#making everything immeasurably harder for himself

[o0anapher0o]

I also need a minute to go feral over Armand’s accent.

How is everyone on this show so good at those!?!

We don’t even need to talk about Jacob, but Sam and Bailey were doing a great job, too. I know Sam get’s some ribbing for his French (which is honestly not terrible, it’s just not as good as Jacob’s), but the way he does Lestat’s accent is actually really fantastic. The way it waxes and wanes  and changes throughout the show is very deliberate and effective.

And now Assad, too?

Because Armand’s accent is a mess. It’s all over the place and I love it! It makes so much sense. The guy hasn’t even spoken his native language in 450 years. English is probably Armand’s like 15th language, that he picked up reading the minds of tourists and soldiers from all over the world. Of course it’s a bit of this a bit of that with some French in it and some Italian and some whoever knows what.

And it’s such an obvious thing now that it’s there, it’d be so easy to say ‘yes of course that’s what he sounds like’, but how many actors would put in the effort to play with that and how many shows would give them the time and space to do that rather than just tell him to do a generic RP accent and leave it at that.

[yokiidokii]

How would the gang react to a reader who constantly says sorry ? like for every stupid thing at the end of a sentence due to being Bullied majority of their life . So now I their adulthood it’s just kinda automatic “oop I’m sorry” even when it’s not necessary

My smile is immeasurable- I do this so often you have no idea. I have absolutely been worried about not knowing if I was gonna do the request just right. This is not one of those times. I did have a surprising amount of trouble with it though? Despite it being something I myself do constantly lmao, ah well I hope I did it justice!

Also hi! I was in college so this is so very late and I’m so sorry about that <3 My prof mentally threw me around like a rag doll and I came out with my brain fried.

Warnings: I don't think any? Maybe some general allusions to anxiety just because of the prompt itself? Andre mentions weed but uh- nothing else! Relatively safe<3

Reagan

I feel like she understands, I could see her thinking of it more in a like, a logical sense? Not like she doesn’t understand the more emotional side of it- she’s got her own issues. But in the like “Oh, usually when people do this it means they are scared of what people think and don’t like conflict. I’ll keep that in mind.”

She gets it, and I want to be absolutely clear- I cannot see her being one of those people saying “It’s fine.” Because like, for her it doesn’t feel like it ever really is? But she will be the person to help you feel like, it’s okay that you said it but know that you do not have to. You didn’t do anything wrong.

If you want to tell her the reason why you do this, apologizing and explaining she will feel for you. I mean we’ve seen her school experience, we had one friend and a buncha kids who were way older than you and treated her like shit. Also her father, very much her father.

She won't ever press you or act like you aren't trying harder to get better but she'll make sure in her own way that you know it's all gonna be okay one day.

One day you won't have to think about the past and everything will be okay <3

-

Andre

Andre may or may not have told you about his experiences with his family and how they really affected him.

You have probably also- at least once maybe seen him without drugs and how that can make him.

Long story short he is in no position to judge even if he for some reason wanted to.

Would offer you some weed

He means well and will not pressure you if you say no, though he will totally ask “Are you suuuureee?” because he cannot stress enough the wonders of medical marijuana

Whether or not you take it is up to you, but he will absolutely let you chill either in his office if you're at work or at his house- would come to your house to make sure your comfy if you need it<3

He is a loving man with lots of his own experience in this kind of regard and he will help you no matter what!

He is more than the drug guy though please literally let him be known for more than that he deserves it so any tips he's used to help himself out he will give to you.

A very caring man with his own issues and lots of advice and love to give if you'll have it~

-

Brett

Oh honey, this man? This man understands.

Brett will apologize after you do because both of you think that is is somehow both of your faults.

Though he will undoubtedly let you know in every way he possibly can that it is not your fault in any way and that he loves you.

He would absolutely mention therapy- it helps him! It might help you?

He would absolutely be holding your hand anyway and if you do apologize while it happens, he’ll squeeze it in his own and shoot you a quick “No need to be!” before continuing the conversation. He doesn’t wanna spend the whole time acknowledging it just in case putting too much attention on it in the open would embarrass you or make you feel worse.

But he will be there for you, and he will be listing off things that he’s learned to help him when he can’t stop doing it either.

-

Myc

I can see Myc start by just being a little bit sarcastic. Like he isn’t entirely sure why you do it just yet, but he doesn’t want you to be saying it and thinking that you did something wrong.

He gives those like “Oh yeah? You’re sorry?” and you know that if he had actual eyes, he would be giving you a look of ‘You really wanna do this rn?’.

And he will probably continue to do so even after he knows why.

He isn’t going to treat you differently per se, at least- he acts like he isn’t going to…

But you feel the tentacle that was already wormed around your waist squeeze just a little tighter before you end your sentence to remind you that you didn’t do anything, and you don’t need to apologize. 

I mean he gets it, he got bullied. He ended with a different outcome for himself, but he still understands. It sucks, and even if you don’t want to think about it or you don’t want to constantly feel like life is repeating itself over and over again but sometimes it’s just going to feel that way even if it isn’t.

Though Myc will be there to help you understand and work through all the woes of getting to inside your own head.

-

Gigi

She would raise her brow at it at first.

Hit you with that “Honey you didn’t do anything wrong.” and make sure you know that it’s all okay.

Is teaching you how she ignores her haters constantly, if you say anything about it not being on the same level and you start apologizing again, she is going to lovingly slap you in the face with her words (She would not lay a hand on you ever-)

Comparing yourself gets a “tsk tsk” from her and a long list of all the parts about you she thinks are beyond stellar.

Gigi would be very honest -like the most honest maybe- about whether or not you actually have anything to be sorry about. 

If you do, she’ll accept your apology but try to figure out a way to do it in a way that won’t encourage you to do it when you don’t actually have to.

And when you don’t, she places a hand on her hip and gives you a look, eyebrow raised just lightly in a ‘really?’ sorry of fashion.

She’s not questioning it; she knows it happened. But she’s asking if you really wanna do it, you know that she will no doubt spend her time talking your ear off about not doing this again.

She does it with the upmost amount of love I promise- but like,,

Do you dare question her? I wouldn't

-

Glenn

Okay. I don’t want to say Glenn doesn’t get it at first, but out of all of the people in the gang it feels right to say he might take the longest to adjust and learn how to handle it.

But just because he might not get it at first doesn’t mean he’s rude!!

It’s more of a “What? Why are you saying you're sorry? You didn’t do anything?” Kinda confused-

He’s a confused ol man, forgive him.

Though, he would understand the bullying thing like 100%

He’s no stranger to rude comments or being talked to as if he has no feelings, typical bully behavior even if he wouldn’t talk about it or call them bullies, just,,, assholes?

That and the feelings that come from thinking about those comments is something he understands, and something that he can try and a headspace he will gladly try to help you out of.

[lorre-verie]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐲 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐂𝐡. 4 ࿐ྂ 

summary: Ao’nung’s unbridled and seemingly nonsensical rage causes him to do the dumbest thing you’ve ever seen him do in your entire 15 years of living. The next time you talk to Neteyam, you realise it is you who must pay for the weight of your brother’s crimes.

word count: 2.1k

pairings: neteyam x gn! Ao’nung’s older twin! Reader

warnings: sadness, ao’nung and reader reconciling, i think there’s cussing somewhere, more sadness

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | masterlist

“You’ve struck me down and thrown away my heart, and you dare laugh?” Neteyam grasped at his chest, mimicking heartbreak. You laughed harder at his amusing behaviour. He kept finding ways to cheer you up, and you were grateful to him for it. 

The day after Ao’nung’s outburst, you came to Neteyam for comfort. You were both sitting on a tiny sandy island just a little ways from Awa’atlu, cracking jokes and teaching each other stuff.

He had taught you some more english lingo, and you taught him how to swim faster. Not too fast though, you worried that if you taught him too well he’d be faster than you. 

You never told him about what Ao’nung had said the other night, you just wanted him to make you feel like everything was going to be okay again. You had gotten used to his presence and the way he made a deep buzzing sound in your heart.

“Okay okay, what’s a playboy again?” you tried to comprehend the language, but there were just so many rules and confusing terms. “A playboy is a guy who can get a lot of people pining for him, you know, like me,” he smiled smugly.

You laughed, slapping his elbow at his amazingly stupid words.“Yeah, right! The only person you talk to aside from your family is me! And I don’t like you in that way,” you retorted, stifling the rest of your laugh. 

“Really?” he frowned, before leaning in closer to you, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips. “Wanna test that theory?” he smiled. 

This was the second time Neteyam had been this close, the distance between you two threatening to close ever so suddenly like a door in a room with an open window. You wanted to kiss him, but it just felt too soon. 

You placed a hand gently on his chest, about to push him away, but before you could the sounds of an ilu splashing out of the water caught both your attention. Ao’nung leered at you two with immeasurable anger behind his eyes, something that Neteyam hadn’t been able to catch. 

“Hey fish lips, give us some space, yeah?” Neteyam called out to him with a grin on his face. With that you quickly pushed Neteyam away, getting up on your feet. “Ao’nung,” you put your two hands out as if to defend yourself,  “this isn’t what it looks like.”

Neteyam looked confused at your statement. He was still sitting down, looking at how Ao’nung practically leapt off the ilu, taking heavy steps towards you with a scowl on his face. “Really?” your brother spat. “Your excuses are getting lamer and lamer as the days go by, Y/N.” 

Your ears flattened, clenching your jaw. “Ao’nung, let’s go talk somewhere else.” you avoided Neteyam’s gaze, continuing to look at your younger twin.

“No. We can talk right here, in front of him.” Ao’nung pointed at the still bewildered omaticayan who was getting up, his finger trembling with fury.

“Fine!” you snapped. “I still don’t get why you’re so hung up about me and Tsireya liking people. It’s not that serious!” 

“It’s not about you liking people.” he snarled. “It’s about you liking them. They aren’t one of us!”

