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chrollohearttags · 2 months

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the morning after • reiner braun

mornings with your husband are always fun but the one after valentines is rather eventful!

playful banter, flashbacks to heavy smut, chubby reiner, plus size black reader, mentions of anal play/toys, breeding, squirting and other slutty tings, daddy’s used, reiner being aggravating as hell 😭

word count: 1.6K

📝: goes without saying but this is so self indulgent bc why not? I need him biblically, carnally and physically. I also need to engage in hand to hand combat with him one good time.

. °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° .** . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° .** . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆

the scene was a chaotic one..a messy one indeed!..

once crispy white sheets strewn about the floor, pillows tossed to the wayside. Expensive clothing with designer tags torn to shreds as they lie in a pile in the corner near the nightstand. All a result of one thing or rather..one person in particular.

“Mmm, good morning, sugar. You look beautiful—“

“Mm, good morning to you too, sir.”

two very starkly contrasting reactions from a couple who shared equal blame in this very erratic mess that was the master bedroom of your two story ranch home. You stood before the bathroom mirror, silk robe tied around your body to match the bonnet atop your head..plumpness swaying with each step underneath as you picked at your face. Examining the aftermath of last night’s wild antics. It was Valentine's Day and to say it was your most eventful yet would be a gross understatement. Dinner in the city, giant bouquets of roses, a night at the theater, lavish gifts provided by your doting husband and of course…intense, filthy love making to end the evening. You couldn’t have asked for a more ideal night. However, you had felt the effects of what transpired and saw them too.

“What’s with the grumpy face? Why do you sound like that?” The thick country accent spouted before it was quickly overcome with loud cackling as he doubled over into the sheets. The doting husband in question was none other than Reiner Braun. Retired NFL star turned rancher and the source of your early morning headache. That was the beauty of marriage. Having that one person you could not live without but definitely could use a day or two of break away from them! And this man was no exception to the rule. “I don’t know, you tell me! You must know since you’re laughing so damn hard.” Already, he had worked you into a tizzy and you hadn’t been awake more than ten minutes at this point. Getting up to relieve yourself and examine the damage he had done. You had lash extensions that had seemed to sweat out, a slight indentation in your neck from the collar you so quickly allowed him to place around your neck and your hair? God only knew what bird’s nest was underneath this bonnet. You could’ve killed him for his little cacklefest and making light of your very distressed condition. But truthfully, you had no one else to blame but yourself. Truth was, you two brought out the absolute worst in one another. Not by way of toxic behaviors or tumultuous fights but your filthy desires. Things that you would’ve never tried or even thought of prior to meeting each other in the bedroom, all manifested once you were together. Sexual fantasies beyond anyone’s comprehension and your dirtiest secrets all shared right here. You let it all happen and consequences be damned. Enjoying each other in such carnal ways, often led to things like this transpiring and Reiner found it more and more amusing each time.

“Just pull it off, I’m sure it’s not that bad. I bet you look adorable.” “Oh, kiss my ass, Reiner! You know my hair is messed up and you’re to blame.” Shouting at your husband as he tried to conceal his laughter behind a pillow because he had already caught a glimpse of your very altered state and decided to commentate the occasion with a photo of you all disheveled; hair tousled like that of a rooster, one breast dangling from your tank top and drool coming from your mouth as you slept set to his Lock Screen..needless to say, you were not moved! “Oh it’s defintely fucked up. But ya’ look so cute! And your tits?..look amazing.” Which was of little consolation to you! But just how had this insane night come to pass? Well, you guys could only attribute it to one thing..

flashback: the night before

“Right there, baby? C’mon..moan for me.”

“Yes! Right there, take it! Fuck..”

loud, rambunctious movements sounded off from beyond the walls of your bedroom. The heavy headboard smacking against the wall as your husband’s rough hands grasped at it for leverage. Holding himself steady as he slammed into you repeatedly. Consistently deep yet sporadic thrusts filled your core with no plans to cease anytime soon. Sweat beaded from your forehead and your makeup coursed down your face like that of a stream as it melted off from the intense session. That thick, burly frame stood over your own..perspiring as well but still as energized as ever and determined to put you through this mattress! In his opposite hand, he brandished a pink leash to match the collar tied around your throat and tugged tighter to keep you reigned in. His own gift for the occasion. Along with that skin tight, latex lingerie you were sporting. Thrashing you around on his cock with brute force but you didn’t complain and in fact, begged him relentlessly for more!

“Give me that fucking pussy..open it up—thereee ya’ go.”

nodding and gliding his tongue across his lips as you placed those long acrylics to your asscheeks and spread yourself open for more working room and his viewing pleasure!…exposing that bejeweled, heart shaped plug that your other hole was sucking on at the moment. Fluttering with each thrust as those creamy strings leaked down onto it. He couldn’t get enough and neither could you, quite honestly. It felt incredible and Reiner was going to spend all night if he had to..making certain that you were well fucked and satisfied. Even if you had to crawl the next morning. Tugging that collar once more, he’d prompt you to open your mouth before filling it with spit and demanding that you rub it on your center. “That’s right, look at me when you rub that clit, sweetheart. I wanna see your pretty face when you come on this dick.” Watching and listening to you writhe and whine as you worked yourself into yet another orgasm. “I’m gonna come, daddy! Please…keep—fucking me, just like that. Just like that!” Your leg trembled whilst it dangled over his shoulder blade. Being laced with soft kisses on both your ankle and instep. His lips curled into a maniacal smile as he watched his dumb, fucked out little slut work herself into another climax. Having come a total of three times already. Once by his fingers in the living room, for a second time when he ate your pussy until tears dripped down your face and for a third now.

“T-take some ou—“ “Not a fucking chance, baby. If you wanna squirt, I suggest you do it with me inside you or hold it in. Your only choice.”

he was pounding into your core, swallowed up by that overwhelming tightness that was your cunt and Reiner did not want to pull out. Having already stuffed you with one hefty load, he wanted—no, needed to give you more! More of that healthy nut that spilled down onto the sheets and your little asshole as he fucked it out of you and brought you to your peak again. He could sense the sheer desperation on your gorgeous face; heaving and crying as you pawed at his once toned six pack. Replaced by a solid yet rounder core but still just as sexy as ever. Blonde stubble grazing your cheek as he leaned down to shove his tongue into your mouth. Sloppy, nasty pecks complete with light taps to your cheek and a palm residing on your forehead as he continued drilling you. “I said come, princess. I know it’s big but you can handle it, right?” Nodding profusely to sate his desire but alas, he wasn’t finished..not by a long shot. Rubbing profusely, (y/n) released a shrill cry as you let juices splatter all over his torso. The sounds of flowing liquids going on in spurts as he pumped that squirt out of your body.

“Good girl, I knew I could depend on you.” Cackling once more as he made one more move, one that would send shockwaves throughout your body. Tugging out that plug, he’d swiftly take its place before you had time to react both mentally and physically. Whispering into your ear:

“So I’ll reward you by fucking this pretty little ass of yours. Let’s see how you take it.”

end flashback

“You’re impossible, you know that? Got me looking a fucking mess…” mumbling off to yourself and smacking your teeth as you picked at your eyes in the mirror. Even so, he was still getting his fair share of cackles from your suffering! “Nonsense, you’re beautiful, poundcake..no matter what. Nothing could change that. If it makes you feel better, you can just take the black card and whatever you need redone, just go get it.” his statement seemed so sincere but alas, it wouldn’t last long and your adorable pout soon shifted to a deadpan scowl. “Thank you, papa—“ “..yeah, it’s something about the way you slobber when you’re snoring all loud that’s just so..sexy.” Mockingly chewing at his lip and narrowing his eyes. “Please, go to hell.” Tossing a nearby roll of tissue in his direction before he shielded it with a pillow. “I can’t yet. But I can go to Krispy Kreme. You want something?” It was official, you were locked in for the long haul with this man but you wouldn’t want it any other way!

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after-witch · 4 months

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Bus Stop [Yandere Geto x Reader]

Title: Bus Stop [Yandere Geto x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve escaped from Geto–but for how long?

Word count: 3200ish

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, noncon sex scene, female reader, degradation

Despite everything that has happened to you within the last year, your hands have never shook so much; your breath has never been this ragged, this desperate; your chest has never heaved and pleaded with the most fervent of thoughts: please, please, for the love of everything I used to believe in, answer your door!

It feels like your knuckles will begin to bleed against the wood grain but then, the door opens so swiftly that your hand falls forward and you nearly stumble over the threshold.

A man is standing in the doorway. A man with a button down sweater and a concerned, fretful expression--well, no wonder, with the way you’d been rapping on his door.

The man is your psychologist. Mr. Mayeda. You’ve been going to him for several years–or at least, you were going to him, before everything happened. Before you were taken and kept and–

His eyes widen. He takes in your state. Oh, how you must look. Forehead beaded with sweat, eyes round and pleading.

And then there is the matter of the collar around your neck.

“Come in,” he says, sounding dazed and concerned all in one breath. “Tell me what’s happened.”

–

“Will you miss me, pet?”

You nod, and keep your eyes downcast. He likes your eyes downcast when you’re in the presence of anyone else–like now. Unless he tells you to look at him. But even when you’re alone with Geto, you’re prone to keeping your eyes glued to the floor, your lap, the ceiling. Anywhere but his face.

“Do speak up,” he says, trailing a finger possessively along your cheek.

“Yes, master Geto,” you murmur. “Please return quickly.”

He pats your head. Like a dog, like a pet. Because that’s what you’ve become, isn’t it? His pet. You even sit at his knees when he’s addressing his legions of followers, most of whom you can’t stand; and the ones you can stand only possess that particular description because you haven’t really met them yet.

This one, the woman Geto is leaving to monitor you while he’s off on some awful errand, is not someone new. She’s someone who dislikes you out of jealousy or supremacy or perhaps a bubbling mixture of both.

But there’s an advantage in that. She doesn’t try to talk with you, like some of the milder ones do. As soon as Geto is gone, she throws a disdainful glare your way and gets out her phone. She doesn’t even bother staying in the room with you; she goes into the next room and slides the door shut. She’ll talk to her boyfriend until she hears the telltale sound of Geto’s footsteps leading up to the room, then pretend like she’s been happily watching over you the whole time.

Which means she won’t notice when you pry open a loose floorboard and retrieve a backpack you’ve stuffed with papers, with cash, with a few necessities.

Which means you’ll have an easier time escaping.

Which means you’ll finally be free.

It almost seems too easy, when you make it out of the compound. You expect Geto to pounce on you at any moment. But you make it out, you do, and you make it to a bus station and slide some of the money you stole from Geto’s room over to the ticket counter.

You could call the police. But Geto would look for you there first. He would know you’d run, little rabbit that you are, to the only authority you could think of; but they couldn’t protect you. Not from him.

So your mind drums up the only address you can really remember–that of your psychologist’s office–and you ask the ticket taker for the next bus to the city.

–

Mr. Mayeda does not say anything at first.

Even though what you’ve told him sounds wild. And crazy. And wholly made up. That is to say, you’ve told him everything. About how Geto Suguru can control monsters, only they’re not simply monsters, but curses. About how he sees them and eats them and hoards them, like he’s tucking them away for some awful winter. About how he kidnapped you and kept you, how he treated you like a pet, how he wouldn’t let you go.

About how you escaped and didn’t know where else to turn.

“I know,” you say, leaning forward, arms crossed over yourself. “I know it sounds crazy. But you have to believe me.”

Mr. Mayeda frowns.

You pull your backpack into your lap and rummage through it, until

“I didn’t believe any of it myself at first.” Memories come flooding in. Those early days,, spent crying, gritting your teeth so hard that your jaw ached for a week, unbelieving everything Geto told you in the calmest, most horrible tones. “But it’s true. And–and I don’t know where to go or what to do. He’ll try to find me, and, and…” Your breath begins to quicken, your heart pounds. How could you think you’d be free? Oh, he’ll find you, and kill poor Mr. Mayeda, and then where will you be? What will he do?

You’re only barely aware of your hyperventilation when Mr. Mayeda places a firm hand on your shoulder. He says your name. He says it again. And again. And when you look at him, eyes bleary with tears, he speaks again.

“You have to calm down. I can’t help you until you calm down.”

His voice is an anchor in the storm. Help you, he said. Help.

Your hand shakily goes up to clasp his; it’s a foreign touch, the first person that you’ve touched since Geto took you. No one else was allowed to, except Manami, but that was only in case of emergencies.

“You don’t think I’m crazy?” Your voice is a hoarse croak.

Mr. Mayeda gives your fingers a squeeze, and then lets you go. He stands up and looks down at you with a sympathetic smile.

“I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re very upset, and need someone to listen to you.” He sighs and looks you over. “I’d like to grab your file from my office. Would you like anything? A glass of water? Food?”

“Oh–oh yes, water, please. If it’s not any trouble.” Your stomach growls, but you don’t think you could keep anything down right now, anyway.

And what does food matter, when he’s going to help you? When he believes you? You’d imagined this conversation so many times. In some of them, he escorts you out of the building and slams the door in your face. In others, he has you picked up by ambulance and committed to a hospital for delusions. In others, he yells at you for wasting his time.

