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chouxsardine · 4 months

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Mariner's Complex -- Jake Kiszka x reader

Summary: "Look for the lighthouse when you are lost, it will always bring you home. May the light in your soul guide you, may the love in your heart keep you strong." -- Jake is nervous before going on stage. You know just the right way to calm his nerves.

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word Count: 2532

Warnings: 18+! minors be gone, mention of alcohol, mention of anxiety, public sex, unprotected penetrative sex, soft Jake (please let me know if I missed any!)

Genre: Smut, hurt/comfort (kind of)

Author's note: This piece is inspired by the gif above. I am smitten upon seeing it. This is my first time writing smut. It's about vulnerability, about receiving and giving love, lots of love. It is my fictional way of hoping that Jake is reminded of being one of the best guitarists out there and that he is loved by us. Deepest thanks to the wonderful @sacredjake for beta reading and for inspiring and encouraging me to pick up writing and post this. Please do yourself a favor and read her works; they're awesome beyond words. Enjoy!!

🎧: songs that pair nice with this piece: Lost at Sea by Lana Del Rey and Rob Grant; Mariners apartment complex by Lana Del Rey (can you tell I'm bad at titles now?)

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There’s just something about the air in the stadium before the concert; it feels like with every inhale, it immediately turns into adrenaline. With its graininess accentuated, one can almost sense the atoms buzzing in the air, like a shoal of sardines forming a bait ball, enclosing him, a cyclone where he is the eye. Is this what Josh means when he writes “carbon dancing through time” ?

His mind is racing a million miles a second; it’s like hoping onto a car with broken brakes, he’s bound to hit something in the hazardous terrain——

Knock knock. “Jake?”

As if someone pulled the switch, he is snapped back to reality. He immediately recognizes the voice of his lover. The sweetest sound in the world. His shoulder visibly relaxes, the corner of his mouth turning up, and his heart feels tender. He has always appreciated this—forever so considerate and thoughtful, always respecting his privacy even though they have already been together for so long.

“Come in!”

As expected, his lover’s face came into view, the familiar smile.

“I got you the salad you wanted!” You said, raising the white plastic bags in your hands.

You can tell he is anxious the moment you push open the door. Years of a committed relationship must have formed some kind of telepath between you two. You can almost sense it in the air. Is it a thing though? Like the service dogs that can smell it when their owner’s heart is beating too fast. Well, you know someone’s heart is certainly racing now.

You can’t quite figure out where his anxiety is coming from. They boys are at the middle leg of this tour. Is it from the traveling? Or maybe it has to do with his string snapping during soundcheck earlier? Or it could just be his brain playing tricks on him. And you respect that, even amazed or amused because you know it’s from the very same place where all the amazing melodies and witty remarks are born.

You spotted the glass on the vanity. Amber liquid barely covering its bottom, corresponding to the proportionate empty space in the newly-opened bottle of whiskey right next to it. You know Jake is never one to get plastered before going on stage. The alcohol is just a pacifier for his nerves. You follow his gaze to the white roses sitting in the vase. He’s remained quiet all this time, not even trying to hide his feelings, only giving you a smile through his reflection in the mirror. The comfortable silence hangs mellowly like willow branches, a mute radiation of his trust and vulnerability.

You set the bag aside and squat down in front of him, thumb brushing the back of his hand. You know better than to ask questions like “are you okay”. You know that right now your physical presence is already a comfort for him. You’d rather let him take the lead for the rest.

Jake tilts up your chin—a silent cue for kisses. You happily oblige, feeling his lips forming a smile upon contact with yours. He releases a contented sigh, pulling back after a moment. “I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah? You’ve got me now.” Now sitting across his lap, your hand rests gently on his cheek. Jake immediately leans into your touch like a cat, turning his head and pressing kisses into your palm.

“They already double-checked it. I’ll ask them to pay extra attention before the show starts, just to make sure.” You said, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, revealing the little hoop dangling.

Jake hums, knowing you are referring to the snapped string earlier. Stupid mistake. His throat feels dry, “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I——”

“Shh,” you give him a peck on the lips, “none of that. You don’t have to explain anything. Those feelings are valid. And they are temporary.”

Then a brilliant idea strikes you.

“We’ll take a walk, alright?”

“Here?” He cocks his head in slight confusion.

He immediately recognizes that you are giving him a taste of his own medicine. Well, in a good way. He knows you are talking about one of those “mental health walks” that he proposes when you are engulfed by the noises inside your head. But the backstage is not street gardens or some hiking trials in a park, how will that work?

“Yeah, you have time. Right?”

There’s indeed at least a good half an hour before the last sound check. He can’t argue with you. By the way, when were he ever able to say no to your invitations? This little genius mind of his lovers, constantly conjuring up the most amusing and endearing words and ideas like the hat of a magician. With a resigned smile, he caves in, placing his hands in yours.

“Come on, up you get, you lazy butt.” You step back and pull on his arm.

“Hey, you love this butt!” He protests in feigned grievance.

“Yup, can’t deny it’s a nice one.” You jokingly smack his ass as you follow him out of the dressing room, feeling happier hearing his banter, seeing him slowly getting back to himself. He’ll get there, you will make sure of it.

The corridors are generally quiet around this time, allowing the artists to rest before the real frenzy starts. Occasionally, stage crews pass by, rolling equipments boxes down the hall. You two swiftly move out of their way, hand in hand, strolling as if window shopping in the mall. You are entertaining Jake with a funny little incident you saw on your way to buy him food.

“You should’ve seen it, really,” you snort out a laugh recalling the scene, “that poor lady is struggling so hard and the shopping cart is just running away from her, loaded with two cases of Guinness!”

Jake is laughing with you, slightly shaking his head in disbelief. You turn to admire his profile, the apple of his cheek rising, the wrinkle to his nose deepening, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. There’s nothing you love more than seeing Jake smile and laugh, it never fails to create that fizzy feeling in your heart, like a bubble approaching the surface of a cream soda.

Having jumped out of your storytelling, your attention diverts back to the feeling of Jake’s arm snaking around your waist. Now his hands are sliding up your sides, from the small of your back to the sweet spot on your flank.

He turns to look at you. Upon meeting his gaze, you immediately pick up the implicit plea. His caramel eyes full of admiration, the edge of his iris grows fuzzy. His eyelashes flutter as his gaze falls to your lips.

You cover the distance between you with a kiss. This one is different from the one in the dressing room. The tip of his tongue tickles your bottom lip with small licks before him pulls back a bit and mutters under his breath, “Want you, want to be close to you.”

Once again, you are more than willing to indulge.

It’s just so convenient that you happened to be near the corner where a pilaster protrudes enough to hide you from the passersby. As your back hits the wall, your fingers are already tangled in Jake’s hair, holding him close. You are circled by him, his freshly applied cologne lingers, now well adapted to his skin, bergamot wrapping the hidden notes of pepper and cedar. Jake kisses along your jawline and traces downwards, creating a dotted line of kisses across your breasts and hovering over your navel. His hands tugging on the waist of your pants. As he unzips it smoothly, he dives back in with more kisses, nibbling on the material of your underwear.

“No,” you mumble, tugging on his elbow motioning him to stand up, “I want you in me.” You loved it when he goes down on you, but not now. Now you need it to be about him, you know he needs it too.

There is a halt in his movement, suddenly his eyes a shade darker.

“Yes, let it out, Jake.” You hold your forehead against his, making sure he hears every word certain and clear. Whatever it is, a much-needed release, a claim of territory, an outlet of his bundled nerves. “Use me. Fuck me.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” Jake sucks in a breath.

You smirk, tilting your head back against the wall and surrendering more of your body to his arms. Jake’s hands on your thighs cover the coolness of your skin as your pants pool around your ankles. His knuckles tracing your heat through the fabric, the ghostly touch making you squirm.

“Please, Jake.” You loop your arms around his neck, raising up a leg pressing it into the side of his waist.

“So wet for me already, angel.” With frantic eagerness, he takes out his length and pulls your underwear aside. Your slickness draws his hard cock inside as he bottoms out in one firm and steady thrust. Jake was looking down as he enters you, his eyebrows creased in concentration, eyelashes throwing shadows under his eyes. He never fails to marvel at the way your bodies connect, it catches him in awe every time no matter how many times you have fucked, just as you are exploring each other’s bodies for the first time. When his gaze meets yours again, it’s like moonlight spilling behind clouds. You are the only object of his vision.

“Yes!” You mouth silently as he starts moving, him picking up the pace almost instantly as if placed in a running wheel. Jake’s head nuzzles into the crook of your neck, hot breath radiating and him lapping up at whatever area of skin he comes in contact with. His arm goes under your knee and finds leverage on the wall, the other hand holding onto your pelvis, pinning you in place. The rough texture of the brick wall rubs against your back along each shudder, magnifying the titillation deep inside you.

You feel like with each thrust his insecurity and anxiety ebbs away like the snaky morning fog, replaced by his confidence and charming self: the one you know will work his magic on stage tonight just like ever, the one that will make the entire stadium shake and roar just by his fingers moving across six strings, the one that proves both to the world and to himself again and again that “it could be done”.

You can feel him swell and twitch against your walls, you squeeze you thighs and clench, knowing he’s getting close. The spasms of his cock tickling that particular spot to the point of no return, the ecstasy washing over you like a cascade. The whines and screams rolling and tumbling in your chest like a pot of boiling water, threatening to jump out of your mouth. You roll your eyes back and swallow them down, releasing only one suppressed moan of “let go, baby” against Jake’s ear, and that is enough to send him over the edge.

With one jerk of his body, he cums hard. You can feel the additional thickness of his release almost dripping down your crotch. Jake’s whole weight falls towards you with the hunch of his shoulders. His chest presses firmly against your body, its rise and fall teasing your still hard nipples.

You hold his head against your chest as he comes down from the high, fingers brushing away the naughty strands of hair that have flown into the corner of his mouth and stuck to his cheek.

“As much as I would like to stay here forever, you really have to get going. They must be looking for their rockstar everywhere.” You chuckle while shimmying out of your rumpled underwear, using it to clean up.

“Damn.” Jake leans back against the wall as he watches you, still on cloud nine and short of words. For a moment, all he can do is look at you.

“Stop staring.” You nudge him, unable to stop blushing facing his caramel eyes filled with unadulterated adoration. You bet if you could reach into them, you would find a handful of stars. Plus, Jake looks exceptionally beautiful post-fuck, the upturn at the corners of his mouth accentuated the curve of his cupid’s bow. The smug smirk is counterbalanced by the rosy blush on his cheekbones, a tell-tale sign of his satiated desire. Good. That’s what you’d expected and what you’d like to see.

Jake cups your face in both of his hands as he leans in for a kiss. This time, almost childish, his pouted lips pepper all over, the bilabial “mwah” is especially pronounced, causing you to giggle again.

“Quite the walk, huh?” You insinuate.

“Well, now I prefer to call it the ‘mental health fuck’,” Jake slowly straightens his back, resembling a cat stretching after a content nap. “Catch you on the flip side, my love.”

He was already a couple of strides away when he rushes back to kiss you again, catching you in surprise. Aggressive and fervent in his actions, but oh so gentle when his mouth meets yours. This is the type of kiss where he takes the lead, and you are completely at his mercy. The tip of his nose brushes against yours, and his teeth softly bite your lower lip. It’s a kiss that steals your breath and your heartbeat away for tits entirety . “You know you are my lighthouse, yeah?” He stares right into your eyes, his voice low and husky. “ You always guide me back when I’m lost at sea. My Leucothea, my Lady of Luck.”

You feel a lump in your throat, and every word goes straight to your heart. The feelings there are so overwhelming that they rise and swell like tidal waves. It;s so much love that it makes you want to cry.

“Gosh, Jake, such the poet.” That all you manage to say.

“Because you’re my muse, my angel,” Jake smiles again as he steps back one last time. “And now it’s time for me to set sail again, yeah?”

“Aye aye,” you blow him a kiss, “Fair Winds, Captain.”

You watch as he leaves. The Starcatcher symbol on his back standing tall and proud. The crystal embellishments on his jacket scintillate, jet crystals and glass beads shimmers, reflecting the lights like a thousand stars falling onto his shoulders. He is the warrior that breaks their fall, wearing them proud as a crystal armour. You watch as he marches forward, carrying on his shoulders the weight of dreams. Your dearest rocker, the bravest captain.

For Jake, the atoms are still buzzing, but now he can feel them moving rhythmically, like the joyful wings of a hummingbird or the secret dance of bees. They delivering a yet undecipherable but nonetheless auspicious message. Soon he will be going on stage, carrying a heart full of love from his lover, so he can give all his love to his fans out there. And he knows if he looks, he will find you among the crowd, a cluster of flame, a powerhouse of love.

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Thank you so much for reading!! :) any comments and feedbacks are greatly welcomed and deeply appreciated.

The description of Jake's jacket is heavily relied on this post

kudos to who spotted the TLSP reference hehe

If you are in need of some fluff, feel free to check out my another Jake pieces: Permission to Fall || Ticked (all my boxes) || Love is a four-legged word || The Lucky Ones

#jake kiskza x reader #greta van fleet fan fiction #jake kiszka smut #jake kiszka fanfic #greta van fleet smut #jake kiszka

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prettypeppermint · 7 months

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crane's paradox.

for dr. j. crane.

The water dribbled down your back like tear tracks, shushing your steamed and tender skin. He moved the showerhead in methodical circles against your rosy shoulder blades, large hands pilfering at your kelpy locks.

He sat on a stool adjacent to the tub, loving you with water--a language of change.

Despite the serenity taking place behind you, the scene before you was one of demented horrors--every irrational terror rationalized before your eyes. The water was black and bottomless, ostensibly swallowing your naked body up--oxidizing your skin and fermenting your organs. Your legs twitched periodically, trying to feel for the confines of the tub but getting continuously tricked by a vast emptiness. Faces emerged from the depths, twisted and morphed into something barely human. They groped at your waist and chest, each hand a searing blaze against your flesh.

The water rippled frantically as your every fiber trembled, frozen in a rock-solid state of shock. You couldn't blink.

The more he washed, the more blood trickled down the various valleys and edges of your form, swirling with the ridges of each tiny stream that eroded at your scalp, your back, your face. Ghosts of self-inflicted clawing stung your face.

Jonathan was wordless--a silent force of love. You didn't even realize he was there with you. You often felt alone, even in love. But feeling alone in fear was an entirely new feeling of dread.

"You were a bad girl today, angel.” The words barely permeated your foggy skull before you realized he was lifting you out of the water, “Bad girls need treatment so that they can be good again." He cradled your languid figure against his chest, drops of rose-tinted water leaking from your calves and the tips of your toes as they dangled across the nook of his elbow.

"I'm so very sorry it all turned out this way," he cooed, setting you down on the foot of his bed--the crisp snow hills of his duvet. He towered over you as he brought a towel to your locks and began drying them off with the touch of a feather. "But when you go exploring in forbidden places against my orders"--he makes his way down, patting each arm dry before wiping down your breasts--"you'll end up getting hurt."

Your eyes were forlorn and affixed on a faraway place, hallucinations still warping themselves into the tendrils of his hair and the wall behind him as he moved. He began dressing you in a set of white, lacy undergarments he had picked out for you prior. "And you know how much I detest seeing my angel hurt."

He slid the material up your legs and hoisted them over your hips with a trained dexterity. After clasping the brassiere between the place where your shoulder blades would kiss, he leaned down to press his tongue to the crest of your shoulder. Your skin was still radiating a firey warmth from the bath.

"But isn't something about it so thrilling? The thin membrane that separates fear and desire? The cerebrum keeps the left and right brain from ever touching, yet in doing so it maintains the unabridged function of the brain as one; they communicate through proximate isolation. Funny, isn't it? How that slim distance maintains the entire equilibrium--the entire function of the organ. Tell me, my love--would there be a Thisbe and Pyramus without the wall that separated their passion for each other? It's fascinating--the way in which the truest form of love prevails in the slimmest, most dire times of pain and fear. Oh, how I adore seeing you like this--at the mercy of my creation. So perfect--so effortlessly lovely and delicate even in this state of absolute terror.

"Let me love you--let me ease the pain out of you. Let me break the membrane that separates us, and we can join as one."

