#we were crying and screaming and laughing

[brooklynnbbg]

Now sister girl ima pretty pretty pretty please need you to write an opposite one where you start an argument with Luigi and he just decides “you know what, that’s enough from you” and just grabs your throat and shuts you up with overstimulation. Bonus points if somewhere along he smugly asks “what were we arguing about amore?” UGH I need him baddd 😩😩

♡ WARNINGS - Smut! Oral (f), unprotected p in v, choking, Luigi is mean!

♡ A/N - ANON I love you holy shit this is hot 

The air was thick with tension, the argument spiraling out of control. It rarely ever got this bad, but tonight it was awful. You two were screaming at each other, and you didn’t even remember why. All you knew was you were mad, very mad.  Lu's jaw was clenched, you could see him growing closer to his breaking point, his brown eyes blazing as you hurled another pointed jab his way. 

“You always do this,” you cried, flailing your arms at him, completely hysterical. “Acting like you’re always right, like you—”

Before you could finish, Luigi closed the distance between you in a single, purposeful stride. His hand shot up, wrapping around your throat with firm but controlled pressure, cutting off the rest of your rant.

“That’s fucking enough from you,” he practically growled, pushing you against the wall. 

Your breath hitched, your argument almost forgotten as heat pooled in your core. The dominance in his stance, the possessive grip on your throat—it rendered you speechless. His thumb stroked the column of your neck, a stark contrast to the intensity in his eyes.

“You’re so fucking mouthy,” he muttered, backing you against the wall. “Always got something to say, don’t you?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the sharp arch of his brow silenced you.

“Not another fucking word,” he ordered, his hand leaving your throat to trail down your body. The absence of his touch made you whimper, but it was short-lived as his fingers dipped under the waistband of your shorts.

Lu's lips crashed onto yours, his kiss hot and commanding. He swallowed your moan as his fingers slid between your folds, finding you embarrassingly wet. He smirked against your lips, pulling back just enough to whisper, “Arguing gets you this worked up? Naughty girl.”

You didn’t have time to feel embarrassed. He dropped to his knees, yanking your shorts and panties down in one swift motion. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open as his mouth descended on you. His tongue moved with expert precision, alternating between licking and sucking your clit until your legs trembled.

“Fuck, Lu,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his curls.

He hummed against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. Just as you thought you’d tip over the edge, he pulled back, his chin glistening as he looked up at you with a devilish grin.

“What was that, diavolina? I couldn’t hear you,” he teased, sliding two fingers inside you without warning. Your head fell back against the wall, a cry escaping your lips.

“You… fuck you..” you managed to choke out, your body arching into his touch, even though you tried to take back control.

Luigi laughed darkly, curling his fingers to hit that spot that made you go weak “Careful,” he warned, “Or I’ll make sure you don’t walk tomorrow.”

You were close, so close, and he knew it. His pace quickened, his fingers thrusting relentlessly as his thumb circled your clit. When your orgasm hit, it was blinding, your cries echoing in the small room. But Luig ididn’t stop.

“Too much,” you whimpered, trying to squirm away, but his free hand gripped your hip, holding you in place.

“Too much?” he mocked, leaning up to kiss you fiercely. “You’ll take everything I give you, love.”

Before you could recover, he stood and flipped you around, pressing your chest against the wall. His hands gripped your hips as he slid his cock through your folds, teasing your sensitive clit.

“Lu, please,” you begged, your voice shaky.

“Please what?” he asked, his tone dripping with smugness. “Use your words, darling.”

“Fuck me,” you said, desperate and needy.

He didn’t make you wait. With one powerful thrust, he filled you completely, a guttural moan tearing from his throat. He set a brutal pace, his hips slamming into yours as he drove you higher and higher. Your moans filled the room, high pitched and desperate. “What were you mad at me about again?” he said smuggly, knowing you wouldn’t be able to respond. 

“So fucking tight,” he growled, his hand snaking around to toy with your clit. “You were made for me, weren’t you?”

You could only nod, your body too consumed by pleasure to form coherent words. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mixed with your breathless moans and his grunts of effort.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, his voice softer but no less commanding. “Come for me again, amore mio. Let me feel you.”

You shattered, your second orgasm ripping through you with a force that left you trembling. Luigi followed moments later, his body tensing as he spilled into you with a low groan. He stayed there, buried deep inside you, his forehead resting against your shoulder as you both caught your breath.

After a moment, he pulled out gently and turned you to face him. His hands cupped your cheeks, his thumbs brushing away the stray tears on your flushed face. You couldn’t even remember why you were mad. 

Tags: @nicholaschavezslut69, @ddlydevotion, @italianbabydaddy, @rckerbell, @slavicdolls4mangione, @perfumeaddicted @yeeterang @days12 @v1rtualsalvat10n @bricapellan16 @sleeepytimebear @preiyers @hdh-57jcidm-blog

[littlemissmentallyunstable]

title: put your hand on my heart

pairing: micheal townsend x reader

synopsis: you know you’re panicking but you can’t stop it and nothing is helping. the last person you want to see you like this turns out to be your saviour

warnings: panic attack, overwhelming anxiety, dark thoughts

a/n: thanks for reading 🤍🤍

taglist: @inmyheaddd @midiosaamor @lyrakanefanatic @aleatorio1234 @maybe-dj124 @book-nerd-emi @maybxlle @foreverwinter22 @sweetreveriee @hermesenthusiast @shattered-glass-roses @gandergaal @sheisntyou @arias-archive @lila-77 @downrightbooks

Please, please, please. Not again. Not this again. I stumble into the bathroom making sure the door shuts behind me, hastily trying to reach a source of water. My finger shake as I turn on the bathroom tap, they can barely grasp the metal. I wait for the cold water to run before splashing my face three times. It’s meant to be a shock tactic, it’s meant to pull me together, it’s meant to help, but it isn’t doing what it’s meant to, it isn’t doing anything. It never does anything.