But instead he doesn’t think you’re crazy and he’s going to help and it’s the best possible outcome. One that you, in your hopeless state, didn’t even foresee.

By the time he returns with a glass of water, your breathing has returned. You smile wearily and wipe your clammy hands before you take the glass. The water is cool and refreshing down your sore throat.

Mr. Mayeda gives you a few moments before he begins to speak. He has your file now, and opens it up on his lap.

“I need to ask you a few things. Just to get an idea of how we should proceed, all right? Please let me know if you feel uncomfortable.”

You set the empty water glass down and nod. What’s a few questions, compared to the hell you’ve been living?

“Have you been to your home, since you’ve left this mysterious compound?”

“No.”

He scratches the answer on the pad.

“Did you call anyone else, or contact anyone else except for me?”

“No.”

Scratch-scratch.

“So no one else knows you’re here?”

“No.” You bite your lip, and ask questions of your own. “What are we going to do? Where can we go? Do you know anyone that can help?”

He raises his hand.

“One thing at a time. First, I’d like to get everything straight on your end.”

You nod, and bring your knees up on the chair, feeling like a child in a doctor’s office for the first time in ages.

“Yes, of course, I’m sorry, I’m just…” You don’t finish.

Mr. Mayeda simply smiles, pity in his expression. You don’t need to explain to him what you are “just,” because he’s confident and calm and he knows exactly what to do. “That’s all right. I understand this is stressful. I’m going to go make a call, and then we’ll talk about what we can do next. Okay?”

You nod. You don’t want him to leave you–he’s going to help you–and worries begin to creep in about Geto somehow finding you here. Maybe you had a tracker on you that you didn’t know about. Maybe there was a curse attached to your shoulder and he’d simply sniff it out.

Maybe you were too anxious to think straight.

By the time he returns, your knee is bouncing. He regards it with a frown, and you force yourself to stop. You don’t want him to be mad at you–you want him to help you. He said he’d help you. You just don’t know what he can do to save you from Geto. What anyone could do.

But he sits down, and gets out your file again. Then he begins to go through every detail of your story, confirming, questioning, writing down notes. It’s hard–you start to cry, thinking about everything–but it’s necessary to create a plan of action. Right?

In the midst of all this, the doorbell buzzes.

He sighs, and his frown deepens. He must have forgotten an appointment–you can’t blame him, with your sudden arrival. “Let me get that. I’ll just have them reschedule the appointment.” When he gets up from his chair, he looks older in the moment; more tired and slow. Well, the stress of you dropping your predicament in his lap can’t exactly be easy to take.

You wipe your teary eyes, and grab a tissue to blow your nose. You hope he doesn’t have to reschedule too many clients because of you. You don’t want to be too much trouble. You just want to be safe and free and–

Geto and Manami walk through the open doorway of the office, and your stomach drops to your shoes.

Behind them, Mr. Mayeda looks remorseful.

“I had to,” he says, voice quavering. “My daughter–she… she’s used his services, you see.”

Geto looks back at Mr. Mayeda, who immediately shuts up and stares at the floor.

Ah. So he threw you back to the wolves to protect someone he loved. You can’t begrudge him for it. Not really.

But it doesn’t change the loss of your short-lived freedom.

–

Manami drives. You don’t have the strength to look anywhere but your own lap, at your hands curled up so tight that they hurt, resting on your thighs.

Geto hasn’t said a thing since he collected you.

“Suguru,” you say, voice shaking through the words. “I… ” You’re about to lie. He knows this. You know this. But he’s never minded you lying, before, as long as you said what he wanted. “I won’t do it again, I promise.” Still, he says nothing.

“Suguru–” you try again. He finally looks at you, a slow, languid turn of his head. His lips curl just a little. Not in a way that makes you feel good.

His voice is soft and sweet as honey. His words are anything but.

“You think you have the right to address me right now?”

He’s angry. Not just annoyed, not just mad, not just disappointed. Angry. It’s a heavy, dreadful feeling that glues you to the seat just as well as any bonds.

Gravity seems to pull your chin down, until you’re once again staring at your lap.

This time, you clench your fingernails so hard that your palm bleeds.

–

You don’t remember the walk back into the compound. You didn’t dare look up from the ground underneath your feet–walking step by step behind Geto, even though you wanted nothing more than to run in the opposite direction–to see the expressions of those devout followers. No doubt some were glaring as much as they dared.

It’s not until you’re back in Geto’s quarters and Manami has been dismissed that you hazard a glance at something other than your shoes, now dirty from your short journey outside these walls.

You look up at Geto, who is standing, silent, head tilted just-so as he stares at you. When he finally opens his mouth, he issues a command.

“Go to the bedroom.”

They are words to be obeyed, and you do.

He’s not yet in the room when he continues the orders.

“Disrobe. Lay on the bed. Spread your legs. Do not speak.”

Dread pools in your stomach, thick and slimy. It makes you want to run into the bathroom and hurl the contents of your last meal into the toilet. But you dare not deviate from what he’s said, not when the world feels so heavy; not when you know he’s angry with you.

So you slip off your clothing and lay on the bed and spread your legs. The cool air of the bedroom does nothing but increase your trembling as thoughts come one by one.

What does Geto intend to do? Something related to sex, surely. Maybe he’ll fuck you so hard that you can’t sit properly for days. Maybe he’ll make you lay here, naked, simply for his own amusement. Maybe he’ll hurt you, finally, and that underlying, coil-tight fear you’ve had since the moment you were kidnapped can finally release.

After far too long for your mental sanity, Geto finally does come into the room, stripped down to only an undershirt and thin cotton pants. Casual clothing he only wears around you, and no one else. Maybe he expects that to be flattering, but for whom, you can’t quite tell.

He crawls on the bed, his weight dipping the mattress.

He places his hands on either thigh, and pushes your legs further apart.

You wait for some pain–the pain of him entering you without preparation, perhaps, or something more insidious. The crack of his hand. The crack of a leather belt.

But you wait in vain, because instead of pain–instead of something harsh and cruel–you instead feel the soft touch of his fingers against your folds. His thumb rests softly against your clit, and begins to rub, sending an unwelcome jolt through you.

“Suguru?” You ask, and boldly prop yourself up on your elbows.

“I told you not to speak,” he murmurs, and you press your lips together. Now, you think, surely he will hit you.

But no. Instead he returns to his former ministrations, gently rubbing against your clit, other fingers gently squeezing the flesh of your pussy. It almost tickles, pleasantly. After a while, the dull pleasure begins to heighten, and you can feel a mild orgasm beginning to reach its peak.

He stops. The pleasure hovers for a moment, and then begins to fade.

He begins again.

You want to ask him what he’s doing; you want to ask him why he stopped. But his order to remain quiet thrums through your head and you merely keep your head back on the bed, staring at the plain ceiling above you.

The pleasure is different now. Sharper. Wetter. Instead of a dull, mild orgasm, it begins to feel like the ones you’ve had with him before; the ones where he spends a while building you up, getting you wet, wanting to hear you moan.

Your breath begins to catch in your throat, and you can’t help but squirm your hips. It feels good, you don’t want it, but he knows your body well enough to make it feel good.

And like before, you can feel yourself starting to reach your peak, getting to the point when pleasure becomes sparks. And–like before.

He stops.

And begins again.

And stops.

And begins again.

Until you are wet, and sweating, and squirming. Until your breath is not mildly catching in your throat but coming out in desperate pants. Until your hands are clenching the sheets.

Until you are crying out, not because of pain and a sharp slap against your skin, but the unbearable heat that has built between your legs. A heat which Geto has carefully stoked with his fingers and his mouth, and the unrelenting pattern of bringing you to the top, only to let you fall before bringing you there once again.

You know you’re not supposed to speak. But you can’t help it, you just can’t help it. Not with the way his thumb is idly circling your clit. Not with the sweat clinging to your back. Not with the way your head begins to turn side to side of its own accord, unable to deal with the teasing.

“Suguru–” Your voice is a needy whine. “Please, please–”

“Apologize,” he says, simply. Calmly. All the while continuing to slowly rub your clit with his thumb.

“I’m sorry,” you croak. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry–”

His thumb pauses, and you can feel your clit twitching against it.

“But do you mean it?”

“Yes!” You don’t hesitate. Tears leak from your eyes. Wetness leaks from in between your legs.

“Then beg.” He keeps his thumb hovered above your clit. “Beg like you’re my pet. Because that’s what you are, isn’t it?”

Your thighs tremble. Your lips quiver.

“Please, Suguru.” Your cheeks heat in shame, but what shame can you truly hold onto, when your pussy is this wet, when you’re gyrating against him so pathetically? You say everything you think he wants to hear. “I’m your pet, I won’t run again, I’ll do what you say–”

You feel half-delirious, raising your hips towards the air to try to get some friction against his finger. All you succeed in doing is humping yourself against him, teasing your swollen clit with the promise of an orgasm that can only come from his fingers.

After a while, your words trail off into a pathetic whimper.

It’s then that Geto crawls up further on the bed and plants a kiss on your forehead.

You sigh in relief.

“No,” he says. “Bad pets don’t get rewarded, do they?”

You have only a moment to think before he yanks your sweaty wrists up and ties them to the headboard with cuffs he must have put there before he even collected you from Mr. Mayeda’s office. You pull against them once before he gives you a harsh look that makes you freeze. Once he’s satisfied with your stillness, he begins to take off his own clothes.

“I would make you sleep on the floor,” he murmurs, shrugging off his shirt. “But that would be a punishment to me, to deny myself your body, no?”

You can only shake your head in response as you shift your legs, trying to catch the fleeting orgasm that has begun to fade even further from your grasp. Geto raises an eyebrow and places his palm firmly on your hip to keep you in place.

Once you stop squirming–it’s useless, you realize–he sighs and cuddles against you. It might be sweet, if he wasn’t who he was; if you weren’t in the position that you’re in. If there wasn’t an aching, warm soreness between your legs that has gone unfulfilled.

His voice is not so sweet when he whispers against your ear.

“If you ever try something so foolish again, I won’t be kind about it.”

#yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere geto #yandere geto suguru #afterwitch writes

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thealogie · 2 months

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picture this. you're michael sheen, beloved queer-friendly welsh actor and recent twilight saga vampire. you want your favorite book to become a tv show, and you want to be the lead. so what do you do? you befriend the author. he wines and dines you, you become a confidant in the scriptwriting phase. and in the process of the GO script you decide you don't want to be crowley, actually, you want to be aziraphale. you put in the work for months to influence the author to the same conclusion. so when neil gaiman comes to you one day saying, "i know you joined on to be crowley... but how would you feel about playing aziraphale?" you say, what a novel idea! i was feeling the same way, i just didn't want to say anything! let's do it.

you're michael sheen, the lead in the adaptation of your favorite book. you meet david tennant as your leading man, a rising star (and vocal fan of yours) you've had a few vague interactions with in the past. on set you immediately find the closest friend you have ever and will ever find in your life, and you know this. the romance you have in your (yes, your) show is ambiguous, but you're michael sheen. you think that romance needs to be explicit. so what do you do? you become a nightmare on set. you get really hands-on; you make costume choices, you make story decisions, you tell your author friend at the very end of filming: aziraphale is in love with crowley and realizes it in 1941. now go do it again.

so the author goes and does it again. you get a season 2. you get 1941 part 2. you're michael sheen, and you are the lead of the adaptation of your favorite book, and the romance you littered into the character you built from the ground up has become unambiguous. everything goes according to plan. but, you see, you have a problem: the author you have baby trapped is acting a FIEND on twitter and tumblr. he's saying everything he can to imply aziraphale and crowley aren't sexually attracted to each other. he's getting a bit too bold with his character assumptions, is all i'm saying. so here's what you're going to do: you play it up with your pal david tennant. you made a show with him during lockdown. you're going to depict your lives as even more intertwined and homoerotically codependent as previously possible. you grow even closer. your wives become best friends, too, because how could they not? this has been the plan since the beginning, too. your lockdown show ends. it wasn't enough.

so you, michael sheen, of course you put in the work. if david tennant's there, you're damn sure you're there physically, spiritually, biblically, in whatever capacity you can be. it's not hard. david tennant is a big fan of yours, after all, so he MAKES SURE you're always in the conversation. you have him wrapped around your little finger, this lovely little boy, and so you know what you do next? you become neighbors. you make your directorial debut casting your best friend's wife watching her husband and male neighbor initiate sex with each other. you play into the swinging rumors (that you, michael sheen, had started). you create a narrative that you and david tennant are two homoerotic besties, and is there more going on in the background there? any deeper conspiracy? who really knows, but what you do know is that the world is talking about it.

and you, michael sheen, your entire acting career has led to this moment, your gay quips, your oscar wilde sex scene (and the interviews following), all of your queer roles, EVERYTHING has brought us to this conclusion. you have created the lab perfect conditions where season 3 must have an explicit gay sex scene. i'm sorry neil, my hands are tied! the people are clamoring for me and david tennant to have sex-- i mean aziraphale and crowley to have sex, the public decided this all on their own! i really don't think you have much choice. but of course, i would never deign to tell an author how to practice his veritable craft. i concede to whatever version of series 3 you create, and i will happy to bring this beloved character to his deserved ending.

and why do you say this? because you're michael sheen. you're just an actor who incidentally stumbled his way into leading the queer romance adaptation of your favorite book that wasn't a romance, and you just read the script the way that it was given to you. and if series 3 means an explicit sex scene between you and your best friend david tennant, then what a lovely coincidence that you had absolutely no part in making happen. because what power do you really have?