“Why the hell does that matter!” you shouted back. Your brother’s eyes widened when the foreign word spilled out of your mouth, before his expression turned hard.

“He’s brainwashing you.” he whispered to himself, as if he had come to a mind blowing realisation. 

“Y/N, he’s one of those demons, we can’t trust them!” as he got closer to you, you backed away before Neteyam stopped him by the shoulder. “Don’t get any closer,” he warned, his voice low. 

“Get off me, demon.” Ao’nung spat, grabbing Neteyam’s arm and throwing it off his own shoulder, seemingly appalled at the touch. 

“I’ve already gotten rid of your brother, don’t make me do the same to you–” he stopped mid sentence, as if caught off guard. His body froze, lips still parted. 

A short moment of silence followed that was almost unbearable. 

“What did you say?” Neteyam spoke up, eyes turned to slits. Ao’nung couldn’t answer him, his frightened eyes fixed on you. You inhaled deeply, suppressing the anger that boiled under your skin. If your little brother had meant what he just said, he was in for it now. 

“Ao’nung,” you seethed, your voice low.

“What did you do?”

(this would be a VERY appropriate time to play slipping through my fingers by ABBA)

You watched silently as Neteyam dragged your brother by the kuru, bringing him to his father. “Tell him what you told me,” he practically growled, tugging on Ao’nung’s kuru. Your brother fell silent for a bit, before confessing what he’d done.

He’d told the father of the boy he’d just doomed that he tricked his son into going out of the reef, leaving him to fend for himself for a ‘joke.’

The sky felt like it was crumbling as you sat there, legs dangling at the edge of your marui, watching people leave and return on their ilus in a desperate search for Neteyam’s brother. You were to stay back and assist any affairs unrelated to his disappearance, an order met by your protests at first.

You felt a shift in the atmosphere, the feeling of someone’s tenseness radiating through the air. “Ao’nung.” you called out, and you imagined him stiffening. “Come,” you patted the spot next to you. “Sit.” 

Reluctantly, he dragged his heavy body towards you, sitting down without a word. He had expected you to start scolding him, to start screaming at him for his stupidity, but instead, 

you snaked your arm around his shoulder, pulling him towards you. 

“I don’t know what reason you had for doing what you did, but I just want you to know,” he sucked in a breath, awaiting his damnation. 

“You’re going to be alright,” you smiled softly, nudging his head to rest on your shoulder. 

Huh?

“You don’t have to say anything. Just know that when the time comes, I’ll be here for you.” 

He was utterly baffled. 

What were you doing? 

Trying to guilt him into apologising? 

Because you didn’t need to do that, he already would have to pay for his stupid crime for the rest of his life. He wanted to lift his head up, to reject your reassurance,

but he just couldn’t. 

Instead, a single tear flowed down his cheek, landing softly on your skin. 

With your hand placed softly on his shoulder, you rest your head upon his, gently rubbing soothing circles into his tense muscles.

“Y/N! The meanies kept on picking me today!” a tiny Ao’nung cried to you, his tears soaking your shoulder as he cried on it. 

“Shh, baby bro. It’s going to be alright,” a little you hugged him tightly, leading him to sit where you both were sitting right now. 

The silence was filled with his sniffles, both past and present. 

“You’re going to be alright.” both little you and present you whispered, shutting your eyes tightly and squeezing his shoulder. 

The memory of the promise you made to him rushed back to you, as clear as if it had happened yesterday. Despite being twins, he was much smaller than you at the time, which made him an easy target for others to tease. 

Although the teasing was meant to be lighthearted, he struggled to find the humour in it, which was kind of ironic now. 

“Nung,” the small you said, a serious look in your eyes. 

You smiled to yourself, remembering your slurred words. You were only 5 years old at the time, your sentences barely coherent to adults. But being twins, you could understand each other perfectly.

“I will protect you, always.” 

“No matter what?”

“No matter what. 

nothing can ever, 

ever, 

take me away from you,

I. promise.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you realised, you had already broken that promise many times over.

Each time you retreated to your private little sanctuary, avoiding your problems, you were also avoiding him. 

Perhaps, just perhaps, it was not escaping from your duties that made you guilty, but it was escaping from your brother.

You recollected a memory of returning home from a little escapade, having spent the time climbing trees. This was when you were 7, before you’d even found the cave. 

As you arrived back home, you saw your mother attending to Ao'nung, who had a deep cut on his arm, crying loudly. A tiny Tsireya was there too, offering comfort by holding his hand. Apparently, it happened while he was in the water alone. “He said he wasn’t watching where he was going, and knocked into a rock,” your mother explained.

But the fear and confusion in his eyes as he looked up at you told you otherwise.

You never got to find out what truly happened, because you never really cared to ask. You were too obsessed with finding your own free time. 

Unbeknownst to you, a dark silhouette creeped by the entrance of your marui. It leered at you comforting your little brother, ears flicking with contempt as it heard your small reassurances.

It's not your fault,

I’m so sorry,

Everything will be fine.

And as soon as the shadow appeared, it was gone. 

Lo’ak came back past eclipse with one of your own people who’d found him just within the reef, you were able to hear the relieved sighs of your parents and his own as he approached the island. 

You stood behind your father, his hand firmly on the back of Ao’nung’s neck. Lo’ak had a look of pure anger on his face when he looked at your brother, like he wanted to punt him in the face, only to be stopped by his father as he stomped up onto the woven deck. 

Jake Sully inspected his son, checking his back for any bruises. “He’s fine, just a few scratches.” he said loudly, so that the crowd of metkayina would disperse quickly. 

Neytiri hurried from behind the crowd, quickly checking to see that her son was alright. When she confirmed she wasn’t hurt, she quickly scolded him. 

“I pray for the strength that I will not rip the eyeballs out of my youngest son!” she hissed, making a grabbing motion at Lo’ak’s eye, to which Tsireya next to you winced. 

“No,” your father said, pushing Ao’nung down to kneel. “My son knows better than to take him outside of the reef. The blame is his.”

Jake nodded hesitantly, deciding he didn’t want to cause any more trouble with the Olo’eyktan. “Okay, let’s go.” 

“No.”

“It’s not Ao’nung’s fault,” Lo’ak shook his head, looking up at your father. Ao’nung’s head turned up at this, both you and him (and your mother) were bewildered at this. 

“It was my idea. Ao’nung tried to talk me out of it, really.”

Neteyam put a hand on Lo’ak’s arm, silently asking him with his eyes, What are you doing? He only gave his older brother a glance of the eye to respond.

Your mother and father exchanged looks. They always did this, communicating without even needing to speak to each other. Lo’ak was covering for their son, they knew it. But why, was the question.

Your father pulled up Ao’nung, turning to him. “Is this true?” he asked, disbelief laced between his words. 

Although you admired your parents for their ability to see through such lies, you were also disappointed they didn’t believe their own son could be responsible for one moment. Your eyes darted towards Neteyam who was walking away with his family, and you quickly excused yourself. 

As you approached, however, you heard his parents scolding him. “Where were you?” Neytiri asked. “Yeah, what happened to keep an eye on your brother?” Jake said in english, it seemed he noticed you were coming towards them, but he didn’t know you could understand their conversation. 

You gulped, knowing that Neteyam was with you when Lo’ak was led outside the reef. “Sorry sir.” Neteyam muttered. You couldn’t see his face, but you could tell from his tone of voice that he was not happy.

Jake and Neytiri left him, Jake nodding to you before he left as some form of greeting. “Neteyam, how are you feeling?” you asked him softly.

He sighed, turning towards you. There was a glint of something you’d never seen before in his eyes, and you couldn’t quite figure out what it was. But as he narrowed them, it became clear.

He was glaring at you with utter distaste.

“I don’t feel like talking to you right now.” he said, his tone indicating that his anger was threatening to reach boiling, and you were the cause. 

Your heart dropped all the way to your stomach as he stalked away, leaving you wondering. 

What did I do?

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | masterlist

Idk what to say except oh no angst 😨 this part is definitely shorter than the others and idk why, it just seemed that this was enough words to convey the message. i THINK that the next part is the finale, but we’ll just have to see. Also if you’ve been reading this series from the start, you’ll notice that all the chapters have undergone a design transformation cause I just thought it looked better <3

Taglist: @strawberryclouds22 @assistantquail @st4rrry @neteyamforlife @heaven1oo4 @spicycloudsalad @1ntefly @laylasbunbunny @fanboyluvr @xoxobabe @thecrazyswamp @amortencjja @lynbubble @jakesullyssluttt @gabithefanwriter @erenjaegerwifee @abbersreads

note: usernames in red are the ones i couldn't tag

[liquidluckandstuff]

God of War/ Harry Potter Crossover idea

Starts at 4th year after Harry's name comes out of the goblet. He is friendless, alone and terrified. No one there to support him, Harry ends up running into the forest desperate to get away from the hateful looks and death wishes that the students are giving him.

Harry is deep in the forest when he finally breaks down. He is desperate, and with no help he does what a lot of humans do when they are terrified, alone, and put in impossible death situations.

He prays. He doesn't know to who or what but Harry prays for someone to help him fight, to have the strength to complete the tasks and to not feel so alone.

Then a troll appears hell bent on squishing Harry to death. Harry has no choice but to fight and its messy and clumsy but Harry outsmarts it and ends up making it trip on it's own to feet until it falls over and -

impales itself on a broken tree. Harry listened to it die and is shaking with fear, covered in its blood. But he is alive and he won the battle. He did what needed to be done. A part of him hates to admit how much he enjoyed it but isn't eager to seek out a fight like that again anytime soon. (but he is Harry Potter right? It's going to happen)

That night (and a few nights after) Harry is blessed with the dreams of Kratos. A god from a far off land and time that defied the gods ( his family) he put his faith in. A god of war who fought creatures of immeasurable strength and size while wielding his rage (and grief) like a weapon.