I try to swallow but it feels like I’ve forgotten how. It feels like my trachea is slowly constricting, the walls on either side slowly closing in creating a claustrophobe’s nightmare. My throat aches as my mouth fills with saliva that I’m desperate to get rid of. I touch my neck, my fingers scraping against the skin. I want to pry it open. Maybe then I’ll be able to breathe, be able to swallow.

I glance up at myself in the mirror and don’t recognise the girl staring back at me. Her eyes are rimmed with thick black smears, her lips are dry and cracked, there are red streaks of art winding down her neck and her face is a sickly pale colour. I’m but living in the shell of body that used to be mine. The things that made me myself are long gone, a ghost of a whisper living somewhere deep within my veins. I don’t know what parasite has infiltrated my body, all I know is I want it out. I want it gone.

But some things you can never kill, so long as they live in your mind, you’ll never truly be rid of them.

Panic wraps bony fingers around my ankles and yanks me into murky waters, Fear holds my head under and makes sure I can’t scream for help. Is this how you felt mum? Is this how you felt when they drowned you? My lungs burn, scream, beg but I already know I won’t ever get to grace them with oxygen again. My hands and feet are bound with thick rope that cuts deep into my flesh. They tied you up too mum. Why? Did you even fight it? I glance at my captors with pleading eyes, they only laugh. Amused by the emotions that fed them running riot through my soul. Did you look at them like me mum? We always had the same eyes, that’s what everyone said. Did they laugh at you too mum?

I feel my body grow weak, I watch as the world spins and I grow dizzy. I’m lost in a state between life and death, beneath this ocean of panic. My body is still trying to fight for survival even though I want to give up. You never wanted to give up, did you mum? But you had to, they forced you to. Panic gives me one last gift, placing something heavy on my chest. It crushes my rib cage but there’s nothing left in me to cry out. No one would hear anyway, I was underwater. No one heard you, mum. I didn’t hear you either. The weight pushes me down further and further from the surface and slowly, slowly it all grows black. Is this what you saw mum? When your body sunk to the bottom? Were you plunged into the darkness the same way I am?

I’m gasping and spluttering. My chest is in agony, red hot pain prickles over my torso. I want to rip my skin off, claw every inch away with my nails. I throw my sweatshirt over my head so the cotton of my shirt was the only thing touching my upper body. I look back to the stranger in the mirror and prod my face with unfamiliar fingers. The veins under my skin throb, almost like my pulse is so fast it might burst them altogether. Part of me hopes they might, at least I’d be rid of these feelings.

My heart thumps loudly through my ears, each boom more demeaning than the last. It feels like the organ pulsating out of my chest each time it beats. A torturous, monotonous thunderstorm that I can’t avoid.

“I don’t like the thunder,” I tremble in my mother’s arms, clinging to the soft fabric of her shirt as if my life depends on it.

“It can’t hurt you little one,” she whispers, stroking my hair with her tender touch, “but don’t fret, you’re safe, I’ve got you, it’s okay, I’m here.”

I don’t like thunderstorms. I never have. But my mother’s arms aren’t here to be my refuge, all I have are these four bathroom walls.

I try and will myself to cry but there are no tears. My face isn’t damp and my eyes don’t water. They refuse, my mind too stubborn to give me an outlet for my pain. I should be crying, I know I should, it’s unnatural not to, it’s not normal.

But I’m not normal.

I feel the dreaded panic attack me again. It’s like a million tiny bullets are being fired at my body all at once. I can’t avoid a single one, I’m stood in no man’s land. And yet despite being shot so many times, I don’t seem to be able to die. Only writhe in my own agony.

My breathing quickens still, which by now I’d thought might be medically impossible. I wish for Sloane to be here to give me a statistic about breathing or wallabies, I wish for Lia to tell me the lie that I would be okay a thousand times over, I wish for Cassie to hold me until I stop shaking looking at me with her kind eyes, I wish for Dean to help me understand why I’m like this and I wish for Micheal to never, ever see me like this.

My wishes don’t come true. Wishes usually don’t for girls like me.

I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have control of my own body, of my own mind, thoughts and feelings. They’re constantly hijacked by a stronger power. A power that comes dressed in black hood and carries weapons of destruction. Though he doesn’t always use them, not straight away. He presents them first, the fear of the threat. Then at the moment of his choosing - the middle of the night, when I’m out shopping, the early morning, in the middle of a case - he would use them.

I have become a prisoner to the man in my mind.

He remembers everything. My mother. He knows all. She was kind and smart and funny and passionate and bold. The details I wanted to forget. Her cold dead body, hauled from the bottom of a lake. Blue skin, closed eyes, hair plastered to her forehead. The things I’d left in the past. She used to tell me I could do anything, be anything. That I was something. That I was special. Brighter than the stars. All that I’d blocked out. The killers that I couldn’t find, that I’d failed to find.

Another overbearing wave of panic crashes into me and my legs begin to feel unsure of themselves adopting an unnatural wobble. Sure I might fall, I sink to the floor in a helpless heap of heavy breathing and blurred thoughts. The cold tiles that press against the back of my thighs are the only thing to remind me that I can feel.

I need five things. What can I see? What can I touch? What can I hear? What can I smell? What can I taste?