This is my favorite book I’ve read so far this year. A rare occasion where the author pulls off use of the second person pov. I really felt like I was a beloved welsh actor crossed with Machiavelli when I read this

#michael sheen

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darkblueboxs · 1 year

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Glass Onion Spoilers - Foreshadowing and Among Us

I’ve seen a few posts dunking on glass onion for being “cringe” because of the Among Us scene and a few praising it for accurately reflecting the fact that this is all everyone was playing in 2020, but I haven’t seen anyone really talk about how brilliantly Among Us works as a foreshadowing/storytelling device.

On the surface - as the film itself points out! - the game is a neat little parallel of the island: one murderer hidden among us, with the objective being to find them out. But this comparison goes far deeper than the basic premise of the film.

Firstly, Benoit appears as the game’s imposter, and then, it is later revealed, is literally an imposter, arriving on the island uninvited under false pretences - one of the first major twists of the film spelled out to the audience in the opening act. And he isn’t alone - just as two imposters generally work together to deceive the other players, so Benoit and Helen work together to infiltrate the group. BUT, and this is the bit that really drives me wild, the endgame format of Among Us perfectly reflects the endgame of the film. The way to win Among Us isn’t necessarily a case of killing everyone or surviving every round - the way to win is by convincing your fellow players to believe you, and to vote accordingly.

During the trial Andi loses because the imposter - the billionaire impersonating a genius - convinces the other players that she should be voted out; she is as effectively thrown out of the airlock as she is the business, and then literally killed to protect the [fortune of] the “crew.”

But, Andi was not the imposter, and so the game continues.

The imposter kills again, and when Miles confesses to causing the lights to go out, this is another excellent hint - only the imposter can sabotage the lights!

Then, with all the characters assembled much like an “Emergency Meeting,” we reach the climax of the film: Miles burns the napkin evidence, and immediately the ensemble is back to the voting booth as Helen, like her sister, fights for the players’ support in voting out the imposter. Any Among Us player will recognise the infuriating feeling when you literally just saw them vent for the love of god you were all there vote them OFF- and that frustration - of speaking the truth and not being believed - is evident in this scene.

But these players don’t care about the truth; they care about surviving (ie staying rich), and so they will vote off an innocent person to placate the shark. Which is absolutely not how you win the game.

Then, then, the game’s final round: the imposter has lost his tools, is revealed for the useless fraud he is, and it’s when he has nothing left to offer the other players that one more vote is held - the characters literally raise their hands as they pledge their support to Helen, in part to give the appearance of swearing in upon the witness stand, but also in part to give the visual of a literal vote... such as that of an Among Us emergency meeting vote.

And it’s when Miles is finally, rightfully ejected that at last, the game is won.

Among Us is a game of social engineering, of lying and convincing others of your lies to prolong your survival, deception, and the malleability of truth. Presenting this game in the opening of the film is more than a gimmick or scene-setter: it illustrates the social structures at the heart of the story.

TLDR: Among Us foreshadows the film’s premise, but also plot twists, character choices, and significantly the film’s resolution by way of group vote.

#glass onion #Knives Out #glass onion spoilers #rian johnson #netflix #benoit blanc #among us #i didnt stop to check specific details beyond character names so if i fudged a detail we are simply going to have to live with it #in this house we delight in and enjoy indie game references that also work as storytelling devices #too busy having fun to be cringe rn #i havent written this much analysis for anything since leaving uni #also fuck netflix's no screenshot policy

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good-chimes · 10 months

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Proposing:

Grand Unified Scarian Theory

a single, overarching Scarian romance arc across the whole Hermitcraft and Life series as well as a primer for anyone curious about the early seasons.

We start with NEIGHBOR MEET CUTE in early Season 6:

Season 6 begins in a peaceful pirate bay. SCAR, an established hermit just beginning his third season, is happily making pirate caves. Into this tranquil scene comes GRIAN.

Grian, fresh-faced and new to Hermitcraft, picks a sea-themed base location right next to Scar’s pirate caves. He gets himself set up and starts his base. Even someone like Grian can get newcomer nerves, and he spends the first few weeks desperately trying to act like a normal person instead of the horrible gremlin he really is.

(Some hermits are taken in by this. Doc and Xisuma give him pity diamonds, something that—after getting to know Grian—they noticeably never do again.)

The only person exempt from Grian’s just-a-little-birthday-boy act is Mumbo, whom Grian already knows, clearly has a puppy-crush on, and pursues relentlessly.

Grian and Scar don’t interact much at first. Grian sees Scar for the first time while passing by his base. Scar instantly falls in one of his own caves and dies.

Grian panics.

Grian: I DIDN’T DO IT!

Scar, intrigued by his new neighbor, makes some overtures of interest:

1. Scar leaves a fully enchanted trident at Grian’s base as a welcome present. This is a generous gift for the cute neighbor you have a crush on and frankly the most normal thing either of them do in the entire years-long relationship.

Grian goes ‘huh!’ at the trident, never finds out who sent it, and immediately forgets the whole thing.

2. Scar entertains Grian’s traveling-salesman pitch and buys his overpriced armor boxes.

Multiple jokes about the size of Scar’s wallet. Grian clearly pleased by the transaction.

3. Scar makes Grian a complementary in-joke build (Spongebob’s house by Squidward’s house).

This delights Grian immeasurably for five minutes until he turns back to his prank war with Mumbo.

(Poor Mumbo. Clearly immensely fond of Grian but not sure he wants to be in a relationship with a lit stick of dynamite. This is very understandable.)

By this point Scar obviously kind of clocks that Grian is insane about Mumbo. This isn’t much of a leap. The entire SERVER is aware that Grian is horribly in love with Mumbo.

Ah. That’s okay. Scar backs off a bit. He recognizes when he’s not really in with a chance.

Maybe this thing he has with Grian is just going to be a friendship, and that’s okay! Having a crush is fun even if you’re not going to do anything about it. Scar is going to build some shops about it and be normal.

Both of them are going to be very normal.

FLIRTING (First Stages) – mid-Season 6

Both of them immediately forget to be normal.

Grian has started a detective agency and has no mysteries to solve. Scar instantly invents a cookie-based mystery supervillain called the Jangler and leaves Grian a series of tantalizing cookie-based puzzles for enrichment in his enclosure.

Grian has invented a game where you kill people with rockets. Scar volunteers to get murdered. Both of them are delighted.

Scar and Cub’s business empire is incidentally crushing Grian’s startup venture. There is no reason for this to be so flirtatiously charged.

At this point all the hermits move to a new village because of the Minecraft update. Grian starts a who-can-build-the-tallest-house war with Mumbo and Iskall. Scar notices and starts doing the same from the other side of the village.

It quickly gets so wild that Mumbo taps out (Mumbo does not do well with intensity, would rather just not, thankyouverymuch), and it's only Grian, Iskall and Scar.

Scar builds a wild giant plant eating his rocketship, and then a castle in the sky, and an enormous version of himself firing a canon at Grian's house. This is the first time you can really see Grian trying to hold in shrieks when he flies back in to see what Scar has done while he's gone.

Grian’s interest has been caught. He’s gone from barely seeing Scar to checking on him regularly. What’s our good friend Scar up to? What’s Scar done? What is Scar going to do next?

FLIRTING (How To Catch Your Crush’s Interest By Building A Secret Government Facility) – late Season 6

What Scar does next is put on a snazzy military uniform, team up with Doc to steal the time machine Grian invented last week, then, in the most effort someone has EVER gone to to get Grian's attention, spend weeks on end building a fully-functional 'Area 77' military base and containment facility to stop him getting it back.

Turns out this works beyond Scar’s wildest dreams.

Grian INSTANTLY obsessed with breaking into Scar’s base and retrieving his time machine.

Grian persuades Ren into forming a hippie camp with him next to the base and spends weeks entirely fixated on Scar. Meanwhile Scar, who is starting to really understand how to get and keep Grian's attention, builds more and fancier infrastructure to keep Grian out. This is also where Grian really starts looking at Scar's art—the insane cliffs Scar has build around his new hangers—and awkwardly not quite managing words, because it would be very embarrassing to just outright say the word beautiful, and Grian’s a very normal and non-embarrassing person.

In the climax of the season, Grian-the-hippie breaks into General Scar’s base.

Nobody can say that Scar making himself a top brass general and Grian making himself an anti-establishment flower power hippie does not end up with plausibly-deniable not-making-out Grian-provoking-Scar-into-holding-him-against-a-wall.

but.

BUT.

This is Hermitcraft. It’s temporary. Scar and Grian both know it was a bit. A bit they both got super into, sure! But a bit. Not weird at all.

(“Sure, mate, not weird at all,” Mumbo says, after all of this is over. “Then why are you making it SOUND weird Mumbo you’re the WORST”)*

(“Sooo....” Cub says, and Scar says, “I know. I know!”)*

*not canon but you can't tell me it didn't happen off screen

FLIRTING (But What About…) – early Season 7

Okay, so that was weird, but Grian is definitely still in love with Mumbo. The Mumbo pursuit is going great and Mumbo definitely doesn’t look nervous whenever Grian turns up with a new idea. Grian is going to get Mumbo to fall in love with him and they will marry in the spring and have a dozen beautiful children redstone contraptions.

Grian attempts to make it more official with Mumbo. Surely they have been flirting long enough, they are ready for the next stage! This is in no way a reaction to Scar becoming a weird wizard in a way very unsettling to Grian and building the kind of wild organic tangled forest build that Grian is fascinated by but can't even begin to comprehend.

Everything is very under control in Grian's life. He's now official boyfriends with Mumbo. They live together and have a messaging system and everything.

Mumbo announces he’s moving out.

It’s-not-you-it’s-me

You’re… you’re moving out? Grian says, in the smallest possible voice.

We’ll still have the messaging system, Mumbo says, unconvincingly.

FINE, Grian says, I’m moving out TOO.

Mumbo moves out.

Grian deals with this in the healthiest possible way. He invents a mayorship and attempts to give it to Mumbo.

Grian is Mumbo’s self-appointed campaign manager so Mumbo has to be round him ALL THE TIME, it’s for the CAMPAIGN, Mumbo.

Mumbo, a man who doesn’t deal well with pressure or responsibility, is maybe not the ideal choice for mayor, something that has escaped Grian entirely.

Mumbo builds a robot and attempts to palm off all responsibility for decision-making onto it. Grian immediately calls it their son.

Grian puts his moustache all over the server.

NO other hermits support them for mayor (except Scar, from a lost bet, who Grian has continued to have intensely weird flirtations with while all this is happening)

Things reach a fever pitch. Election day arrives. Mumbo doesn’t want this actually but try telling Grian that. The entire MumboGrian edifice that Grian has obsessively and wildly build has reached an unsustainable pitch and finally comes tumbling down around them.

Mumbo votes Scar for mayor.

Grian votes Scar for mayor.

Mumbo disappears for several weeks to do some nice soothing redstone and calm down.

FLIRTING (Civil War) – late Season 7

Everything has calmed down now. Scar is mayor. Mumbo is...somewhere. Grian is going to work on his base normally.

Grian has a new project. He wants to build in the new nether biomes. He builds a huge and echoing and obsessively inverse version of his huge and echoing and obsessively symmetrical mansion base. It's very impressive. It's totally hollow. There's... no one else here.

Grian decides that okay, he is going to bring PEOPLE here.

He invites Mumbo, because he hasn't seen him in weeks. He invites Bdubs, because Grian above all loves genius. And he invites Scar. Because of course. Everything major Grian does now, Scar is an of course.

Bdubs shows up! Generously builds Grian's entire mansion interior. Mumbo shows up. Builds a tiny upside down disco shack.

Scar does not show up.

Scar is being mayor! Scar is a very busy and important man! Scar has spent the last few weeks obsessively replacing every single goddamn mycelium block in the shopping district with beautifully tailored grass and making trees whose flowers are diamonds. He's also got his own megabase going on. For once Scar has so much to do it's even enough for Scar's ambitions, which have never been small.

He does not come when Grian calls.

Grian is Not Happy.

This is the point where Grian starts a steadily more unhinged campaign of leaving Scar invitations. He makes little tailor's dummies of himself and delivers them to Scar's house. He sets up a tea party of three grians in a secret space under Scar's mayoral throne. He hangs himself in effigy on the tip of Scar's megadrill build. Normal behavior.

And then when Scar still doesn't notice, he puts a tiny bit of mycelium back on one of the streets of the shopping district.

This starts… THE MYCELIUM WARS

Scar attempts to contain the growing mycelium patch with warning tape.

Grian spreads more mushroom spores.

Scar brings in his allies to help contain the growing mushroom patches.

Grian digs out an underground rebel HQ, recruits several rebels, and declares himself Motherspore.

Mayor Scar stares into a camera and uses his most velvety baritone to proclaim he will hunt down Grian and the mycelium resistance and bring them to justice.