Harry became consumed by his tale and wanted to be something like him. He didn't know where the dreams came from, but he was thankful for them all the same. He began studying harder, training harder, taking Kratos' teaching/story to heart and using it to survive the triwizard tournament.

When he learned he was going to face a dragon, Harry had mixed feelings. Sure he might get to kill something like Kratos but... could he? The man was a god. Harry was just... Harry. He couldn't do anything that powerful right?

Moody gives Harry his advice and Harry decides to play to his strengths. Thats what a warrior does right? look for the right angle?

Well, while he is flying around Hogwarts and losses his broom. Harry gets angry. Why does this have to happen to him? Why did everyone have to leave him? Why does no one trust him or want to support him?

"Kratos, help me please," Harry prays without thinking and suddenly his rage and grief turns to power. Sure hes not super strong like Kratos, but a warrior uses his strengths. And Harry has magic that bursts forth with the fury of a god and Harry defeats the dragon with a Spartan rage all of his own.

Harry tell no one what he did or how he did it. But after the Dragon keepers told the Professors the state of the dragon when the task was over some of them looked at Harry differently. Some with admiration, some out of fear.

Meanwhile, Kratos of Sparta (End of Ragnarok) is kinda confused as to why he is getting... stronger? not in the normal way, but in a godly sense. Someone somewhere has put their faith in him and he has no idea who.

Then he searches his mind, his power, and sees Harry studying and training and doing everything he can to protect himself/get stronger. The boy is angry, doesn't trust anyone and wants nothing more than to survive the tournament so he can leave and never come back.

Kratos then appears to Harry in a spectral form and introduces himself as the God of War, and a father.

From then on, after Harry realizes he has been actually praying to a real life god, Kratos appears to Harry every now and again to tell him stories of what happened AFTER his life in Greece. He tells Harry about his son, and shares some of the things he has learned.

Harry uses those teachings to master himself and his rage. His power grows, and so does Kratos' (who has never had a worshiper before and has no idea what to do really other than help this lonely orphan boy who reminds himself of his son)

Time passes, Voldemort returns, and Harry puts up one hell of a fight but a dark lord is a dark lord and Harry just makes it out of there alive. Still, people are starting to question just where Harry is getting his strength and skill from.

(OOTP) Harry's rage (grief/betrayal) grows as he is once again returned to the Dursleys. Still, he studies and trains and dreams of the stories Kratos tells him and feels some sort of comfort that at least SOMEONE (a god no less. Harry still can't believe it.) still takes some time out of their day to come and visit him.

Harry goes to Grimmauld place, finds out that

Sirius has been someplace secure and safe all summer and hasn't told him or wanted to invite him/spend time with him

His friends have been there a while with HIS godfather

He has been lied to

Dumbledore still is keeping secrets from him

And Harry rages. The house shakes, things shatter, and Harry runs away alone in the dark not knowing what to do or where to go because he can't trust anyone at that point.

MEANWHILE There are some people who are NOT happy at Odins destruction and Kratos' increase in power. Harry, being Kratos' first only/true worshiper, giving him so much power pisses them off more.

So they end up finding out who Harry is and sending monsters from their world to fight Harry who is ready for a fight. Harry fights helwalkers and nightmares coming after him and after the last one falls and disappears the order end up finding him and yelling at him for running off not having seen a single thing.

For the next school year, Harry has to fight off monsters from Kratos' world while Kratos figures out where they are coming from.

Harry ends up training Dumbledores army into something MUCH stronger/better than what he could have done on his own.

Harry rages a few more times against monsters trying to master himself but (its not just HIS rage. Its his AND voldemort's rage because of their connection which makes it uncontrollable for him atm)

Harry does NOT take Umbridges shit with the quill.

The dream happens and Harry rushes to save Sirius at the ministry but is tricked. Sirius dies and Bellatrix doesn't even make it out of the atrium/veil room before she is in PIECES on the floor. Blood everywhere. Spartan Rage consumed Harry's magic and actions before he was able to control himself.

Then, out of the veil, walks BALDUR. Fucking pissed and laughing crazy because he finally made it out of Hel looking undead and ready for revenge against the only thing he could get his hands on. Aka: Harry.

Everyone (death eater/order) is confused because they have no clue what was happening. Baldur compliments Harry, calling him a monster, a true follower of the god of war, after seeing what was left of bellatrix.

(Thats where we learn that Wizards and gods do NOT mix and its actually forbidden in wizarding culture to pray to a god/make a deal with a god (although they thought all the gods had died off anyways) because godly problems always ended up way bigger than mortal problems and now we get to see why) (Voldemort didn't go down that path because he didn't want to be a "slave" to someone else")

Harry uses all his strength and magic to fight Baldur. They are at pretty equal skill considering Harry is a budding warrior and Baldur has been... you know dead.

There is chaos, although EVERYONE is too terrified to help Harry. A mortal vs a god? Impossible. They would lose (Harry just thinks they have no faith)

Even when Voldemort walks in, he is hesitant to do anything because an undead god ? No thank you.

Anyways, Harry and Baldur fight and it gets bloody and messy and Harry doesn't know if he can make it out until.... Kratos walks in calmly though the veil. Everyone can feel it when he walks in the room. A GOD OF WAR, powerful from Harry's faith and the peoples prayers and returned from Valhalla true and ready to perform his duty.

Of course he defeats Baldur easily, and sends him back to the deepest pits of Hel. Then, he turns to Harry, sees the chaos around him and the terrified stares, and offers his hand to join him in Midgard to continue his training.

Harry doesn't hesitate, and follows Kratos through the veil.

There, Harry trains and gets stronger until the day he is called to return to the Wizarding World to kick Voldemort's ass.

[chaostheoryy]

In My Darkest Hour [Bradley Bradshaw X GN!Reader]

Summary: Despite his positive attitude and immeasurable confidence as a pilot, Bradley Bradshaw is prone to nightmares about his rocky past and dangerous lifestyle. Fortunately for him, you’re always there to make sure he crawls his way out of the dark.

Rating: Teen+

Warnings: Nightmare imagery including mentions of blood, death, and canon-typical violence (i.e.: dogfights, fist fights, etc.)

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: It took me a thousand years to write this for some reason (probably because work has been very, very busy) but hey, it’s finally finished. Enjoy the angst. And, as always, no beta reader. I choose a warrior’s death.

He’s alone.

So alone.

Surrounded by darkness, there’s nothing to orient himself. Not a sound or a smell or even a feeling to guide him. Up is down. Left is right. Right is wrong.

And suddenly, from somewhere in the darkness, he hears crying. Soft, muffled whimpers start to echo in this seemingly endless space and coax him into exploring the void before him. He can’t figure out where the sound is even coming from but he is determined to find its source nonetheless.

Two steps become three. Three steps become twelve. Twelve become too many to count so he just stops keeping track. It feels like he’s been walking for an eternity and yet, at the same time, it’s as if he just took the first step.

The crying is getting louder now. It sounds like he’s getting closer. There’s a clearer quality to the sound, less reverberation.

It’s a woman, he realizes. Somewhere in the expanse of this shadow world, there’s a woman crying. Even though it sounds as if she is close-by, her sobs are quiet. It feels private, as if she doesn’t want anyone to hear.

As if she doesn’t want him to hear.

One blink of the eye and now there’s something aglow. A streak of warm light that breaks through the darkness and gives him the first inkling of hope that this strange eternal gloom is not all that remains of the world he thought he knew. There’s something out there. Something that will change the course of this journey.

The closer he gets to the light source, the heavier the darkness feels. It weighs on him in a way he doesn’t understand. It feels like dread. 

He doesn’t know how it’s possible for him to know, but something is wrong. The woman that’s crying shouldn’t be in this kind of agony. It’s not like her. She’s supposed to be laughing and singing and making him smile like the sunrise. 

Why does he know this? Why does he know her? He can’t even see the face of the woman who sheds these unseen tears. Everything about her is a mystery and yet he feels it deep in his gut that he knows her. It’s engrained in him. It’s in his blood, in the very fabric of his DNA. He’s returning to her the same way that salmon feel the pull to fight their way upstream. Or the way that birds know to fly south in the winter. He doesn’t think about it. He just follows the instinct that encourages every creature to find comfort in the safety of their home.

Home.

He’s going home.

The laws of nature are not at play in this mystery realm because now, without moving any faster or looking any harder, he is pushing some unseen force to enter the sliver of light before him. 

A door opens and he steps through to find himself standing in the dim light of a bedroom, one that he swears he has seen before. It’s so familiar. He’s been in this room so many times and still he can’t remember a single moment where he’s occupied the space.

The crying is so painfully clear now. It’s no longer distorted by closed doors or vast, empty space. The sound is in this room. The woman whose suffering has brought him to this sacred unknown bedroom is somewhere in here with him.

“Oh, honey, what’re you doin’ up?”

He turns and finds himself looking at the tear stained face of his mother. 

Her eyes are red and the messy blonde hair atop her head is even more unkempt than usual. Never before has he seen her like this. Carole Bradshaw doesn’t just break down in tears, even when she’s struggling through a brutal low. It takes an entire army to break through the barricade of her exuberance.

“Mommy?” 

His voice is so much higher than it should be. It sounds shrill. Innocent. It sounds like…A kid. 

No longer is he the sturdy, mustached pilot he stares at in the mirror every morning. He’s that goofy little blonde boy with the chubby cheeks and crooked teeth that he’s seen in old family photos. The kid that wanted nothing more than to fly jets and touch the clouds just like daddy and Uncle Mav.

“Why are you crying?” He asks as he crosses the room to where she’s slumped on the floor beside the bed.

She tries so hard not to break. Her lips quiver as she forces a smile but it doesn’t last more than a second. A soft whimper seeps from her lips in place of the violent sobs her body wants so desperately to expel.

“C’mere, baby,” she whispers. “Give mama a hug.”

He does as she asks and sinks into her open arms. The soothing heat of her body envelopes him like a cocoon that he never wants to leave. 

