare to explain this?â He queried severely, wide hand reaching for you; you leaned back further against the milestone behind you as if it might evade him. With his fingers he pinched the cream linen of your blouse, and for a moment you feared he was peering down the gap - brazenly inspecting your bare breasts underneath.
But, no, he instead curled the fabric between his fingers to show you the bright red stain dribbled down the front of your dress.
Oops. Your gut reaction was to giggle, yet unsure whether to admit guilt or feign ignorance.
As you parted your lips to speak, his judging hand suddenly moved to your face; a hold of your chin with a thumb and hooked finger. Piercing glare glued to your lips, his eyes sunk into a defeated ire, shadowed under the brim of his cattleman.
Your tongue writhed behind your teeth, heart thumping in your throat; as he tilted your head up and to the side. He used his other thumb to wipe your bottom lip, pointedly slowly, from the corner to the centre.
âYouâre a little thief,â he gritted, dropping your head and peering at the red smear of juice on the pad of his thumb. âArenât you.â
Were you scared of him? It was hard to distinguish your fluttering heartrate between terror and thrill â perhaps a touch of both. Because you didnât know him. You couldnât trust him. You had no basis to assume he wouldnât club you with a closed fist and throw you in the back of his pickup. But you felt the tingle his touch left behind on your lip. You got stuck on his pinched blue eyes, the glare of the sun reflecting off your dress illuminating them like they glowed from within.
âNo Iâm not,â you muttered, readjusting your dress after he left creases in the low neckline.
âAnd a liar?â He scoffed, as he grabbed one of your wrists â lifting your hand to reveal the sticky burgundy juice under your fingernails, red drips dried in your palm. âYouâre covered in evidence, missy.â
Snatching your hand from him, you crossed your arms in petulance. âItâs not stealing if you donât use it.â
âThe fuck it isnât,â he snapped, hooking his hands onto his hips. âNow get in the goddamn truck.â
âI can walk home,â you grumbled, âyouâre not the boss of me.â
Huffing in anger, he leaned forward â looming over you with a domineering lour. âWhile youâre trespassing on my property â yes I am.â
Glaring up at him from under your brow, you nibble at the inside of your lip as you pouted at him. âWhatâre you gonna do if I donât go with you. Kidnap me?â
He tilted his head, shrugged his shoulders. âIâve got some rope in the truck,â he gruffly warned, âyou gonna make me use it?â
Did you imagine the glint in his eye? Did you make up the lascivious quip in his tone? Whether or not it was dreamt, it plucked a coy smirk in your lips.
He was daring you, wasnât he? Goading you to challenge him.
So with a glistening smile you reached for his cattleman hat â plucked it from his head, and swiftly placed it on your own. Too big to sit properly, you perched it on the back of your head so that you could still see out from under the brim.
âHey!â He barked, lunging to snatch it back from you â but you bolted, kicking off your sandals, ducking under his arm and sprinting across the dirt road. Through the field of grass and dry wildflowers, you bounded like a deer. âFuckâs sake.â
Holding his hat in place, you peeked over your shoulder in your escape, and he was swiftly in pursuit.
âGod dammit, girl, you get back here!â He roared â already closing the distance. You hadnât expected a man as bulky as him to sprint as fast as he was, charging after you like a grizzly.
You only giggled, leaping over fallen logs and stray planks of wood, weaving between the tall white oaks that littered his prairies.
âIf you get so much as a dent in that hat Iâll fuckinâââ
âYouâll what?â You squealed through a grin, holding the skirt of your short dress in a fist against your hips, to allow your legs to sprint in full stride.
You heard him grunt, close to a growl, as he encroached on you. âYouâll be in big fuckinâ trouble!â
Breathless, panting, you failed to think of any witty response as you dashed towards one of the many stables on his expansive property â this one devoid of horses or livestock, simply a storage building for stacks of haybales and racks of tools. Youâd perused it before. He might have found more discarded cherry pits in there.
He was behind you already, as you barrelled through the ajar stable door, stumbling into the centre of the dishevelled space. Illuminated only by the cracks of glowing sunlight that broke through gaps in the plywood boards, you stood amongst dust and scattered hay. You turned and faced the entrance, watching in anticipation as he steamed in after you.