Grian sets loose mushroom-spreading sheep.

Mayor Scar obsessively searches for his base.

Grian and Impulse build several decoy bases and trap them.

Mayor Scar employs Mumbo to strip-mine every block of the shopping district with redstone tunnel-borers.

Eventually Deputy Mayor Bdubs, having his own thing with rebel Etho, tricks all of the resistance into ender-pearling into jail.

Scar gets to threaten to pour lava on an imprisoned Grian for ten minutes straight and they’re both enjoying this so much.

Grian: Scar! SCAR! Scar Scar Scar no Scar no Scar no listen Scar

Scar: Yes?

Grian: …Let’s take this somewhere else.

They ‘take this’ to Scar’s beautifully-appointed mayoral office. Grian sits on the arm of his chair (I don’t know what to tell you, this is on-screen canon).

Grian: So I know how to end the war.

Grian: We have to play minigames and make personal bets.

Grian: And Scar, Scar, if you lose…

Scar: Yes?

Grian: … you have to help build my base.

Entire room: [stunned silence]

Etho: Is this what it was about the whole time, Grian?

So! That happened. And the thing is, they could both mentally pass off the area 77 general/hippie stuff as Just A Fun Bit That Got Very Intense.

They can't do this with the mayor/motherspore stuff. They are basically making out on Scar’s chair. The resistance have noticed. The mayoral staff have noticed. EVERYONE has noticed.

Scar is into it. Scar is going along with it. Scar knows he’d had a crush for a long time, and he isn't scared of swimming with a huge wave, never mind where it's going to break. Scar has always embraced the rush. With Grian, you never know what’s going to happen next.

Grian has always loved being around Scar because there’s so much going on that you don’t have to think. Grian doesn’t have to think until everything’s calmed down. It's not until now that he stops and realizes… could this be… something.

(Maybe it already is.)

And then, by whatever eldritch mechanic you personally favor:

3rd life begins.

HEAD-OVER-HEELS – Third Life

In the tiny claustrophobic stripped-bare world of Third Life, Grian makes a choice. Grian thinks, for once very, very clearly: what if it wasn't a bit? What if it was real. What if Grian took every explosive piece of who he was and handed it over to someone he's—okay, he'll admit it—someone he's been obsessed with for a long time. What if that heady sparkle he's been seeing in the corner of his vision is true. What happens if you grab it with both hands?

Scar—surprised, bemused, amazed but wrong-footed—almost doesn't know what to DO with this.

Scar is so used to Grian layering all his obsession behind a thick layer of irony and drama and second-guessing and schemes. ‘Sure we can make out but only if I'm trailing mushroom spores and you're wearing that sash.’ ‘I'm only here because Mumbo's not around.’ ‘It’s not a thing.’ ‘It's not real.’

But it is real.

And, for once, Scar hears a tiny alarm go off in his brain. Scar knows Grian better than anyone else does, by now, and even he doesn't know where this ends. Grian is a force of nature and Scar has never been his unfiltered target. But Grian's throwing himself into this, throwing himself at Scar. And Scar always says 'yes.' 'Yes, and.' 'Yes, let's'. Scar never wants less of Grian. Scar has always taken what he can get.

But with that warning bell, Scar does try to keep that slight layer of dramatic distance, even in this new world where you can die and not come back, even if they don't know if they'll get out of this alive. Scar doesn't fully buy into Grian's second-in-command-devotion, he forces a space for Grian to still be the Grian he knows, some kind of safety vent (‘here's a bee on a lead’). And it could be a lot of reasons, but part of it is…Grian's head-over-heels, for once, and Scar has the unfamiliar feeling of needing to be the one to look where they're going.

Because where they're going is: the last two, all their friends dead, not knowing if there's any way to survive but knowing their friends haven't come back, and at that point Scar takes off the very last of his brakes and the very last of his reservations and says:

For everything you've done for me you can kill me.

(I want this. I want it to be you.)

This breaks Grian absolutely and completely.

And not broken in the fun way! Grian is too far in. Grian let go of Mumbo, who was safe because Mumbo never let it get too far, and he took a risk on Scar, and now Grian is discovering that he didn’t even know what risk meant. Grian is in emotional pain he never suspected existed. Grian has let himself put all his gambling chips on someone who wasn't SAFE and he has lost.

Grian has LOST SCAR and he has LOST HIMSELF and he has FOUND OUT HE CAN BE HURT and he is never going to be the fucking same again.

Scar is in the pond with Grian’s sword at his unresisting neck. And Scar is going to die, and Scar (damn him damn him) has turned it into: he's going to die for Grian. Now Grian is hurting, he's complicit, it turns out grief is an inevitable part of love and beauty, this is all it's taken for Grian's worldview to fall apart in pieces he can't pick up, and Grian has no defenses against pain so there's obviously no way to cope except to beat Scar to death in a cactus ring and jump off a cliff.

AFTERMATH – Season 8

They wake up in Hermitcraft.

They wake up in Hermitcraft! Scar is delighted to find out they just reincarnate, after all that!

Sure, they've all got some lingering trauma but Scar has never let that stop him from doing anything. Scar thought that whole thing went well! He just about dares to think...romantic...? Maybe...?

Grian is Normal to him.

Grian is so fucking normal. it's like. s6 normal.

Scar is. kind of. confused.

Grian is NOT acting like someone he had a romantic death match with.

(Grian is falling apart, but if there's one thing Grian has proved in his building it’s that he’s SO. fucking. good. at facades.)

(Don't go round the back.)

Neither of them are ready for the death game to repeat.

DIVORCE (Traumatic) – Last Life, Season 8

Second death game. Grian deals with his trauma super well by isolating Scar, stealing all his friends, tricking a life out of him, dropping his horse in lava, forcing him into an extortion death loop, then abandoning him and—just as a bonus—murdering Mumbo as well.

This time it’s Scar who comes back falling apart.

A theory that seems plausible: Scar’s old friend Cub picks him up, puts him back together, gets him on his feet. What we do know is that Cub moves in next to Boatem, where Scar is still living with Grian, and incidentally builds an enormous dripstone megabiome that is coincidentally very hostile and might murder you upon landing if you're someone who flies a lot, or happens to be a bird.

There’s a hole with an endless dark void between Scar and Grian’s Boatem bases. They built it together. It’s around this time they both keep repeatedly falling in it.

DIVORCE (But When It Was Good It Was So Good) – Season 8, Double Life

Then the moon gets big. Gets close. Gravity breaks down and that should be the end, should be a way out of this terrible spiral they're in, surely they're better without each other—

Grian turns up at Scar's base and says: Scar. Build us an escape pod.

—and Scar does.

They go out together. Both of them can feel the pull back into each other’s orbit but they’ll die if they acknowledge it. At the end of it all, the void, the protective suits, the unbearable gravity of falling into space together, of holding each other until another uncertain end. They're nowhere but they're in it together.

Is this a good time for another death game? Of course. How much worse can it get.

Double Life, and this time Scar keeps his distance. My soulmate is this allay! My soulmate is my cat! I don’t need a soulmate. Oh—it’s Grian? This whole time? Hahaha. How funny.

Grian: Soo… do you want to base together?

Scar: Do we have to?

Grian: It…might be nice…?

Scar is wary.

He has been burned.

But the pull is still there. The pull is always there. You can’t forget Grian, but you can blunt the edge of him on your skin. Scar is here to take care of these cat-pandas. Grian can do what he likes.

Cheated of Scar’s full attention, Grian tries to tempt BigB into a pale imitation of the Scarian folie à deux (BigB is a genuinely nice man who does not deserve this).

The rest of the server turn red, one by one. Grian and Scar are the last greens. BigB is audibly nervous when Grian proposes a red-green alliance, even though BigB is the red, he has the power. But Grian can’t escape the rest of the server, and the red hunt begins.

Grian and Scar, hunted—trapped at the top of flaming towers, jumping from heights, chased down like foxes at bay, crammed into boltholes with their hands over each other’s mouths, Grian shrieks and laughs and falls back on Scar and Scar catches him and they’re both as alive and elated as they’ve ever been. Scar dies once to Ren and BigB’s zombies and Grian murders both BigB and Ren in revenge (BigB was right to be nervous). Grian has another unhinged murder plan underway when he dies for the last time.

This whole time, Grian was hit in the face by remembering that when it's good, it's so good.

Scar isn’t surprised. Scar has known that forever.

Back in Hermitcraft, its not magically fixed. They’re not innocent any more. But every time Grian looks at Scar he remembers: when it’s good, it’s so good.

And Scar never forgot.

DIVORCE (We’re In Love And We’re Not Done Yet) – Season 9, Limited Life

By now we're into Season 9. They’re still alive. They always live, they always start again, and the other one is just there. Being, infuriatingly and magnetically, them.

Grian is thoroughly annoyed by Scar’s new allegiance to King Ren, but he keeps coming back to Scarland anyway. Scar, I made you an obstacle course. Scar, stand here and get squashed by this anvil. Scar if you don’t do something I’m going to start a resistance.

Grian pretends King Ren doesn’t exist and he has more important things to do, and pretends this so hard that he incidentally invents a mad science robot pulls them all through into the Empires dimension.

Scar, assuming Grian is doing his own thing, shacks up with Jimmy.

It takes Grian three weeks to notice and be shriekingly outraged.

Scar we’re doing a project. Scar you can’t spend all your time with Jimmy! Join my cult. Get in my shrinking machine. I made you an enchanted netherite bow. I need your allegiance. (Another real quote).

Scar teases Grian for weeks then instantly abandons Jimmy when the choice comes down to him or Grian.

Fourth death game—they’re used to this, now. Nothing too intense. Nothing too weird. Grian can’t help murdering Scar.

At this point, Scar is starting to read it as: I love you.

And that’s how we get to the current Scarian dynamic we know and love of you're the worst and I'm the worst and we've divorced a few time but we still like each other so fucking much.

It's been years. They've killed each other every possible way. These two characters are in love and they're not done yet.

#scarian #grian #goodtimeswithscar #hermitshipping #yes canon IS a grand romantic arc #to be super clear: i don't think any of this was cc intention #but we can have a little narrative framing fun #as a treat #i think nearly all of this is true to canon except some timing vagueness and the dialogue in parentheses #thank you to the hivemind for theory help #long post #glossywrites

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rinniessance · 5 months

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READY, SET, GO ༊*·˚ - satoru gojo x cam girl f!reader x suguru geto

your roommates, satoru gojo and suguru geto, find you in a compromising position: legs spread, toys ready, camera recording. what do you do in this situation? you ask them to join, of course.

꒰ warnings: nsfw - mdni .ᐟ.ᐟ non-curse au. reader is a cam girl. threesome (mfm), everyone is kinda gross in this, unprotected sex, double penetration in one hole, kinda manipulation, slight degradation (they call you slut a lot), consensual filming. pure filth ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ // word count: 1.8k ꒱ ꒰ notes: i have been possessed by a horny demon aaaa save me .ᐟ.ᐟ꒱

fuck, how did this happen? you were always so careful, double checking your schedules, triple checking theirs, making sure that yes, your roommates, gojo satoru and geto suguru, will be gone and away. because the situation you find yourself in right now is exactly what you were scared of the most: they should’ve been away, they were not supposed to be home until 3 hours later so you didn’t lock your door. you were laying on the bed, your camera positioned at your feet, capturing the perfect view of your spread legs and wet pussy as you lay against the headboard. you didn’t notice them coming back – which led you to not hold back your next cry of pleasure.

“yo, is everything good?” gojo asks as he knocks on your door. and because you are a dumb dumb whore who decided not to lock the door, it swings open.

gojo is met with the heavenly sight: his cute and quiet roommate impaled on a 10 inch dildo, wearing the skimpiest piece of cute pink lingerie, moaning and whimpering to hundreds of people online. the moment you meet his eyes, something akin to electricity and dread runs through your body. satoru is looking at you with wide eyes, panting like a dog. you want to stop, you have to stop, but you can see that he’s getting shamelessly hard, bulge in his grey sweatpants growing more prominent with each passing minute.

“satoru, what the fuck is goi- ?” geto stops mid-sentence as he observes the obscene scene in front of him: gojo looking like he’s two second away from fucking you right there and then, and you, little pretty doe caught in the headlights, looking between them, still pumping silicone cock in and out of you.

as you glance away from their scrutinizing eyes for a second, you realize something.

you’re still live-streaming.

how bad would it be to do what you’re thinking of doing next? pretty fucking bad.

but you have never been known to make good decisions.

“wanna join?”

gojo is moving towards you before you even finish the sentence. when he towers over you, he pulls the dildo out, making you whine.

“don’t worry, pretty, you won’t be needing it anymore. we will give you something much better to moan about,” satoru says as he trails his hand down, cupping your sex with his hand and shoving his fingers inside while the flat of his palm slowly grinds against your clit. you let out a pornographic moan, the type they always claim is fake, and immediately clench around him. gojo chuckles and licks your lips – not kissing you yet, wanting to see how much longer he can play with you before you start begging.

chat goes wild.

[y/nmegafan]: was this planned??

[hereforher]: there is no way this is not staged !!