I pry my eyes back open. I can see the bathroom door, it’s white with a golden handle. Two towels hang on a hook from the back of it. They’ve been recently used and are still a little damp. The smile on my mum’s face.

I can touch the fabric of my shirt. I play with it between my fingers. It’s soft, it’s smooth, it can’t hurt me. Her fingers weaving a braid through my hair.

I can hear my heart. No, I have to hear past it. I strain my ears. Talking, I can hear my friends talking in the room next door. Sloane, Cassie, Lia, Dean and Michael. I can hear Sloane’s voice most immediately, then Lia’s. The words are blurred, a soup of sound, too overwhelmed by the pounding in my chest. The hum of her sweet song, the one she wrote just for my name.

I can smell bleach. It’s strong and sterile. The bathroom has been recently cleaned. Rose water and buttermilk. She always smelt of rose water and buttermilk. As long as I could remember.

I can taste nothing. My throat is dry, my lips are dry, my tongue is so dry it’s stuck to the roof of my mouth. The honey sweet syrupy liquid she often gave me before I slept.

I lean back further into the wall and close my eyes again. Is it working? Is it helping? I’ve listed the five things, my task is done. Why do I still feel the same? I shouldn’t still feel the same. It’s not working, it never works, I don’t know why this time I thought it might. I’m an idiot. I always have been.

“y/n? Are you in there?”

I know that voice and I know I don’t want him anywhere near the door. I know I’ve forgotten to lock it and I can’t move from the position I’m in. I know I need to tell him I’m fine, that it’s okay. I know that I should then explain I need Lia to get me a tampon to scare him away.

But I can’t speak, I can’t answer him. When I try I end up gasping for air like a fish out of water. I grip the side of the sink, my knuckles going white, trying to hoist myself up. He can’t see me like this, out of everyone it can’t be him. The moment I get myself to stand, my legs give way and I fall back to the floor. They’re too weak to support me anymore.

I’m too weak.

I land with a crash, sending a shooting pain up my back. I wince and make some sort of strangled sound, a scream but with no breath to make it sound like a scream. Immediately he bursts in, uninvited in classic Micheal style. Though he might be the emotion reader of the two of us, I see the worry on his face, through his eyes. I try to glare at him but can’t even muster that. I know there’s no getting out of this now, the moment he lays eyes on me he knows exactly how I feel. Even if I were Lia I don’t believe there’d be any lie good enough to cover up my situation.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he rushes, dropping to his knees immediately, “hey, it’s okay, I’m here.”

“It’s okay, I’m here.”

My mother’s words echo through my mind. His hand settles on my thigh. I don’t need you here’ I wanted to scream. I need Sloane, Lia, Cassie, Dean, Judd, heck even Briggs just anyone but him. He shouldn’t know that this is the real me, that this is the kind of relationship he is really getting into.

He sees it. He sees my fear, my desperation, my panic, my worry, my pain, my anger. He sees it all in technicolour.

Micheal takes my face between to soft palms, “breathe with me, sweetheart,” he says very slowly, “I need you to breathe with me.”

I can’t even talk. I try to reply, but I physically can’t.

“Don’t try to talk,” he tells me gently, “it’s not going to help you. I need you to try and breathe with me.”

I can barely hear him over the sound of my heart raging through my ears yet manage to shake my head vigorously. I need to explain to him that it won’t work, that it never works.

“Try,” he murmurs, understanding, “with me. In… and out…”

Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth. Nothing overtly complicated. Yet it feels like the most difficult task I’ve ever had to do in my life.

“In…” he guides me, steadily, “…and out.”

One. I do it once.

My breathing is still rapid, I am panting like a dog but I did it. Once. He sits down beside me, interlocking his hand into mine. A constant, a rock, he’s telling me he isn’t leaving. His back is up against the cool tiled wall. Gently he puts his hands on my hips. I don’t shy away from his touch, I don’t flinch, I don’t slap him away. I want his hands on me. I want him to distract me.

He pulls me between his legs. I lean on him pressing my back up against his firm chest. I need to feel something, someone, anyone. I need to know that I’m not alone. I want his lips to transport me somewhere else, I want his hands to make me forget everything. I tilt my head so ours eyes meet. I plead silently. I know he can read what I want, what I need. I know he can see it all displayed on my face.

“You have to get your heart rate and breathing back to normal,” he says, “a distraction won’t help that.”

“Need,” I choke, through loud gulps of air.

He presses a kiss to my temple, “breathe, my love, you’re safe, I’ve got you.”

“You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

I see my mum’s face. I roughly grab onto his legs, clawing at the material of his trousers, digging my fingernails in, like some sort of scared animal. I feel his hands on my waist as my chest heaves up and down, still uncontrollable. The untameable beast in my brain still a torrent of darkness.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” he repeats, his voice so smooth, so soothing. I want to believe him, “focus on me…”

I do. I’m focusing on his breath I can feel tickling the back of my neck and his outstretched legs I can see in front of me. I’m focussing on the shade of blue the sweatshirt is and how he smells of that fancy cologne he insists on buying. I’m focussing on the tingling sensation his lips let behind on my temple and the warmth of his body against mine.

“My voice…”

It’s low and even. Steady and constant. The words he says are sweet and soothing and kind. He wants to help me. He cares enough. They’re said softly, gently, tenderly, calmly. He wants me to know I’m safe. He wants to fight the man in my head as much as I do.

“My touch…”

His fingers are delicately wrapped around my waist, but one hand is drawing slow, light circles on my stomach. I feel the shape spiralling in and then back out again. The muscles in his upper arms are against the muscles of my upper arms, they brush together. His heart is beating a little faster than usual against my back.