Face burning red in fury and exasperation, he jabbed two angry fingers in your direction. âGive me the hat,â he ordered, throaty and severely â no longer joking.
But stubborn as you were, overly enjoying the needless chase, you were not going to capitulate that easily. You stood poised to dash, and with hunched shoulders, he prepared to hound after you.
âI like it,â you puffed, exhilarated, purposefully impudent. You pinched the brim, pulling it down with a disingenuous hat-tip. âIt probably looks better on me.â
âEven if it does,â he chided through teeth, out of breath, âitâs not yours.â
You snickered girlishly, pursing your lips. âMaybe it should be.â
âGive it to me.â He thundered, hand outstretched, your heart flipped in your ribs at the sudden eruption of stern rage.
So you spun on the ball of your bare foot, before flitting hastily towards the rickety ladder that led up to the hayloft. Clambering up it like a spider, the old wood and rusted nails squealed in dispute of being used for likely the first time in decades.
But he was blindingly rapid in his chase, and before you made it even halfway up the ladder, his heaving forearm scooped around your waist, hooking you by the stomach.
âCâmere,â he growled through a clenched jaw, as he peeled you from the ladder; hoisting you like a small animal, holding your back to his chest with a constricting arm, leaving your feet dangling high off the ground.
You writhed and kicked, bucking like a goat, still holding his hat tightly to your head to prevent him from snatching it back from you. âLet go of me!â You squeaked, still giggling.
âNo,â he snarled, âIâm taking my fuckinâ hat back, and then Iâm taking you back to your daddy so he can knock some goddamn sense into you.â
You whinged, clutching his thick forearm in an effort to loosen his grip; nails digging into his bronzed and hairy skin, corded with veins bulged from the exertion of keeping you contained. His body burned like a furnace, pectorals stiffening underneath you as he flexed them, while he hauled you towards the exit.
âItâs just a hat,â you whined, âyouâve probably got heaps of them.â
Your obstinance was aimless â no particular interest in the hat, and no true understanding of why you fought so desperately to keep it. Maybe you just wanted to see how far you could push him. Wanted to see what would happen.
âIt was my fatherâs,â he griped, anger approaching a boiling point as you continued to squirm around in his grip.
You groaned in dispute, still holding the leather cattleman tightly to your head. âWell he wonât be needing it, will he?â
That was a step over the line.
You knew it immediately, quick to bite your tongue after the words spat from your lips.
And his retaliation was sudden and severe; dragging you closer to the exit, he tossed you unceremoniously, almost tumbling down with you into the pile of block-shaped haybales that sat by the stable door. You landed face-down against the bale, winded, a squeak jumping from your chest with the impact; and his hat toppled from your head, rolling out of reach.
He kneeled beside you, with his forearm weighing against your lower back - you were flustered and confused by his haste. Skirt hitched up by the fall, he suddenly swung his free hand down with an open palm, smacking against the bare skin of your ass with a thunderous whack.
âAh!â You squealed, a shriek, followed quickly by a breathless whine that slipped from your lungs outside of your control. The explosive clap rang in your ears, echoing within the bowels of the stables, loud and shrill. And the sting was sharp, hot and prickling like a brand, no doubt the raised outline of his hand was quick to form in your shivering skin.
A silence followed, pregnant and heavy, and you dared not move nor breathe too loudly â you inhaled and exhaled with trembling breaths, lips parted and wet, eyes wide as you stared into the packed hay.
He was dead quiet, too. Panting throatily, he kept you in place; grip of you not easing, though he stayed utterly still. You thought he might apologise, might express some remorse, might beg for you not to tell your father what he did. But he was silent. Like he had even surprised himself.
You tilted your head slowly, peering at him doe-eyed over your shoulder. âIâm sorry,â you whimpered, close to a whisper, dripping with pleading humiliation.
âFor what?â He growled; his glower potently intimidating, a glimmer of voracity in his shadowy eyes, strained like he was suppressing greater hunger.