[urmumlol]: who cares stfu it’s still hot af

“satoru, don’t be mean, you know the rules with the girls like her,” geto drawls as he nears the bed at your opposite side. girls like me? you’re beyond confused but satoru is pumping fingers at just the right angle, that all the logical thinking has long taken a walk.

“aw, common, let me have fun once in a while.”

“please, satoru, don’t be a child. you know the consequences of your fun, i don’t know if i want that with someone we live.”

somehow, you felt offended at their insinuation you cannot handle their definition of fun. are they not seeing what you do for the living?

“i’m pretty sure i can take whatever you think fun is.”

geto throws a quick smile to gojo.

gotcha.

“well, since you asked so nicely, sweetheart. how about we put on a real show?” suguru says to the camera and nods to satoru. white haired man strips of his clothes in record time, and lays down on the bed, dragging you down to lay on top of his chest.

“how nice of you, you kept this cunt all warm and ready for us, heh?” gojo is mocking you from behind. you can only whine as you heavy breathe in anticipation: the tip of his cock is playing with you entrance, taunting your hole as it clenches around nothing.

“shut up and put it in.”

all of a sudden, geto is squeezing your cheeks and looks directly into your eyes.

“nuh-uh, you don’t tell us what to do now. we fuck how we want to fuck you.”

satoru hooks your legs over his arms and spreads them apart while suguru takes his friend’s cock in his hand and starts pumping it slowly, beads of pre-cum already leaking from the tip. geto runs his finger across the slit, spreading the dripping fluid to the base of gojo’s dick.

“you better be ready, pretty girl.”

geto positions gojo’s length against your weeping entrance and satoru thrusts all the way in. he fills you in one hard stroke, stretch wide and painful, even after you already fucked yourself with the toy. you couldn’t see gojo’s dick from your position but by the way it immediately bruises your cervix is enough to tell you how big he is. you mewl pathetically and try to grab onto something but suguru takes your hands in his instead. almost as if out of thin air, he’s holding your underwear.

“hands are a distraction.”

he ties your hands and pushes them above your and satoru’s heads as gojo sets a brutal pace – his hips are fucking in and out of you, frustratingly hitting your gummy spot every single time, making you scrunch your eyes and nose. his arms are snaked around your waist and boobs to keep you in place while using your leaking cunny however he wants. his thick tip is kissing your bundle of nerves, sending shivers all over your body – you can feel the tingling all the way in your fingertips and toes.

raven-haired man positions himself above you and satoru, taking off his pants and underwear and dropping them somewhere by the bed. you’re delirious from how gojo is rutting into you, calculated strokes of hips, so you don’t notice when geto is sliding his cock between your folds, massaging your throbbing clit with his tip. the sudden metal feel on your skin lights up your nerves with the delicious realization – geto has a king’s crown piercing.

“yeah, i thought you’d like that. acting all innocent when we’re around but this is what you actually do in your free time? disgusting.”

your cunt tightens around satoru’s cock at the words, making him chuckle.

“shit, you should’ve felt the way she just clenched around me. dirty slut likes it.”

geto slaps your clit with his cockhead, making you tremble; his piercing putting just enough additional stimulation, it starts sending you over the edge. gojo continues moving his hips but you can feel that he is losing his rhythm.

“shit, don’t know if i can hold on any longer.”

“that’s okay, i’ll fuck her hard enough for both of us.”

suguru continues giving you the pussy job, moving his leaking cock up and down in between your folds, playing with your sensitive nub with his tip, slapping it slightly just as satoru hits your special spot extra hard. gojo is panting and whining in your ear, scrunching his eyes as he spills his seed into you, milky spurts of cum painting your walls white.

“fuu-ck, ngghh, she feels so fucking good. such a good cunt,” satoru mumbles in a feverish pleasure. he keeps up the pace, fucking his cum back into you, making sure every last drop stays. geto is still playing with your clit, slow and purposeful circles, finally taking you over the edge.

the orgasm washes over you in waves, like a tsunami, it’s anticipated – yet you’re still drowning in it. your mouth hangs open, drool escaping the corners of it, and you shake in gojo’s arms. he pinches one of your nipples and you let out a painful moan, trying to squirm away. he’s still pulsating inside you, and the second wave of ecstasy makes your toes curl, fingernails digging into your own palms.

it’s repulsive how quickly they made you feel this good.

“common, give us one more.”

as you’re about to protest, satoru spreads your legs again, this time even wider, which allows suguru to start pushing in.

“no, no, satoru’s still inside me, it’s too much nnnggg!” you whine but neither of them are listening. gojo quickly shoves his fingers into your mouth, making you gag around them. you're left nothing but to obediently suck on them, making yourself drool.

“we told you we’ll fuck you however we want, didn’t we?”

your cunt obediently stretches out to accommodate geto’s thick cock. gojo moans behind you as he feels his best friend slide into the tight heat next to him – he’s sensitive from his orgasm, and contact with geto sends him into overstimulation.

you close your eyes as your tiny pussy is being deliciously torn by your roommates’ cocks. suguru buries himself all the way in one harsh stroke before starting to slide in and out of your sloppy pussy. the wet sounds of the mixed fluids, your and satoru’s cum leaking out of your abused hole, makes your cheeks burn yet it’s impossible to feel shame right now. god, it’s impossible to think when it feels this good.

satoru’s slender finger circles around your clit, glistening pearl beginning for attention. you whimper and whine at the added stimulation, and it’s all too much – your body not recovered fully from your previous orgasm – as it’s rushing towards another ecstatic relief. suguru keeps up his bruising pace, making satoru start moving his hips too as he’s hardening up again.

two men find the perfect rhythm almost immediately – it makes you think how many time they have done this before. while suguru is pushing in, satoru is pushing out and it almost feels like they are tearing you at the seams – and you’re thankful for it. gojo’s still rubbing your clit and geto’s cock is reaching all the right spots: when his piercing hits your spongy nerve bundles just at the right angle, your body is giving in. your shaking form is fully visible to camera, orgasm washing off you and making you tremble in satoru’s hold. both men cum in unison with you, and it’s vulgar and indecent, the concoction that they keep fucking in and out of your abused cunt.

the mix of your cum is dripping down your thighs, down satoru’s dick and his balls. the squelching sounds bounce around the room, and you’re shocked you can still feel shame. mixed fluids stick to your thighs as satoru moves you around, and you know the bedsheets are a total mess. god, you’re so tired, you just want to go to sleep now.

“hey hey, don’t go falling asleep on us now. it’s time for take 2.”

#꒰ྀི penned by ange ꒱ྀི #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #gojo x y/n #jjk x you #jjk smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo smut

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davidtennan-t · 2 months

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Genuinely haven’t seen any discussion about this little scene between the Doctor and Donna in the wild so imma start one

They share this look after the Doctor has his side rant about humanity (which I haven’t seen much discussion about either because my boy goes OFF) and then gives Kate permission to destroy the satellite

He looks completely grim and doesn’t focus on anyone else but Donna, even when Kate touches his arm and Mel tries to smile at him. Donna looks shocked and eventually looks away - it’s the first time we see Fourteen get properly angry so my initial thought was Donna’s reaction is her remembering how dark and truly intense the Doctor can be, but the more I watch it, the more I see a million things going on between them

Is the Doctor worried about Donna as things grow more serious and dangerous around them? Is it a look of apology? Is she feeling scared? DISCUSS 🙏🏻

#just curious as to what yall think #doctor who #donna noble #fourteenth doctor #fourteen x donna #the giggle

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starwrighter · 11 months

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A DpxDc prompt because I <3 all of you but am too shy to talk in the discord.

The Subnautica au I promised! (I might make two of them)

Okay, so Danny is around 14 or 15 in this. He is still a halfa but the portal has been temporarily closed for plot reasons. So the portal is closed and Danny has no clue what to do now. Due to the portal being closed Danny's grades have improved exponentially enough that he gets an work offer from Altera (ignore the child labor it's the Giw/Altera's shady business practices fault)

Danny is ecstatic because he's finally getting the opportunity to go to space! He knows if he waits the portal will be reopened and he'll never have a chance like this again so he takes it. In less than a month Danny has been trained and is shipped off to the Aurora. He's heading towards planet 4546b with very little information on the planet itself.

The crash happens and Danny doesn't use his powers to save the ship because something around the atmosphere was preventing full accessing his powers in full. Danny scrambles to the life pods and ends up being the only one in life pod five. The whole life pod scene happens with Danny being knocked out by the panel flying off the wall.

He wakes up with the life pod on fire and quickly uses what he can of his ice powers to put it out not realizing there's a fire extinguisher. Danny exits the life pod and realizes that a lot of people he talked to on the ship not even a day ago were probably dead. Judging by his inability to go ghost, he wouldn't be reuniting with them in the ghost zone any time soon.

He is devastated but goes about exploring and trying to find any other survivors. His hope of finding survivors near the crash zone dies when the ship explodes and starts leaking deadly radiation. Danny of course rushes to try and fix this. It's easier for him to get there because he can stay under water for an inhuman amount of time and has a built up immunity to radiation as a halfa.

Now to the DC part of this. Let's stick with only the batfam existing in this universe. The entire batfam are classified as leviathan's. All of them have two forms with one of said forms being semi humanoid mer like appearance. They are still pretty big in this form, think 7-8ft at the smallest (aka Damian) The other form is something I like to call

Big f-ken fish™

Which is full on terrifying reapers (we'll decide what each of the fam specifically look like later) and a lot of them are chilling in the crash zone when Danny is fixing the Aurora's reactor. Danny has not yet been spotted by the reapers.

Now they're already pissed off because a big arse ship just crashed into their planet and destroyed a great deal of it. They don't exactly know what a space ship is but they do know that the technology is advanced and the only thing remotely close on their planet is from the precursors who were a bunch of pricks.

Before the explosion the fam kept an eye on the weird creatures that crawled out of the metal eggs They watch them almost immediately start dying from predators or Kharaa. They were there when the ship exploded and started leaking radiation and killing the local wild life much to Damian's despair.

So the Fam are pretty pissed off at this point and are circling the ship. They immediately noticed when the ship stops leaking radiation and spot Danny swimming away from the reck quicker than any of the other ones that crawled out of the eggs.

Granted most of the other ones from the eggs immediately died and didn't have faces (the wet suits looked weird and Danny refuses to wear them no matter how much easier they would make things >:(

They start watching him because obviously there's something odd about this thing it looks kinda like a much smaller version of their smaller forms. Danny is getting pretty ticked off that his PDA keeps making false alarms of leviathan's. Duke, and tim are the ones monitoring Danny in the safe shallows. Jason and Dick in the crash zone. Barbra and Stephanie in the kelp forest. Cass and Bruce are patrolling the grassy plateaus.Damian is by himself at the quarantine gun/ sunbeam landing sight.

Danny sets up base near the quarantine gun™ because for some reason even though he's not infected he can't turn the damn thing off. So Damian is the only one currently capable of watching him. Damian has a theory that he 100% sure is correct. As a 1600 year old leviathan he's not a baby he's almost an adult and doesn't remember being a baby. This thing crawled out of an egg and is super tiny so it is obviously a baby and a very smart one at that. While it didn't have the claws, gills, tail, or scales they had it was super fast, could freeze things, had super strong hands despite looking dull and frail, it could take useless scraps and rocks and turn them into complex structures. It was obviously a new type of leviathan the ship carrying eggs. Danny was the smallest of the babies but he was also the strongest, and smartest; surviving long enough to have eyes and hair. This baby was young enough that he still needed to surface for air he needed to be protected.

Danny has no clue he's now being stalked by a group of reapers that decided he was their new baby brother/son

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc #dcxdp #anyone can add to this #this idea has a death grip on my soul and I have been waiting to rant about it for days!

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genericpuff · 1 month

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I really don't like how Melinoe looks like a female Hades with Persephone's pink eyes. It's too generic. Maybe keep her hair and eye colors, but maybe make her skin color a blend of both of them, like a muted purple/gray to contrast her with Dionysus? Anything other than what she has in canon.

What's wild is that the narrative is trying to convince us now that all of the dreams he had of him and Persephone were just peeks into the future. But if that's the case-

1.) Melinoe learns to communicate verbally at some point

2.) There's ANOTHER BABY we haven't even established yet (though Rachel did confirm in a tweet from ages ago that it's some god named Brimos who she read about in a book when she was a kid ???):

(but Brimo was an epithet associated with Hecate/Persephone/other gods of the dead, not necessarily an actual direct offspring of H x P, so... yeah, weird choice of a 'nod' especially now that she's trying to implement Hades' dreams into the plot as 'future sight' or w/e)

3.) All of the visions of their future together feature children that predominantly resemble Hades, not Persephone. This is really telling as to how much the relationship - both on a narrative level and even a visual one - revolves around Hades. Persephone is just an accessory, to the point that none of their children can resemble her in any major way, only through very miniscule references, such as the vines coming out of Melinoe's back and her pink eyes (whereas "Brimos" doesn't resemble her at all).

4.) This goes hand-in-hand with #3, but Dionysus and Thanatos are not present in any of these visions. I'm willing to give Thanatos a pass because he's an adult man (although it does just go to show how little Hades views him as a child), but what about Dionysus? Does his absence from these scenes tell us that Persephone found other accommodations for him? Or, more likely, is it because Rachel never planned to include Dionysus in the first place? And of course, Dionysus' design is also inherently linked to Hades, because while he has purple skin (referencing wine/grapes/etc.) he's got white hair that's explained as a genetic trait that's been passed down through Hades.