He’s missed this so much. The safety of her embrace. The warmth of her love. No matter how much time has passed and no matter how hard he tries to forget the pain of his childhood, he will never let himself forget this.

A jingling sound rings in his ear, drawing his attention to the hand holding him at his stomach. There’s something metal wrapped around her fingers. He’s seen that silver chain before.

Like any curious child would, he reaches down and grabs it. One little tug and he can see there’s something hanging from it. It’s made from the same material as the chain itself and has tiny indentations scattered across its surface. A closer look and he can see those indentations form letters. 

At the time this memory happened, he’d been far too young to understand what it all meant. He didn’t know that the tears in his mothers eyes were the tears of a woman in mourning. He didn’t know that the metal necklace in her grasp was a dogtag that bore the name of his father. And he most certainly didn’t know that Nick Bradshaw, beloved husband and father, was dead.

But he knows now.

He knows it all too well.

The dogtag in his palm is immeasurably heavy. Far heavier than a piece of sheet metal should ever be. And it stings like the singe of hell fire against his skin. Surrounded once again by the darkness of the netherworld he first found himself in, the tag is the only thing he sees. He reads the engraving over and over again:

BRADSHAW, NICK

“GOOSE”

U.S. NAVY

There’s an unbearable burning sensation in his eyes as tears threaten to break free of their organic reservoir. He doesn’t want to cry. Not anymore. He’s spent too many hours crying over the death a man he has so few memories of. 

But the pain is too much. Even after all these years and all of the new memories he’s made to fill the gaps where his father should have been, he still suffers. It’s an agony he can’t describe, one that leaves him cold and shaking, even on the hottest days of the cruelest summers.

And still he refuses to cry.

So he drops to his knees and settles for a scream.

“Rooster! Evade! Evade!”

With a gasp, he suddenly finds himself back in the cockpit of his F-18. There are tears in his eyes still but they’re no longer a product of his mourning. These are tears of unadulterated fear. The kind of fear a man feels when he’s on the brink of death.

He can’t breathe. His heart is beating so violently in his chest that it feels like it’s going to burst right through his sternum. Alarms are going off all around him and Maverick is shouting at him through the comms with a desperation that makes it impossible to even process the words coming out of his own mouth.

“I can’t shake ‘em! They’re on me, they’re on me!”

Fingers wrapped tight around the joystick between his knees, he tries his hardest to avoid the incoming missile. The F-18 may be fast and agile, but the enemy missile that has locked onto his tail is even quicker. There’s only so much a pilot can do to try and outmaneuver one and he’s exhausted every last attempt.

The mission may have been a success, but he now he’s going to pay the ultimate price.

Just as he prepares for the impending missile strike, a shadow soars overhead and he looks up to find Maverick’s jet coasting backward above his cockpit. Flares shootout like big red fireflies and intercept his deadly pursuer. An explosion rocks the sleek metal frame of his plane. He comes out unharmed.

But there’s more smoke in the air.

A second missile strikes the tail end of Maverick’s F-18 and sends him careening toward the snow-covered earth in a flurry of flame and black fumes.

“Mav, no!”

Instinct and years of training drives his body to maintain the course but not a single thought in his head is telling him to return to safety. Even when he sees the wreck of Maverick’s jet crash into the rocks and hears his teammates begging him to let go, the desire to survive the dogfight is not enough to allow his mind to accept the loss.

He can’t do this. He can’t lose the only family he has left. 

Please, he thinks as he prepares to turn back, Don’t do this to me. Losing my parents was enough. Don’t make me lose you too.

In a series of snapshots, images of his life’s most painful memories—both real and fantasized—start flashing before his eyes. 

His mother crying on the bedroom floor. Blood soaked dogtags in the palm of a child’s hand. Green smoke tainting the sea as two pilots—one alive, one dead—float helplessly in the water. A gravestone with his father’s name etched into the marble. Maverick’s bomber jacket draped over the dining chair where Nick Bradshaw once sat. His mother’s hand on Maverick’s shoulder while he stares with bloodshot eyes at a photo of the best friend he can no longer take to the skies in his back seat.

Rejection. A room full of future aviators celebrating their acceptance into the Academy while he sits in the corner and wonders why he isn’t among them. Shouting. Arguing. A fight that separates him and Maverick for years. His fist striking the infamous Captain in the jaw while Maverick just stands there and takes it. A hand reaching for his shoulder in an attempt to make amends only to be shoved away before it can even make contact. Hazel eyes that are normally so bright and full of optimism, now soiled by guilt and brimming with tears. An old red and black Kawasaki driving off while he stands there suffocating in a cloud of his own rage.

Coffin’s corner. The blinding fear that overtakes him as he narrowly clears the peak of a snowcapped mountain. Alarms blaring in his ears. Missiles flying through the air towards him like white, metal cobras ready to strike. His fist slamming the flare button. The countermeasure release mechanism firing nothing but air. A moment of panic. A shadow falling across his cockpit. Maverick’s F-18 soaring overhead to take his place and embrace the SAM’s wrath. Fire and smoke and the unmistakable sight of a broken jet falling to the earth. The bright flash that comes with an explosion fueled by circuitry and petroleum. The visor of Maverick’s red, white, and blue striped helmet blood stained and broken atop a blanket of snow.

Three graves standing in line amongst the fading cemetery grass. Nick and Carole Bradshaw are beside each other just as they should be. But on the other side of his father’s headstone, a freshly laden patch of lawn covers the plot of a newcomer. Black lettering carved neatly into the marble reads:

IN MEMORY OF

PETE “MAVERICK” MITCHELL

CPT

U.S. NAVY

JUL 3 1962

MAR 27 2022

Kneeling down, he places Maverick’s now polished helmet in the grass beside an array of flowers and folded letters. There’s a picture of him there too. Its edges are worn and the color has faded but he can clearly see the face of the man within its white borders: an overbearingly hopeful, young Pete Mitchell flashing him one of those big, charming grins.

He touches the photo gently with the tip of his finger, wishing he could feel the warmth of his skin or the crushing weight of his embrace. But all he feels is the gloss of photo paper. 

So instead, he places a hand over the smooth crest of the headstone and presses his forehead to the marble just above Maverick’s name—the only remnant of the man who gave his life to prevent Bradley Bradshaw from taking his place in the grave beside his parents.

***

A violent shout startles you awake. 

Despite the initial jolt, the groggy haze of your exhaustion keeps you still. But the sudden realization that the bed is moving pulls you right out of your sleepy stupor. Something’s wrong.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you finally see the cause of the commotion. Bradley is thrashing in his sleep, fighting off a nightmare that has left his face covered in a mixture of sweat and tears. He’s gasping and groaning, his brow furrowed so deep that it’s threatening to give him an eternal headache. 

With his military history and childhood trauma, nightmares aren’t anything new around here. Most of the time, he jerks awake in a cold sweat and wanders to the kitchen to grab water or decompress in the living room by watching a comfort movie. Then, when he feels confident that the wave of bad dreams has passed, he crawls right back in bed beside you. 

But something about this nightmare seems particularly terrifying. The way he’s clutching at the sheets and grinding his teeth as he jerks his head tells you that he’s not going to get out of this on his own anytime soon. He needs help.

He needs you.

“Bradley,” you murmur quietly as you reach out to place a comforting hand over the curve of his shoulder.

But the gentle touch is not enough. Whatever lurid imagery is plaguing him seems to worsen as the fearful jerks fade into heart-wrenching sobs. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles breathlessly between the cacophony of whimpers, “I’m so sorry…”

Okay. That’s enough. You need to get him out of this now.

You lean over and cup your hands over his cheeks, holding his head as if it were the most delicate jewel ever unearthed.

“Bradley, wake up, baby.”

You can see his eyes lurching from side to side beneath the cover of his eyelids—a surefire indicator that he’s still lost in the current of REM.

Dammit.

“C’mon, babe, you gotta wake up,” you say sternly.

He doesn’t.

The time for gentle persuasion is over. Sliding one hand behind his head to raise it up off of the pillow, you start patting his cheek with the other.

“That’s enough, baby. Get up. Bradley. Bradley!”

The final shout of his name is just loud enough to break through the veil of sleep. He stops shaking beneath you, eyes slowly fluttering as he starts to regain consciousness. Then, as if he’s been stabbed directly in the chest, he gasps and jolts upright.

You sit back and watch in a state of utter confusion as he fights to catch his breath. He’s murmuring to himself, more tears brimming in his eyes as he buries both hands in his hair.

He whispers to himself. “I killed him. It’s all my fault…I shouldn’t have let him…It should be me, not him.”

Like a tamer approaching a dangerous and jumpy wild animal, you reach out slowly and touch his shoulder again. He twitches at the sudden contact but immediately settles when he looks over to see you next to him.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m here.”

The hand at his shoulder slides over to rub his back in soothing circles. Even through the layer of cotton that separates your palm from his skin, you can feel the tension in his muscles. His breathing is still labored.

“Please tell me it’s not real,” he finally murmurs when his heart rate starts to calm down. “Tell me he’s still alive.”

“Who?”

“Maverick.”

His voice cracks when he says the name. It’s a name you’ve heard a million times in a million different contexts. Pete “Maverick” Mitchell: the man who saved Bradley’s life. The same Pete Mitchell who flew with his father when he was young and helped raise Bradley after the tragic training accident that killed Nick Bradshaw. And Pete Mitchell, despite his recklessness and passion for dangerous aviation techniques, is still very much alive.

You nod and brush the loose hairs from his sweaty forehead. “Of course Maverick’s alive. Why wouldn’t he be?”

Relief washes over him like a tsunami. A shaky breath escapes his throat and the muscles in his shoulders finally start to loosen. But the tears pricking at the corner of his eyes don’t cease.

You know it’s risky to ask, but the question comes out anyway. “What happened in your dream, baby?”