With a whine you turned your head back, facing ahead into the shack wall, you spoke quietly and nervously. âFor taking your hat.â
Followed another swing of his arm, wide hand colliding with your rear in another deafening crack, forcing a laboured squeak from your chest. But there was something more than pain in your throat, wasnât there? A whisper of thrill, a yelp of delight in your subsequent gasp.
And he must have heard it, took it as encouragement; as you felt the hand of his arm that pinned you down curl into a fist, balling the fabric of your dress tightly in his palm â lifting up the hem even further, you felt the cool air of the stable bite at your stinging skin as your ass was entirely exposed.
âYeah?â He rumbled, gritting teeth, huffing like a beast. âWhat else?â
#bet his handprint is the size of a dinner plate#john price#call of duty fanfic#john price x reader#john price x female reader#captain john price#cod fanfic#john price x you#captain price#captain price x reader#captain price smut
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I KNOW I STILL LOVE YOU
WONYOUNG X READER
TAGS: DEEPTHROAT, FINGER PLAY, FINGER SUCKING, MOUTHFUCK, COWGIRL, HARDFUCK
1.5K WORDS
Dealing with a break up is never easy, itâs been a few weeks now and you still find yourself staring at the ceiling wondering where it goes wrong. Alone in your apartment, these sad songs are lulling you to sleep. A wet sensation awakens you, a slim fingers touch, a pair of familiar eyes gazing up on you while your cock slowly disappears in her mouth.
The eyes that give you pitiful looks when she wants you to buy her ice cream, the same eyes that darts deadly stares when you do something that annoys her, the eyes that want to kill you when she sees you around with any female. This is also the same eyes that teared as sheâs asking for a break up. âWonâŚ,â you stuttered while calling the woman who is in between your legs.
Her nose hit your lower abdomen as she engulfed all of your shaft, her gag is not budging as the result of your endless mouthfuck when your libidoâs are both high. Her empty gaze is full of eagerness, she herself doesnât know what she wants or what she is trying to do by showing up in your apartment late at night. All the woman knows is you are with her for the rest of the night.
Wonyoung is lifting up her head, a low groan came out of you as you felt the tightness of her throat. The tight throat that she uses when she needs to apologize for her bratty behavior, the throat that she used to suck away your bad mood. She knows what her mouth can do thus she is shamelessly using it to her advantage, wondering what does that mouth want from you this time.
Her tongue touches the bottom of your shaft grazing upwards to your tip as she slowly lifts her head. Her tongue leaves multiple licks to your tips before raising her head completely. An awkward silence fills the air, you're waiting for her to say she is thinking about you, or she can say sheâs missing you lately, or she wants you back and you will believe it because those are the words that you wanted to hear.
Slim fingers reach out your sacks, giving them a soft massages before reaching up to your shaft. A realization hit you, if this is all she wants, then youâll give her all you got. You reached for Wonyoung's face, reminiscing every time you touched your girlfriendâs pretty face. You touched her face when you found her cute, or the times when you comfort her when sheâs crying. You always touched her face when sheâs your back then.
Your thumbs felt her lower lips, gently feeling her small soft lips just before sucking your thumb, swirling her tongue while it's inside your mouth, teasing you about what she wants you to do with your cock. You tried to remove your thumb so that she can finally do her work to your waiting cock. She felt your hand moving away thus holding your wrist with her two small hands to put it in place.
Your hand in front of her face, she looks at you while she swallows your middle finger and ring finger. You felt your two fingers get wet inside her mouth. She let off the fingers for her to gasp some air before sucking the two of them like itâs your cock. Wonyoung gives off a lewd facial expression as sheâs clearly getting turned on by what sheâs doing.
The woman continues on sucking off your fingers, sheâs alternating on sucking down on them and swirling her tongue on the tips of them, sheâs also sucking between your middle and ring finger to make sure your fingers are as wet as her slit. Wonyoung moves closer to you, now sitting in her long dress getting tangled up on her waist to reveal her white underwear that now looks transparent due to how wet she made herself.
Wonyoung felt the warmth of your cock closer to her clit. Knowing your girlfriend, she sits in front of your cock to tease you. âMmmm,â the woman moans as sheâs clearly enjoying sucking your fingers while sheâs now grinding on top of your cock. Your thick cock cold as it feels the wetness of her undies.