The last words grazed the chill of your earlobe as his breath teased at your pulse. You weren't sure when he'd wrapped his arms around you and locked you against his torso, but you began unraveling in his firmness. Your tensed muscles relaxed, and the visions began to subside. You saw them dissipating from the air; like mist having gone from an autumn morning before the leaves and birds awoke to notice the absence of the chill; like water swirling down the drain.

"I'm scared," you managed to croak. It came out dry and barely intelligible from hours of coaxed silence. He embedded shushes into the crown of your head.

This wasn't the work of the toxin; it was the hollow pit of desolation it left you with afterward.

"Jonathan, I'm scared," you repeated. The last consonant got lodged in your throat as a stifled cry scraped its way out before it. It was a foreign sort of comfort--crying into his skin and melting against his hold. "I'm so scared. What did you do to me?"

But Jonathan didn't do anything to you; it was you who snuck into his lab despite the rules he set for you. It was you who walked into an untimely experiment of torture on Scarecrow's most recent lab rat.

He pulled you into a kiss, the span of his fingers stretching around the entire back of your head. It was soft yet hungry, yearning yet kind. You seemed to be caught in all sorts of dichotomies today.

"You know I would never lay a finger on you," he muttered against your lower lip, "You're too soft--too delicate. As long as you're with me, I promise nothing will ever hurt you again.

"Now let me take care of you," he lulled, gently laying you back against the cool sheets, "Let Doctor treat you."

His lips gently ghosted the thin skin above your belly button before he looked up at you with an almost alienating, stoic countenance. "Say it."

Something went cold in the blue of his eyes--a shadow cast by a passing cloud.

"Please," you whispered, "Please fix me, Doctor."

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baestruly · 1 year

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i’m crashing down, crash into me ━━ jj maybank

❝won’t stop until you’re safe.❞

( 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝗈𝗉𝗌𝗂𝗌 ⋫ 𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖘𝖘𝖎 ) jj maybank x fem!singlemom!reader

⤷ IN WHICH, after your ex rafe━━also the dad of your son, leo after an accidental pregnancy━━threatens you and your friends if you don’t let him see his son, you get too overwhelmed with everything that you break down. but jj is willing to do anything to help and protect you and leo.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 - single parent, hurt comfort, fluff, mentions of threats, panic attacks, placed in s2 sometime after he framed john b and tried to drown sarah, they are 18, rafe is 20. you and jj aren’t dating yet but the type of friends that the whole friend group thinks is bullshit because of how stupid you guys are, i’m sorry i love dynamics like that especially in slow burn.

a/n - i’m sorry to rafe lovers. this was for a fic i had planned, but scrapped so why not make some scenes that i wrote imagines. also send me requests bc currently i have none my heart is breaking.

Nothing. There’s nothing in the world as you stood in this battered kitchen. Empty, and alone.

Gone. Nothing.

Then you’re pretty sure you hear your heart crack, because it stops, and everything comes crashing down.

Whimpering as your lip quivers from the flow of tears streaming down your face━━this is the only sign that you know you’re really drowning.

Forgetting about your friends behind you, you have your back to them, hiding yourself in your hands. You have always had people there for you but you feel so alone━━as if you were the only person in the world, and you were the only person who could break yourself.

“(Y/N)━━” JJ whispers softly. You’ve never heard his voice like that, he didn’t seem like the type.

“I’m sorry━━I’m so sorry I━━no, I’m━━“

“No. No, (Y/N), you never apologize.” He shot back, concerned, before moving to face you as he held your arms in his hands. “You don’t apologize for this, alright?”

You could only shake your head. You couldn’t open your eyes and your hands were shaking.

JJ knitted his eyebrows, running his hand up your arm to your shoulder swiftly before rubbing his thumb against your bare shoulder and pulling you into him. “C’mere.”

You sobbed harder into his chest as muffled cries for help tore through your whole body. “I'm a bad mom━━I can’t do this, I can’t━━”

You couldn’t fucking do this

You were so alone, nothing.

Fuck, fuck, fuck━━you were drowning.

You couldn’t, you couldn’t.

You couldn’t!

Suddenly, JJ placed his hands on your shoulders━━backing you away from his chest so all you had left to do was stare at the ground in shame, trying to cover your red and glossy face from his view.

He placed his hands on each side of your head, lifting it as he forced you to look at him. “Yes, you can.”

You just kept shaking your head. You weren't listening or paying attention to what anyone was saying, you knew. No━━just no, you couldn’t.

He brought his face close to yours, looking into your eyes deeply, as if everything he could say could reach your brain. Your eyes scanned his face━━sadness pooling deep into those waves, just waiting to burst and form the waterfall.

“You’re strong, (Y/N). The strongest person I know.” He brought your back to his chest, and he felt your tension ease as your shoulder sagged before wrapping your arms around him.

The only response he got was a choked sob.

“What have you always done, huh? What was the one thing you told me that you promised yourself when Leo was first born?”

“But, you don’t understand.” You whispered, your voice high with emotion. “He’s going to━━”

“I know, I know━━and we’re going to help you.”

“But you can’t! Okay? You fucking can’t because my life, Leo’s, and maybe all of yours is on the line! I can’t deal with this shit━━”

JJ’s eyes suddenly widened. “What’d you mean?”

Surprised you let all that anger take over yourself, you blinked as if they could take back all those words. Instead, you let out a sigh and wiped the tear falling down your face.

You could do this.

Just tell him, he trusts you, (Y/N).

“I know he’s his dad, and I never want to keep him away from him━━but he’s just not fit enough to be one━━Y’know? It’s just, like it’s just about the thought of being one, but where was he these past few years! I was just raising him alone, and he hadn’t tried to contact me or find me, nothing━━he didn’t give to shits!” You swallowed the thick lump in your throat. Your voice was cracking and you were afraid you were going to break down again. The smallest touch would affect you now. “And now━━now he’s threatening me, and you guys━━and my dad, my house━━” yep, there it was, the tears. “And I'm scared. I'm so scared, i'm so━━”

Your shaken voice stopped as JJ pulled you in for a hug again, and the one of a million barriers crashed down behind your eyes.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you, or Leo. None of us will let that happen.”

“He knows stuff, JJ━━he knows about everything we’ve done and he’s going to use that against us.”

He continued rubbing your back, sending shivers down your spin as your stomach swelled with the oh too familiar feeling of butterflies. “Well we have something against him too, right?”

You knitted your eyebrows against his chest, before stepping back to look him in the eyes. “What?”

“Just give me a day, I’ll get it sorted out.” JJ squeezed your shoulder, and was about to head for the door until━━

“━━Hey! What are you going to do? That’s Leo’s dad, remember━━”

“I’m not going to hurt him, not too bad. Shit━━but I am gon’ make sure he doesn’t lay a finger on you, or Leo.”

With that, he spun on his heel and ran out the door, leaving you alone━━but you didn’t feel like you did before. JJ was there and so were your friends, you lost sight of that.

It only needed JJ to get you back up again, and to help you find the way when you were starting to get lost. Only this time, it hadn’t been too late.

thanks for reading! request anything for any character in my masterlist

masterlist jj maybank masterlist

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peace-for-levi · 1 year

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Welcome Back

lol hiiiii, sorta haven't written in *checks watch* eight months so i am RUSTY.

cw: feelings of grief, graphic descriptions of dissociation, reader feeling disconnected and needing to be grounded. post-expedition hurt-comfort is my fav genre, lol.

word count: 1447.

taglist: @levmada @jayteacups @happybird16 @theferricfox @sckerman @wortverlust @lostinwildflowers @pockcock @nelapanela94 @notgoodforlife @unadulteratedtreecrusade @starstruckkittensweets

Arms up. Arms down.

Grief anchors and weighs you down like a ball and chain. It's heavy, cumbersome and you are left to just bear the brunt of it. It has a way of removing you from the world, leaving you unable (even unwilling) to reconnect. The most recent expedition and the deaths that came with it weigh down on your shoulders. You lean over, back hunched. Neck tense.

Distantly, you recognise what it is you are feeling (or lack of.) Distantly, you recognise the expedition has probably sent you into this state.

Your vision is 'stretched', or distorted, and everything has a dull fuzz to it. You're sure if you reached to grab the book on your bedside locker, it would slip through your fingers and melt away.

And that you'd wake up from this.

You form a fist and relax it, stretching your fingers. Lines on your fingers; oh, five fingers, all with fingernails. Five sets of knuckles. These are your hands? Surely, right?

You form a fist and this time you squeeze, and you almost feel your nails sink in. Just slightly but it's enough for you to shudder. In realization? In pain?

It's not unusual for your mind to be stuck out in the plains beyond the Walls. The boom and echo of flares rattles in your ears, the screams of your comrades leaves your head spinning. The idea of being back in your bedroom is just something you haven't registered yet, too busy stuck somewhere between a nightmare and reality.

A fake, shadowy middle of unreality.

It's nauseating, harrowing. If not for your feet pressed to the floor and your calves backed to the edge of the bed frame, you'd have a hard time trusting gravity in keeping you down.

There's a voice in the foreground, but you're not quite there yet. Their speech is fragmented.

You cling to reason; to routine and actions. You try to cling to dialogue and even though you understand the words, they don't get processed. You try to attune to the conversation, however one-way it is.

"Your shoulders tense up when you get like this. Relax."

Shoulders… ah, your shoulders? So you roll them. You don't really know what else to do. Tense? Why are you tense and what–

…

What are you…?

Where…?

Levi senses he's losing you further here, so he gives you an order. A command; you can latch onto that. It'll give your brain something to do, long enough to take you away from the plains.

"Legs out. I'll undo your buckles," he says as he kneels between your legs.

Leg up, straighten, leg down.

Same idea again for your left.

The frigid air against your – now – bare skin makes you shiver. Your clothes are being taken off, piece by piece.

"Do you know where you are?"

"Do you know…?" is a question that he noticed that also makes you come back to your senses. He has asked a question that requires a logical answer; you need to go searching for clues.

You know it's your bedroom – what else could it possibly be? – but it just looks so… wrong. In a moment of faint realization, you feel the night's gentle breeze prick the skin on your legs. You turn to the bedside locker and see a bowl of lumpy, congealed soup with a bread roll that looks like it's on the verge of going bad. You must have forgotten to eat it. There's an oil lamp next to the soup, as well as an old book. Reading is a bit too hard at the moment; you can hardly put together the title of the book.

Now you look in front of you. Of course the black hair and grey eyes belong to your lover, but he didn't look so real right now. If you reached out to touch him, would you feel the black tresses spill between your fingers? The war-torn hands clasp your own?

You sink your fingertips into his scalp. He lets it happen, lets you cling to him. He doesn't even flinch, he knows you need grounding. He brings a hand up and rests it on yours, as if to say…

Feel me.

I am alive. You are alive. We are both here, and you will not wake up from this.

(Your brain just needs a lot of convincing.)

He squeezes his hand over yours. "You're getting ready for a bath, I'm helping you," he states. More information to cling to. "Whatever you're feeling, let it be there."

He is slowly walking you to your ensuite. The ground beneath your feet felt soft, even for oak planks. You fumble as you walk, second-guessing your surroundings, but Levi's got you.

He's always there.

The boundaries of the room appear elusive and murky, as you reach out for the skirting on the sides of the bathroom door. Levi was smart and had the bath ready to go, warm water prepped. With a cupped palm, he gently guides you into the bath.

"Step in."

A command to follow.

Leg up, over, and sit.

You soak into the heated water and sit down. You vaguely feel the suds cling to you. The aware part of you hopes they'll wash away the muddy feeling.

Levi begins to fill up a bucket of the sudsy water. He takes a look at your toned back, marred with grime, dirt and caked blood, and stops. He thumbs over some of the rougher sores and tears; some of these scars have been there for years. Shades of purples and blacks and reds, dotting the surface; all serving as a horrific reminder that, so far, you have made it back home every time.

You watch the dirt drip down and swirl in the water, floating there.

Silence permeates between the two of you, and normally, it is a comfortable silence. But Levi wanted to check in.

"How are you doing now, [F/n]?"

Blink. You stare back at him with pupils blown, looking at everything and nothing. "Fine."

"Do you know who I am?" He asks, carefully, scrubbing your shoulders.

Black hair, grey eyes. "Levi…" you murmur.

He nods. Should he press further? He's not sure.

Dissociation is a fickle defense mechanism with a hair-trigger temperament. It can be the deaths of the comrades in your most recent expedition; it could also be triggered by the smell or sound that reminds you of something unpleasant. It sometimes comes when it wants and Levi learned the best way to deal with it was to not deal with it. To let it happen, and sit beside you as it does.

"Don't fight it. Let it be there."

But you don't want it to be there. You stretch out your palm and reach for the towel, but you just hold it. Maybe for comfort, maybe to feel a texture. You register the caked blood by your cuticles and you keep it in your mind's eye for a second, but your vision starts to splinter again.

"But it feels awful…" you find yourself saying. "I hate not recognising my surroundings, I hate not–"

He cuts in. "I know, sweetheart. I know." He takes hold of your hand and squeezes. "I know." He assures.

Because he does.

He's sat with you through every episode of this.

He guides you out of the bath when you're done, and dresses you in your nightgown. He sweeps your hair up and out of your face, before cupping your cheeks. You practically fall into his hands. He pats your cheek in response.

"You back with me yet?"

You shake your head, but your answers are coming out quicker now. He steers you with one hand on the small of your back and peels back the comforter.

As the room gets shrouded in darkness, you're pulled to his chest. A smell of cedar and black tea, the thrum of his pulse and the rise and fall of his chest. Small circles being etched into your hips by his thumb.

"We're going to try to rest now." He tells you.

A command of sorts, something to stick to.

Get in bed, lie down, and breathe.

"Yes, okay," you mumble as you twiddle your thumbs. "Okay."

He pulls you impossibly closer, nose in the crook of your neck and suddenly... you're in the clear.

"I'm [F/n]. I'm in my room. I'm with Levi…" you whisper to yourself, with confidence.

"Welcome back," your lover sleepily replies.

{friendly reminder acceptance doesn't work for everyone but it is a healthy start for some!}

#cece; speaks #levi x reader #husbando tag<3 #levi ackerman #captain levi #levi ackerman angst #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #aot #snk #aot levi #snk levi #levi x you #tw.dissociation #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin

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thelonelyempath · 1 year

Text

M!Crush x F!Reader: Amazing (NSFW)

18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warning(s): Fingering, Orgasm Denial, Overstim (reader cries a lil bit), Squirting, Masturbation, Shared Orgasm, Cum

As his fingers continued to pump in and out of you, curling ever so slightly so as to graze your g-spot, your moans and whines became more hitched and more intense.

"Yeah," he whispered, his husky tone sending a chill down your spine. "you like that, babygirl?"

"Yes! Ooohhh fuck!"

The sight of your toes curling and your face contorting in pleasure made him give you a smug grin. Seeing you writhe under him was one of his favorite things in the world. Whether it was with his fingers, his tongue, his dick, or a toy, he loved playing with your pussy until you just couldn't take it anymore. He would fuck you senseless all day everyday if he could, just to hear you scream for him. Just to see your eyes roll back into your head. Just to remind him that you were his and only his. You threw your head back and whined as he used his thumb to rub circles on your clit, still brushing against your g-spot with his middle and ring finger.

"Fuck!" you cried out. "Don't stoppppp!"

"Don't stop?" he raised an eyebrow, smirking at you. "No matter how bad you'd want me to, sweetheart, I'm not stopping until I'm done with you."

He wasn't gonna stop until he was bored of playing with you. He had overstimulated your body to the point of you being in tears before, but you loved it. You knew he would never hurt you and would actually slow down and stop for you if you needed him to. Your stomach was in knots, your walls beginning to clench around his hand. He could see in your face how close you were to your high.

"Mmm- baby!" you whined. "I'm gonna-"

"Nope." he pulled back. "Not until I say you can."

You should have known he wasn't about to just let you have an orgasm. He'd edged you so many times in the past, but every time, it felt like your brain had turned to mush from the overwhelming pleasure. After giving you a moment for the feeling to dwindle away, he resumed his assault on your pussy. You were so deliciously wet for him, leaving his fingers glistening. The squelching sound of your wetness, coupled with your whining, was music to his ears. You could barely form words at this point, much less see straight. It just felt so good! You wanted to feel like this forever.