I think about Micheal. I focus on what he tells me to. Each time I take in oxygen it gets the slightest bit easier. I inhale and I exhale. He waits and he listens and he draws circles on my belly. Sometimes he talks and sometimes he stays silent. But we stay like this until my breathing is only a little worse than normal. The breaths are still short and jagged but they’re less of a gasp, less of a prayer for air.

“You’re okay,” he repeats, “I’ve got you, you’re safe, I’m here.”

I twist my neck to meet his eyes. He looks like he’s in pain. I never meant to cause him pain.

“I’ve got you. Can you feel me?” he whispers, “I’ve got you in my arms. That means you’re safe.”

Safe. Would I ever really be safe when my biggest enemy lived in my own mind?

“I… need… touch…” I tell him, through little breaths.

I haven’t heard the man in my head since Micheal got here. I know this will help. I know I need it. He can make things go away, he can help me, he can keep me safe. He’s got me in his arms. That means I’m safe.

“Okay,” he whispers.

His hand slowly moves from the tight grip on my waist to the bottom of my shirt. It slips under the material, slowly trailing up the bare skin of my stomach. His fingertips skim over my bra and find their way to just below my collarbone on the left side on my chest. He flattens his hand against my heart, pressing down firmly. It’s warm in contrast to the coolness of my skin.

“Breathe again love,” Micheal says in my ear, his voice in the back of his throat, “breathe for me.”

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Do it again. Do it again. Do it again. It’s getting easier. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Do it again. It’s getting easier. It’s getting easier.

I can feel him, only him. Micheal Alexander Thomas Townsend. My heart thumps against his palm. I close my eyes and rest my head back onto him. I feel it, as he presses the lightest of kisses onto my face, first my forehead, my nose, then my lips. Him, it’s all him. He can take this away, this darkness, this sickness, this disease in my mind. He can make it leave.

After what feels like a while, I’m somewhat what I was before. I can’t say things are back to normal because I am not normal. But I can breathe again, my chest doesn’t hurt, my heart isn’t the only thing I can hear and the man in my head has left. For now.

I realise for the first time how Micheal has seen me. This isn’t the me he’s used to. I take his hand from my shirt and move away from his touch. I stand up shakily and he’s quick to follow, ready to catch me should I fall. I lean against the sink, breathing deeply in and out. I can’t rely on him,I can’t afford to. The last person I relied on was my mother and look where that got me.

“You weren’t meant to see that,” I say, my back still towards him. I can’t bear to look him in the eye, not even for a second.

“It’s not a crime to panic,” he tells me slowly, there’s something tentative in his tone.

I turn around to face him, “yes. It is.”

I’m no emotion reader but something in his face looks scared. I had been taught long ago that I had to stay in control. That if anyone saw me out of control, unnatural, disobedient to the requirements set, that I would be less of a person. A nothing in this world. I’m not going to let this make me nothing. Not after I’d been something for so long.

Something to my mother. Something at school. Something to Briggs and his colleagues. Something to the Naturals program. Something to the friends I’d made here. Something… something to Micheal.

“I’m strong Micheal,” I say trying to steady my shaky voice, “I’m strong, I don’t break,” I falter as tears fill my eyes, I haven’t cried in so long, “I’m not like this, it’s not me.”

I meet his eyes again. He can see all of it, the emotions I show him and even the ones I’m holding back. I’m like a naked body in a room full of mirrors.

“Oh sweetheart,” he says, reaching out to take me in his arms once more.

And as much as I want to, crave to, yearn to, I don’t. I jerk away from his quickly, hitting my hip on the corner of the sink. The porcelain sends a sharp jolt of pain through my body. There will be a bruise tomorrow. He immediately backs away, a concern I’m not used to seeing rippling through his features. He could hide it if he wanted but he’s choosing to show me. He’s showing me he cares.

“Don’t pity me Micheal,” I try to snap but instead my voice strains and instead sounds like I’m in pain, “please.”

‘I’m not pitying you’ the unspoken words hang in the air but never reach his lips.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks instead.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, fumbling over my words, “I don’t know.”

“Come here,” he says, opening his arms again. This time not reaching out for me, this time letting me choose to come towards him.

And I do.

I fall into his arms and melt into his touch. When I feel him around me, everything falls silent, the noise, the stress, the expectation. It’s only him and me. Him and me.

“You are still strong, even after breaking,” he says into my ear, such power in his words but gentleness in his voice, “because you haven’t broken completely, you’re still here,” he murmurs, “and that’s the strongest thing someone can ever do.”

There isn’t any words to reply and he knows that. I let him hold me for a long while before finally, finally I let myself cry.

ahhhh this is my first naturals fic so I’m lowkey nervous… i try and avoid y/n at all costs but I felt like it was sort of needed here. anyways i hoped you liked it and let me know if you want to be on the taglist :))

the natural’s masterlist

[romulusthethird]

Alt. Universe AU

Listen, Danny didn't mean to fall through that portal and end up in a pool of burning ectoplasm. But here he was, after another annoying meeting with Clockwork about time shenanigans and alternate selves, in said pool of goo.

It felt like he was being burned alive. His mouth opened involuntarily to scream, taking the green liquid into his mouth, into his lungs when he ran out of breath. He screams anew, actually hearing his voice in the dense goo. He sounds like nails digging into a chalkboard and dragging across it.

His Lichtenburg scars light up, glowing an eerie green, almost yellow.

He's going to drown. To actually die.

He kicks his feet, but it's as if he is trying to run in a dream. Too slow. His hands wave above him, pushing down. He kicks, and kicks, and kicks.

He can't breathe.

He's in so much pain--more pain than he's ever felt in his half-dead life.