“I…” He hesitates, his focus on you immediately fading as he starts to replay the images in his head. “I saw my mom. On the night she…The night I found out about dad’s accident. She was holding his dogtag. And when I grabbed it, I saw that it was…stained with his blood.”

The tears welled in his eyes start to make their escape, sliding down his cheek toward the corners of his mouth.

“I saw dad’s grave. And I saw the fight I had with Mav after he pulled my papers. I shouldn’t have hit him but I did. I was stupid and angry so I punched him. I said the most fucked up things to him and treated him like dogshit the entire time we trained for the mission and he still…”

He clenches his fist. You can tell he wants to hit something so badly, to let his emotions out in the same way so many other young men do. But he abstains, settling instead to cross his legs and hug his knees. It makes him seem so small. So…helpless. Never in your relationship have you wanted to hold him more than you do right now.

“In my dream he didn’t make it. Maverick. He took the hit in his F-18 but he didn’t survive. After all the crap I gave him, after spending years of my life hating him…He still didn’t hesitate for a single goddamn second to give up his life for me. And I know what I saw wasn’t real but I just—“

His lip quivers as he bites back a sob.

“I didn’t deserve it.”

Your heart shatters right alongside his composure. All the sorrow and guilt that has been slowly eating away at him finally breaks free from its containment to feast like wolves. Pressing his forehead to his knees, he cries harder than you’ve ever seen him cry before.

Instinct and love pushes you forward. Wrapping your arms around him, you pull his head to your chest. He may be the hero risking his life to protect his country but it’s not the country that protects him in return. It’s you. You are the one who’s here to protect him. And the way he instantly melts against your torso tells you that he knows fully well that’s true.

With his face buried in the crook of your neck, you stroke his hair and whisper sweet nothings to settle his frazzled mind. You murmur affirmations of adoration and support against his brow, telling him just how much he not only means to you but to Maverick as well. No matter what his brain has tried to get him to believe, you reassure him that the people he loves most see nothing but the best in him. Bradley Bradshaw is, and will always be, worth saving.

After several minutes of soothing whispers and caresses, his sobs fade away. The labored breathing that had left your collarbone hot to the touch is finally easing to gentle exhales. The weight of his body pressed to your chest is even heavier now—not because he’s actively digging deeper into your embrace, but because he’s actually relaxing. This is the weight of relief. The weight of love and trust.

“Thank you,” he murmurs as he presses a lazy, tender kiss to your jaw.

Smiling softly, you place a gentle hand on his cheek and tilt your head just enough to steal a kiss with your lips. “Of course…Whenever you need me, I’ll be here. I promise.”

[tblsomedoodles]

I wanted to make something fluffy this time. It's also pretty long. If you'd like, I can do the next one on AO3 and just send a link.

Casey had always thought he knew everything he could possibly want to know about the leaders of the Kraang resistance, as he had both the rumor mill, and Master Leonardo himself to gather intel from. Sure the rumor mill exaggerated things more often then not, but it still got a lot of things right that others just wouldn’t say. 

Whether right or wrong though, none of the rumors he grew up on held any ground once he was sent back in time, and the same went with most of the basic information as well. Master Leonardo may have become a master ninja, but here, he was just a clumsy teenager with good luck. Raph was said to have been the powerhouse of the resistance, but while he held immeasurable strength in the present, he had anxiety equivalent to a kraang labor camp child. Donatello was still brilliant, but he was stoic, always full of facts and acting like he knew everything there was to know about anything. The complete opposite to the good natures, hope holding tech master Casey had grown up with. And mystic master Michelangelo, was currently losing a fight with an electric hand blender.

"Come on you stupid thing!" Mikey grumbled, tapping the old mixer on the counter as it once again refused to turn on.

"Why don't you ask Master Donatello to fix it?" Casey was seated in view of the kitchen doorway, instructed to keep the three other turtles from entering the kitchen.

"Because, and I am explaining this again, it's a surprise for Donnie! So if I ask him to fix the blender then he'll know I'm planning something." Mikey hit the blender again, this time harder.

"But wouldn't he be more suspicious if you don't ask him to fix it?" Casey turned in his chair to fully focus on Mikey, who rolled his eyes. 

"That's not how Donnie works. He always just… knows these things. I haven’t been able to surprise him with anything for years! Do you know how hard that is for me? So no, I will not go to him, so instead, because this thing is not working at all,” Mikey gave a final smack to the blender before discarding it on the counter, “you are going to stir the cake for me.”

“Me? Why can’t you do it? You’re the baker after all, and I’m just keeping guard.” Instead of answering, Mikey lifted his arms, hands badly shaking when he did so. “Ah, I see.” 

Casey took the bowl of batter from Mikey when he was handed it, starting to mix it around as he got lost in his thoughts. He had never expected just how bad the turtles had gotten hurt when facing the Kraang. He had always seen them as the leaders of the resistance, unstoppable and the greatest fighting force they had. Raph had already died by the time Casey was old enough to remember him, and Tech Master Donnie had gone down when he was small as well. Leo and Mikey had been all that was left of the turtle brothers, and the two fought harder then anyone trying to push back the Kraang’s world take-over. 

Casey shook off the thought and returned his attention to watching Mikey work. The orange turtle was dancing round the kitchen, looking through cupboards as he pulled out different items to add to the bowl Casey was mixing. Very few of the items were ones that Casey recognized, and even fewer were ones that the resistance had an abundance of. He leaned forward to see what was in the small brown container that Mikey was measuring out, only to jump when there was a heavy sigh behind him.

Casey and Mikey turned at the same time to watch Donnie enter the kitchen, rubbing his temple the way he did whenever he had a headache.

“Donnie! Get out of the kitchen! Casey you were supposed to keep watch.” Mikey stood in front of his pile on the counter, trying to block it from Donnie’s line of sight.

“You told me to mix this!” Casey responded, gesturing to the bowl in his arms.

“It doesn’t matter Mikey, I just came in here to ask you not to make chocolate cake. I’m not in the mood.” Donnie yawned, and Mikey and Casey shared a surprised look.

“See what I deal with Casey? Nothing gets past him, he knows everything!” Mikey turned back to his counter of ingredients, clearly pouting.

“It’s a nice thought Angelo, really, but as we all know, you are rather predictable.” Donnie left the kitchen once more, fighting another giant yawn as he left.

The kitchen fell into silence for a bit, before Mikey knocked his forehead against the counter, looking completely defeated. “I don’t know how he does it Casey, really. He’s always had an easier time guessing what everyone is doing but now it’s like he does it on purpose just to bug everyone. It’s extra weird because it’s not how he usually is.”

Casey nodded along, unsure of how to respond. He didn’t know Donnie, both this version and his future version, but he knew Mikey. As much as future Mikey had changed, so many things had stayed the same. When a mission went horribly wrong, Mikey was there to protect everyone as much as he could. When morale was low, and everyone felt like giving up, he always found a way to dazzle, bringing smiles to those around him. While Leo was the brains of the resistance, Mikey was always the heart, making days more bearable for everyone. Casey couldn’t imagine what things would be like without him.

“Hey Mikey?” Mikey hummed in response, turning his head over to look at the human next to him. “What if we asked Leo? He seems to know Donnie really well, and I’ve heard that the two of them were extremely close.”

Mikey nodded, faintly smiling, before his brows pinched in contemplation. “Hey I was wondering, and you don’t have to answer but I thought about it again with you talking about future things, what were we all like? How did we die?”

Casey felt his stomach drop, veins running cold. He looked away from Mikey and shrugged. “It’s not, not very pleasant, and it’s kind of hard to talk about.” He took a quick glance at Mikey, only catching a look of worry before he looked away again. 

“You don’t have to Casey, I was just curious. It feels like everyone else knows things about the future that I don’t.” Casey looked back up at the turtle, only to see a pleasant smile as Mikey hid his emotions once again. It seemed like that was a trait both versions of him possessed.

“I guess… I mean…” Casey put the bowl on the counter, taking a deep breath as his hands balled into fists on his knees. “Raph was the first one to go. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I do know it was a very, very bad way for him to go. Like, bad enough that no one talked about it, but everyone reacted when it came up. Then, it was Donnie. He…” Casey started shaking, the memory fresh even with the age of it. “I was young when he died, but old enough to know. Especially since… since he died protecting me.”

The sound from Mikey was something he had never heard before, but was followed by arms wrapping around him. Casey leaned into the hug, tears falling down his cheeks. “Master Donatello was with Master Leonardo and me. We were doing a quick supply run, and I had begged to come along. We were cornered by some kraang monsters and, Master Donatello made an opening for us to escape. Master Leonardo and I reached the exit point, but the kraang had gotten a hold of Master Donatello. He… he told us to run, and Master Leonardo did without a fight, and I was so scared because he always fought to save people but he just left Donnie there and I had to follow Sensei so that I wasn’t left behind and when we had gotten away Sensei just stopped and stared at the building we left Donnie in and it was so quiet and I tried asking what was going on and why we didn’t fight to protect Donnie and Sensei was crying and he never cried so I didn’t know what to do and then the next thing I know, the building explodes and Sensei just looked at me and told me that that was the reason we left.” Casey took a deep breath, Mikey holding him in as tight of a hug as he could. Casey whipped at the tears flowing down his cheeks, determined to last just a little longer before he let the grief sink in again. “Sensei made sure I knew it wasn’t my fault, but that never really removes that guilt. I guess… I guess him being a doom prophet makes sense, and he probably knew that Donnie was going to die there, but it still hurts.” 

He gave Mikey a weak smile before the first sob hit, and clung to the turtle as more followed. The two sat there, holding onto each other until the grief clinging to Casey subsided, at which point Mikey pulled back, his own cheeks stained with tears.

“That’s awful Casey, you were right about it not being pleasant.” Casey chuckled, which brought a sad smile to Mikey’s face. “You don’t have to tell me the others if you don’t want to. I know they’re more fresh.”