"Awww," he smiled, noticing tears forming in your eyes. "you crying for me, love?"

He was overstimulating you, yet again. But you never wanted him to stop. He started pumping in and out of you harder, putting more pressure on your clit with his thumb. Your hitched, trembling breath seeping into your cries of pleasure were turning him on. His dick was like a rock in his pants.

"Fuck, baby." he said. "I'm already hard."

As he kept working on you, he pulled down his pants with his other hand to reveal his erection. His dick stood straight up as he began to stroke it.

"I may be nice enough to let you cum when I do." he shot you a cheeky wink.

Your dried tears were being washed away with fresh ones as your boyfriend fucked you with his fingers. You so desperately wanted to climax, but he wasn't going to allow that. Your legs were violently shaking. Hearing his little grunts and groans under his breath was only adding to the already intense pleasure you were experiencing.

"What's my name, Y/N?" he growled.

You could hardly talk at this point. He knew that, though. He liked making you feel so good you struggled to form words.

"What's my name, babygirl? Say my name."

"C-...C-"

"Say my fucking name!"

"C/N! Fuckkkk!"

"That's right, sweetheart." he said with clenched teeth, continuing to jerk himself off. "Your pussy belongs to C/N. And C/N gets to do whatever the fuck he wants with it."

Your vision, blurred with tears, was starting to go white. You didn't know how much more of this torture you could take.

"Oh you're getting so close for me." he said in a low voice. "Lucky for you...fuck...I'm about there myself."

Thank god for that. He kept stroking himself as you started to clench around his hand again.

"I'm gonna cum, baby." he grunted. "Cum with me."

With a deep, husky moan, he shot his seed onto your thigh. As he did so, you finally reached your high and your whole body shook as you gushed your juices, soaking his hand and the bedsheets. You mewled with pleasure as he kept going with his fingers.

"Fuck yeah, baby. Get it all over me."

He started slapping your pussy, letting your juices go everywhere, all over him. You were squirting like a geyser had erupted in your vagina. Once you finally regained control of yourself and opened your eyes, C/N was smiling at you struggling to catch your breath. It was like your orgasm knocked the wind out of you.

"You're out of breath, my love." he lay down beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist and spooning you from behind. "Was that too much?"

"No." you chuckled. "It was amazing."

You rolled over to where you were facing him and he tenderly kissed your lips, pulling you deeper into his embrace.

"You're amazing." he said. "I love you."

"I love you too."

He kissed your forehead and the two of you just lay in comfortable silence, cuddling and enjoying each other's company.

#crush x reader #crush imagine #boyfriend imagine #m!crush x f!reader #boyfriend x girlfriend #boyfriend x reader

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marchtothefuckingsea · 2 years

Text

The Devil's Heel - Lucifer (Supernatural)

My Masterlist

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Injury, canon violence and descriptions of gore/injury. Not proofread.

soulmate au (where an angel's soulmate can see their wings because i love thag au so much), x gender neutral reader, no usage of y/n! Fluff, angst, hurt/comfort.

Summary: Reader has a bad past with angels. They get hurt on a hunt and, although they didn't know the devil that has been staying in the bunker was their soulmate, Lucifer comes to the rescue. They're terrified, understandably so.

I groaned in pain as I was thrown into a wall for the second time today. My head slammed backwards against it, and I saw stars. A weak moan left my lips when gravity worked its magic. I slid down ungracefully to the floor, my body a limp heap. My angel blade clattered onto the floor a meter away from me. The demon-who I hadn't identified yet-kicked the knife even further away from my grasping hands; just for good measure.

"You fucking-" I hissed out, shoving myself to my uninjured forearm, hunched over and gasping. My trembling voice did little to hide the panic threatening to claw its way up my throat. This was just supposed to be a salt and burn. Maybe a poltergeist at worst.

"How original." He sneered. A hand came down, gingerly taking my angel blade I always kept at my side. I raised my head and growled, low and raspy, and he suddenly plunged it into my shoulder. A strangled gasp escaped me as I toppled backwards from the force of the blow, clutching my shoulder. The demon ripped it out, cutting my palms in the process. He slashed it across my chest once, then twice over my torso. My vision was blurred badly. I could barely whimper out hoarse noises of agony, only able to toss my head back and forth. I was barely conscious.

Even so, as I drifted in and out of consciousness, I couldn't help but to be forced to relive the pain, the torture that had come during my 'stay' with certain angels.

I heard a voice in the distance.It was the demon; finally tired of toying with me and, with a bored sigh, sunk the angel blade somewhere through my broken ribs. First came the shock. Then I felt a sudden, sharp pain in my chest when I drew in a surprised gasp. It became hard to breath without triggering the agony, so my breath came in short pants. Instinctively, I just wanted the thing in my chest that was causing me pain out. So, without giving it a second thought, that's what I did. I grasped at the handle of the blade, crying out as it slid out of my chest.

The demon immediately knocked the knife out of my hand, as if I was any threat to him in my current condition. I went limp, realizing my mistake of removing the blade when it now became even harder to breathe. My hand rested limply over the wound with the intent to apply pressure, that I didn't have the strength in me for. My eyes fluttered shut.

I flinched when I heard the sound of feathers fluttering; the sound an all too familiar one to me. I struggled to not bolt upright, hoping it was just a figment of my near-death brain, tormenting me before I died. Even so, I forced my eyes open. I fought to focus my eyes on the new winged figure, who was obviously an angel. There was only one angel, I knew, whose wings I could see. It was none other than Lucifer.

Lucifer, the fallen archangel. Lucifer, one of the oldest and most powerful of his brothers and sisters. Lucifer, who was supposed to be caged in the bunker, at the moment. The devil himself, who appeared to have escaped the banker's warding to keep him contained from causing the apocalypse.

My eyes widened in alarm. I forced myself onto my forearms, immediately regretting the action when pain shot through my right arm. Panting, I writhed on my side, struggling to put as much distance between myself and the archangel as I could. His eyes, red with fury, darted between the demon and my broken form on the floor. His wings were spread out in what could only be meant to intimidate. They were taut, and almost vibrated with rage. I heard him mutter something low and angry under his breath, before the demon was a stuttering mess. It apologized hastily, but that didn't stop the devil. He raised his hand, middle finger and thumb tips poised to snap. The demon backed up as if the distance would keep him safe. A snap echoed hauntingly throughout the abandoned room, and the demon exploded into a cloud of black dust. It only reminded me just how powerful the archangel, who now faced me, was. I shrank back, panting shallowly and cradling my broken forearm to my chest.

I heard him say something, but my brain couldn’t register it. All I knew was, before I could even blink twice, he was standing beside me, peering down at me. His eyes, now blue, roamed over my beaten form, taking in my condition. I shifted, struggling away from him until I coughed. My breath hitched in my throat painfully as I twisted around for the angel blade sheathed at my hip, only to remember it had been knocked out of my grip by the demon, and had clattered onto the floor uselessly. Blood bubbled up in my mouth, confirming what I already knew was true. I coughed again, and again, fighting to twist onto my stomach. No matter how much it hurt, I knew I would drown in my own blood if I didn’t; but I couldn’t. The deep wounds on my abdomen bled profusely, soaking the worn floorboards with my blood, so much that it began to pool around me. It made the floor slippery, and my hand slipped uselessly against the floor as I struggled to right myself. With every shallow breath came a little more blood. I continued to cough, instinctively, even though it hurt more than anything.

I didn’t have the strength to fight when I felt arms wrap around my body, pulling me into the devil’s lap as he now kneeled on the floor beside me. Still coughing up blood, I gratefully sucked in the air I could now get, thanks to not lying on my back anymore. I panted, unable to focus on anything but the air in my lungs; and the pain in my lungs that would have had me sobbing if I had the breath to.

When the coughing fit ended, I laid limp in Lucifer’s arms for a moment more, my energy spent. It took me several heartbeats before I began to kick my legs weakly, and then fought against his iron grip. I knew he was abnormally strong, much stronger than any human. If he didn’t want to let me go, I wouldn’t be going anywhere. And he didn’t. My eyes widened in panic, and I struggled more and more against his grip on me. He allowed me to flip onto my side, and I whipped my head up. His eyes had an uncharacteristic softness in them. That, paired with the foreign expression on his face, only served to further confuse and scare me. I had been tortured and nearly killed-only to be healed and brought back for more-by so called angels many times over. I knew how quickly angels could shift. If angels were that terrible, the fallen archangel holding me now could only be much, much worse.

I whimpered pathetically, writhing in his grip as I remembered how he had turned that demon-the one that had just about killed me-into nothing so easily. He was a creature of nightmares, far worse than a demon. He was, after all, the devil himself.

“Calm down, sheesh.” He said, though it wasn’t accompanied by an eye roll or the sarcastic tone it usually would have been. His voice was flat, deadpan at most, tinged with something bordering worry. Almost like..fear? What could the devil possibly have to fear?

I forced myself to still, my breath still coming in pained, shallow pants. He shifted me in his arms, and I found myself letting him. I didn't make any attempt to shuffle away from him, even when I had the chance to do so. Maybe I was too tired. I had lost a lot of blood, after all; I was dying. And I didn't know what the devil had in his plans for me. The thought sent a jolt of fear into my very being.

I did protest, though, when his arms slid under me and he stood, hoisting me up with him effortlessly. I found myself clutching to him with shaking hands, a strangled, painful noise leaving my throat at the

small movement. His wings curled around the both of us almost protectively, although I had the nagging feeling it was more for me than for him. I clung to him as the familiar, yet foreign feeling of angel teleportation washed over me. The few times I had experienced it, it had felt completely different; it had felt wrong. Uncomfortable, to say the least. My entire being had tingled almost painfully, like pins and needles. But this time, with Lucifer, it felt familiar in the most foreign way possible. A comfortable warmth spread through every fiber of my being. One that almost felt as if it were coming from inside me, as well as him; instead of the pins and needles that had tried to painfully penetrate my skin before. If it hadn't been for the terror of my past trauma, I might have even found it comforting.

When my eyes finally focused, I realized we were at the bunker. I felt a little better at the familiar surroundings. Simultaneously, remembering the Winchester's absence, my fear rose. But exhaustion and shock were beginning to catch up to me. As well as the knowledge that I would most certainly die if I didn't tend to my injuries.

"Let me go." I mumbled, pushing my hand against his chest.

"Do you really think you can stand in your condition?" He argued, but he shifted me in his arms anyway. Carefully, with more caution that I would have expected, he stood me on my feet. He didn't go far, nearly hovering over me as he let me go. As soon as he let go, my legs buckled, and he was holding my waist, lowering me to the floor.

"Get away from me." I hissed out painfully. My chest felt like I had been stabbed again as I inhaled sharply.

"Do you want to die or do you want to die?" He shook his head, glaring at me. "Stubborn humans." He muttered under his breath, crossing his arms.

He turned around, taking several paces away from me before spinning back around. "What will it be?"

"I- I need help." I admitted quetly, hanging my head in defeat.

"I guess you're not the most stupid one." He mused, as if this were a game. "But, haven't you ever been told not to make deals with the devil?"

I grit my teeth. "'S not really like I have a choice right now."

"Right-o there." He grinned. He kneeled beside me once again. His hand outstretched, two fingers poised to touch the most fatal wound I had; the puncture to my lung.

I shrank away, willing myself to allow it to just happen. As his fingertips began to glow, I panicked.

"No, no. No grace-" I mumbled out, flinching into the wall.

He noticed my fear and, unlike I had expected, he withdrew his hand immediately. His expression was torn for a split second, but ultimately he allowed the confusion to show clear on his face. "What? Why not?"

"I can't..explain. Just.." My voice shook. "Please." I said quietly, my lungs hurting more with every word.

He surprised me yet again with the suddenly softer tone in his voice. "I'm going to have to, for this one at least." He explained gently. I debated, struggling internally. He waited patiently, never showing a hint of impatience or irritation.

"Okay." I answered softly. I felt how each breath hurt more and more; it became harder and harder to suck in air as my lung collapsed. He nodded grimly, so close now that he took up the entirety of my unfocused sight. In my peripherals, his wings curled around me protectively, though I tried not to focus on them. I had a hard time believing that the devil was suddenly protective of me, but I didn't want to think of how his wings could be boxing me in as well.

He glanced at me for confirmation, surprising me, and I nodded. Still, I couldn't help but to shrink against the wall as his glowing fingers met the fatal wound on my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut, clenching my jaw and preparing for the pain that usually came with an angel's healing.

But just like before, Lucifer's grace was warm, and entirely unpainful. Compared to my previous experiences with being healed by angels, where I had felt the bones in my body shifting painfully back into place, and the stinging of open wounds being forced back together; this was a part of me. It was something bigger than both of us, I could sense that much, but there was something in me that rose up to meet his grace when he used it on me.

I found myself relaxing at the comforting warmth, the safety, I felt. My muscles relaxed, and I slumped against the wall. A small sigh left my lips when I realized I was able to breathe without nearly as much pain anymore. Still though, I hesitated to open my eyes.

"It's done." Lucifer's voice told me, uncharacteristically kind. I knew once I was in my right mind again, I would be getting serious whiplash from this.

"Thank you." I said gratefully, finally opening my eyes. I had to stop myself from jerking back at his unexpected closeness. His vessel's blue eyes were level with mine, something unreadable flitting around in them.

"Let me heal the rest." His voice wasn't pleading-he was the devil, and he never would stoop that low-but it was close.

"No, I'm-" I hissed between gritted teeth as I pushed myself to my feet. He stood quickly, mirroring my actions. "I'm fine."

I took a hesitant step forward, still weak, and stumbled right into him. "Woah there." He said, catching me by the shoulders, his wings once again curling around me; seemingly out of instinct, by now. I flinched purely out of instinct, although I didn't know what I had been expecting to happen. He had already proved he wouldn't harm me.

"I'm fine." I repeated stubbornly, suddenly aware he had healed my arm, too. I looked down at my arm, then to him, narrowing my eyes. "Thank you." I said half begrudgingly.

He shrugged. "Figured you couldn't bandage yourself up with just one working arm."

"Guess so." I grunted, shuffling against the wall. I stopped in the hallway, just outside the door to the infirmary. I closed my eyes, leaning against the doorframe and letting out a nauseated breath.

"You good?" His voice made me jump. I hadn't expected him to follow me here; I thought he would have lost interest now that the threat of death was no longer looming over me. The excitement was gone. Even more puzzling, was the seemingly genuine question from the devil.

"I'm good." I answered, a bit more harshly than I had intended to. He didn't seem offended in the least.

With more effort than it should have taken, I finally pushed the door to the infirmary open, staggering in. I immediately went for the painkillers, before remembering the archangel that had followed me into the room, not leaving my side for a second. I hesitated, before groaning and turning to the bandages and disinfectants. I hoisted myself onto the bed, letting everything onto the bed beside me.

Tugging my shirt off, I still hissed in pain at the various deep slashes that were littered across my stomach and ribs. I looked up for a moment to find Lucifer leaning against the doorframe, a frown on his face. As soon as he caught me though, he immediately opened his mouth to, most likely, make a sharp remark.

"Not in the mood." I ground out, my eyes flashing to his for a brief moment. Surprisingly, he shut his mouth.

Tears welled in my eyes at the burning sensation as I dabbed at the gouges in my skin with a water-dampened cloth. My hands shook. This wasn't even the worst of it yet.

Next came the alcohol. That was, until I couldn't help the whimper and the involuntary jerk of my hand that caused the bottle to go flying onto the floor. I grasped my stomach as if that would help to lessen the pain, gasping. Out of the corner of my eye, I could have sworn I saw Lucifer flinch simultaneously.

"You need, uh, you need help with that?" He offered, his voice guarded as he tried not to sound too helpful.

"Yeah, probably." I sighed in defeat. I held myself still from flinching when he came closer. His fingertips brushed mine as he took the bandages and cloth. Gently, he dabbed at the gashes running across my stomach, while my hands balled up the white sheets into fists. I grit my teeth.

"I could just heal them." He insisted again, sighing in annoyance.