All that said, the baby plotlines in LO are a mess in and of themselves, and you can tell just how much of it revolves around Persephone "fixing" Hades or being the solution to all of his infertility and relationship problems. Persephone is the most perfect woman of all who Hades is dependant on to solve all of his problems, everything is about what she can provide him and what he can stand to gain from her, even if it means dragging her down to his level.

Man. Minthe was right.

(seriously in ANY other story this would have been FORESHADOWING-)

#ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything #anti lore olympus #lore olympus critical #lo critical

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1800jjbarnes · 1 year

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𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐌𝐲 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐲 | 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬

【Synopsis】 : Bunnies shouldn't be wondering on their own. A big bad wolf is stalking the forest, and he will do anything to protect what is his.

『Word count』 : 1.84k

Paring: Wolf!Alpha!Bucky x Bunny!Hybrid!Reader

[Warnings] : Blood, knife, reader gets cut, Bucky goes wild, lots of gore, cruel words, swearing. Bucky in a suit cause that is a warning on its one. Dirty talk. Harassment, sexualising. Abuse. Toxic friendships. Triggering scenes. John being a disgusting person.

✦ The ALPHA AND BUNNY Universe ✦ -> [Click Here]

Masterlist | Navigation

You were just doing your normal run. Grabbing supplies and then heading back to your cottage. You were rushing a little bit because you needed to still pack your things for the couple of nights you will be at the den. Bucky had begged you to come over to see his brothers, so tonight you finally agreed. You were excited but very nervous as well. So your best idea you could conger was to get some supplies for a calming medicine. It is a simple recipe to calm anything from overthinking thoughts to a shaking body. But what you didn't expect to see was an old face on your journey.

You stopped cutting the fungi, hearing the leaves and twigs snapping under the weight of someone's footing. You looked over to where the sound had come from while still crouching in front of the large elm tree. His smile caught you off guard. He has gotten bigger since you've seen him last. His pitch black ears stood straight up high, not even flopping as he tilted his head to the side.

"Funny seeing you here." His voice got deeper too. It's no longer the pitchy mismatch tone you remember. He aged the two years you've been gone. Well, out casted... you were stunned, to say the least. Standing up slowly, you dropped your items in the basket with caution. Your community was housed in the far east, almost two whole forestry's down. Why would he be this far out? Unless...

"Wolf, got your tongue?" He chuckled, taking a few steps towards you. Hairs on your body stood up straight as a bad feeling rushed into your gut. Even though he was a friend back then, he has become nothing more than a stranger now. He didn't stop or even fight to keep you in the community. All you can recall is seeing him watch from the sidelines as you were shunned out of the village. He was no friend to you.

"Why are you here?" You finally speak up, taking a step back from him. He watches you closely, moving in time with you. Until a tree stops your footing, making you unable to step away from him anymore.

"I thought you'd be more of, Hey it's so nice to see you. It's been ages. How have you been doing John? I'm fine y/n thanks for asking." His words got sharper as each one fell. He was annoyed at your hostility, getting tired of the way you are standing your guard up as if he was going to do something to you.

"Why are you here, John... What do you want?" You sounded more stern this time, trying to keep your ground. You weren't the little defenceless bunny anymore. You had a voice. Bucky helped you with that. John, however, didn't like this new you. You weren't mould-able anymore. He can't bend you like he used to.

"I see being around these flea-ridden pests has turned you sour. Where did your manners go..." He traps you against the tree and his large body. He looks you up and down, fingers grazing over your flopped fluffy ears. "Where did my innocent sweet puffball go?" He twists his fingers over your cottontail, tugging slightly, making you gasp out in disgust. His breath pooled on your cheek, his lips parting lightly as if he wanted to kiss you. You closed your eyes, waiting for the worst, but he pulled away entirely, sighing out while stretching.

"Come on, let's go to this cottage of yours while we wait." He picked up the basket you had dropped.

"Wait for what?" You instantly regretted asking once you hear him reply, your heart stopping at his words as your blood ran cold.

"You're coming home."

Time was ticking, and as the sun began to fade into the setting, Bucky's pacing became more prominent. Where were you? You said to meet at the bend where the water met the hill before the pack grounds, but you were nowhere to be seen. He's been waiting for around thirty minutes already. Something was wrong, and he could tell. His bond with you made his wolf scream out in pain. No, something was definitely off, and he needed to find you now.

"ARGH, how long does this take?" His annoyance is spilling out of his words. He just wanted this to be done. He didn't want to be around you any more than he had to, but he had to do it so he could finally get the title of knight back at the kingdom. You sat in the same spot for the past hour, watching John pace back and forth near the front door of your cottage. He was getting impatient, biting his nails in annoyance. You watched him, hugging yourself. Your breath was hitched. You weren't terrified of him, but fear-filled your senses at his restlessness. He started to become more and more driven by anger. He needed to be able to prove himself. So he can finally be put as a knight in their court. He needed to be better. And if it meant to hurt you, he'd do it. In truth, he might have been friends with you when you were young, but now all he sees is a stranger whenever your eyes meet. He was not the boy that used to play hide and seek with or play jumping Johns or run around the castle halls. He was nothing to you.

"J-John can we just tal—Shut up, will you? God" He is laced with venom, swinging his pocket knife around his fingers as he sat down at your dining table. You straighten yourself, gulping slightly, watching him in the next room slowly slip more and more into impatience.

"Why do they want me back? It's been years." You try pushing your luck again, asking him an array of questions, in hopes it might gift you knowledge, but as he racks his finger through his dark hair, you know all you're doing is pushing his buttons until he snaps.

"Can't you just sit there and not talk like you used to, huh? God being around that animal and his friends really made you so dumb." He stood up, turning his back to you to look out the window. You felt hurt, anger even. You were scared, but not scared enough to push your luck.

"Mate...." He turned his head, with an eyebrow raised. At your sudden bold tone, "Bucky is my mate... not some animal." A growl buried in your chest. Maybe the wolves have brushed off on you.

"M-mate? Wow, that is by far the most disturbing thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth." Displeasure boiled on his tongue as he stood up tall, walking towards you. Your eyes widened at his sudden movements, crawling back onto the couch further and further, trying to get more distance from him. He knelt down right in front of you, pointing his knife in your direction, tilting his head along with the blade.

"You are so delusional, you know that. Soulmates? Mates? Bonds? Wolves just use that excuse to fuck one another. You know that, right? He probably saw you and thought, this little.." He leant closer, "Innocent..." His breath brushed on your cheek. "Bunny..." The tip of his knife grazed your upper thigh. "Looks so fuckable. I'm going to take her and make her my fuck toy." The knife sliced your thigh drawing blood immediately as he pulled away chuckling. His back straightens up as he looks down on you.

"That's what you are, aren't you? His stupid little sex toy. A slut for his own pleasure and here I thought you'd grow up to be a smart independent rabbit, but look at you now." He spat at you, some of it landing on your shorts as you hissed in pain from the cut. Your hand tried its best to keep the wound from opening but it was no use, blood was painting your couch, thigh and clothes. You become frozen, tears pooling in your eyes. You knew for a fact his words weren't true, but they still hurt you. He knew nothing of Bucky, nothing of his romantic tropes and loving nature. He didn't know anything about your mate, but the depiction he strode out made your heart shatter.

"You know, screw—" Before he could finish his sentence, the front door bursts open with a very sweaty, hot, and angry Bucky in its frame. John shivered slightly. All his talk might mean one thing, but seeing an actual wolf was another.

"Want to finish that sentence, John?" Bucky's voice was low, lower than you've ever heard it. His eyes were crimson, the gold only a small detail in his red pools.

"H-How do you know my name?" John answered with a question, his ears flopping down as a dead give away he was becoming frightened. If it was one thing you remembered about John, it was he was all bark and no bite. Pun intended. Bucky tilted his head, a snapping sound echoing from it as he cracked the plate in his spine. His hands pulled at his black suit cuffs, straightening his blazer upon his deep maroon blouse that hid underneath.

"I know a lot about you. You be surprised how much I know about my darlings kingdom. Every rabbit, where they live. Even where the king and queen, their parents." He pointed with anger in his tone at you. "Where they rest their little heads at night." He stepped forward, deeper into the room when a horrid smell, a smell he wishes never to smell from you. Blood. His eyes grazed your body, seeing your hand still holding the flesh wound, hot blood slipping through the cracks of your fingers.

That's it all terms of charisma, composure and sense of calmness goes out the window. Looking at you one last time, his eyes meet Johns in pure red rage. John gulps, knowing what Bucky was looking at, but before he can even think about getting his was out of it, Bucky moved faster than anything he could see, pining John to the nearest wall by the throat. His fingers pinch down on his windpipe, and Bucky's teeth are bared.

"You should have really thought before you touched what is mine." Bucky's words rang in John's ears as he screamed out within the second, feeling his neck being pierced by sharp talon-like teeth. His flesh was ripped away in one motion, like a butter knife cutting through soft cream. James spat out the flesh along with the blood that had mixed with his saliva, dropping John to the ground, where he quickly grabbed his neck, gasping for air.

"You think we are animals. Being compelled by the need to hunt our prey..." He crouched down, becoming eye level with the dying rabbit. "If that's so true, then I guess this makes you my prey..."

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freebirdsworldburritos · 3 months

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The classism in the "music gear" scene is fucking atrocious. So many people will shit on other people for using affordable gear as a way to justify within themselves that dropping $3,000 on a guitar was a smart financial move.

About 3-4 years ago I joined a band and a month after I joined we went on some video podcast. Play a few songs, do an interview, something I've never done before but it seemed like it'd be fun.

I wasn't able to really get a word in during the interviews (stuttering/speech impediment/anxiety issues ran wild) but I was able to speak up whenever the host went around and asked us what our favorite instrument/gear brands were. Weird question, but alright buddy.

I've always been a fan of cheaper gear. You don't need all sorts of expensive shit to get the sound you want. So when he asked my answer was "Squier" and the dude just started laughing. Because who possibly would prefer one of the cheaper brands??? (Keep in mind this douche had a whole wall of the absolute worst looking collection of custom shop BC Rich guitars you've ever seen.)

Eventually he backed down once I started arguing with him about it, but his immediate elitist attitude really struck a cord in me because I see that shit all over the internet in music communities. "Oh you only like Squiers/Epiphones/Harley Bentons because you can't afford BIG BOY guitars like a $5,000 Gibson".

Fuck right off with that shit. Why would I pay thousands of dollars for a guitar when I can get something that works amazingly for me for just a few hundred dollars? The extra money I save by not dropping 4 figures on a guitar or amp goes towards paying my bills, feeding my kids, just trying to fucking live and exist.

At this point I've had to sell 99% of my music gear after over a decade of following the gear chase. I only have a "cheap" acoustic I bought several years ago for $350 and it's the best guitar I've ever had. I love my little busted neck Hummingbird to death.

I'm much happier now than I was when I had a huge assortment of pedals and guitars to choose from. The Gear Chase is designed to make you want to spend more and more money in an endless pursuit of finding that "perfect" piece of gear. Guitar companies, partnered youtubers, influencers, and all sorts of advertisement campaigns are purposefully trying to misguide you into thinking you NEED their product. It's marketing and capitalism at work and so many musicians fall for it every time. I fell for it for years before I got completely fed up with it.

Go out and gig with your Squier Bullet Strat and a cheap amp you found at a pawn shop, fuck anyone that gives you shit for it. Go ahead and record with whatever you have at your disposal. Put out an album that's comprised of Voice Memos you recorded on your phone with just an acoustic and your voice.

Music, like any art, is about way more than what you used to get there. It's how you express yourself that really matters. Don't listen to the elitists and marketers telling you the only way you can authentically reach your creative vision is by buying their snake oil.

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nomazee · 1 year

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pry your way in

sebastian (sdv) x gn reader

word count: 4.7k (oh my god)

content: mutual pining, ROMANTIC TENSION, aggressive pining on the reader’s part, do they kiss or do they not, social anxiety (can u TELL), embarrassing situations, comedy (maybe) (hopefully) (maybe you’ll get a little giggle out of this and swing your feet around), so much build up, the slowest burn you could possibly get in under 5k words

notes: oh HEY guys so i went crazy again and i don’t think i’ve ever written so much in one sitting. this is insane. look at what this game has done to me.

part 1 part 2 (you are here) part 3

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All you need to do is drop off these stupid eggs in Gus’s fridge. That’s it. In and out and then you can go home and pretend that you did not stare at Sebastian for almost an entire straight minute in the doorway of the saloon.

He’s too busy playing pool, you think, and from the brief (many) glances you’ve taken at them, it looks like he’s pretty close to beating Sam. Your heart goes out to the blonde. One day, for sure, he’ll be able to get more than three balls in an entire game against Sebastian.