Casey shook his head and took a deep breath. “It’s okay. I can… I just…” He paused, collecting his thoughts before continuing. “I need to talk to someone, and Dr. Feelings has always been good at listening.” He gave Mikey a small smile, and Mikey crossed his arm, fake pouting.

“Invoking Dr. Feelings and I don’t even have my turtleneck and glasses.” 

The two shared a chuckle before Casey continued. “You died in the process of sending me back in time. The time portal took everything from you, and as it opened, you broke into dust and sparkle.”

Mikey thought for a moment, before his eyes grew wide. “That’s why you freaked out over my arms when I opened the portal to get Leo!” Casey nodded, and Mikey sighed. “I guess I really need to be careful. What about Leo?”

Casey closed his eyes, taking another deep breath. “I don’t actually know what happened, just an interpretation. As he threw me through the portal, he turned to return to the fight, and was surrounded by red light from the Kraang’s beam. So either that disintegrated him, or he died soon after.”

Mikey nodded. “I’m going to choose to believe it got him. I can’t imagine what it would be like to be all along, since I’m assuming Casey, April, and Splinter were all gone as well.”

Casey nodded. “My mom died on a scouting mission about a year or two from the end. Commander O’Niel and Master Splinter died in the final battle, and both went down fighting as hard as they could.”

Mikey nodded and the two sat in silence for a few minutes, before Casey’s brain demanded that he did anything that involved movement. “So, are we still making the cake?”

Mikey snorted and nodded, his sugary sweet demeanor returning. “Of course! We already started after all.”

***

It had been days since Casey had last seen Donnie walking around outside his lab, and longer still since anyone had seen him eat. Casey had been the one sent in to check on him, as the others were out on patrol. He knocked on the entrance to the lab, entering when he heard no response. When Casey found no one there, he went to Donnie’s room, successfully finding the softshell in his bed asleep. While it was nice to see him finally asleep, Casey was given direct instruction to wake him up and get him fed.

“Donnie, hey Donnie way up.” Casey shook the turtle’s shoulder, growing concerned as he didn’t react. “Hey Donnie, come on, you need to wake up.” He moved the blanket, staring at Donnie’s marking, which glowed an unnatural shade of purple. Casey tried one more time to wake him, before he took out his phone and called Raph the way he was taught to.

“Casey now isn’t the best time,” was Raph’s response when he answered the call. “Please tell me this is an emergency, and not you asking about the toaster again.

Casey could feel his ears heat up, and mumbled about the toaster thing happening only one time. When he had been annoyed long enough, he shook his head to clear it and get back on track. “No, Donnie isn’t waking up, and his marks are all glowing. It feels almost like when Leo has a vision.”

There was a long pause before Raph came back on the line. “Sorry kid, I missed that. Can you say it again for me?”

Casey groaned, shifting the phone in his hand. “Something is wrong with Donnie. He won’t wake up, and his marks are glowing.”

“Glowing how?” Casey could hear the concern in Raph’s voice, which only made Casey more nervous.

“It feels like when Leo has a vision.” The line went quiet again, before Casey heard Raph shouting.

“I know this is fun and all, and Meat Sweats definitely needs a beat down, but we gotta get back to Donnie.” There were other grumbles that Casey could hear on the line, though not clear enough for him to figure out who was talking about what. “We’ll be there as soon as we can. Keep an eye on Donnie til we get back.” With that the line went dead, and Casey sat down on the corner of Donnie’s bed, watching over the Tech Master sleep, his only relief being how peaceful Donnie looked.

When the other turtles arrived, they all rushed into Donnie’s room, where Casey was pacing around.

“Casey what happened?” Raph was the first to speak, and the first to reach Donnie, wrapping the smaller boy in his arms.

“I don’t know! I came in to wake him up like you told me to, and he was completely unresponsive! Then I noticed the glowing and I got worried so I called. I’ve tried to wake him up a couple times since I called, but nothing is working!”

Mikey headed over to stand by Casey, bumping their shoulders together. “We’ll figure it out Casey.”

Leo joined Raph on the bed with Donnie, running his hands up and down his twin’s arm. “This isn’t good. Hey Raph, remember what I had that… that weird vision thing? When I was awake, but stuck in a vision?” Raph nodded. “This feels like that. He has energy coming off him, I feel it, and it feels so much like mine, but there’s something different. I don’t know how to stop it, but I think I can help it. Like Donnie did with me.”

“Wait, does that mean Donnie has weird visions as well? But he looks so calm, and you were screaming and thrashing, like a real nightmare.”

Leo shrugged. “I don’t know man, I just know what I feel, and that he looks like he’s having some sort of vision. Why don’t you do your thing? See if you can find out what’s going on?”

Raph’s face went from confusion to shocked understanding quicker then Casey could blink. “Yeah! I got weird powers too! Don’t worry Donnie, Raph to the rescue!” Raph closed his eyes, taking big, slow breaths as the air around him seemed to envelope him in a soft glow.

Everyone held their breath and waited, watching Raph and Donnie in hopes that the current problem had an easy fix. However, the glow faded from Raph, and he opened his eyes, confusion clear on his face.

“I can’t see.”

“What do you mean you can’t see?” Leo snapped, shifting closer to Donnie. “That’s your entire thing, seeing into people’s heads. How do you not see what’s inside Donnie’s head?”

“Raph can’t see your visions remember? It gets all weird and fuzzy. Donnie’s head was like that. Weird and fuzzy, though it did feel soft. Your visions aren’t soft. They’re spiky, like my shell.”

Leo rolled his eyes before focusing back on Donnie. “If it’s a vision, then I may be able to help. I don’t know how, but maybe I can.” Leo was the one who closed his eyes this time, putting his hands on Donnie’s arm.

Once again the room grew quiet and waited until Leo opened his eyes again. “Good news and bad news. Good news is that I am able to break down the wall around his vision, bad news is, it’s really hard, and really slow.”

“What does that mean?” Mikey clung to Casey’s arm, and Casey clenched his teeth to deal with the pain of Mikey’s distressed grip.

“It means this is going to take a while, so you might as well sit down.” Mikey rushed over to be on the bed next to his brothers, and Casey joined them more slowly, perching on the corner.

“Is there anything I can do?” Casey asked. He turned to Mikey for an answer, as Leo and Raph had both closed their eyes again.

“I don’t think so, but someone is eventually going to need to tell the others. Until then can you just… hang around the lair? Dad and Draxum aren’t back from their thing yet, and April is still in school. We need someone to keep an eye out in case they come back. I would do it but I…” Mikey trailed off, and Casey nodded, catching the hope on Mikey’s face.

“You’ve got it Sir.” Casey paused for a moment. “Would it be okay if I stayed in here a little longer? I want to be close to you guys.” Mikey smiled and nodded, gesturing for Casey to scooch closer on the bed.

***

It took a few days for Donnie to come back out of his vision, and currently the turtles were all up patrolling. Raph had asked Donnie what the vision was about, but Donnie had only insisted that it was nothing, and that he wanted to be out on patrol. Not wanting to argue, the other boys followed along, with a promise of a later conversation.

That left Casey mostly alone in the lair, with Cassandra as company. The two Jones’s were currently in the kitchen, with Cassandra making a cake, and Casey Jr helping where ordered. He’d been thinking about his conversation with Mikey a few days ago, about not being able to surprise Donnie, and he had been determined to try. At least at first.

Casey Jr had fond memories of his mom and Mikey baking together when he was growing up, so he turned to her for help with the cake, only to learn once again that those around him had a lot less skill then twenty plus years in an apocalyptic future.

“Are you sure it’s supposed to look like that?” Casey Jr asked, watching Cassandra pull the finished cake out of the oven. “Shouldn’t it have other things on top of it?”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “No, it has to cool before it’s frosted.”

“It looks weird.”

“It’s going to, it’s not frosted.”

“No, I mean it’s not even.”

“Because you’re supposed to cut part of the top to make it flat.”

“That sounds like a waste of cake.”

“You don’t throw the extra away, you eat it.”

“Wait, is that why you and Mikey never ate any of the cakes you used to make together?”

“I don’t know Casey, we are not in the apocalypse timeline.”

“Right…” The conversation trailed off, and once again Cassandra sighed.

“I’m guessing you’ve never had a proper cake before, have you?”

“Probably not.”

The two Casey’s continued baking in quiet, with Cassandra sharing trips on baking, and Casey sharing tips on fighting. By the time the turtles were home, the cake was finished and decorated, sitting on the table. There were no balloons, no streamers or fancy decorations, and no big huzzah about it, just Casey telling Donnie that he had something waiting in the kitchen. A cake that actually made the purple turtle smile.

“Thank you Brightspot.”

This is so cute!! CJ bonding with his mom and Mikey is adorable! and everyone just being ever so worried over Donnie but not really knowing what to do about it. I love it thank you!

and sure, if it's easier for you, you can just drop the AO3 link! But, in the end, it's up to you!

Thanks again!!

[athimas]

The One In Which Yuu Tries Scones

The chaos trio and their immeasurably tired supervisor + Jack. Friends helping each other in the ways they know how. As always, please check me for any bad writing or ooc characterizations. 

Warnings: Slight angst

WC: 1222

Sometimes, Yuu wished the world wasn’t so loud. Sometimes, Yuu wished that Grim would remember to complete his homework. Sometimes, Yuu would hope that Crowley wasn’t neck deep in a problem that he believed himself too generous to keep his own. Sometimes, Yuu wonders what it would have been like to never wake up in unfamiliar clothing, trapped in a coffin and loaded with the information of what it would be like to be buried alive. Right now, however, in this exact moment in time—6:30pm (or 18:30 Yuu supposed—If they didn’t want to have to tack on the am/pm modifier), with the sun setting a rosy gold in the windows of Ramshackle—a lovely color, truly—Yuu wished that sometimes their friends were as callous as they liked to appear.