I shook my head. "Why are you so against my grace?"

"I just am."

"There's more to it than that." He huffed, but the feathers on his wings didn't ruffleI as they usually did when he was irritated. I knew it was an invitation to open up to him.

I sucked in a sharp breath at the alcohol he poured onto a wound, jerking back slightly. "I haven't had the best experiences with it. Or angels in general." I said hesitantly, quietly. He hummed, indicating he was listening. "They..they tortured me before. For information." I put it bluntly. I didn't see the point in dancing around the truth, not around the devil.

A frown had formed on his face. His jaw was rigid and his wings moved towards me slightly, taut with tension as well. "What kind of information?"

"About you." My voice was small, in an attempt to not anger him further. It wasn't my fault, but I didn't know that.

His eyes began to glow with the faintest hint of red, and every muscle in his body was tensed. "Lucifer?" I asked quietly. He took a step back.

"This whole time, they knew, and they dared to-" He muttered to himself. At the rage in his voice, I unconsciously leaned away from him, my arms coming up around my now-bandaged waist defensively. He immediately cut himself off when he saw the fear on my face and in my posture, taking a deep breath. His eyes slowly faded back to his vessel's blue. His wings were still taut, but he gave me a look to continue.

"They would leave me nearly dead, then heal me up again with their grace for another round." I told him what I knew he wanted to hear; what they had done to me. Why I was afraid of his angel's grace. I grit my teeth, furiously wiping away the tears in my eyes. It had happened only a few months ago, and the memories were still fresh enough to almost feel them as I explained it.

His face held a sort of understanding now that he knew. He nodded, though I could still feel the fury radiating off of him.

"Why are you still here?" I asked, in an attempt to break the ice and as a genuine question. "I'm not going to die anymore, there's no more excitement to be had." He pretended to look offended.

"Couldn't let my soulmate just die now, could I?" Soulmate. Even though it sounded foreign to me, it almost immediately seemed to make sense. It was the word, no, the explanation I had been looking for since the strangeness of his grace, compared to the other angels. That, and the closer bond that had seemed to draw the two of us together ever since he had first used his grace on me.

Even so, I had to consciously make an effort to close my mouth that had opened in shock. "We're-"

"Surprise! Your soulmate is the devil. Lucky you, right?" He grinned, though I could see something in his eyes that wasn't right.

"No, more like lucky you." I smiled weakly, still unsure. I had come across very brief, shallow information of angels and soulmates before in different texts, but I still knew so little about it. "You get a hunter as a soulmate."

He faked a grimace. "Yeah." He seemed more relaxed though, and I knew what I hadn't been able to place in his eyes before. He was afraid that I would be disappointed. That he had waited only god knows how long for a soulmate-maybe even believing he didn't have one, as part of his punishment-only for his soulmate to hate him, to hate being tied to the devil himself.

"So how does this..work…now?" I trailed off, gesturing between us.

"We're attached at the hip now!" He exclaimed.

"Seriously. Why didn't this come up before? How long have you known? Did-" I was silenced by a finger to my lips, and suddenly Lucifer was much closer than he ever had been, face inches from mine.

"Quiet with the questions, sheesh." He groaned, leaning away. "May I?" He motioned to the empty spot on the bed beside me. I nodded.

"First of all, my grace, well, activates the bond, you could say. That's why this hasn't happened before. I didn't know until then, either. Although, I've always had this nagging pull towards you, I suppose. Annoying." He huffed. I unconsciously leaned towards him, our shoulders brushing.

"Being my..mate," He almost hesitated at using that word, glancing at me, but I didn't grimace or react negatively towards his word choice. "Your soul is intertwined with mine. In other words, you have a small bit of my grace in you. And I, a small piece of your soul."

"That's why your grace doesn't hurt." I mumbled in realization, more to myself than to him. "Oh."

He looked down at me, eyes telling me to explain. "The angels, when they used their grace on me before. It was like it was penetrating into my skin. It hurt. But yours…didn't. Not at all."

He explained more, but I began to nod off against his shoulder, exhaustion finally catching up to me. The sound of his voice was surprisingly comforting as I dozed, until he stopped, noticing my unconsciousness.

"Let's get you to your own bed." He stood, slowly, so I had time to wake up before I dropped from his shoulder. I jolted awake at the movement, apologizing profusely once I realized what I had done. The smug smile on his face told me enough.

I leaned against him heavily as we walked down the hallway to my own room. He shoved the door open, nearly supporting me by my waist. I immediately slumped onto the bed with a sigh and a wince. My eyes already began to shut again, until Lucifer pulled away. When I opened them, his wings were taut, poised to leave.

"Don't go."

His look was one of surprise. "What?"

"Stay here." I knew, with the events of today, that my nightmares would be haunting me the minute I slipped off into sleep. I didn't know how to explain it to myself, least of all to him, how I felt safer with him there. How the prospect of him leaving at the moment was almost scary to me. I didn't have to though, he read it all through our bond.

He nodded silently, kicking his shoes off and sitting on the edge of the bed. He waited for my confirmation before pulling me against him and lying us both down on the mattress. With a sigh, I felt myself immediately relaxing against him.

I felt safe as I drifted off, though somewhere in the back of my head, I knew this was the devil and he was dangerous. But I also knrw there was no threat here. Not as long as he was with me.

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catcze · 2 years

Text

NSFW!! 18+ ONLY !!

⠀「 “Can you kiss me?” 」

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !! ⠀

「 FEAT : 」 Kazuha x gn! reader

「 ### : 」 Fluffy smut, but still very much smut.

「 CWS : 」 reader n Kazuha have been fucking for a while now before the fic starts lmao, so mentions / aspects of overstimulation. established relationship. starts kinda soft w/ the reader needing a break !! which Kazuha provides ♡ then it gets spicy again lmao. use of baby, sweetheart, and love for the reader. rough sex towards the end. spanking. breathplay / choking. slight breeding kink. creampie / cumming inside. slight dacryphilia / crying during sex. everything is 100% safe sane & consensual ♡

Collab entry for my beloved @anantaru & @bluexiao ‘s Sweet N Spice collab ♡

Pls excuse if the pacing is off I haven’t written smut in a hot fucking second and the editing is like barely present lmao I forgot how to write smut alr im very rusty fucking sue me

Imagine getting fucked from behind by Kazuha, right. Like, getting your guts rearranged kinda fucked.

Your legs shake every time he thrusts into you, and your upper half is splayed on the table at this point, arms shaking too bad to keep you up.

Tears gather at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill, and you lips are parted with breathy ‘Ah-ah-ah’s every time he bottoms out into you. The grip he uses to pull you back deeper on his cock is tight enough that you just know there are gonna be bruises tomorrow.

Kazuha leans over you, his chest pressed against your back and his cock pushed so deep inside you, enough that you could feel him in your belly. “Baby,” he hums, breath caressing your ear. “Sit up.”

“Ca-an’t!” You gasp when he thrusts in again, your eyes rolling and your brain struggling to form words. “Please, please, I can’t— I’m too tired— ”

He sighs, his hips stilling with his cock only halfway inside you. Your eyes widen for fear that he’ll leave you like this— dangling on the edge with and needy. You desperately try to push yourself up like he wants, but your arms are like jelly from all the times he’s already made you cum. Overstimulation had made itself known a while ago. All you can barely manage is an inch off the table before falling back with a small ‘oof.’

“Poor baby,” Kazuha cooes, a calloused hand stroking up and down the length of your spine. A small whine leaves you. “Do you need some help?”

You nod slightly, still worried that he’ll leave you, and quietly mumble, “Uh-huh.”

A sudden rough spank on your ass makes you squeak and jolts you forward an inch or so off of his cock, your ass smarting. Shit, he really hadn’t held back with that one.

“Politely.”

You sniffle, and your hips twitch just the slightest bit, which earns you another hard spank. No sitting for you tomorrow, then.

But as much as you’d like to say something, anything— whether it be begging so politely for Kazuha to fill you back up, or to tell him to get on with it and stop fucking around already— nothing escapes you more than hard, ragged breaths and the occasional sniffle.

It’s all you can do to duck your face down into your arms, hiding yourself away.

“Sweetheart?” your boyfriend asks, his tone much gentler than before. There’s tangible worry in it. He wraps his arms around your middle, pulling you up to lean against him, your head still bowed but no longer obscured.

“Sweetheart,” Kazuha tries again, pressing his lips to your neck and holding you close. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you? Talk to me, love, please.”

You laugh breathlessly, though it comes out as more of a wheeze. How amusing— mere seconds ago, it had been you pleading so desperately.

“’m okay, Kazu,” you murmur. A hand of yours twitches, trying to raise, and Kazuha immediately twines his fingers with yours to give the back of it a kiss. “Sorry, I just… need to catch my breath.”

“No need to apologize.” He squeezes you reassuringly, resuming his soft kisses. “Do you want to stop?”

You shake your head. “Just need to breathe real quick,” you say. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and rests his cheek on you, falling into comfortable (if not still a bit worried) silence. Kazuha holds you and draws circles on your skin, more soothing than sensual, and when you regain feeling in your arm, you take it and cup the side of his face, pulling him to where you can reach.

He stills, watching you with a half-lidded gaze as you press a fleeting kiss to his lips. “Good to go?”

You nod, less weary after a few moments of rest, and give him another quick smooch. Endearingly, he tries to chase it, and there’s a laugh caught in your throat. “Yes, please..”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Still want me to be rough with you?”

Again, you nod. You catch his gaze and give him your best pleading face— “Can you kiss me first, though?”

“So polite,” he murmurs, and a shiver travels up your spine. As you asked, he presses his lips to yours in the way that has your heart feeling like it’s about to burst, swallowing each whine and groan that escapes you.

His cock, no less harder than it had been earlier, twitches. As you kiss, he thrusts shallowly, accustoming you once more to his length. There’s no rush as he kisses you and works himself back into you, and after a while—

You fucking moan, eyes widening as the full length of his cock fucks its way into you. He stretches you so nicely, leaving you gasping as his hips pin yours down and you squirm.

You escape from the kiss to fall forward on the table, your thighs clenching as your moans and gasps start back up. Kazuha keeps fucking you like he never stopped— he pounds himself in and out of you, making you whine and groan and squeak every time he opens you up. A hand finds your thigh, the loud smack! of it echoing in the room. His hand digs into the meat of it, squeezing hard enough for you to gasp.

“What— ha— what do you want, baby?” Kazuha murmurs into your ear, draping himself across your back, making himself feel whole inches deeper inside you.

“Full—“ you whine, when he pushes back in and fucking grinds his hips against yours. “Wanna be full wanna— ah!— be stuffed wanna cum— Kazu I want you to fill me with your cum please please please—“

“Anything else?”

There’s barely anything in your head— just thoughts of his cock and his cum and how fucking deep he is. Tears form in your eyes and your legs tremble, but you have to at least try.

“Want you to breed me,” you gasp, pushing back the slightest bit, “I want your cum to drip out and —haah— want you to fuck it back inside. Wanna be choked. Please.”

Kazuha groans, his one hand finding its way from your thigh and around your neck. “Breathe in for me, baby. Now exhale— good, ” he says before it tightens around the sides of your throat, effectively giving you the lightheadedness you so desire.

You squirm in his hold, a hand wrapping around his wrist, just holding. When he flexes his grip, he doesn’t miss how your insides tighten.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, baby. Gonna breed you until you’re nice and full,” Kazuha says, drawing his hips back then fucking back into you all at once, pulling you back onto his cock until you see stars. The pace he sets has you shaking in his hold, your eyes rolling back with every rough thrust of his hips. Whines and gasps force their way around the hold on your throat, and wet sobs of “Kazuha, Kazuha— ah! Kazu, please,” each time he stretches you out with his cock and brushes the deepest part of you. If he cums that deep inside, you think hazily, you’re going to be so full.

With Kazuha’s pace stirring up the overstim from your past orgasms, your release comes within sight in no time. Each of his thrusts hits exactly where you need it to have your spine feel like gelatin and your toes curling. Tears of pleasure gather and spill past your lashes as you lose yourself, getting closer and closer to coming undone on his cock.

“You’re breathtaking when you cry,” a kiss is pressed to your cheek, so tender and at odds with how his cock buried inside of you has your legs shaking. The hand around your neck squeezes, enough to have you gasp, as he draws himself out of you until only the head of his cock remains before pulling you into his next thrust.

“You want to cum right, baby? Go ahead then— I’ll fill you up right after, I promise.” And oh the way he says it is so sweet, and the clench around the sides of your neck makes you lightheaded and tunnel visions you on how full you feel and how good your boyfriend fucks you that it all comes to a head.

With a whine of his name, you shut your eyes and cum— so hard, you might as well have blacked out then and there. Kazuha rubs your back with his free hand, murmuring how you’re so good for him, how you’re squeezing his cock so well and right and making him feel so good. Do you know how good you’re making him feel, baby? There’s a hitch in his breath, a strangled moan, before he spills his cum inside of you, filling you up to the brim and making you feel so warm and full.

Kazuha swears under his breath as he eases you off his cock, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of his cum spilling out from your hole and down your thighs. Your legs still twitch from the remnants of your orgasm, paired with all the ones before it.

“You did well taking all my cum,” he says softly, easing you off the table and into his arms, careful not to jostle your exhausted state.

You’re drowsy— eyes barely able to stay open. Things are a blur from there— sometime between point A and point B, you find yourself in your bed, swaddled in blankets, so warm and comfortable. You feel Kazuha press a kiss to your temple, and before you fall into a deep sleep, the last thing you hear is— “Rest well, sweetheart. I love you.”

#「 💦 」 whipped.cream #Kazuha smut #Genshin smut #bloru.sweetnspice #「 🐈‍⬛ 」 catcze.desserts #cw gn reader

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hurtmyfavsthanks · 8 months

Text

Whumptember day 10

“What are you doing to them?” Brainwashed | Hanging from their wrists | Phone call

It felt like their brain was vibrating. All they could hear or feel was an endless buzzing, like all their atoms were trying to pull apart from one another. It was overwhelming, muffling any sensations from the outside world. They couldn't hear, they couldn't think. Their brain was vibrating.

It’d hurt, before. Or they thought it had. They couldn’t remember much before the buzzing had started, but they remembered struggling against the feeling. Had they fought because it hurt? Because it was bad? They didn't remember.

They didn’t struggle now. They didn’t know how, when the entire world was vibrating.

It was like bees had taken residence in their skull; not to harm it, but to reshape it. Everything useless was tossed away, the gaping holes being filled with honey. They’d fought to stop it, but then the memory of why they were fighting had been drowned in sticky sweetness.

It was dizzying and disorienting, it put their teeth on edge, but they didn’t know if it hurt. They couldn’t know anything, not when their brain was vibrating.

They heard voices somewhere outside of their hive they’d become, distant and nearly drowned out.

“What…what is this? What are you doing to them?”

“Hero, you’re aware of our reformation project, yes? Villain is our first patient.”

Just barely, they could hear the voices approaching.

“I–So you’re what, brainwashing them? Is this ethical? Does it hurt?”

Yes, the thought bubbled through the buzzing, it does, please it–

”No, not at all. It’s entirely painless.”

–doesn’t hurt? No, it doesn’t, but didn’t it before? They weren’t sure anymore. The question was being thrown away alongside the other trash, swallowed up and drowned out. They quickly lost hold of it.

Something touched a distant part of their body, and it took a long moment for them to realize they were more than their buzzing skull. Something had been holding their arms aloft, and with a click, it released. They nearly fell forward without the support, but something wrapped around their face held them up, pulling at their scalp.

“Villain, can you hear me? It’s Hero,” The voice was back, closer, but still muffled by the chaos in their mind. It felt like the voice reminded them of something, but they didn’t know. The part of their brain that had known had been scooped out and replaced, leaving barely the shape of a memory.

Something clicked, the noise echoing in the mind, and the buzzing sharpened. They shivered at the sensation of their brain finally sitting still, the see of static shifting into an organized effort.

“Stand up,” The voice wasn’t muffled by the noise, it was the noise. The vibration was shaped by the words, speaking with power that they felt in their bones.

It was a relief, and they chased after that peace. They stood on legs they hardly remembered they had.