You started to ram your two fingers to her mouth as youâre also getting aroused. You hold her head in your other hand as you put your fingers in and out of her tight mouth. The woman seems to enjoy her mouth getting finger fucked as her grinding on your cock gets aggressive as well. She now holds your hand firmly to purposefully put your fingers as deep in her throat.
Her two holes are getting too aroused. She removes your fingers in her mouth leaving it coated in her saliva. Wonyoung now focuses on the thick cock sheâs riding. She moves aside her wet underwear to give way to the cock that she rides for a thousand times. You been together for years, living in your apartment, her hot and fragile body, this factors leads to her getting used like a fuck doll.
Your cock slides in inside her slit swiftly due to how wet Wonyoung is. She misses this sensation, your thick cock expanding her tight walls, she remembers all the curves and edges of your cock that makes her moan every time you pumped that cock inside. The woman holds on your shoulders to stabilize herself, taking your cock inside her.
âI miss you,â Wonyoung said sincerely, âI miss this cock of yours,â her lust also talked. As she continues to sway her lips, you remember how tight her slit is, no matter how deep you fuck her. Her slit keeps getting back her tightness. It feels like you're always taking her virginity.
The two of you exchanged moans as she kept her pace up. The woman rides your cock like she wants to milk the cum out of you. Her tightness is begging for you to fuck her in more ways, which you did. You hold her waist down while you forcefully move your hips up to fuck the tight body on top of you. This caught her by surprise and gave a loud moan.
Your two hands on the side of her waist can touch due to how skinny her waist is, her light body gets pushed up in the air as you keep pumping her upwards. The woman calls your name between her loud moans. Her hands are wandering around your torso trying to grab on to something to stabilize herself.
She managed to wrap her arms around your neck, her body now is laying on top of your chest, you come face to face with the woman that broke your heart. The woman who you fall in love with is laying on top of you like the old times. It became a habit for her to visit your apartment after class, doing nothing while in the arms of one another.
You wrap your arms unto her back to hold her in place. The only two things that you can hear right now is her slit getting fucked rapidly and her load cry of pleasure. Eyes closed as all she can do is to feel her slit getting drilled by your cock in an inhumane pace. The pain you felt in your break up turns into a wild assault into her slit.
Tears started to shed due to how stimulated her slit is, her body began to impulsive twitch, you know sheâs near her second orgasm and you're more than glad to give it to her. Your two hands move to grab her tight buttocks to give her slit, fast and deep pounding, the sound of your flesh colliding is like music to your ears.
Wonyoung cries, her wrapped arms around your neck get tighter, her face sunk in your collarbone. You let her rest on top while she catches her breath, her orgasm pours down while your hard cock is still inside her. The woman mastering up some energy to form a sentence, âI know I love you.â
She kisses your lips, holding her lips on top of you for a while longer before the two of you start making out. You felt her hips moving up, making a loud pop as your cock got out of her wet tight slit. You finally see her giggle again, as she finds the sound her pussy made funny. You never thought that you would share a good laugh together.
Kisses and giggles, it seems like that are the only things the both of you can do for tonight. âI feel hungry,â she said in the middle of your conversation. You help each other get dressed while giving glances that you canât believe they got back together.
âI want samyangâ
âMe too, letâs get the spicy oneâ
âNOOOOâ
Wonyoung is trying to use her cuteness to get a regular samyang.
âLook, letâs buy some snack to store our energyâ
âWhy do we need to store energy?â You asked in confusion.
Wonyoung gives you a naughty look while poking out her tongue.
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I Love You - Part 2Â
Summary: Who says I love you first? How do you say it?