           Yuu fought a sniffle, bit back and swallowed so hard as to cause pain, teeth firmly clamped together. This was stupid. Yuu hated crying. What good did crying do? In this economy? With overblots cropping up left and right, the constant threat of never returning home, and having to battle both physical and mental trials on the daily? Utterly ridiculous. Yuu didn’t have time to cry. Crying was an ugly mess anyway with snot and swelling, itchy eyes. Not to mention the raging headache afterwords? No thanks. Yuu balled their hands into tight fists, pressing them against their eyes, maybe looking at the colorful squigglys would stop this stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid—

           “Hey man, you didn’t have any mint teas, but Deuce had some spare chamomile.” Ace’s voice chimed from the direction of the doorway. One, two, three steps and Yuu could hear the gentle placement of a teacup and saucer on the coffee table. Gentle. Soft. Kind. Yuu’s hands pressed harder into their eyes.

           “My mom sent that mixture over before we discovered the Housewarden’s strict tea rules, I’m glad that we can make some use of it.” One step, two—thwick. Deuce’s voice caught in a slight yelp, probably having tripped on the throw rug. A heavier step, then—

           “Ah, thanks Jack, you did me a solid there, that could’ve gotten messy.” Through the neon, burning squigglies Yuu could almost see the bright smile across Deuce’s face and Jack’s no doubt, slight bashful head scratch.

           “Careful Deuce, you keep tripping up on that rug and I’ll have to start calling you—”

           “Mrh? But didn’t you trip on the rug yesterday, Ace?” Grim piped up. There was an undignified choking sound followed by a few snickers.

           “Well yeah, but Deuce has done it more” Ace pouted.

           “Actually” Yuu interjected, immediately wincing at the rough sound of their voice, “I trip on it the most.” Yuu peeled their fists away from their eyes, grimacing at the sticky remains on their hands. They did not look at their friends at first, instead fixating their eyes on said rug, tracing the outline of a funny pumpkin shaped stain with their eyes. The banter immediately tapered off. Yuu cursed themselves, everything was going fine. Their friends were relaxing in their horrid company and then they went and opened their big, fat, stupid—

           “Tea” Ace finished.

           Yuu looked up “what?” Ace crossed his arms, looking for all the world as if Yuu wasn’t five seconds from a slip and snot slide.

           “You haven’t tried the tea” Jack explains, gesturing to the mismatched tea set on the coffee table. Yuu noted four teacups and one expresso mug sitting neatly on saucers and a plate of, “scones?” Yuu blinked slowly.

           Jack cleared his throat into his fist while averting his eyes. “You mentioned that you’ve always wanted to try them.” His eyes returned to Yuu’s as he offered something in his hand. Yuu bashfully accepted the handkerchief and began dabbing their eyes.

           “We all got together and asked Trey to help us make a batch!” The smile Yuu had imagined before returned to Deuce’s face on full blast. Yuu’s brow knitted in confusion.

           “Er—” Grim rubbed behind his ear, calling Yuu’s attention from where he sat on the arm of the sofa. “Well, you see…I had to do something for my henchmen after Ace gave them such a tough time this week!” Ace sputtered.

           “Me?! What about you, you little hairball?!” Grim jumped into the air with fire (not in the literal sense, thankfully).

           “What?! Me?! Why you—”

           Yuu sniffed loudly (perhaps intentionally), stopping both in their tracks. Ace and Grim glared vengeful promises at one another while Deuce and Jack began setting up the impromptu tea party, Jack observing the proper etiquette from Deuce, who had been studying diligently for the next unbirthday party. Ace flopped down at Yuu’s left side as Deuce and Jack pulled the couch around to make a half-circle.

           “What genre are we picking today, Prefect?” Ace whisked his teacup up (the pink one with red floral designs and gold filigree, he insisted tea tasted better from this cup and claimed it as his own whenever he came over). He quirked a red brow and peered at Yuu from over the teacup.

           “We all know what you’re hoping for” Grim quipped dryly, his fluffy paws cradling his cat themed expresso mug (no one was allowed to mention that, or the fact that he had caterwauled about how nasty “hot leaf water” was but refused to be the only one left out). Jack hummed over his teacup (simple, white with gold trim, he claimed he hadn’t even noticed the cactus painted on one side or the bowl of the saucer before picking it as his own).

           “Last time we watched James Thread and before that it was Vanity and Vainglory.” Jack flicked a pointed ear, “Maybe a documentary this time?” Ace and Grim let out a noise between “ugh” and “yuck,” an “ahhyugh,” if you will.

           Yuu curled their legs up onto the cushion, cradling their own teacup. “What about a cartoon?” The other four looked over.

           “A cartoon?” Deuce inquired, taking a sip from his teacup as his pondered (it was a dark blue on the outside with gold accents, the inside had an intricate floral design that Yuu thought suited him well). “Did you have one in mind?”

           Ace lurched forward “Oh!” Yuu clutched their teacup for dear life as Ace grinned wide. “What about Codename: Mages Next Door!”

           “Never heard of it” Grim mutters.

           “No way!” Ace laughed, “C’mon, it’s totally a classic!”

           “Dude, Numbah One was my favorite!” Deuce chimes in with an equally large grin.

           “I personally liked Numbah Five” Jack smiled.

           “Okay” Yuu tentatively smiled back, “Let’s watch that then.” Ace hurried to set up the projector against the far wall, whisking the curtains shut and humming merrily.

           “You’re gonna love this one Prefect, trust us!” Deuce leaned forward, offering a scone to Yuu. Yuu accepted it as the lights turned off and the theme began (the same tune Ace had been humming). Yuu bit into their scone which was as delightful as they had hoped it to be. They sipped their tea and let the hushed, excited whispering of their friends soothe them. Sometimes, the world was too loud for Yuu. Sometimes, the thought of being alone frightened them. Sometimes, Yuu wanted to cry in frustration and dismay. Today however, right now at no particular time, Yuu was glad to have friends.

[abbacchiosbelt]

Kinkmas ‘22 — Day 2: Chrollo Lucilfer + Choking

chrollo, curious, asks you to try something new in bed that he’s never trusted anyone else to do.

CW: Choking (reader giving), not sfw. Gender neutral reader.

WC: 818 words.

Kinkmas Index

“Are you sure about this?”

Perhaps it’s a silly question to be asking when you’re already straddling Chrollo between your legs, his hard cock nestled against your clothed lower half. The thrill of still being dressed whilst Chrollo was bare beneath you was a feeling you hadn’t expected to be so intoxicating, yet you still felt some hesitance with what Chrollo had asked you to do. 

Chrollo smiles - the same smile that’s gotten you in trouble so many times before - and grabs one of your hands to pull it towards himself, placing it on one side of his neck. “Would I have even asked if I weren’t sure?” His cock twitches from the contact of your hand against his neck, and you gasp. Chrollo grabs your other hand and repeats the action, not breaking eye contact the whole time. “I’m glad you’re concerned about me, dear, but I assure you that I want this.”

Logically, you knew his words were true. Chrollo was more powerful than you, immeasurably so. If he wanted you to stop at any time, it wouldn’t be a problem. Unlike Chrollo, though, you’d  never done this before. It’s only natural you’d feel hesitant to choke someone, especially someone like Chrollo. You do want to do it, though. 

You shift one of your hands and Chrollo sighs, his cock twitching against you again. He was so reactive, like this. It wasn’t what you were expecting. The desire to see more of his reactions is what urges you on, and pushes you over the edge of hesitance to eagerness.

“Okay,” you whisper. You adjust your hands around your neck like he had shown you beforehand. “I’m going to start.”

Carefully, you begin to put pressure on either side of Chrollo’s neck, your eyes widening at the expression on Chrollo’s face. His lips had parted and his cheeks were flushed pink, all from the most simple of touches.

“More,” he breathes, and you feel him begin to rut against your clothed sex. You’d have to tease him for his behavior later. You acquiesce to his demand, increasing the pressure of your grip. Knowing that Chrollo, leader of the notorious Phantom Troupe, was writhing between your touch from such an intimate and vulnerable act has your arousal growing by the second. You lick your lips and increase the pressure around his neck again, earning a low whine from Chrollo.

The pace of his rutting increases, and you feel every throb of his cock through your thin clothing. His hands rest on your forearms, their grip loose but firm enough that you know he’d alert you if the pressure became too much. He groans, and your name falls from his lips. “More,” Chrollo rasps. “You’re… doing so well.” His plea for more along with the addition of his praise makes your sex pulse with want, and once more, you press down harder around his neck.

Chrollo’s face is fully flushed now, his lips parted and his pupils dilated as pure pleasure overtakes him. Letting you do something so dangerous has his adrenalin running high, the intensity of everything involved - his trust in you, the fear of death, the loss of control - nearly driving him mad. He could never let anyone else see him like this, but he’d trusted you enough to fulfill a desire he’d harbored for longer than he’d like to admit. 

With each of his demands for more, you listen, and it’s not long before the pressure around his neck builds to a euphoric point. Chrollo squeezes your name out of his throat and his hands clamp down on your arms as he reaches his orgasm, humping against you like a wild animal. It’s simultaneously degrading and freeing, and Chrollo’s prolonged orgasm is evidence of how much he truly enjoyed it.

You loosen your hands completely the second Chrollo taps your arm in the pattern you’d worked out as a ‘safe word’ of sorts beforehand. He huffs, fully spent, but manages to find enough energy to drag you down next to him. You’d complain about the mess between your legs, but the sheer bliss on Chrollo’s face makes you decide to wait until later.

“That was…” Chrollo trails off, at a loss for words at once. 

“It was good,” you answer for him, and he chuckles. “Let me get you some water, at least.”

Chrollo responds by wrapping his arms around you in an iron grip. “Mm, stay here instead. I’m fine.”

“Insufferable,” you quip, earning another soft chuckle from Chrollo.

“And yet you’re the one laying next to me… I’d say you enjoy my insufferable ways.”

You grumble, knowing that there was no winning in a battle of wits with Chrollo. He gently moves you so that you’re laying on his chest, his head resting atop yours.