Something was moving on their head, whatever had been wrapped around their skull being removed. The world exploded into color, the change taking them a moment to adjust to. When they opened their eyes, two figures stood before them.

The vibrating was already coming back, their moment of peace fading. But then one of the figures clicked a button they held in their hands, and everything sharpened.

“Tell me, who are you and what do you want?”

They hadn’t known the answer seconds ago. They still didn’t know, and yet the truth formed in their mind. After the disorientating chaos, the confidence they felt at their answer was a comfort.

And outside of the angry hive Villain’s mind had become, Hero watched, a horrified onlooker, as their former foe’s face split with a vacant, dull-eyed smile.

“My name is Sidekick, and I want to help you in any way possible.”

#Honestly mind control is like wildly underused in whump #i know it's used a lot but still. underused #def a top 3 for me i should write it more #whump #whumptember day 10 #whumptember 2023 #day 10: “what are you doing to them?”/brainwashed/hanging from their wrists #villain whumpee #mind control whump #brainwashing whump #(still don't know the difference between those two)#forced reformation #hero #villain #my stuff #mind controlled villain #mind control

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koorminii · 2 years

Text

wus good/curious | bang chan (m)

❥ pairing: chan x f!reader ❥ genre: pwp (minimal), smut & angst (?) ❥ rating: 18+ ❥ word count: 2.8k ❥ warnings: mentions of a past toxic relationship, chan wants you back, you are having none of it. chan is not like chan! but he’s really hot, just really horny and a bit dark. sex club, banter, lust/hate relationship, praise, pussy eating, oral!m & f receiving, rough makeout sessions, mentions of drinking and smoking, dirty talk, unprotected sex, cum eating, petnames kinda, dom!chan, sub!reader, messy sex, size kink, teasing, edging, begging, slight humiliation, hickeys, breeding kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, questionable words from chan at the end. ❥ a/n: first of all, I’ve been having major chan brain rot like it’s getting bad… and most of my fics are gonna be named after pnd songs.. just like this one and relax with me because i’m obsessed so if there’s any pnd lovers hi. but actually I was inspired by U&I by the neighbourhood so definitely listen to that… and I hope you enjoy! lmk if I’m missing any tags <3 ALSO! if you plan on staying around, I have a form for kinktober that I would appreciate if you filled out so I can get a headstart <3

playlist: wus good/curious - partynextdoor, U&I - the neighbourhood, one night only - sonder, between us - TYuS

Red lights give Chan a headache. His eyes strain to see in the otherwise darkened room, the people around him just a mass of blurry figures grinding and moving against each other like they’ll die without another person’s touch.

Red lights make Chan dizzy, but the promise of what’s to come allows him to ignore it. The lights flicker and his vision fights with itself to focus. He barely registers the hand sliding up his pants when his eyes flutter shut, his drink teetering over the edge of his glass and threatening to spill on the expensive leather. It’s the least of his worries, though, because all that’s on his mind is you.

Does he regret how things ended? Yeah, maybe a little, but that’s just how things are. He can’t help his nature and he can’t give you the perfect loving boyfriend that you want. It just isn’t him. He does miss you, and if you took him back he wouldn’t complain, but he already knows what would be in store if you did. Screaming matches every night, leaving and not coming back until late the next day, fighting and making up over and over. And then sex. lots and lots of sex. His favorite part if he had to choose.

He’s not keen on hearing you scream at him while he’s nursing a hangover like he quite often is, and neither were your neighbors. Going on and on until the birds started to sing and your voice was coming out hoarse. The exhaustion was clear on your face, the resignation that this was never going to work. After a while he was just waiting for you to give up and finally walk out like you should have done a long time ago, until you actually did.

Not even a goodbye. A fuck you before driving off. Nothing. And that hurt more than anything else ever could. So does he miss you? Hell fucking yes. Would he do things differently this time around? He has no idea, and somehow that’s reason enough for him to know everything would go to shit if you two did start again. He just isn’t made to love, only made to hurt, and he has enough of something in his heart where he won’t make you go through that again.

He doesn't know why he’s here. Partying every night is nothing new to him and he’d probably be at this club tonight anyway, but the reason he is still has him pacing in his mind and wondering if he should just leave now before he fucks everything up like he usually does.

It’s not often you ask him for favors. He didn’t think he would ever hear you ask for anything ever again, so when you asked him to meet you at Le coït, the most expensive club in the city, he said yes.

Red lights make Chan lightheaded, but now he has one girl whispering in his ear and another slipping her fingers into his open dress shirt. His head lolls on the backrest of the couch, his legs spread wide inviting anyone interested to take their spot between them when he spots you. Hair fluffed out, eyes shadowed by dark eyeliner, and lips a deep scarlet red. You’re standing over him, looking down at him like a mother would look at her naughty child. He smirks. “Hey, doll.”

Looking over at him you can’t help but wonder if you made a mistake. After all, who calls their toxic ex over to them instead of running the opposite direction? He’s still as sexy as ever, and even more promiscuous after abandoning the facade of ever being faithful.

He sits up when you don’t respond, shrugging the two girls that were draped over him into either side of the couch. They roll their eyes before standing up and sneering at you on their way out. You roll your eyes, “Can’t you control your little hoochies?”

“Not my fucking problem.”

You send a glare his way and he just stares at you from under hooded eyes as if he’s examining, assessing how much you’ve changed over the last seven months. “I met you here. What the fuck else do you want?” He snaps, standing up to leer over you.

“I want you to act like you at least have a semblance of decency, and not be a dick for two seconds.” You grit, looking him in the eyes just long enough to see him laugh.

“But isn’t that what you liked best about me?”

You look down, the subject of your sharp look being the outline in his jeans. “Yeah,” you say sweetly.

He pauses, lost for words, until “What do you want?” He growls, lips pressed together tightly.

“Oh please,” you tease, “don’t act like I’m sneaking up on you and you didn’t practically jump at the chance to meet me.” Chan rolls his eyes, his jaw clenching and the only thing he wants to do is keep fighting, especially if that means he gets to talk to you longer.

“I have a proposition for you.”

“Which is?”

“I- I want us to…” You stammer, and for a moment Chan sees past the front you’ve put up and the girl he remembers. The one it was just too easy to make his own, following whatever he said until you finally put your foot down. “I want you to fuck me,” You grit, “At least to remind me of the one thing you always did right.”

He can’t help the laugh that leaves his throat. “Wow,” he grins, “You’ve seeked me out for a hookup?”

You shuffle your feet, switching your weight from one foot to the other. “If you’re gonna give me a hard time, I’ll pay you and you can act like you don’t want it just as much as me.”

“Pay me,” He huffs, “like I'm some whore on the street?”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

His eyes cut daggers into your own, but you don’t back down. He relinquished any power he had over you a long time ago.

“Fine.”

You shouldn’t, but you’re too pent up to care. When Chan’s fingers slip under the waistband of your leather skirt, all you can think about is how good he’s going to make you feel. Your arms wrap around his neck and your fingers slide into his hair and grab. His mouth opens and a puff of air is visible in the smoke that leaves his mouth. You smirk, bringing him closer and pressing your lips together. A kiss much too tender for a causal hookup between two exes in a private room of a sex club, but Chan fists your shirt and pulls you impossibly closer. His fingers dig into your hips and he kisses you like a man starved.

It’s sloppy, messy as ever as spit slicks your chin and you huff into his mouth, stepping backwards and tripping over the edge of the couch. You hate fucking on leather but Chan loves it. His hand trails down past the hem of your skirt and trails along your bare skin, feather light touches that leave goosebumps in their wake and send a shiver up your spine. He pushes your legs down harshly, spreading them wide enough for him to slot himself between them. He hasn’t stopped kissing you and you can barely breathe, sliding your hand out of his hair and clawing at his back, gripping his silk shirt and tearing at it with your nails. You drag it upwards with an unspoken message of off off off.

He sneaks a hand over your neck and pushes your head upwards and into the couch. His breath ghosts over your skin, fruity and sweet from alcohol, before he sinks down and nips at your neck. You hear yourself moan before you register the harsh kisses he’s trailing along your neck, ripping open the white blouse you put on for the first time today and trailing kisses along your chest. He bites and sucks and licks over the marks he’s sure to have left before he finally pulls his shirt over his head.

You drag your fingers against his skin. You know the warm honey tone even if you can’t see it, the red lights casting a dark shadow over his features. His hair covers his eyes as he looks down at you, and you can’t even see the whites of his pupils from this angle. You can’t help the gasp that leaves your mouth, he’s like a devil clad in leather eating you from the inside out and making you his.

“You’re absolutely sinful,” he slurs, the movement of his spit slicked lips slowed by the lasting effects of whatever narcotics he’s spent his night taking. Chan stares down at you— the way your hair fans out and your lashes flutter under his attention. Your lips are swollen and wet, open just wide enough for him to slip a finger inside. He does just that, slotting his thumb between your lips and pushing your top lip up, fighting the urge to drool over how plump they are. He can’t help but remember how full they look around his cock.

You moan around his finger, closing his lips around him when he allows, and suckle on his skin. The pleasure he gets from that alone has precum dribbling in his tight pants, the outline of his heavy cock visible to anyone who looked close enough. He shuts his eyes and sighs, slouching against you. Your legs bracket his waist and his crotch is right in front of your entrance. Your skirt rides up your waist so the view of your pussy and sopping panties is in plain sight, practically begging for pleasure.

He drags a ringed finger up your fold through your underwear, and your legs fight to close. You’re so sensitive from almost nothing at all, and a strangled moan leaves your mouth when he takes his thumb and pushes it against your clit, rubbing it through the fabric. The pleasure is muffled but still has you whimpering against him, crying out when he slots his lips against yours.

You break apart from the kiss and dart your tongue and swipe it across his lips. He hisses, his eyes snapping open and you lean closer and peck his lips, begging, “Just fuck me, please. A-and then we can go our separate ways just.. just—”

Breaths coming out ragged and sharp, Chan cuts you off and smashes his lips against yours practically growling and ravenous as he pulls you impossibly closer. Your moans and whines leave your mouth like a garbled mess and Chan doesn’t stop.

He pulls your underwear down leaving it dangling on your ankle as he creeps closer to your dripping cunt. “I’ll give you whatever you want,” he sighs, and the cool air on your sensitive folds has your eyes fluttering shut.

Contrary to what you expect, he brings his fingers back against you, rubbing at your swollen nub as your eyes slip closed and you go slack against the sticky leather. A lusty haze settles over you like a dank fog seeping into your pores and taking over. Chan’s fingers only speed up slightly, just enough to keep the arousal bubbling in your belly constant. Your hips jerk against him and you grind against his fingers, whining pitifully when it still isn’t enough.

“Wanna see you fuck yourself on my fingers and show me how badly you want to come,” Chan groans in your ear and your hips stutter as a long whine spills from your lips. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, yes,” you slur, grabbing at his shoulders for support as you move your hips faster.

“Good girl.”

You whimper, and everything fades as you feel the knots in your stomach clench, your climax approaching steadily. You feel cum leak down your legs and onto the couch, but Chan doesn’t stop. Only now does he speed up and your hips speed up with him. When the warmth leaves you and your hips shake, you cry out and Chan finally stops, taking his wet fingers and putting them in his mouth.

Chan groans at the taste, and almost loses his mind at the wet spot where you lay, your arousal still leaking down your legs. You felt his hands grab at your cheeks, massaging the flesh before leaning in and licking a stripe across your center. You yelped, grabbing onto his shoulders as he continued working on you, sucking dutifully on your clit and running his tongue up and down between your folds.

“Oh…”

Chan pulls off and groans, “You taste so good.”

Your hand runs shakily through his hair, grabbing at the loose strands and pulling him up. “I want you to fuck me,” You groan, your lips wobbly and your eyes hazy where they meet his.

“Oh baby,” he tsks, “You still have some work to do, don’t you?” He pulls your hand from his hair and leans up, making quick work of unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them down. There’s a wet spot in his boxers from pre cum and his cock springs out when he pulls them down. You feel your mouth go dry, his cock clean and pretty just like him, flushed and wet at the tip. The red lights become second nature and you barely notice them when they bounce off his skin and he leans forward dragging you down by your ankles.

“Suck.” He commands, pushing your head forward and dragging his heavy length over your lips. Your whines are muffled when he shoves it inside and you gag, too heavy and too big and much too quick. Your lips wrap around him sucking gently, your tongue lapping against the tip. Pre cum coats your tongue and you sink down even further, your throat closing and your nose tickled by pubic hair.

Chan groans from above you, your hair in a vice grip as he steadily pushes you on and off his cock. His mouth hangs open and his eyes flutter as you work on him sucking and kissing all over his pretty, flushed skin. You can’t help the moan that leaves your mouth and the vibrations against his sensitive crotch has him jerking against you.

“Fuck,” he moans, “You were made just for me.”

You sob in his hold, it comes out choked and watery but he smirks all the same before pulling you off and pushing you backwards. His biceps flex when he grabs your thighs and turns you over, your cheek pressed into the sticky cushion— your back arched and legs spread wide. He smooths his hand over your arch before pulling back and spreading you wide and slotting his dick inside with no warning.

He stretches you out so well, a moan punching its way out your throat as he buries himself in your tight heat. His fingers dig into your skin so hard you cry out in pain but he doesn’t let up, determined to have you walking home with bruises that spell out his name.

“Do you know how much I’ve missed you?” He growls, thrusting into you particular harshly when you cry out. “Thinking you can just walk away from me?” He says it almost like he’s shocked. He pushes your head down into the cushion, and his dick pushes even deeper. When you reach a hand down you can feel the imprint where his tip lays as he thrusts in slow and deep.

Your cheek is amused against the chair and drool pools out your mouth. You can’t think past anything but full. You're so, so, full. Chan always knows just what you need to feel good.

You can’t stop your moans as he thrusts in and out of your sopping wet pussy. The sound of his cock drilling in you and stirring your arousal is filthy and rings in your ears, but the shame isn’t enough to stop you from moving your hips back and meeting him thrust for thrust. You can feel your orgasm creeping up on you and Chan’s as well as his thrusts become sloppier and lose their rhythm.

Chan groans and you feel his cum paint your walls. Your orgasm follows when he thrusts lazily into you, riding his orgasm and continuing to cum deep inside.You try to protest but your body racks with shivers and you can’t stop cumming. Chan laughs above you and leaves a heavy smack on your ass, and you can feel the skin blush a deep red even though you can’t see it. He pulls out and you feel the mixture of your release dribble down your front. Your hips are still stuck in the air, frozen, while your body continues to shake.

“I did a number on you huh, baby.” Chan teases, before leaning down and leaving a lazy kiss against you. You’re too fucked out to reciprocate and the smirk that adorns Chan’s face is borderline cruel. “I turned you into my own stupid slut, didn’t I?” He laughs, smoothing his hand through your hair.

“You know you can’t stay away for long.”

You feel his lips press your cheek before everything goes dark.

a/n: as always, thank u so much for reading and I hope u enjoyed! more than happy to hear ur thoughts <3

#stray kids #stray kids imagines #chan x reader #stray kids smut #skz smut #chan smut #bangchan x reader #bangchan imagines #chan imagines #bangchan smut #bangchan scenarios #skz x reader #bang chan x reader #bang chan x female reader #bang chan

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cabinofimagines · 2 years

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Communication is the key

Fella’s Fellow’s and Fellu’s, i fear that generally jealousy is kinda bad so this is in fact how to get over it

Pairing: Poly!Solangelo x reader, Nico di Angelo x reader x Will Solace Request: more poly nico x will x reader pls??? something with jealousy?? // Can I request a poly!solangelo x reader, where the reader is a mortal and they are super protective of them? Thank you so much, your writing is amazing!! Word count: 3.2k (oops) Warnings: jealousy, hurt/comfort

-Asnyox

A sigh escaped your lips when you noticed that your wristwatch was probably broken. You guessed it was the battery, however it had been holding up so well after Nico helped you fix it last time it stopped working. Hence, why you were looking for your boyfriend to help you. Admittedly, you were also looking for both of them as you hadn’t seen them properly in about a week and you missed them. You spotted your significant others holding hands and seemingly in their own world, as your heart clenched with longing to be between them again. As you looked at the wristwatch in your hands, you noticed they had been shaking and you took a deep breath - hoping to not have an emotional breakdown from yearning for some affection.