And then, somehow, someway, he breaks through to the surface.

He gulps in the fresh, clean air with loud wheezes. He's still kicking his weakening legs, still moving his arms. He coughs, moving forward.

His feet touch the ground.

He wants to laugh, and to cry when he finally stands, waist still emerged in the hot ectoplasm. He gags, hacking and coughing, maybe even throws up a little, expelling the green goo back into the pool.

When he looks up, he's in a cave. It's tall and expansive, and he could kiss the damp, disgusting stone a few feet away from him.

He's alive.

He pulls himself out of the water, chest heaving, and lies on his back on the cool stone. His clothes are eaten through and barely resemble clothes. His skin steams and... is he glowing?

He is! His arm looks like he lost a battle with a Edward doll from those twilight movies. He's not sparkling, but it's like a faint shimmer out the corner of your eyes. Like something is trying to enchant you.

Is he some type of Fae?

And his nails... They're claws! Freaking claws! He moves his hand around, wiggling his fingers. They look lethal. Like a mon--

"And what do we have here?" A voice, deep and old, rang out.

Danny startles, not having heard anyone come in (and he has super hearing!) He sits up, hair falling around his face (did his hair grow????) and eyes taking in the old man and the people in black surrounding him.

"Who are you?" The man asks.

"...None of ya business."

"Everything is my business in my domain."

Danny stills. He looks closer at the man. He isn't a ghost, maybe a little liminal, but alive and well. "Who are you?" He shot back. "And what's you 'domain'?"

"Since you managed to find my personal Lazarus Pit, you know what I am. But, I suppose I'll humor you. My name is Ra's Al Ghul, the Demon's Head. This is Nanda Parbat, my domain."

Nanda Parbat? What the heck? Demon's Head? "I don't know you. My name is Danny." Should he be giving random people who appear in caves with green pools of ectoplasm his government name? He doesn't know, but if it goes south he has the power to leave. And maybe that's also in his human form too, now, if the claws were any indication.

The old man hums. "How did you get here Danny?"

"I don't know. One minute I was--" He can't tell him that. That's not something a human should know. Not something someone living should know. "--Y'know at home and the next I'm waking up in this goo pool that burned me."

"You are a poor liar. Why shouldn't I slay you here and now?"

Danny snorts. "You can try."

The man's lips twitch in amusement. "Fascinating. Take him to the dungeons. We'll see how long you can endure before you spill all your secrets, dakhil."

Two men came forward to grab his arms. Danny wants to fight them, really, but he's so tired. He can escape later. For now, he lets these men pick him up and take him out of the cave and into what looks like a medieval castle.

"Do be careful not to damage him further before I can see to him."

Maybe that should scare Danny, but it doesn't. He's dragged past a courtyard full of training people, including a boy, lightning quick, fighting against a woman.

Their eyes meet--his, and the shocking blue of the stranger--before he is dragged further into his new temporary home.

He is leaving. He just needs to rest first.

Yes.

Rest...

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So, the plan for this AU is essentially, Dami never went to Gotham at the tender age of ten, and is still in the league (We are ignoring the "Ra's needs his body" canon because that does not fit here) and is still the heir. He's still his little murdery assassin self. I wanna say Danny is 15 here, (we are ignoring ALL CANON in this household today because Danny is not the ghost king and I can't remember shit about the tv show rn so my plan is like, he's strong right, but not like op insane, but like on par with superboy right, and he does errands for clocky and maybe goes through time/dimensions for him idk. I might make him come across half alien (like in those fics where hes kryptonian or martian, you get what I'm saying right) in this idk we're gonna find out together) and Dami is 16. The plan is to have Dami and the Danno fall in wuv and abscond to gotham together, for the glorious scene of "the son you never knew you had" showing up w his boyfriend. Thank you for coming to my ted talk. (the second part is already in my brain but I was up all night watching movies so you get this now, and that later.)\\

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(also if you've read my shit before, and even if you haven't, I know that Dakhil isn't technically correct, since its using the wrong alphabet, and is not even remotely written how it sounds, but I purposefully do not use the correct alphabet because that is not what the character will hear. They won't hear دخيل, they're going to hear sounds and they won't be able to see the alphabet, so I figured why not just put the closest equivalent so readers can kinda understand what the character, in this case danny, is hearing? idk maybe it's stupid, but I digress. thanks for coming to ted talk numero 2)

(Also 2.0, the word means intruder.)

(i had something else to tell you, but I am genuinely fighting for my life against this headache rn. You cry a few dozen times watching Interstellar and suddenly you and your brain have beef)

--

(Lmaoo I remembered. it took me a sec, and the light from my computer is hurting my eyes, but I got distracted right, and remembered--

I almost had danny lie and tell them his name was Dante (which is what a lot of fanfic writers use for Dan) and was tempted to have him impersonate the other danny, and then when clockwork catches wind of his act, have dante come rescue him and get simultaneously confused and angry:

Dante coming to rescue his hopeless alt self Danny: wtf man why are you impersonating me? Danny-Dante, gasping dramatically: what do you mean you're Dante? I've always had this name! My great aunt Tilda gave it to me at the 75th annual Fenton christioning. Are you an imposter? Have you come to harvest my eggs? Dante: You don't have eggs Dante: and what the actual fuck is a christioning Danny-Dante: HA! see? Imposter. Doesn't even know about the christionings. Dante: you made that up Danny-Dante: Prove it. And so the other Danny went back to their dimension to see if so-called "Christionings" are real. He has to wait a year, and when he comes back, he is traumatized. A year later, Dante at Danny-Dante's door: I'm moving in. Danny-Dante: Did you bring Ellie?" Dante, shuddering: No... she enjoyed it. Danny-Dante: Oh god. come in come in. Hopefully she comes to her sense before yultol. Dante, dreading the answer: what is yul-- Danny-Dante: You don't want to know. You really, really don't.