Characters: Shanks, Beckman, Crocodile, Mihawk, Corazon, Marco
Genre: Fluff
CW: None // SFW
âââÂ
Shanks: The two of you have known each other for years before the words ever leave his lips. Youâve been through so much, and you never felt the need to put a label on it. But one night, youâre both swinging in a hammock on a beach, you in his arms and him sipping a bottle of booze, and he says out of nowhere, âyou know that I love you, right?â You think he must be drunk but he insists heâs not, telling you it struck him recently that heâd never told you before and he really should in case something happens. He wants you to know how he really feels and how much you mean to him.Â
Beckman: Heâs always visiting you on your home island, either finding excuses to plot a course straight to you or sneaking away for a few days. Itâs only as heâs leaving one evening that it strikes him: he loves you. It takes him a very long time to decide to tell you. Given his lifestyle, a relationship isnât exactly easy, and he would be putting you in danger should anyone learn your association to him. Plus, he enjoys his freedom. He works it over in his head for months, to the point Shanks even asks him about whatâs bothering him, though Beckman doesnât fess up. But he just canât get you out of his head. He canât sleep, he canât eat, he canât even focus in a fight. One late night, he returns to his cabin to find Shanks waiting. His captain has puzzled out what has the first mate in such a state, and Shanks tells him to go take care of his business. Beckman agrees and turns up at your doorstep at three in the morning with some flowers he picked on the side of the road because he felt awkward showing up empty handed. You lead him into your kitchen and make him something to drink, thinking something horrible has happened, only for him to confess his love for you. Heâs not shy about saying it after that, always making sure to tell you when he greets you and says goodbye, as well as several times in between.Â
Crocodile: He despises the word love, would never even utter it except to mock people who use it. He thinks itâs weak, thinks men who profess love are sniveling and pathetic, thus the reason he despises himself for feeling it. The emotion creeps up on him slowly but surely, and he beats it back and bottles it up for as long as he can, staying up late at night with a bottle of whiskey because laying in bed makes him think of you and your mischievous smile. Only when he is locked up in Impel Down does he finally, begrudgingly admit to himself that he feels deep affection for you, which he painfully admits to you one night after he breaks out, bracing himself for you to reject him, laugh at him, or spurn him in any way. When you tell him you feel the same way, he decides that is that and sees no reason to ever repeat it, your mutual and abiding affection one of his most closely-guarded secrets.Â
Mihawk: He doesnât tell you when he feels it, however overwhelming the feeling may be, so youâll definitely be the one to say it first. This man is the king of unspoken affection. Heâd sooner die than draw his sword and cut through all the tension that seems to follow him. That being said, he does say it in other, more subtle ways, primarily referring to you as, âmy love,â and leaving it at that. When you finally tell him you love him, he doesnât even say it back, simply burying his face in your hair and saying, âIâm glad to hear it, my love.â He shocks you by saying it back a few months later, though you donât say it back, instead pulling him in for a kiss. And it continues like that, only one of you ever saying it, the other responding with affection.Â
Corazon: A victim of near insta-love, he knows better than to tell you how heâs feeling when he first meets you. He tells himself to wait a month, and then at the one month mark, it seems premature, so he pushes it to two. Then, he pushes it to three, and then to four, and then to five. He thinks heâs good at hiding it, and normally, he is good at hiding his emotions, but with you, itâs all out in the open. You catch on pretty quickly to how he feels, have even seen him start to form the words only for his face to fall and him to turn away. Eventually, one night, you ask him, âwhy havenât you told me you love me yet?â Heâs shocked to discover you know the truth, and when you laugh and tell him it was pretty obvious, he laughs, too, his heart soaring when you tell him you feel the same way. Heâs overwhelmed by the feeling that he has a family, something heâs been desperately wanting since he was just a little kid.Â
Marco: He says it first. Heâs loved and lost so many people, formed the family he never had as a kid and lost so many members along the way. And heâs done a measure of living, enough to know that love should never be hidden. So when he realizes heâs in love with you, he swallows all of his fear like a seasoned professional and tells you exactly whatâs on his mind the next time you two have a quiet moment alone. Heâs soft and gentle in that moment, too, just as he is in all the moments you two share, just the two of you. He says it often, always either turning away or burying his face in your hair when you say it back, overwhelmed with giddiness heâs certain a man of his age and standing should not be feeling.
âââ
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#one piece#one piece headcanons#one piece fluff#shanks x reader#benn beckman x reader#beckman x reader#crocodile x reader#sir crocodile x reader#mihawk x reader#corazon x reader#rosinante x reader#Marco x reader#Marco the phoenix x reader#shanks#benn beckman#sir crocodile#mihawk#marco the phoenix#one piece rosinante
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