You approached your lovers slowly, and as you got there they barely seemed to pay you any mind. “Hey!” you smiled, and after a second both your boyfriends looked at you, smiling back. “Hey! What’s up?” Will asked and you noticed your eyes drifting down towards their hands. Priorities, (Y/n), hand holding is fun but you are on a mission. “Eh, could you guys maybe help me for a second? I think my wristwatch is broken and-” Will sucked some air through his teeth, you already felt the let down coming. “Sorry, Nico and I were just going to go to the lake.” Nico nodded along, but he noticed your dejected face. “You can join us though, if you want?” he shrugged, “I can help you fix it tomorrow?” for some reason you suddenly felt tired, as the disappointment took place in your mind. Your brain was still on the mission of fixing the wristwatch- and although you badly wanted to spend time with your boyfriends you shook your head.

“Uh, I will just ask Leo or something for help,” you tried to genuinely smile, but you felt it was forced for yourself, “Have fun at the lake!” you turned around, heading towards the Hephaestus cabin.

As you left, your boyfriends watched your disappearing form. “Do you think they’re alright? They looked pretty sad.” Will asked, squeezing his boyfriend's hand. Nico quickly glanced at Will. “They did really like that wristwatch, even if it keeps breaking,” Nico’s eyes fell to the ground for a second, “might be why they’re sad?” he offered and Will nodded, both unaware of your inner turmoil.

───────────

You had found Leo, after asking his siblings, in Bunker Nine. You could’ve asked any Hephaestus kid for help, but you wanted to talk to a friend right about now, still feeling dejected by the rejection of your boyfriends. Leo had shot you one look after you asked to fix your wristwatch, after which he took it from your hands, put it down beside him, and looked back into your eyes.

“Now tell me what else is wrong?” Leo rarely got serious, but he had sensed you were sad and this was his top priority now. You shook your head and looked away, unable to lie to your friend while looking him in the eye. “Nothing, Leo.” Leo tilted his head as he cupped your cheek to make you look him in the eye. “Try again, (Y/n).” You couldn’t deny him as you looked in his eyes and your body sagged. “I miss my boyfriends,” you felt the emotions flow in as you voiced your thoughts, “I miss them, and I asked them for help because I just want to spend some time with them but every time in the past week I have just been denied- or too busy or they were busy and-” You took a deep breath, trying to suppress your tears, “and it makes me think that maybe I should try something else. I know they love me, but if they don’t have time for me or- or don’t need me as I need them?” You focused your gaze back onto Leo, who seemed to be thinking, “I’m sorry,” you whispered, unmoving. Leo quickly shook his head.

“Don’t be sorry, these are all valid feelings, and honestly,” Leo let go of your face as he sat up, “I think your boyfriends should get a taste of their own medicine.” Leo saw the doubt in your eyes and smiled at you reassuringly, “Let me take care of you, this once, okay (Y/n)?”

And thus Leo’s plan was born- he had decided that instead of letting you focus on your lovers, Leo would distract you every minute of the day until you felt better and no longer needed to depend on your boyfriends for affection. This did not go unnoticed by said boyfriends- because it included Leo whipping you away every time you started a conversation with them. This part of the plan Leo hadn’t told you, but he wanted to make your boyfriends pay for getting you this upset. Your boyfriends however did not like this new development, but as the week progressed there was little they could do except rant towards one another. They decided though, that at the coming movie night at the Big House they would steal you away, and not let go of you for a week.

───────────

You were excited for the movie night. In the past week Leo had made sure that you were distracted and cheered up after missing your boyfriends for so long. He also taught you how to fix your wristwatch, and you were happy it was working again. You had just sat down in your circle of friends, as Leo immediately climbed on top of you.

“Leo, what the actual fuck,” you asked your friend nicely as he shrugged and leaned against you, forcing you to put your full weight against the cushions behind you.

“I was just feeling like cuddles.” he stated and he shifted his weight, getting comfortable on your lap, “and you own me, for yesterday.”

You sighed as you put your arms around his waist, making yourself more comfortable holding him.

“And the payment has to be now?” you asked the Latino sitting on your lap.

“No, but it’s also payback to your boyfriends.” you could hear the smile in his voice, “because you were not happy that they left you to fix your wristwatch by yourself.”

“Am I not the one who should make them pay though?” you asked and Leo laughed.

“Oh you are making them pay.”

As you continued the conversation you were holding with Leo, him leaning more and more into you as you talked, you didn’t really notice your boyfriends walking in. They had wanted to spend some time close to you, for real this time, and as their gazes fell on your position - or rather, Leo’s position on top of you, they quickly glanced at each other. “Are you seeing this?” Will exclaimed not so loudly at Nico, as Nico tightened his grip on Will’s hand. Nico was not used to this feeling- but he felt a gnarly anger inside him, and as Will saw Nico’s angry expression he panicked. Will quickly grabbed his lover’s face and pressed a kiss on his lips, leaving Nico bewildered and angry, but at least no longer in danger of summoning skeletons.

“Nico, my sunshine,” Will looked at his boyfriend's lips, and then at his eyes, “I need you to calm down a little.” Nico took a deep breath, but his heart wouldn’t stop beating and as your laughter mixed with Leo’s rang through the room he felt an angry chill go up his spine. What was Leo doing on your lap? Why can’t Nico remember your smile now? Why, why, why-

“Nico!” Will loudly scolded him, which silenced the room. You slightly pushed Leo out of the way to see your boyfriends, but as you did so you felt a restraint on your ankles, and as you looked at them you saw skeletal hands wrapped around them. You gasped as you loosened yourself, quickly removing Leo from your lap and standing up. As you came closer Nico looked at you, scared, as he turned away and walked out. You reached Will before he could follow and tried to grab his hand, only for him to move it away and glare at you.

“What happened?” you asked, seeking for an answer in your lover’s eyes. But they only held anger as you shrunk under his gaze.

“Don’t bother.” Will snarled, as he felt angry at himself for letting Nico get like this - angry at you for being the cause of this. You stepped back at the heat of his glare, before trying to step past him, but Will stopped you.

“I just want to help-” you try to move, but Will pushes you back, making you stumble.

“You have done enough, (Y/n). I don’t think Nico needs you right now.” Will turns around and walks away as you feel your heart shatter. Feeling the tension in the room behind you, you slightly turn to face them, looking to the ground.

“I, uh-” you feel yourself choke a little as your heart beats harder, “I’m just going to bed, sorry.”

───────────

Will sighed as he woke up, his sleepy bless almost immediately interrupted by the reminder of last night. He pressed a kiss on the top of Nico’s head, as he stroked his boyfriend's hair. He felt a gnawing feeling when he thought back at the night before, seeing your downstruck face in front of him before he walked away. He had just been so angry at everything- but he hated that he left it at that. Unconsciously he tightened his grip on his boyfriend, awakening the son of Hades.

“Will…?” he heard his boyfriend mumble softly, and as he let go he was faced with a sleepy face.

“Hey sunshine, how are you feeling?” Will asked, softly smiling as he stroked Nico’s hair. Nico grunted in response, nuzzling his face into Will’s shoulder.

“Where’s (Y/n)?” Nico whispered as he pressed his face further into Will, “Didn’t they follow us?” Will stilled his movements as he closed his eyes.

“I,” he hesitated, but he knew that he had to face the music today anyways, “I told them to leave us alone,” Will pressed himself closer to Nico, a feeling of guilt settling in his stomach.

“Angry too, huh.” Nico sighed, feeling his heart clench at the thought of you being gone, “We should talk it out.” he whispered and he felt Will nod.

They arrived at the dining pavilion holding hands, and as they looked around for you, Leo approached them. The latino was nervous, but he knew that he had to clarify - or make things right for your sake. Sure, Leo was aware that he had been pushing your boyfriends to try to get them to spend more time with you, but this backfired harshly and he felt guilty about being the reason for tension in your relationship.

Nico turned and glared at him, and Leo rather wanted to run than to move forward, but he took a deep breath as he stepped closer.

“What do you want, Valdez?” Nico had to remind himself to breathe, and that he was there to make it up to you not to kill Leo for being too close with you.

“I want to,” Leo gulped, “... apologize for yesterday.” he paused and his shoulders sagged, “and the past week? I think… I can explain.” Will notioned for him to go on, still hoping to catch a glimpse of you in the pavilion.

“Okay so, it started when you guys wouldn’t help (Y/n) fix their wristwatch.” after Leo saw recognition pass over their faces he continued, “they mentioned feeling a bit left out? and upset because they hadn’t gotten proper time with either of you in a bit and I, uh,” Leo wringed his hands as he looked downwards, “I took it upon myself to try to cheer them up,” he looked up again, carefully meeting the gazes of your boyfriends, “and to try to keep them from you so you wouldn’t take their time for granted so much?” He quickly finished his sentence. As he was met with silence, Leo felt that he needed to explain more, a nervous stutter in his chest as he scrambled for words.

“It’s just- you guys can be angry, okay, however your anger should be towards me not (Y/n), because they had nothing to do with this. However, you also need to realize that you have not been great boyfriends towards them- because I don’t know what you did but they were positively upset about it. And as (Y/n)’s friend it is my responsibility to make sure they get treated right. I was not letting you guys go on without getting paid back while I was cheering (Y/n) up.” Leo looked at both Nico and Will as they exchanged a glance.

Will sighed, “We have fucked up- but we want to talk it out with (Y/n),” Will looked around the dining pavilion once more, “Do you have any clue where they are?” he hopefully looked at Leo, who seemed to be searching for something on their faces.

“Are you still angry?” Leo carefully asked and both Nico and Will shook their heads, “Alright, come with me, I guess.”

───────────

When Leo woke you up this morning in bunker nine, he only had to look you in the eyes to know that you would not get breakfast right now. He could see the traces of last night’s tears, and as he made up his mind to fix this, you just turned to face the wall again. This was great, you only wanted to spend time with your boyfriends and now they will probably break up with you, just great. You felt tears swell up again as you thought about how to never see them at camp again after you were over.

You had not been aware of how much time had passed, nor did you really care. Leo was probably back from breakfast, and the worst case scenario you could come up with was him trying to feed you something now. You were sure with all the sorrow in your chest, you would not be able to swallow a singular bite.

“(Y/n)?” as you heard Nico’s voice you realized that there was an even worse scenario than Leo forcing you to have breakfast. Your eyes widened, as you curled more into yourself. Why were they here? You weren’t ready for this to end yet, “Leo let us in, could you please look at us?” Nico whispered and as much as you did not want to face them, you could not deny your boyfriend his request. As you sat up your body ached from laying on a couch for the whole night.

Nico’s eyes widened when you turned around, as he saw how badly you were doing. He wouldn’t be surprised if you had not slept at all last night. He quietly moved to sit next to you, carefully grabbing your hand. You didn’t move away from his grip, but you refused to look up from the floor. Will mirrored Nico’s movements on the other side of you.

“Where’s Leo?” your voice came out more softly than you had wanted it to, but you didn’t have the energy to care. “He has gone back to have breakfast, to give us some time alone,” Will said as he squeezed your hand, “We need to talk, I think.” you felt your throat close at those words, but you still nodded. Silence engulfed the three of you, either person afraid to break the fragile calmness that was surrounding you.

“Yesterday,” Nico’s voice cut through the silence, “I was jealous of you being so close with Leo.” The statement sounded cold, but you noticed the care Nico took choosing every word, “It was not only from yesterday though, I hadn’t seen you for too long and-” his breath shuddered, as he looked at you. You only looked forward, unwilling to look at either of your lovers, “and I missed you, I thought of losing you and I am sorry for losing my cool.” his eyes searched the profile of your face, finding nothing but the remnants of pain from yesterday.

You took a deep breath, and slowly opened your mouth, feeling as if you had not had a drink in days. “I had not seen you two for weeks properly and I missed you two a lot, and then-” old emotions bubbled up as you hiccupped, “I asked for help because I needed to spend time with you but you two are always together and sometimes it just feels like you don’t even miss me when I am not around and-” you removed your hands from theirs as you curled into yourself, “and if you guys don’t-” you didn’t want to say it, you didn’t “if you guys don’t, just tell me- I-” a hiccup disrupted your sentence as you felt a pair of hands on your back, and you were engulfed in a hug from both sides. Will slowly moved to press your head towards his chest.

“We do miss you- a lot, but when we’re together we always talk about having you there, so we don’t notice it,” Will whispered, “because when we are together, we imagine you with us and-” Will closed his eyes, “I am sorry, so sorry about yesterday- about pushing you- Nico was hurting and it got me angry, but not at you I promise.” he pressed a kiss on your head, as Nico laid his head on your shoulder, “I promise that I love you and I cannot see the world without you there, with us. I will never hurt you again, I will try at least. Can you forgive me?” Your breath shook as you smiled a little through your tears and nodded carefully.

As you slowly broke the hug, you noticed that both of your lovers had also been crying.

“We’re a mess, huh,” you whispered and Will laughed silently. Nico just cupped your face, and pressed a kiss on your forehead, after which he pressed a kiss on Will’s hand.

“We really should communicate more,” Will said, as he rubbed his thumb over Nico’s hand, “A relationship with two people is already hard enough, but we are with three so,” you licked your lips as you nodded in agreement. You held up your hand, with its pinkie out.

“Let’s promise that from now on- instead of bottling things up we will try to communicate?” Nico smiled as he interlocked his pinkie with yours. Will joined in and as you shook pinkies a pact was born.

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luimagines · 2 years

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Twi with an s/o who gets into as much trouble as wild, if not more?

That's an impressive feat. You got it, Anon!

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

“So if I hit this and jump off of the explosion at just the right time then I would be able to grab onto that tree branch and vault myself up even higher into the air and then I can get your boomerang down.” You explained the plan to a very confused but determined Hyrule.

“Sounds dangerous.” He nods a bit as the information sinks into his brain. “It’ll probably work then.”

“Right?” You smirk. “I’m so smart and good at things. Give me two minutes.”

You cock your arrow and fire.

Hyrule watches on with tense anticipation as he watches you take off running after it to start this crazy enough to work plan of yours.

One failed attempt later and Hyrule is patching you up. Failed in the meaning that you didn’t go through with your plan. The boomerang however, was very much retrieved.

“What the-” You hear Twilight’s voice get caught in his throat. You can hear the footsteps get closer to your location and you steel yourself for the inevitable lecture.

“What happened?” Uh oh. That’s not the lecture tone. That’s heartbreak.

Panicked, you look back up at him just in time to meet his eyes head on as he falls to his knees beside you. This was not part of the plan. You’ve already deviated it. This isn’t in the script.

His hands come up to cup your cheeks gently as his thumbs gently brushing over the forming and healing bruises. The tenderness breaks away any defense you could have been able to come up for yourself. Words fail you.

“We did something dumb.” Hyrule answers his question. “They volunteered as tribute to try it and while we ended up completing our goal... they got a bit roughed up.”

Twilight bites his lip- barely silencing a whine from deep with his throat.

Oh no. Oh no. He’s going to cry. How do you fix this?

“It’s not that bad.” Your own voice comes out in mere squeaks. It’s small and embarrassed but also an attempts to heal and soothe was has been hurt. “I just fell a bit.”

“From the tree.”

“Rulie.” You hiss and spin to him with no short of venom in your voice. “Not helping.”

Twilight groans and flops into your lap, his arms coming to wrap themselves around your waist as his pushes his face into your stomach.

“For one day-” He starts. “Can you not get yourself into some altercation? Either with the monster of the day, or the others, or with your own dramatic ideas.”

You take mild offence to that. “Hey, my ideas are not always dramatic.”

Deadpanning, Twilight removes his head for a bit and looks back at Hyrule from around you. “Was it their idea?”

“Yes.”

Twilight returns to look you in the eye.

Having been caught, you can’t meet him head on. Instead you looked away and mutter under your breath, mostly directed toward the boy behind you as he applies some ointment to your minor burns. “Traitor.”

Twilight ignores your words in favor of gently turning your face toward him. He looks over your face for the minor scratches and burns. Some of your hair was singed and you’re missing half of an eyebrow. But the more he looks over you, checking over your arms and legs, (Hyrule had most of it covered without wasting any magic) Twilight is able to conclude that most, if not, all of your injuries are minor.