That spiraled but yk. thanks for coming to my fifth ted talk. Bye)

[corazondebeskar-reads]

how to break a girl in ten easy steps - part three

dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

words: 762

summary: joel catches you.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, non-con, captivity, brute force, kicking, predator/prey, capture, use of a snare, broken bones, use of the honorific "master", sadist!Joel, punishment, makeshift gag, non-linear storytelling

dividers by @saradika-graphics

NOTE: please read and heed the series and chapter warnings. this is very dark. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. please read responsibly.

Step Four Once you’ve shown her that there’s no escape, you have to make sure it sticks. For a more effective lesson, we recommend a punishment that fits the crime. The severity of the punishment should be more than a typical infraction. 

He had let you stumble blindly through the woods for a day and a half. No food, no water, just you in your bare feet and terror. 

When he got tired of waiting and watching, he started to tease you. Let you hear him cough from across a clearing. Let you hear him take out a doe not far from your hiding place. Waited until you risked stopping to take a piss to step out from behind a tree and drawl, “Hey there, sweetheart.”

Let you run to the soundtrack of his raucous laughter. 

Let you run right into a snare, strolling lazily up to where the fishing wire had you caught by the ankle. It was twisted, for sure, and there were tears in your eyes. 

He scoffed. “Oh, baby, crying over that?” He rolls his eyes. “That’s gonna feel like a paper cut in about, oh… two seconds.”

And he swings the bat. 

He nestles ear plugs in snugly before cutting the wire and hauling your screaming, writhing body over his shoulder. 

When he tires of your blabbering, he shoves a dirty rag in your mouth and ties a bandana around your head, cinching it tight. You still bawl and whimper, but it’s quieter now, so he can keep an ear out for danger.

As if he isn’t the most dangerous thing in this forest. 

It’s almost embarrassing, how little time it takes to get back to the cabin. How little distance you’d managed to cover.

Or it would be, if you could think about things like being embarrassed. Your shattered ankle takes up most of your headspace, though, That, and the nauseating terror as he speaks casually of your impending lesson.

“Told ya,” he says with a shit-eating grin, “you shoulda prayed I didn’t find ya. Don’t worry your dumb little head ‘bout it, though. You’ll learn. You’ll never want to try and run from me again.”

His tone says he’s going to take you home and wrap you in fluffy blankets, serve you hot cocoa with marshmallows, and win your heart.

His eyes say you’re going to wish for death instead of freedom.

He was tired of your screaming and struggling by the time he’d carted you back. “Toughen up, baby, ‘cause I’m just getting started. I gave you a chance to be good and learn. Now we’re gonna do things my way.” 

He plopped you on your feet just inside the house, laughing as you tried to cling to the only thing nearby—him—to avoid putting weight on your rapidly swelling ankle. Your little fingers didn’t stand a chance as he peeled them from his shoulder, giving you a little shove in the process so you fell flat on your ass. 

“Stand up,” he barks. “Now.”

You shake your head, sobbing in renewed agony. 

“No?” he says incredulously. “Ya think you can tell me no? Stand the fuck up.”

He doesn’t wait, grabbing you by the arm and yanking you to your feet. He rolls his eyes when you fall again.

“Fuckin’ pathetic. You gonna do what I say, or do you need a lesson?” 

“I can’t,” you gasp, yanking the bandana down and the rag from your mouth. “It—”

“Did I say you could talk? Shut up, or I’ll give you something to really cry about,” he says out of habit, and then thinks. “Well. Something extra to cry about, anyway.”

He tries to pull you to stand again, a smirk on his face as you predictably hit the ground once more. “Tell you what. You beg me right, and I’ll let you stay off that ankle.”

“Please,” you choke out, and he gives your ankle the lightest tap with the tip of his boot, sending you howling in pain.

“Please what, you ungrateful brat?”

“P-please, sir…”

“Better, but you know what? I think I wanna hear you call me somethin’ else. Try that again, baby, but this time, say, ‘please let me crawl, master.’” There’s a strange look on his face, but you haven’t the state of mind to contemplate it. 

His words make your stomach churn. 

He takes your hesitation as disobedience and yanks you to your feet again.

“Please! P-please, let me c-crawl…” you stammer with a quivering lip. 

He raises an eyebrow.

“Please let me crawl, master,” you whisper. 

He drops you to the ground. “Mmm, yeah. I like the sound of that. Sure, baby, you can crawl for me. What a good little pet you’re being. I almost wanna reward you for that… but you’ve got some more lessons to learn first.”

next chapter

[whimsicalwritingsandmore]

Sneak Peak: The Elite Four | stray kids x reader

Pairing: ot8!straykids x fem!reader; ??? x fem!reader

Genre: fantasy au, romance, magic

a/n: surprise! 👀 new fic this month? here’s a sneak peek! it’s set in a world similar to arcane. let me know your thoughts!

——————————————————————————————————

“You don't mean that." Chan whispers.

"I do." you answer matter-of-factly.

Chan feels the sting of heartache slowly creep up. He's trying not to cry — he doesn’t want to cry. He doesn't want you to see him like this —crushed and demoralized. He had always been the one to be able to solve the problem or at least, find a solution that mediated things even if it was just for a little while. But it seems this situation is much more complicated and complex than he thought it would be.