The fridge door is open now. No one notices you except for Emily, who gives you a kind nod and a smile. You don’t know if you should be upset by the fact that no one really talks to you whenever you go to the saloon unless you talk first, or if you should be incredibly relieved. It’s leaning to the latter, because you don’t think you could handle being looked at right now especially by Sebastian because good god the jellyfish thing was so embarrassing and you really hope he’s forgotten about it because oh my god you actually almost puked all over his shoes and what is wrong with you and—

“Farmer!” Oh god. It’s a woman’s voice. It’s Abigail, and despite the fuzz in your mind you can tell by the timbre of her voice and the fact that the shout came from over by the pool table. You managed to get two eggs in the container in the fridge before being ousted. Good job. You hope Gus’ extreme ginormous 24-egg omelet is worth all of this.

If you tried really hard, you could have played it off as if you didn't hear her at all. But then she’s walking over to you and you hear her footsteps and they’re light, friendly. Unfortunately, that does nothing to stop you from freezing up and feeling every individual cell in your body go taut.

Maybe she’s going to kill you, or something, because maybe you did actually puke all over Sebastian’s sneakers nights before this and your mind just blocked it out. Oh god. Well, this town was nice while it lasted. You hope they’ll bury you in a nice spot out of courtesy.

Turning to face Abigail, you manage to give her a shaky sort of grin and wave. “Oh. Hey. I didn't know you were here.” You are such a liar. And a bad one, probably.

“Yeah! Me and Sam and Sebastian.” You nod at that. A pause, and then, “Hey, are you busy tonight? We were wondering if you wanted to join us. We’re playing pool, but— um, it’s mainly just those two playing. They’ve got a rivalry going on.”

She looks back at them and watches, amused, and you do the same for a moment. Sam is in the middle of making some big joke-y scene, throwing his head back and groaning and swatting at Sebastian while the other man just barely ducks away from his attacks. They’re laughing, and elbowing each other and you look away before either of them notice that you’re watching with the intensity of a wild deer.

“Oh, I don’t know. Thank you. I don’t want to come if not everyone wants me to join.”

“Everyone does,” Abigail tells you, and she’s really telling you. With purpose. There is something in her eyes. Something imploring and meaningful and her lips are quirking up in some pretty and teasing smile, and you’re wondering what’s so different about the way Pelican Town people are raised to make them carry so much weight in their eyes. So much weight that it makes you dizzy. And nauseous. And now maybe you’ll puke on Abigail’s shoes, instead.

“Okay.” It comes out as a whisper from your shaky mouth. She only smiles brighter at you. You register that you’re still behind Gus’s counter and there are drinks being shaken and poured just steps behind you. “Okay, I’ll be over in a second.”

Great, she tells you, and then she’s turning around and walking away with a little jump and you might throw up because why did you agree to this? You did not plan on talking to people this evening. Not at all. And you’re wishing so hard that you had just dropped these eggs off in the morning. This is the type of stuff that happens when you don't just drop eggs off in the morning. Just your luck.

You shake your head, as if maybe it’ll rattle your senses into being ready to spectate a pool game and talk with people for at least half an hour. And Sebastian. You don’t think you could handle the intensity of just sitting next to him. You might throw up again. All over the pool cues and the fuzzy cloth of the pool table. And maybe Sam’s shoes. Everyone’s shoes are getting thrown up on this week.

Eventually, you make the walk out from the counter and consider just leaving through the door and telling Abigail later on that you just felt sick and needed to go home. It wouldn’t be a lie. You are a person of half-truths, most definitely.

But you don’t, because you like Abigail and you want her to like you too. By the look of everything she’s done for you, you’re fairly certain that she does like you, or at least more-than-tolerates you, and you would like to keep it that way instead of burning down all of your Stardew Valley relationships in a slow, painful fire. (And okay, yes, maybe it’s a benefit that she’s friends with Sebastian. So what.)

You blink. You’re in front of the three of them. Abigail and Sam are smiling at you and Sebastian is giving you a look. What is it with the people in this valley and their looks?! You have yet to be able to decode any of them. This is rough. So rough. You’re falling back into the uncomfortable feeling of otherness. Of just-barely-not-fitting. Like squeezing between a desk and a wall. Every other day you are walking through just fine, and the other days you are squeezing between this town and the people and everything you have yet to learn.

You might puke. You’re not making it out of this saloon alive.

“Hey, farmer!” Sam greets you, and your chest is struck with endearment over how everyone calls you farmer. Maybe it’s just because they forgot your name, but you can’t seem to mind it at all. “Are you joining us?”

“Oh, just for a bit,” you tell him. You can’t help the smile that takes over your face, warmed and sheepish. “And then I should go. But I’m a big fan of watching you guys argue over pool. Really, it’s very captivating.”

Abigail chortles, taking pleasure in the playful sarcasm you’ve adapted to. When Sam and Sebastian both follow suit in their own little laughs, your defensive habits slip away the slightest bit. And you can’t seem to find it in you to hold onto them.

“Less of an argument and more of a…” Sebastian pauses with a teasing glance at his friend. Your heart stops for no reason other than you being stupid and in love, and it only chokes you up when he directs his stupid stupid pretty eyes right at you. “More of Sam being a sore loser. It’s an easy win on my part, really.”

A snicker escapes you, undignified in how easily you let it out and how it threatens to reverberate against the walls of the game room. You’re holding onto yourself for dear life, trying to ground yourself in some attempt to maybe keep some of your dignity before it’s worn away through the course of the evening.

But Sebastian has this prideful simper on his face and it’s like he’s happy to make you laugh. Maybe it’s the loving delusions running through your head. But you let yourself dream, just for a minute.

Stupid boy. The urge to kiss him is slowly hurtling its way through your entire system, and it’s starting with your respiratory tract judging by the way you can’t seem to catch a breath. Stupid. Boy.

“You can sit down, you know,” and he nods his head to the pair of chairs behind him. “Stay a while.” His eyes are filled with a stupid teasing glimmer and you might pull him aside just to kiss that expression right off his face.

You won’t. Obviously. Because look at what happened last time you let your inhibitions run free. (Absolutely. Nothing.)

Maybe I will, you want to say, stay a while. Maybe I’ll stay forever.

You take a seat, and Sebastian is still leaning against the table with his pool cue in hand. He is looking at you, hesitant, with his mouth slightly open like he wants to say something. Before he can, Abigail interrupts.

“Wait, let me take over for you!” She says, rushing forward to steal the cue from him. “I want to play! You guys, like, totally monopolize the table every time we’re here.” Abigail’s eyes flit to Sebastian, then to you, and she continues, “Next time, let’s just play the two of us. You and me, farmer.”

There’s another big, stupid smile stretching your face taut and you hope none of them notice your cracked, drying lips. They’re peeling open from how much you’re grinning tonight and how much you’re not moisturizing them. “Of course.”

Sebastian is left with nothing in his hands once Abigail turns to aim her cue and hit the white ball (poorly) in an attempt to keep up Sebastian’s winning streak. With her and Sam occupied, you are left with the black haired man standing aimless in front of you. Again. And his eyes are trailing you, with purpose and a goal to speak. Again.

You throw his words back at him with, “Well, sit down. Stay a while.” And he does. And your stupid mind is wondering if maybe him following you so easily means something. Stupid stupid.

“How’s, um. Your stomach,” he asks, stunted pauses littering his voice as he tries his best to look at you. You don’t know what he’s talking about, and it must show on your face because he’s clarifying, “From the ceremony last week. I haven't seen you since then so I figured you must’ve been sick.”

Sebastian is prying. Not in his words, but in the way he’s looking at you. Really, really looking, and this feels like a repeat of last week and you are reliving a million and one things that you would rather never relive again.

Your palms are suddenly cold and you’re avoiding his gaze, body stiff with guilt. You’d been avoiding him for a week and you honestly hadn’t even noticed. It was like a subconscious response to humiliating yourself in front of the pretty boy that you’ve liked for weeks now. You hope he doesn’t blame you for that, somehow.

“Right. Um, I was fine. I’m fine now, I mean. I turned out fine. Sorry for all of that,” your feet are shuffling against the ground and you drag patterns into your pants to comfort yourself. “It was kind of embarrassing. To have you walk me home and then suddenly get sick. I really am sorry for that.”

“Don’t even worry about it.” There’s a sureness in his voice. When you find the courage in your lungs to turn and look at him, you’re met with a furrowed brow and steady eyes. It’s overwhelming you with ten different feelings, many of which are yelling at you to KISS HIS STUPID FACE. “Seriously. It wasn’t embarrassing, either. Things happen. I’m just glad you’re okay, now.”

Sebastian ends it with another one of his chest-aching, brain-melting, palm-sweating smiles and he’s doing that stupid thing with the corners of his mouth. He probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it, and that’s what frustrates you the most. Maybe you should tell him, but he would take it the wrong way and stop doing it and you wouldn’t survive without seeing that stupid smile. As much as it makes you want to tear your hair out if you look at it for too long.

You give him a firm nod. The rest of the night is easy conversation. You have one drink. Really, you make sure of it, because you haven’t gotten intoxicated in months and you really don’t want to see what drunk-you does in Stardew Valley in front of the sweet townspeople and the stupid pretty man in front of you. Said stupid-pretty-man follows suit, only having a pale ale and indulging in shirley temples for the rest of the night. (You punch yourself for finding it endearing that he likes such a sweet drink. Urgh.)

It feels like a parallel universe of the Moonlight Jellies celebration of last week. One where you are a much less awkward person (but, really, there’s just barely a difference between now and before), and where you offer to walk him home instead of the other way around. Your stupid infatuated heart skips a stupid beat when you ask him if you can walk him back, but it quells when he gives you an easy smile and agrees. You pointedly ignore the voice in your head telling you that he sounds almost enthusiastic.

Sam and Abigail wish you goodnight, and they’re both beaming at you in a silly way that makes you follow suit. Giggles bubble in your chest and you don’t even know why. You think they must just have those kinds of personalities, and you really couldn't be more happy to seep into it.

You don’t hold Sebastian’s hand on the way back. Not at all. In fact, you don’t even feel the urge to. You totally, totally don’t look at his hand swaying between you and fight the instinct to grab it and trace your fingers across his palm lines and the dips of his knuckles and all the scars he’s collected in his youth. You. Do not. Feel that way at all.

It’s easy conversation, yet again. It’s almost impressive how, even with how easily you seem to do the most mortifying, awkward things in front of Sebastian, you still slip into moments with him where you can talk like you’ve known each other forever. God. Something about this town. You can’t tell if you want to catch the next operable bus out of here or stay here forever. You feel that way often, actually.

Before you know it, you’ve cut through the city and ended up in the mountains and in front of his house. The lights are off. It must be super late, then, if everyone’s dead asleep like that.

Crickets chirp and buzz in the air. You and Sebastian stop walking in the middle of the large dirt patch that takes up his front yard. Now, you’re looking at each other, and he’s giving you his awkward stupid gorgeous downward grin. You hope that you’re giving him something at least half as pretty, with the way you feel your lips stretch and crack again. You really need to get lip balm from Pierre’s.

“It’s so late,” you mutter, because you don’t know what else to say and your heart is melting and slipping right out of your chest and onto the soil. “I guess I should go home.”

You hope—cross-your-fingers-say-a-prayer type of hope—that he hears the hesitancy in your voice. That he realizes you don’t want to leave. That he sees the fondness in your eyes and how you’re trying to soften every defense mechanism you’ve ever learned in order to pry into him, now. And you hope. Cross your fingers and say a prayer. That he wants that, too.

He hums a thoughtful, quiet sort of hum. Sebastian doesn’t move towards the door, or bid you a goodnight, or nod along and tell you he’ll see you another day. He waits. He is looking at you and prying you open and trying to gauge your reaction. To what, you don’t know, but there’s a static feeling in your head that tells you to wait and find out.

“Right,” he says finally. His voice and his mouth curl carefully around the word, and it’s there again—the pauses, the hesitancy. You see your habits in him and you are aching with the need to find out what he means. What this all means. And you’re feeling stupid, and so you wait, too.

“I think I feel bad leaving you to walk home,” Sebastian tells you. He’s speaking slowly, but not in a degrading way. It feels more like he wants the words to float to you and sink into the pores of your skin. And they do. They do, and it’s embarrassing, because now you’re sweating and hoping (again) that it doesn’t show on your face or your hands or the twisting of your fingers. “This is really far from the farm, you know.”

“I think I would know,” you respond, teasing and lighthearted and acting like there isn’t a saturated yearning weighing down your body right now. “I can manage. I’ve been in the mines, you know. Seen all the monsters down there and everything.”

He lets out a stupid breathy laugh and shakes his head. You hate how he acts so nonchalant, like it’s not obvious that you’re fighting the instinct to pick him up and shake him around like a bobblehead until his skull pops right off his neck. “Right, because there’s totally monsters down there.”

“There are! You can come with me one day. I’ll prove it to you.” And it’s risky, to entertain that kind of thing, the concept of you two spending time together alone, where no one can see. Sebastian takes that as a challenge, apparently, because the diffident tilt of his lips turns smug and he’s saying,

“Then maybe you’ll sleep over one day.”

Stttttupid boy. He’s stupid. The stupidest man you’ve ever met because now you’re really, really holding onto every last shred of your self-control. The thought of you in his house, with you both sleeping in the same twenty-foot-radius of space is making you heat up more than the valley’s summer sun. A frog croaks in a nearby bush. Nausea pools in your intestines.