His heart settles for a moment and he sighs before flopping back against you. It hurts for a minute but then he shifts and lessens the pressure on your more sensitive areas for the time being.

“Between you and Cub, I’m going to go grey by thirty.” Twilight mutters.

You laugh nervously an slowly card your fingers through his hair. Is this better or worse than a lecture? You’re not sure. “Surely, I’m not that bad.”

Twilight lets out a grunt of disagreement.

Even Hyrule snickers right behind your ear. Fed up with it, you turn and swipe at him. He dodges easily enough and leaves you alone with Twilight.

“Stop getting hurt.” Twilight says within the next heartbeat.

“Ok, ok-” You snicker and go back to playing with his hair. “I will do my best. Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout.” He grumbles.

“Well then, I guess I’ll stay the same.”

“Noooooooooo...”

“Yeeeeeeeessss.”

#linked universe #linked universe x reader #linkeduniverse #lu twilight

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whorkn33 · 2 years

Text

blanket ghost breakdown

genre: angst words: 3139 warnings: mentions of death, being told to die, severe illness, vague themes of issues with abandonment and helplessness summary: Komaeda has the despair disease, and suddenly it's like he's not the same person. You're just trying to help, to keep him in bed and watch over him in case his condition tanks again, but he seems dead set on making that as difficult for you as possible. a/n: i wrote this on a bad day where i just wanted to get what i was feeling out of my brain, so here it is lol. im fine btw, just needed an outlet and decided to post it bc i like the final product

☆~☆

You’re exhausted. You haven’t slept in two days now, mostly out of worry, but partially because he won’t shut up.

Komaeda is laying in his hospital bed, rambling on and on about how much he just fucking hates you, about how he thinks you’re a worthless piece of shit and he wishes you died instead of anyone else. He’s cackling in between his words, talking so much he’s constantly out of breath.

He isn’t even looking at you anymore, tossing his head side to side as he giggles manically to himself. Every so often he’ll get a burst of energy and thrash about, screaming at you until his throat is raw to just leave him alone, get your ugly face out of his room before he vomits on his bedsheets.

You know logically he doesn’t mean any of it - that’s the nature of the despair disease, after all. But it still hurts. Komaeda had always treated you with nothing short of respect, even when you had your more clumsy moments. He had a weird, messed up way of communicating it, but you knew he cared for and respected you just as much as anyone else on the island.

Even after his breakdown during the first trial, you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate him. You wanted to believe he was just scared, like everyone else, and acting out because of it. You knew the others judged you for it, and you couldn’t exactly blame them. He’d done some pretty messed up shit.

Maybe you were just too empathetic. Or maybe Komaeda was just pretty enough for you to willingly put on a pair of rose-colored glasses.

Whatever your motivation, selfish or not, it landed you here. You’d been stationed with Komaeda, since you were the only one who could stand being around him for longer than two minutes, and your job was to make sure he didn’t do anything to hurt himself or anyone else, and call Tsumiki if his condition worsened.

You gave this job to yourself willingly, and while you don’t necessarily regret it, your patience is certainly beginning to wear thin.

You sat on a cool metal chair next to his bed and watched his lips form all the venomous words he spat at you, his face red and sweaty from his ridiculously high fever. His hair was sticking to his forehead, and though he usually seemed to be a bit colder than you, now you could feel the heat emanating from his body.

You knew he must have felt horrible. You had to try four times before he would finally drink some water, and even then he kept a bit in his mouth to spit at you. But the look of relief on his face when he felt the cool glass against his burning skin and sipped told you everything.

You kept a glass of water on the small table beside his hospital bed now, along with a blood pressure cuff he had nearly thrown at Tsumiki last time she tried to use it. You’d just barely managed to wrench it out of his sweaty hands - for how skinny he is, you didn’t expect his grip to be that strong, especially while sick.

He coughs suddenly, a rough and scratchy sound that erupts from deep within his chest. His brow furrows and his eyes squeeze shut, his whole face twisting into a pained expression that makes your heart ache. You stand and move behind him to rub his back until it passes; it’s the only time you can touch him without him trying to shove you away.

The moment he can draw a breath again, he’s back to talking. Back to insulting you, your talent, your friends, your entire existence. You sit back down in your chair and watch him lay back, fidgeting with the edge of the thin hospital blanket you’d thrown over him.

Tuning out his insults, you remember how scared you were when Komaeda collapsed in the restaurant. He’d let out such a choked noise, gasping for breath like he was being strangled, and his head collided with the hard wood floor before you could catch him. You remembered the panic that settled in your chest while you ran behind Hinata towards the hospital. That panic had simmered down over time, as you sat by Komaeda’s side, waiting for him to wake up. Eventually it pooled into your stomach, having concentrated itself into a feeling you could only describe as dread.

There was a scare for a moment, where you left for a drink and returned to find he had stopped breathing. You had helplessly pressed down on his chest, your knowledge of CPR very limited, as you screamed for someone, anyone to come help.

And then a few hours later, he opened his eyes, and for the first time in over 24 hours you felt hope.

It lit up your chest as you watched his eyelids flutter open, his pupils darting around the room for a moment before they landed on you. As you locked gazes, that hope died when you caught the look in his eye, unlike anything you’d seen from him before. It was like the boy you met on the beach that day had vanished, replaced by a stranger. His eyes were dark swirls of emotions you couldn’t place, unfolding onto each other and mixing into a whole new person. And then he had cackled at you, maybe your expression gave away your agony, but he saw it and he could do nothing but laugh.

“Hey! Aren’t you listening?!” He snaps you out of your reminiscing, and you realize you’ve been crying. You turn your head so he won’t see you wipe away the tears, but he’s smart even when he’s sick, so he catches on. Laughter bubbles up out of him. “You’re crying?! Seriously?! That’s pathetic! Weeping into your hands like a child who got their candy stolen!”

You rest your elbows on your knees and hide your face with your palms, covering your tired eyes so the sunlight pouring through the window doesn’t hurt as much. He only cackles louder, and you’re sure everyone on this floor of the building can hear it, but can’t bring yourself to care. If you have to hear him berate you like this, if you have to be kept awake by his never ending babbling, maybe everyone else should be too.

‘That’s not fair.’ You think to yourself. ‘You’re just cranky from lack of sleep and this headache you’ve got, don’t take it out on the others.’

Suddenly, it’s strangely silent, and your eyes snap up to him frantically. His eyes have slid shut, his chest rising and falling in time with his breathing, and you sigh in relief. He’s been drifting in and out of consciousness for the last few hours now, probably exhausting himself with all the fucking talking he’s been doing. You repress the urge to sigh, afraid that even the slightest noise could wake him.

You stare at his unconscious body and feel tears pricking your eyes again. You don’t fight them, letting them slip down your cheeks freely. You hadn’t had a moment’s sleep since this all began, and it’s weighing on you now, making you more irritable and emotional. You’ve had a headache for hours now that no over the counter painkiller could help.

Kuzuryu had brought you several drinks from the vending machine, so you would actually drink something - after the last time, you refused to leave him alone for even a moment, waiting until Tsumiki came in to check his vitals to use the restroom. You tuck a bottle of water under your shirt and open it very slowly and carefully, the fabric muffling any little sounds it makes. You take a drink and set it down on the floor beside you.

The room is a little chilly, but not so much that it’s uncomfortable. You lean back in your chair and cross your arms over your chest, letting your head fall back to stare at the ceiling. You kept the lights in the room off until the sun went down in an attempt to stop the pain in your eyes, but it didn’t do much. At least you didn’t have to deal with the constant buzzing of the fluorescents. The only sound in the room was Komaeda’s breathing and your own. Without thinking, you hold your breath for a split second to sync your breaths with his. You don’t even realize you’re doing it at first, and when you do notice, you’re a bit embarrassed despite nobody being around to witness it.

You’re always a bit embarrassed around Komaeda. It’s stupid, really, considering no matter what you did you’re pretty sure he’d still sing your praises unconditionally, but you’re still nervous around him. At first, you were sure it was just because of his breakdown, but as time went on and you continued hanging around him, you slowly realized it was just his presence that made your stomach flutter.

You pretended you didn’t know what it meant - now wasn’t the time for those feelings, not when lives were at stake. It was easier to accept your unease than to confront it head-on. Not the healthiest option, but certainly the easiest.

You hear a loud crash and it startles you out of your thoughts, your body lurching forward. Komaeda is on the ground next to the bed, having knocked over the small table next to his bed, sending the glass of water and the blood pressure cuff scattering across the floor. He pushes himself onto his hands and knees, grinning wildly and letting out a wheezy noise through his teeth. You notice the sun is much lower in the sky now, bathing the room in a golden light. You must have dozed off in your chair. That explains the ache in your back.

You get out of your chair and reach out to help him up, and he smacks your hands while he leans away from you, letting out a displeased grunt that you choose to ignore. You have to hook your elbows under his armpits and hoist him up from behind so you can get him back on the bed. He tries to steady his legs underneath his body, but they shake so hard it nearly throws both of you off balance.

“Fucking filthy,” Komaeda pants, clawing at the collar of his hospital gown as he lets out a wheezy, unhinged giggle that shakes his entire body. “You’re so fucking filthy, your hands have tainted me, I think I’m gonna be sick!” You ignore him, fluffing his pillow and flipping it over to the cool side before grabbing the thin hospital blanket and dragging it over him. The moment you let go, he grabs the blanket and flings it over you, and it drapes over your body and pools at your feet, turning you into a ghost before his eyes.

The sunlight can’t reach you under here, and the ache in your skull begins to subside a bit, despite his continued wheezing, babbling, and you have no choice now but to listen. He’s telling you how much he hates you, how disappointed he is in you, how he’s utterly disgusted by your presence. He laughs again and it rolls into a harsh cough. It sounds painful.

He doesn’t mean it.

“You look much prettier under there! Stay there! Don’t take it off, I might just leap out the window to get away!”

He doesn’t mean it.

“I can’t-” He burst into another fit of giggles. “I can’t believe how stupid you are! Don’t you get it?! I don’t want you here! Nobody does!”

He doesn’t mean it.

“I…” A wheeze, a cough, he’s out of breath again but he can’t silence himself long enough to fill his lungs properly. “... I hate you. I hate you so much. I wish you would just-”

Your legs wobble for a moment before you collapse to your knees on the cool tile floor. The blanket pools further around you, its warmth and weight completely enveloping your body. You’re reminded of being a child again, wandering through the house with a blanket over your head and pretending to be some kind of spooky spectre. You would bump into walls without fail every single time.

Your shoulders shake and you hold your breath to avoid sobbing, afraid of what he might say if he hears. Tears spill, but they’re hidden now. The only thing giving you away is how hard you’re trembling.

“You’re crying again?” He laughs. “At least your face is covered so I don’t have to see your pathetic face, even if your tears are soiling my blanket.”

“Shut up.” You whimper through your tears, and it sounds just as pathetic as you feel. You take a deep breath, hearing him shift around on the bed. He sounds a bit closer when he finally replies with a simple “Huh?”

“I said, shut up, Komaeda.” Your voice comes out more forceful this time, and you grip the blanket pooled on the floor around you until you’re sure your knuckles turn white. “Just shut up. Quit talking. For five minutes, please, for the love of god. I can’t…” Your voice shakes, throat tightens, and the tears start coming faster.

“Can’t what? Can’t stand to be away from me?” His tone is bitter, sarcastic, patronizing, but a sob finally escapes as you choke out a ‘Yes’ through your tears. You gasp for breath, and suddenly the dam breaks.

“When you were asleep, you quit breathing, and Komaeda I was fucking scared. I know you think everyone hates you, and some of them do, but-” You sniff, your nose is stuffy and your face is so damp with tears you’re starting to feel gross. “-but some of us actually don’t, and I don’t care if you don’t believe me. I thought you were going to die and I sobbed over you and I begged you to breathe again.”

He’s silent, but even if he wasn’t, you wouldn’t have been able to stop yourself and listen. It spills out of you like a waterfall and you don’t have the energy to force it to stop.

“I stayed, I haven’t slept, I haven’t eaten, I watched you this whole time because I can’t be away from you or else you’ll die.” You bring your hands to your face and double over, your hands the only thing separating your face from the floor. “I can’t let you die. I can’t, I won’t. But ever since you woke up, you look at me like- you don’t even look like you anymore!”

You swallow thickly. “Y-you don’t look like you, you don’t talk like you, it’s like you’re already gone. It’s like you already left.”

You’re surprised you managed to hold it together this long. You made it through two murders and two executions, watching your classmates drop like flies around you. You made it through night after night, laying in bed waiting for the next body discovery announcement. Waiting for the next motive. Waiting for a scream to rip through the quiet nighttime air, waiting to guess whose voice it was.

A barely audible squeak leaves your throat, a half-hearted attempt at continuing your rambling, but your lips can’t form the words. You press your palms over your ears, prepared to shut out another wave of harassment. You can’t handle another insult, you can’t handle hearing about how everyone hates you, about how you should be the next to die. It doesn’t matter that it’s a lie, because it’s coming from him. A boy you felt for. A boy you kept an eye on. A boy you were scared for, scared of losing.

Why did the thought of losing him hurt you more than it would - or had - for any of your other classmates?

The question echoes in your brain like a gunshot. You gasp between sobs, unable to form a coherent thought, much less answer such a loaded question. You just sat on the floor, stifling any noise as much as you could, wrapping your arms around yourself and squeezing your eyes shut, wanting to bury yourself in the thin white blanket until you disappeared into the fabric.

It takes you a good few minutes to collect yourself. When you yank the blanket off your head, your face is still stained with tears, eyes still red and puffy, breath still shaking with each inhale. Komaeda is on the floor next to you (you aren’t sure when he did that), his head hanging low between his shoulder blades, his breathing soft and steady. He’s asleep again, you think. That should make this easier.

You use the edge of the blanket to dry your cheeks, taking a deep breath before pushing yourself up off the ground. You toss the blanket over your chair and situate yourself behind Komaeda, once again hooking your elbows under his armpits and lifting him back onto the bed with a grunt. He stirs the moment you touch him, but you have him back on the bed before he can truly wake up. You toss the blanket over him, tucking it in at the sides as his tired eyes drift open and shut.

You’re about to return to your chair when a warm hand wraps around your wrist.

He looks up at you and his grin is gone, his face mostly relaxed save for a twinge in his brow. And there, for a split second, as you stand over him and mentally prepare yourself for another insult, you see it. It’s tiny, it’s fleeting, but you catch a glimpse of the boy you just got done crying over. He’s not gone forever - when he recovers, he’ll come back to you, and knowing him you’ll be enveloped in his arms. He’ll wrap his coat around your entire body and hide you away in his silhouette, spewing a constant stream of apologies, ways to make up for the things he said even if he doesn’t remember them. Something tells you he’ll remember this moment, your puffy red eyes staring down at him with a look that probably conveyed the unease and slight fear you were feeling towards him.

You sit on the edge of the bed. He doesn’t let go of your wrist, his eyes drifting shut a moment later. His long fingers hold you close to him, and you watch his chest rise and fall with his calm, sleepy breathing.

You watch over him silently as the sun finally dips below the horizon. His silence, despite his consciousness, tells you everything.

Maybe he actually gives a shit about you beyond your talent.

Or maybe he just went quiet because you told him to shut up. He’s pretty good at that.

#nagito komaeda #nagito komaeda x reader #angst #danganronpa #sdr2 #despair disease #gender neutral reader

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 2 years

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Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader (From the Control 'verse)

Rating: M (no smut, but let's keep it over 18 for this fic in general)

Word Count: 700ish

Warnings: established relationship, BDSM relationship, D/s dynamics, total power exchange relationship, hurt/comfort, reader is having a bad day

A/N: IDK, I always think of Control!Marcus when I'm having a rough time. This is just a little drabble that I wrote on a business trip cuz I needed a bit of comfort, and here we are. Gif is from Graceland, because GOD i love this skinny little unhinged bastard so much

The letters on your latest case file are starting to blur together. Even when your brain is able to un-jumble the shapes into a familiar word, that word has lost all meaning. You're that tired.