"You didn't even look for me." you laugh bitterly. You attempt to hide your feelings of detestation and anger but there’s a clear brokenness in your tone. The ache of having been forgotten churns in your chest and you mindlessly hit your chest lightly trying to shake the feeling off.

Chan doesn’t seem to notice as his vision is slowly beginning to blur with hot tears.

"I did! We did—Y/N, you have to understand..." Chan begins.

"Understand what? I saw Jisung in my peripheral vision running back to get help. You knew I was attacked and yet, when you came and couldn't find me, which I'm assuming you did, you didn't seem to think I was kidnapped?"

"We went to the Surveillants! Kiara said—"

You close your eyes and heave a heavy and frustrated sigh. Of course. You feel that vindictive and irritated feeling bubbling again at the mention of Kiara.

"And you actually thought that the Surveillants would actually do something!?" you snip, "You actually believed that they would care and give a damn about a girl from the lone district."

"Kiara was helping us Y/N, she wanted to make sure you were safe just like we did."

There are so many things you want to do right now. You want to scream at Chan, punch him and also cry. The entire conversation was exhausting. You forgot how oblivious Chan could be. Although you knew he may not know the truth, still you hoped he would question the chain of events especially after the dinner a few nights ago.

"She didn't want that Chan." you say exasperatedly.

"How do you know that?"

You finally look up at him after staring at the floor for what feels like an eternity. The tears have welled up in your eyes, ready to spill and Chan can hear his heart break as he sees your dejected and defeated look.

You look like you've given up on him.

"Because she was the one behind the attack."

[veryintricaterituals]

Okay, confession time... I've watched Red, White and Royal Blue three times already and I might have spent last Sunday frantically reading the book.

I'm so sorry to my mutuals for whatever is about to unfold...

[eightspringdays]

Never forget the fact that, because he was roleplaying as his nonexistent lil sister, his twitter account got banned for a while and had to scream publicity he was, in fact, Tatsuki Fujimoto roleplaying as his nonexistent lil sister.

And no one believed him at first.

[domochevsky]

GOLDEN KAMUY LIVE ACTION EP9 | Side Eye™

very good episode. koito was soooo good and also im super excited for the sequel movie :D bonus:

[cakemoney]

here's to camilla hect, yet another of devotion's casualties

[byfulcrums]

Teenage superhero groups are so good. Not only because they're always really fucking relatable, but also because their relationships are so special. They're like:

“I met you, and I was weary of you at first. We've become closer and closer to the point we trust eachother with our lives, but still not with our identities — it's sad, but it's how it is.

You've cried to me about how your mentor didn't listen to you, about how they yelled at you and didn't seem to care enough. I've cried to you about how my life is so lonely, about how being a hero is taking away my life, about how I can't be a teenager anymore because I can't rest without feeling like someone will die because of me not being there.

We've fought together, and we've fought eachother. We've cried together, laughed together and yelled together. We've saved the world together. We were never meant to be apart.

The other day, you were brainwashed and turned evil. You were tortured, striped away of your own being. We tried to help you anyway, even if our mentors told us not to. We still spent hours shopping for a birthday gift you'd like a few months later.

We're slowly growing up, and we're leaving the safety of our mentors's cloaks. We're going through different paths; always down, always falling, but not as together as we were before.

Some of us have found our own proteges. I'd like to say I'm better with mine than my own mentor was with me, and I hope you are the same.

Our proteges have found eachother the same way we did. The happiness from seeing me in your face was everything I needed to be convinced to stay with you.

We've been getting the others to come back, too. We're also recruiting new people, new young heroes who will get themselves killed if they're not guided properly. We're not the same young kids anymore, but we're together once again, and that's all that matters.

We grew up very quickly. I can see it from the way we don't laugh as much anymore, from the way we're the one attempting to stop the younger ones from pulling pranks on us, from the way we train instead of being trained.

We're all adults now. There was a time where we lost ourselves, and we wouldn't find us anymore. A time where I went to our old lair and saw it empty, devoid of life. A time where I tried to call you and you didn't answer. A time where I saw you on TV, with a kid by your side, looking at you like you're their entire world.

We're adults now. We've lost ourselves many times. But we've found eachother again. And I think that's what matters. Because we're not only teammates anymore; we're family.”

Or something like that idk, I suck at writing

[volivolition]

I say this in the most loving way possible, how the fuck can you write the most expressive and magical tags ever?? How do you have the mental energy to form words? 50% I can only say "nice post op". You inspire me to spread positivity to everyone but I literally can't be this positive and kind all the time. Just want to send you love and know that I appreciate you <3

HKJGH AW RED!! :'] <3 it does take a lot of energy, i understand :'0 i keep a lot of cool art in my tumblr drafts. the art stays in there until i have energy to type all my thoughts out. a lot of things stay stuck in there… i try to make sure art from my friends get out soon though :0 don't feel bad if you can't type a lot!! anything you can manage is okay! no one can be positive and kind all the time, and that's normal! just do what you can. i promise it's enough. (<- these are things i need to remind myself too <3)

a lot of it is literally just me needing to scream hkjfh, i have a lot of thoughts and i love sharing them always. i love rambling, can you tell? (<- joke) also i have a lot of love to give and i love artists and their creations. like WOW someone made a thing!! and they wanted to share it with the world!! AND I GET TO SEE IT!!! i GOTTA tell them i enjoy it!!!!!

it's also my empathy acting up because im also an artist!! and he's like "hey!! you love people writing nice tags on *your* art!! imagine if you were this artist, wouldn't you be happy to see someone tagging it with nice things? :)!" and im like yeah!! if this makes me happy, i should make other people happy too :3

ANYWAY I APPRECIATE YOU TOO RED YOU'RE DEAR TO ME!! SENDING LOVE BACK!!!! <33

[inafieldofdaisies]

"...what have you done?" for the obsession prompts?