And you’re a terrible person, really, because even though you’re sweating and lightheaded from the heat you’re entertaining the thought of you both sleeping in the same bed. And it’s ridiculous. Really. You’re both adults who are perfectly capable of sleeping in the same bed without it meaning anything. Any particle of logic that enters your brain is vaporized by the heat of it. Your stomach is twisting and you swallow around the lump in your throat.

He’s watching you. Still watching. Waiting for something to happen. The look he’s giving you is bordering on defensive, as if he’s anticipating a rejection. Stupid man. By now, he should realize you’re not prone to giving him rejections, of all people.

“Maybe I will.” By some grace of whatever higher power is listening, you choke out the last puddles of your strength into a hopefully-confident tone of voice and the last words you have left in you for the night. It’s not a rejection. You hope he understands that. And he does. Oh, he has to understand what you mean by now, because he’s biting his lips and still. Looking at you. And waiting. All he does is wait. And you glance down and see his hands twitching at his sides. And you are going to do something. Something.

Oh, god. You’re thinking, Oh, okay, this is what this is, and he’s doing his stupid smile and the corners of his lips tuck in and you’re staring at them again. Really, really staring at them. You hope he notices. Your fingers are twitching now, too, almost aching with the need to hold something—to hold him and his twitching hands and spin them around in yours like a fingertrap. You want to get stuck and woven together, just for a moment. An aching, hurting, burning, devastating moment.

It’s all you want. It’s all you’ve wanted for weeks now. And there’s a heat in your chest and your fingers and your head. Fingers twitching, eyes unblinking, and hands sweating; you wait. Wait for him to come closer. For him to do. Something. Soon.

It’s an impossible task for you. You are not one for initiative. Never have been, not since you left your stupid office job and took up your place on this stupid farm and fell in love with this stupid man. Initiative is a daunting, horrifying, overwhelming concept, and all of your ambition has been drained from you ever since you planted your first parsnip in the ground.

But but but. And this is how it always goes with you and Sebastian. But but but. There’s something about tonight. Something about tonight and the last week and the week before and the seasons before this that have carved this open wound into the middle of your diaphragm. Without even knowing it, Sebastian has clawed his way between your lungs and made an uneasy home in your heart. It’s disgusting, and maybe you’ll cough up all this adoration right on the doormat of his family’s house.

How long has it been? How long have you both been standing here like idiots and waiting and breathing and staring? How long? You are asking yourself too many stupid questions. Initiative. You think of it again—and now your hands are on Sebastian’s shoulders and you don’t have half the mind to wonder when you stepped closer.

You are not slow in your movements. Not at all. You are urgent and desperate and aching, but you give just enough time for him to pull away. In the back of your head, you wish that he’ll pull back and leave you empty and cold. But there is a warmth seeping through the cloth of his hoodie and tonight, you are stupid.

You’re staring for just a moment before you close your eyes and surge forward slow enough for him to stop you, but fast enough that he won’t get the chance to look at your embarrassing, longing, yearning face before you kiss him.

Because that’s it. You’re kissing him. You’re kissing him, with your hands gripping his shoulders with bruising strength, and with your feet planted into the ground to stop yourself from either floating or flinging yourself into the lake. You’re kissing him. And he’s not pulling away. And his hands reach to touch your elbows gently. For a moment, you think he’ll shove you down and run away, but his fingers are tapping along your arms, leaving a buzz in your bones and your head and your heart.

You. Are kissing him. You are. You fucking. Did it. Joy floods your buzzing body and you hope he can’t hear how loud your skull is vibrating, how intensely your chest is rattling. Or how heavy your hands have become on his shoulders and how much you’re pushing back against him to get further, to pull him into you and you into him and pour in everything you’ve ever felt straight to his lungs. You’re kissing him.

And he’s warm. So warm. Unexpectedly so, and you feel your entire body heat up in innocent adoration and you want his fingers to curl around your forearms and ground you. His hands shift, and for a minute you think he might pull away, but now he’s dragging his fingers in small paths up your arm, above your elbow and brushing your shoulders. Ggggggggod. God. You’re gonna scream into his mouth and slap him. Stupid man.

In reality it lasts for a second, but the rush of feelings and thoughts and screams and cries that overwhelms your body makes it feel like it’s an hour. (At least ten minutes, maybe.) You wonder how he feels. You wonder if he’s trying to pour everything into you through this, too; or if maybe, he’s a normal fucking human being who is just kissing you to kiss you without all the grandeur and flourish and waxing poetic. Unbothered, you realize you won’t mind regardless of which it is.

Your eyes are closed, and you hope his still are, too, because if he opens them and sees you you might throw up all over him. For the fortieth time this week.

“Sebas— oh!”

And. There’s a voice and a distressed exclamation. It’s Robin. Holy shit. It is his mother.

The man you just spent an hour kissing (read: five seconds max) takes a moment to realize what just happened. You, on the other hand, have a ridiculous supercomputer in your head and you have long since figured out what just happened. You cannot believe this. This is embarrassing. A trip back to Zuzu City is well deserved now.

“I’m— so sorry. Oh goodness.” Robin is being way too polite. You’d thought for sure she would’ve yelled at you and banned you from coming to the mountains ever again. You already kissed goodbye to both Sebastian (literally) and your mining career. And half your fishing career.

Sebastian’s face is flooded in color. It’s soaked in red and radiating heat that you can feel even with the ten-foot distance you had placed between yourselves. He’s not looking at you or his mother, eyes instead fixed on the patch of torn up dirt behind you.

Finally, you process that Robin is the one apologizing to you, which is ridiculous and you wish she would’ve just pushed you into the river and screamed at you instead. You wish these people would’ve been a lot meaner to you already, and then maybe you would have never worked up the gall to kiss the man you’re stupidly in love with and cause this whole ordeal.

“I’m so sorry,” and you’re the one saying it this time. You turn to look at Robin fully and resist the urge to fall to your knees and beg for her forgiveness. Tonight, you committed a mortal sin—giving her son a big fat heart-stopping kiss on the mouth right in front of their house—and you can only be forgiven by death, and death alone.

There’s a confused look in her eyes, almost worried, and you think you might be actually shaking enough to launch yourself into the stratosphere like a space cannon. Instead, you channel the energy into completely turning yourself around and running away from the both of them.

Disastrous. This night has been disastrous. You would’ve rather actually puked on everyone’s shoes instead of going through whatever the hell that was. You’re never going to catch a break in this stupid town with these stupid people and stupid Sebastian and his too-sweet-for-her-own-good mom.

When you get home, you’re panting in exhaustion from sprinting across the valley, and your nerves and head are still buzzing and your lips are still warm from Sebastian’s being completely and willingly planted on them for about ten whole seconds. Your brain is too fried and melted to even consider the implications of everything you both just did, but you can’t seem to care.

You’re embarrassed. Wholly and utterly humiliated, and for a moment you cross your fingers and pray to whoever will listen that you won’t be a topic of discussion during Robin and Sebastian’s family dinner with everyone else.

You take a moment to catch your breath (an impossible thing) and finally collapse into your bed. You’re staring at your ceiling for what feels like hours, but you have a very poor sense of time and don’t trust that judgment at all. Everything settles in your head like mud shaken in a jar of water. And you smile. Dear god. Despite it all, you’re smiling and giddy and laughing to yourself, riding a high of schoolgirl-type-infatuation and post-kiss-adrenaline the weird, cruel excitement of the night.

You kissed him. You kissed Sebastian. You. Fucking. Did it.

The rest can be worried about tomorrow. Or maybe the day after that. Maybe even never, because you are absolutely going to avoid everyone and move in with the wizard instead, living in isolation for the rest of your life. But for now. You swing your feet and giggle like a twelve-year-old and replay the kiss in your head. Over and over. Like a sleep aid. You fucking did it.

#stardew valley x reader #sdv x reader #sebastian x reader #sebastian sdv x reader #sebastian stardew valley x reader #stardew x reader #stardew valley fanfic #sebastian sdv fanfic #sebastian stardew valley fanfiction #sdv x player #sebastian x player #sdv x farmer #stardew valley x player #stardew valley x farmer #sebastian x farmer #stardew valley #AAAAA I DID IT

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luveline · 8 months

Note

what about reader being stressed and feeling really bad due the amount of blood and how wild the murder happened in a mission and hotch comforts her?? i really love your work and i hope you write but of course it's okay if you are not comfortable with it!! though i crave some hurt/comfort right now 🥹 take care, we love you 🫶🏻🫶🏻

ty for requesting, i love u! fem!reader

You're used to depravity, but the body cannot truly desensitise itself from carnage. You shouldn't know the inside of a person like that, shouldn't be able to pinpoint gore with the accuracy of a mortician. You feel sick knowing what was supposed to be where. Enough blood to kick down the door and have it flood the hallway, stain your shoes with a permanent rust.

You turn away from the scene, sirens and shouting white noise, and leave blood footsteps like a breadcrumb trail down the paving stones, huge slabs of white grey printed by wet soles. You're just past the red flash of the ambulances when you freeze, your legs won't carry you. You've no choice but to sit down hard in the road.

There's just blood everywhere. No metaphor to soften the blow, no explanation. There was blood everywhere in the crime scene and it took less than ten minutes inside of it to be plastered with it too.

Blood and cold floor. The road is cold, maybe wet, seeping into your trousers. You put your hand down and feel the dirty bite of it pressing into your palm.

Considering his duties, Hotch finds you quickly. You'd know him from presence alone, but hiding hand is familiar on your back. He crouches down behind you.

"What's wrong?" he asks, second hand curling around your shirt. "You can't sit here. Can I help you up?"

You manage to get to your feet by yourself. Hotch walks you to a car like you're injured, leaning you against the hood. "What's wrong?" he asks.

You shake your head. This isn't some slasher flick where the blood is sugar syrup and everyone goes home, this is your life, that was somebody's life, and to be killed in such a violent way… nobody deserves that. Your arms twist around your stomach as your stomach twists into itself, churning.

Hotch watches you severely. Anyone might think he was pissed with your behaviour, but he isn't like that. He's probably pissed he can't immediately fix the problem, arms crossed against his chest, the font of his SWAT vest glaringly white. He's neat and official as always, but there's blood on his shoes.

You try to talk and it's like your lips are gummed shut, a hum with nothing intelligible as you lean forward.

Hotch gives in. He breathes out, the barest ghost of his cologne distracting you from the smell of rust as he wraps his arms around your shoulders. You curl your fingers into the strap of his vest, quick to press your face into his side, wherever you can that's softest.

"I know," he says quietly, his arms tightening around you. The slide of his sleeves against your shirt, the sound that it makes, feels loud as a bell.

You hadn't realised you were shaking. Hotch tries to wring it out of you one steady stroke of his hand at a time. You can imagine his viewpoint, your feeble position on the car and the white washed crime scene behind you. They'll be setting up the flood lights and taking photographs soon enough, no bodies to lay to rest, only gore to wash away.

"I didn't think we could save them," you confess into his shirt, ashamed.

When he replies, it's measured, as though he's thought about his response carefully in little time. "That's realistic. This case has been… heavy from the beginning."

Heavy isn't the word he would usually choose. He's talking to you, he knows exactly how you're feeling because he knows you well, and cares about you more, if his cheek pressed to your temple is anything to go off of. "I have to go coordinate," he says, his thumb rubbing with pressure into your shoulder blade, "I'm sorry. I'll get Reid to come sit with you in the SUV… Y/N, listen to me…" Hotch leans back, meeting your eyes. "There was nothing more we could do. I'm confident that you performed to the best of your ability. This outcome– this isn't what anyone wanted, and I'm sorry we couldn't fix it this time."

"I just don't get how you can do that to another person," you say. Why you'd want to. You're a profiler, and you know a wealth of information about what makes certain people act as they do, but you still can't empathise with the killer. It's too much; it's beyond explanation.

"That's a good thing." His hands squeeze the tops of your arms. "It is."

You look down at his shirt collar, thinking you probably don't deserve his comforting. This is your job, and tonight you couldn't do it. "Sorry I– I freaked out. I shouldn't have walked away."

"That's a good thing, too, in a way."

He offers you a small smile. You can't smile back, but Hotch doesn't mind, his hands falling down the lengths of your arms. His fingers tangle momentarily with yours.

Reid comes around to sit with you when Hotch leaves. He probably wouldn't have needed telling, your friend's hand curling over your shoulder protectively.

"You okay?" he asks.

You watch Hotch lead his jurisdiction of operations. Things aren't okay, you're far from it, but you trust that it'll get better with Hotch at the helm. Still, a bitter taste lingers.

"They won't be," you say, nodding to the crowd of people behind the rapidly erected barricade. At the very front is someone's mom.

"Not for a while." Spencer tries to lighten the mood, throwing you a life jacket. "You're his favourite, you know?"

You recall the subtle strength of Hotch's arms around you, the lean length of his torso and the warmth of his breath as he'd spoken in your ear. Without trying for it, your pulse calms. Your despair dulls to an ache.

"You think so?" you ask.

Hotch looks in your direction, checking on you. Spencer nods. "Definitely." He has a list of interrelated BAU statistics to prove it.

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