This case is eating at you. There's something simple you've missed, you just know it, but the more you stare at the details, the less it makes sense. There has to be a connection. There has to be. Otherwise, you'll never solve it and recover the stolen paintings.

You flip uselessly through the pages, hoping for a miracle, but all you find is the same case details that you've read five hundred times in the span of eight hours. There has to be something, you're just too stupid to see it, you think, as desperation sinks in.

"That's enough," a soft voice interrupts your negative internal monologue, and suddenly Marcus's hands are on you, and fuck, it's like they're magic, the way your muscles seem to relax the moment you feel the weight of them resting on your shoulders.

"I... I have to--"

"You've done all you can tonight," Marcus says with finality, and although you know he's right, your first instinct is to fight--to rage against the constraint, to keep pushing your boundaries, to not quit until you're at a stopping spot.

You open your mouth, ready for an argument, but every protest dies on your lips before you can voice them. Fuck, you're tired. Instead of fighting, you slump forward in defeat with a pathetic whimper, resting your head on your arms over the loose pages of the case file.

You feel Marcus circle around the desk chair until he's crouching beside you. "Arms around my shoulders," he orders quietly, and you obey without thought, leaning into him and allowing him to take your weight as he lifts you into his arms and carries you to your bed, laying you down on the sheets.

A few overwhelmed tears find their way down your cheeks when you feel him gently removing your clothes and covering your nude form with the blankets. He reverently removes your collar, and you whimper at the feel of its comforting weight leaving your neck. You know it's not safe to sleep in, but you want it back--that gentle pressure that reminds you that you belong to someone, and oh, that someone takes such good care of his possessions.

"Go to sleep, little doll."

"But Sir--"

"Don't argue back," Marcus chastises gently. "Don't I always do what's best for you?"

You bite your lip and nod hesitantly. "Yes, Sir."

Marcus presses a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. "It'll be there in the morning. You did such a good job today, but it's time to go to bed."

You swallow past the lump in your throat and close your eyes. "You do take good care of me," you whisper, voice full of emotion. "Thank you, Sir."

"Hey," comes Marcus’s soft reply. "It's okay."

You feel the bed shift as he slides in next to you. His lips press against your forehead again in an action that could barely be called a kiss, because a kiss belies an action, an event. Marcus's lips on your skin simply are. It's a state of being, a constant comfort. His mouth rests against your brow and it causes you to burrow closer, seeking more of him.

"Why?" you whisper--a secret fear of yours. Why is he so attentive? Why does he show his love this way--through such an intense form of caring? You want to understand, sometimes, because a small, anxious part of you is still afraid that this will end, that he'll get tired of you, or at the very least get tired of loving you in this specific way.

You feel the little huff of Marcus's amusement against your forehead.

"Because you're mine," he answers simply.

You still don't understand how you got this lucky, but you nod in assent nonetheless.

"Good girl," Marcus whispers. "Keep your eyes closed for me. It's time to get some sleep."

You melt into the pillows at his praise, at his gentle command. All Marcus has to do is say the word, and you're utterly relaxed. His hand comes up to palm your cheek, his thumb brushing back and forth against your cheekbone as you surrender.

You don't remember the moment you fell asleep, but you do remember that his lips never once left your skin before you did.

#marcus pike #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfic #pedro pascal

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msfcatlover · 11 months

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AT LAST! THE ZOMBIE TIMELINE!!!

Huge thanks to @666imgoingtohell, whose suggestions finally gave the creative side of my brain the kick it needed to work out Steph’s timeline! Here’s what I’ve got so far.

(Warnings for all things Joker, implied torture & experimentation, disease, death, suicide, eye trauma, asphyxiation, overdose, isolation, depression, drinking, self-sacrifice… fuck, I am definitely missing a few, but that’s all I can think of for now.)

(…yeah, they all come from dark, depressing futures where everyone they cared about died, but Steph’s is definitely the most fucked up.)

The Joker captures both Tim & Damian. Joker thinks it’ll be extra funny if he can make a Robin corrupt themself, so Damian is used as leverage. (Damian hates it, hates every second of it, but especially hates the guilty way Tim glances at Damian before acquiescing to Joker’s orders. Make this, do that, eat this, take a deep breath off this inhaler we all know is horribly poisoned while Joker cackles like it’s the funniest shit he’s ever seen. Every free moment, Tim looks for an escape. Every chance Tim gets, he works in some sort of message or sabotage to whatever he’s made. Even as Tim’s face sets in a permanent smile, even as he becomes increasingly bright & cheerful about following orders, Tim keeps at it. Even as the orders switch to using Dami as a guinea pig—Tim blinks rapidly, cheeks twitching, and says with a sort of happy confusion, “That wasn’t the deal.” Joker says the other option is Robin dies right now. Damian can see the horror in Tim’s eyes when the first needle slides in; Tim’s twisted lips form a silent “sorry” in the moment Joker can’t see it.—even then, Tim keeps antidotes and medical supplies as close as he can, scrambling to fix whatever he’s done in the aftermath.)

(Once, after Tim started to change but before the deal changed to match, Joker had to go fight Batman and left both of them handcuffed to the same pipe overnight. “Robin,” Tim whispered into the dark, “I need you to promise me something.” “What is it?” “Joker’s not curable, everyone knows that. If I become like that—” “No!” “It’s already happening.” Tim giggled. “I can feel it.” “Absolutely not! How dare you, ask me to—” “It doesn’t have to be you. But I need you to make sure.” “No,” Damian says again. It’s a little less forceful, a little more desperate. “I know what happens when I go bad, Dami.” Tim sounded almost giddy, though his words were grim. “That’s without Joker-fication. I—we can’t let that happen, okay?” “Stop being an idiot.” “No.” Tim laughed, but it was quickly muffled, like he was biting down on something to bottle it up. “Contingencies, baby bat! They’re important. If I go bad, I need you to make sure I can never hurt anyone again.” A pause. “We both know locking me up won’t be enough.” “It’s doing an impressive job so far.” Damian yanked his own handcuffs, so they rattled against the pipe. “If something as pathetic as this can hold you, you really think you stand a chance with Arkham?” “Arkham doesn’t have my baby brother in a death collar.” Tim’s voice went soft and distant-dreamy. It was the most serious he’d sounded in a long time. Damian swallowed. “I won’t let you hurt anyone. I promise.” “That’s the spirit!” The giggles were back as quickly as they’d left. It was awful.)

It took 2 months to find them. Damian was rescued, but the Joker just barely escaped, dragging a breathless Tim behind him. Damian had to be sedated, he was fighting so hard to go after them.

People started getting sick, seemingly at random. What started as lightheadedness bordering on dizziness turned to giddiness, and things escalated from there. Damian knew about Tim’s little rebellions and told everyone; the micro-doses of Joker venom worked to burn the virus out of their systems, but more victims just kept popping up.

(The fact it was so obviously Tim’s handiwork left the whole family shaken.)

The Bats kept searching for Tim.

They found him alone in a lab, Joker’s body laid out on the floor and left to rot. It was obvious Tim had been dipped since they last saw him, his skin bleached by the chemicals that first made the Joker. During the fight, one of the tables got overturned and Tim’s mysterious science setup got smashed.

“It’s out,” Tim whispered, almost reverently, before bursting into laughter. “It’s out! You can’t put it back, I can’t stop it anymore, because you let it out!”

(The fight ends with gas in the air and Steph’s hands around Tim’s throat, a too-wide smile creeping onto her face, before Damian drags her off, snapping at her that she’s not herself, and giving her an extra dose of antidote. Tim scrabbles back to the wall, one hand at his throat. The hoarseness from the choking almost drops Tim’s voice back to its normal register. “You promised. Dami, you promised.” Damian shakes his head. “It’s not too late—” “It is!” The cackle was just a horrible, rasping cough. Tim’s voice takes on a sing-song cadence once he gets his breath back. “Can’t come back from where I’ve gone, can’t fix what I’ve done! Red Robin’s gone, long gone. Make it stop.” The giggle is nearly silent, more of a shudder. “Make it stop. Make it stop. Make it stop!” Tim’s voice cracks back to laughter, like he’s telling a joke so good he can’t get out the punchline, and tears run down his cheeks.)

(It goes further, but the point is: Steph watches Damian drive a scalpel from the table into Tim’s eye, watches him twist until the twitching stops. Tim’s hands come up on instinct to grab Damian’s in the first moment, but Tim doesn’t fight it; he just holds on. Damian stumbles back and sits down hard on the floor.)

When Batman asks what happened, Steph speaks up before Damian can. “He killed himself.” Damian looks at her incredulously, but Steph plows forwards without hesitation. “It looked like he had a moment of lucidity. Tim asked us to kill him—his exact words were ‘make it stop’—” Her voice cracks, but she keeps going. “—and when Robin said we wouldn’t, he…” Steph swallows, and mimes jabbing herself in the eye. “Da— Robin tried to stop him, but Tim was… he was laughing, but he seemed really upset.”

Batman looks at Damian, who’s staring down at his blood-stained gloves (less blood-stained than Tim’s hands, which all but covered Damian’s.) “I promised,” Damian whispers, “that I wouldn’t let him hurt anyone. When we were both prisoners, I promised.” He looks up at Bruce, eyes full of tears. “I was going to break it! But he—”

Bruce places a hand on Damian’s head. “It’s alright, son. It’s not your fault.” (Damian doesn’t say anything else, just bursts into tears in his father’s arms. Steph wonders how long the can maintain the lie.)

(It’ll turn out she shouldn’t have worried; they’ll have much bigger problems soon, and you know what people say about keeping secrets.)

Here’s what they don’t realize: the Joker virus couldn’t survive outside of the human body or near-lab conditions. Transmission was near-impossible, and all victims up until this point had either been part of one of Joker’s schemes or subtly injected in crowded spaces; almost nobody caught it from anyone else.

Tim’s new strain (which he had been fighting with himself not to release, getting into a perfectionist loop as a distraction from the urge to just let it loose) as it turns out, is highly contagious. It can survive for a good few hours in open air, and rapidly colonizers any surface it lands on. Tables. Floors. Clothes. Skin. Hair.

Steph & Damian rode back to the Batcave and underwent thorough decontamination of themselves, their gear, and the car alone. They took their shots just in case of exposure, and played cards while waiting out the hyperactive high a micro-dose of Joker Venom causes. Bruce came back, decontaminated, and sat down to run tests (because otherwise he’ll have to face the fact his son died tonight, and he’s not ready for that. Tim’s not dead until Bruce processes it, and you can’t make him.)

Bruce did not realize he needed to take the shot too.

(Gonna be completely open right now: we are NOT going Batman-Who-Laughs. Mainly because he relies on several of my least favorite interpretations of Bruce’s character to make anything resembling sense, but if you need a different reason… Tim’s strain is much less about re-creating the Joker a million times over, and more about twisting how people emotionally react to the world around them; everything makes the happy-chemicals, and the stronger the emotional reaction ought to be, the higher that rush. While not inherently a degenerative condition, the ever escalating self-destructive behavior this leads to means it might as well be. For example, some of the infected are probably going to seek out fear toxin just to get that high, but just because their happy chemicals are going nuts doesn’t mean the fear isn’t under it, and doesn’t mean they’re safe from heart attacks.)

(It’s just not funny if everyone is telling the same jokes, is it? If everyone has the exact same sense of humor? Wouldn’t that get boring after a while? Obviously. Big J was just too self-absorbed to realize Timmy’s joke was better.)

The early symptoms can be easily mistaken for sleep deprivation & too much caffeine. The secondary ones can be chalked up to grief. It takes a little over a week for the infection to become obvious. The incubation period is only a couple of days.

Wayne Manor: compromised.

The Batcave: compromised.

Literally everywhere Bruce went before he realized what was going on: compromised.

(Wayne Enterprises, city hall, the public funeral, the Watchtower: all compromised.)

(Bruce locks himself in quarantine as soon as he realizes, but here is another problem: the micro-doses of Joker Venom are not a vaccine. They burn through the bloodstream like a secondary immune system, wiping out the J-virus specifically, but they do nothing to build up immunity. Re-exposure is always a concern. Bruce is perpetually contaminating everything in the room, and no sooner has the Joker Venom left his system than the infection sets in again. His blood work is never clean for more than a few hours.)

Heroes infected. Allies lost. No matter how hard they try, there’s not enough Joker Venom to go around, but oh, oh do they try.

The family falls apart.

Alfred’s heart can’t handle the treatments.

Babs goes into complete lockdown.

Damian feels so guilty, he throws himself into helping as many people as he can, taking only the bare minimum of shots so that there’s more for other heroes & civilians; when Damian gets sick, those borderline suicidal tendencies mesh with the J-virus in truly horrifying ways.

Cass is the one who finds Damian’s body, barely managing to choke out her message to the other Bats as the gasses start to take effect. She manages to drag Damian almost to the window before she just can’t do it anymore, gasping laughter over the coms as her lungs give out, with backup still several minutes away.

Jason (not yet reintegrated into the family) goes from a not entirely trustworthy, usually distant maybe-ally who would at least reliably back them up in an emergency to a usually hostile, paranoid mess, spiraling even deeper into his own depressive tendencies & terrible coping mechanisms as the virus spread, the shelters fell, and his trauma compounded on itself by the day.

(Once, Steph found a stash of liquor while searching for survivors. She, Jason, Dick, and Cass (who wasn’t dead yet) proceeded to get absolutely plastered that night, each talking about how they’d want to go out and making promises about what they’d do if the others died. It was the closest thing to relaxed any of them got since Tim & Damian first disappeared, and it would be the last they had together ever.)

(Here is why Jason is unrecognizable to Steph: he’s been a hostile loner for as long as she’s known him, pushing others away to protect himself, never abandoning them but never lingering any longer than he had to. He made it very clear he was helping because he “had” to, not because he wanted to, and even when they became closer after the world had fallen apart, Jason was still gruff & distant even at the best of times; even when they got along & liked eachother, the paranoia of never knowing if one of them might actually be sick was a constant wedge keeping them from getting too close. A Jason who doesn’t just occasionally let people stick around but seeks them out, whose insults are more affectionate than razor-edged, who grabs on and says, “This person is one of My People(TM), and anything that wants to mess with them has to do it over my dead body,” is an alien concept to her.)

Dick died evacuating some survivors from a 3rd floor apartment. Purely reflexively, he tried to give them a reassuring smile. Purely reflexively, they shot him in the face. (Steph, on the building just across the street keeping lookout, heard the shot and saw Dick fall. Whether he would’ve survived the gunshot is irrelevant when hitting the pavement practically head-first.)

One rescue mission was almost a clean success. They got the survivors all the way to the escape vehicle before realizing there was a kid still in the building. Jason’s jaw set, and Steph barely had time to scream for him not to go, don’t do this, don’t leave her like this, before he was running back in. (The kid made it out. Jason did not.)

Steph broke every promise she’d made about not giving up, about fighting to the end, about going out in a blaze of glory, after being cornered by a swarm. She chose to go out on her terms, though, refusing to give them the satisfaction of her pain or of her becoming one of them. All Steph’s cures would be unusable by the time help came, either smashed or tampered with by the Joker-zombies, but she had enough for the Joker Venom to do its original job. She took all of them, and died laughing at her own ultimate failure.

(And then she wakes up.)

#cw: death #iwctw (time travel)#time travel fixit #(Well this is more the extremely broken part but...)#bat fam #bat family #batfamily #batfam #bat siblings #batsiblings #stephanie brown #the spoiler #steph brown #batgirl #robin #robins #tim drake #joker jr #damian wayne #my writing #mine #//#Steph’s flat affect isn’t caused by an oath or anything; it’s a trauma response. Smiling& laughing have /BAD/ associations for her.#Heroically: People didn’t trust smiles anymore. Smiles & laughter were signs of the virus. It scared people. (It got Dick killed.)#Defensively: She learned to be suspicious of smiles & laughter in other people as well. Untrustworthy behaviors are ones we avoid.#Sensorily: Whenever she took too much ‘cure’ too fast. Whenever her viral count got too high. A few times hysteria broke through the grief.#Traumatically: Steph’s brain is fucked okay?#(Negative emotional displays come easier to her but that sort of weakness or hesitation was something to bury in the field.)

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