Prompt from this post.

/ "...what have you done?" "What I needed to. Now come. I'm taking you home." /

Sabrina was running, her eyes struggling to navigate the woods in the darkness, adrenaline coursing through her body as she heard shouts carrying from behind her. Their footsteps followed her relentlessly while she zig-zagged between the pine trees, the crunching of leaves and twigs sending a chill down her spine, making her wish she was quieter. That she would just lose them so she could head to where she needed to be. "I think she went that way." "Grab that Sinner, Jacob would deal with her." Fuck that. She knew she doesn't have enough ammo to face all the Peggies pursuing her head on, nor did she wish to directly deal with Jacob anytime soon. I've seen him enough times by now, thank you. A wolf beacon faintly lit up the night in red in the distance, the noise it emitted sounded haunting in the silence, making her even more wary. Sabrina didn't dare look back, keeping her eyes trained on the path ahead of her, scanning for any lurking danger. She was running for what felt like eternity, her pursuers not giving up the chase no matter how much distance she covered, when she saw it… A small clearing. The end to the cluster of pine trees. A shore far away across. The river. The sight gave her hope that she was running in the correct direction after all, made her pick up her pace as she tried to ignore the sense of imminent danger the voices behind her promised. Then the ground ended, turning into an rocky incline that led down into the Henbane. She took a second to secure her rifle around her back just as his voice came through from the walkie strapped to her pilot jacket. "I'm at the bridge, Sabrina.", John paused, "Where are you?"

"John.", she breathed out his name, hand gripping the portable radio, "I'm not going to make it to there, there's too many I had to make a detour. I'm at the cliffs near it, I-I can jump into the river, swim to the other side." "Reckless as ever.", came out from John's side before he added, "I will wait for you there. Always." "I love you.", her voice sounded small, worry seeping into it. "Jump, Deputy. Come back to me.", it was a challenge, giving her courage. Here goes nothing. She took a deep breath and dove off the cliff when she heard a voice screaming out, "I see the Sinner. SHE JUMPED." Her body hit the water, the coldness of it delivering a shock to her system, but she didn't allow it to stop her as she emerged, eyes quickly looking up at the cliff she was just on, seeing flashlights darting around on top, dark figures staring down in her direction. "She's down there somewhere. Bring her back.", a Peggie ordered loudly. "She's almost past the border, brother.", another argued. "I don't care, Silas, get her. Jump, before I make you.", came out as an angry shout, kicking her into action. Her hands treaded the murky waters, bringing her closer and closer to Holland Valley. To safety. To him.

A splash came somewhere far behind her, no doubt caused by the Peggie sent to retrieve her at any cost, no matter the fact she wasn't even in Jacob's region anymore. Ahead she could see a familiar silhouette waiting on the shore, the visual making her swim faster. Soon she reached the shallows, her boots finally coming in contact with rocks and John's relieved voice carried over. "There you are." And he was running, erasing the distance as she emerged from the river, pulling her into his embrace. His head rested on top of hers, as he whispered, "I was starting to get worried. You're going to freeze, Sabrina." "I'm going to get you wet, too." "I don't care.", he said in stern tone before removing his coat and wrapping it around her, his hands rubbing her forearms in attempt to warm her up, "Are you hurt?" Sabrina pushed down the urge to respond that she's fine, knowing how much he hated it, instead muttering, "No." "Good. Because I was about to head over there…" "Come here.", she uttered before grabbing his collar and clashing her mouth to his. She savored the feeling of being back in his arms as his lips moved over hers, longing and lust mixed in the kiss. The fact she shortly before she was being followed into the water remained at the back of her mind. She got a harsh reminder of it when a voice behind them shouted out, "Found you, Sinner." Before she could react John broke the kiss, her eyes tracked his hand as he raised his gun.

A shot rang out. Then silence.

His gaze darkened as he stared at the river. At the body eerily floating on the surface. One of his brother's Chosen. Dead. "John… what have you done?", her breath hitched, her eyes meeting his, as they filled with worry. "What I needed to. He was fumbling with his weapon." Sabrina shook her head, "Jacob is going to be pissed." "I don't care.", he holstered the gun before his palm found her cheek and his lips lowered to her forehead, "I'm not letting anyone shoot you." "It was probably a Bliss bullet." "I don't care.", he repeated, "Whoever this is, he trespassed in my region. Broke my rules." "Thank you for coming." "Always." John kissed her again before muttering against her mouth, "Calahan messed up something again, didn't he?" Sabrina's hands wrapped around his neck, slipping into his dark strands, as she replied, "These things happen." He groaned, "A regular occurrence with him. Constantly putting you in danger." She stole another kiss, asking, half-joking, half-serious, "Should I warn him to run next time he sees you?" John shook his head, making her release a breath she was holding. "Though, I can't promise anything for the next time something like this happens again, Deputy." "John." "I'm serious. We both know things always go wrong with that Sinner. Now come." He grabbed her hand, lacing her fingers with his as he led her up the hill, "I'm taking you home. Savannah and I have been missing you."

[onlybe-satanonce]

reading cringey old text convos with friends gives me back my sanity

[carrotpiss]

🐰🧡🐻

[hyunnie04]

saw skz yesterday!!!!!! it was so much fun, them playing topline then immediately playing lalala bro 😭😭

[fragglerockopinions]

I'm in so much pain it's embarrassing. I'm going to look back on these memories of me writhing alone too afraid to sleep biting my knuckles crying about nothing and laugh.