The smirk you feel against the top of your head is confirmation that Chrollo knows exactly what you’re thinking.

[eunoiaastralwings]

Blessed Stars

featuring maglor x reader

fandom tolkien — the silmarillion

a/n I hope you like— there's a little angst am sorry

Maglor scribed on the scroll – frustration getting the best of him.

No matter what – he couldn’t put it into words.

He could not put into words – how much you meant to him.

None of them added up – it was immeasurable.

He stayed up nights trying to figure out the right words to you and still – wating here on a picnic blanket – filled with your favorite treats and drinks – he didn’t have them.

Words of love and praises had become harder for the once great Macalaurë – it seemed only wielding was all he was good at.

No matter how hard he tried – Maglor finally realized he had lost in passion for the music he once wrote in his youth days.

He sighed – and looked out in the vast green fields and the blooming flowers of Valinor – but nothing came to him – there was only words of sorrow and regret that filled him.

When your soft lithe hands rested on his shoulder – Maglor tensed for a second, then placed a hand on top of your hands.

You have been watching him for a while – slightly saddened he didn’t even notice your presence.

Maglor had suggested in celebrating your day of birth – you haven’t done something like that since you were an elfling – but Maglor enjoyed its celebrations among the men of middle earth and wanted to share it with you.

“Macalaurë. . .what plagues your mind, melda?”

You said and sat beside him – he was playing your hands, trying to speak.

Maglor was at loss with words – never in his years would be ever had thought that.

“I fear, am not deserving of that name. . .”

He sighed and kissed the knuckles of your hand.

“Why say that husband?”

With the back of your other hand – you caressed his cheek and smiled as he closed his eyes in comfort.

“I have no words for you.”

You frowned.

“Your speaking words to me.”

“I only fill you with words of regret and pain.”

You smiled and shook your head at him – your hand drew up and tucked the strands of hair he freely let be.

The blue and white circlet was kept to the side – disregarded by Maglor. He felt ashamed to be wearing it.

“No matter the words, ellenya – your voice always makes my heart skip a beat – the regret shows everything I need to know – I know your sorrows and you have paid enough for everything – you served your punishment. You can be free again.”

You gently cupped his face and kissed his forehead.

“I forgive you. . .”

You whispered – truly and honestly.

Maglor had kept himself away – thinking even after his punishment is was undeserving for everything – especially you.

It explained why the words didn’t come easily – he was filled with remorse and regret still – but with your hands and steady guide he can once again become Macalaurë.

“Allow me to be your muse.”

You smiled.

Maglor looked into your eyes – he couldn’t thank Eru Ilúvatar enough for granting him someone as kind and forgiving at you.

Maglor nodded – his lips curling into the smallest smile.

You have always been his muse – he needed to fully reconnect with you.

“The stars of blessed me on the day of your birth, my dearest – Your everything and more I could have ever wished for. . .”

“There we go. . . – and am blessed as well, vero – for they have given me back my greatest treasure.”

form for taglist

tara's taglist: @mslizziesblog @wandererindreams @spidergirla5 @fizzyxcustard @ranhanabi777

silm taglist: @doodle-pops

[gyusimp]

Hello again !

Human AU

I've been thinking and I wondered, how would Gyutaro act if his partner had a fear of intimacy? Would he start to treat them as more fragile, and try harder to protect them?

I figured that, for me, he would have a fear of intimacy if he was still a a human. In this case, if Ume/Daki had survived and they didn't become demons, due to the way he was treated as a child. Especially because of his look, the poor baby :(

He's the entire reason, I made myself a KNY OC!

But, anyways! Just a question, and I was wondering if you wanted to be friends?

That's all! Stay safe and positive!

°•Fear of intimacy reader x Gyutaro•°

Gyutaro is fucking in love with you. He just loves everything about you, he loves the way you are and your physique. At his eyes you are the most perfect human that could exist and he wants you only for himself, your love and your attention cannot be directed to anyone other than him. He's very attracted to you, it took him a while to control his demonic instincts that put in his mind very tentative thoughts to taste your blood, he fought very hard with himself to ignore all those voices in his head that screamed at him to eat you but with his sister's help and having enough willpower he was able to control those bloody impulses.

But now there was another problem. Gyutaro wanted to taste you but in a different way. Your lips and your kisses are like a drug to him. Every time you give him the joy of kissing you and feeling your soft and warm lips on any part of his skin, he feels as if he is melting like a candle under your touch.

While you kiss him, he feels in heaven, it's ironic because he's a demon. He cannot separate from you because if he does, he will feel empty and desperate without your closeness. Every time you are so close to Gyutaro, his thoughts fly without limit, imagining millions of things that he could do to you and thus perhaps be able to give you back a little of that wonderful feeling with which you manage to inject his heart. He wants to touch you, imagine putting his hands between the folds of your clothes, feeling the soft contact of your smooth skin under his thick and rustic fingers, massaging your muscles and feeling your warmth filling each one of his cells with an incredible need to take your body just for him. To make you of him.

The demon dares to attack and fill your neck with needy kisses, going down to your collarbones and shoulders, but his ambition to touch beyond the count and try to lower the fabric of your kimono that covered your breasts made you take him to slowly move him away from you. He did something wrong? Did he hurt you? Did he bite you without noticing? thousands of negative thoughts went through his mind in less than a second, most likely having him so close to you had completely disgusted you.

"Gyu..." you called out, embarrassed. "I think, I think I'm not ready…I'm sorry." You loved Gyutaro in a sincere, deep and immeasurable way. A way so genuine you couldn't even explain it in words, but the thought of taking that big step so privately and intimately made you recoil from his touch. You still didn't feel ready enough to show your love in this way.

Gyutaro was speechless. He thought you would tell him something worse, that you didn't want him to touch you that way again or something similar, but it was something different. He felt somewhat confused and he would be lying if he said that it didn't bother him but after seeing you for a few seconds he could understand you. He loves you too and whatever the reason you're not ready yet he's going to respect it. He would not ask you questions about it or ask for an explanation, it is your decision if you want to talk to him about it and in case you open up to him to talk, he will support you in whatever and even kill whoever you want. have bothered you in the past. All he wants is for you to be happy.

I'm very, very sorry for the delay 😭 I've been busy and couldn't finish this headcanon but here it is, sorry. And of course we can be friends, hun! 💖

[nothingtolosebutweight]

F*CK ME LIKE YOU HATE ME - 2|2

| Pairing: Ivar x Heahmund | Words: ~ 5900 [AO3] | Warnings: Smut that includes BJ and Anal Sex , Rough Handling/Sex, Choking, Hair Pulling, Spitting, Sex without Love, Rusty Writing | Summary: Ivar and Heahmund can't get through a day without getting into an argument over something small. Heated discussions between the two have become an everyday occurrence for all bystanders. Everyone is annoyed by it, except the two of them. After all, it's the best kind of foreplay for them. | Notes: It was all much more exciting in my head ಠ╭╮ಠ

Part 1

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Right after his last word, Ivar felt the bishop’s lips against his own. Harsh and demanding, leaving no doubt that he considered himself superior. Heahmund’s hand, which until just now had held Ivar's chin in a firm grip, slipped down a bit and came to rest around his throat. No pressure was exerted yet, but Heahmund held Ivar firmly in the position he wanted him to be, guiding his head a bit more to the side for better access.

Ivar opened his mouth a little more, which caused a satisfied sigh to be heard. Heahmund immediately took advantage of it to deepen the kiss. Lips greedily sought their counterpart as soon as the contact was interrupted for too long. Their tongues circled and rubbed unbridled against each other. They savored the taste of one another as well as the electrifying feeling the kiss awakened in both of them as hot breath and soft moans were mingling. A tremor, triggered by his inner tension, ran through Ivar as Heahmund took his lower lip between his teeth, pulled on it, and sucked it into his mouth before letting his tongue flick forward, taking possession of him.

Ivar imitated the movements of Heahmund's lips and tongue as best he could. He wasn't an experienced kisser, had never had anyone kiss him the way Heahmund did. So raw and passionate. His beard rubbed over his skin, leaving an interesting scratchy feeling. For the life of him, Ivar couldn't imagine that it could be as exciting with a woman, that she could dominate him the same way and drive him out of his mind by doing so. It would taste different, feel different, and in Ivar’s case, different just wouldn't be good enough.

He was a prince after all. A future king. He needed this kind of special treatment.

The idea that Heahmund had a strange way of acting out his hatred crossed Ivar’s mind, made him smirk into the kiss. Not that he minded being kissed like that. Kissing Heahmund felt to Ivar in some ways like getting drunk on mead. It was the same warm feeling spreading through him. It made him hot, made him sweat. At the same time, he felt a pleasant lightness in his thinking. Nothing mattered, everything seemed possible. His self-confidence increased immeasurably. But unlike mead, kissing Heahmund didn't make him tired and sluggish, it spurred him on, made him feel more alive. His whole body was on alert, every touch felt so much more intense, every bite on his lips more tingling, and every play of their tongues sent jolts of electricity through him, making him gasp regularly into the kiss.

The arm around his waist tightened, giving Ivar not only the support he needed to continue standing upright, but also the feeling of being trapped. Heahmund's fingers dug possessively into his side, leaving a slight pain and certainly the imprints of crescents. This was exactly to Ivar's liking, and he returned the favor by burying his hand in Heahmund's hair and taking a goodly portion of strands between his fingers. Every time Heahmund deepened the kiss or his fingers dug harder into his skin, Ivar pulled on them, causing Heahmund to hiss and groan in pain and annoyance as well. 

Ivar's other hand was still in his pants. A tight grip around his cock, which he stroked in slow motions. It was still overwhelming for him, each time anew, to feel the arousal building up inside it. He could feel the heart of his own lust pulsing through it and how with each of Heahmund's rough touches and bites more blood rushed downwards. Each new gush of blood that gathered in his dick, filled Ivar with pride. Every drop that escaped from his tip and spread over his fingers made him more confident. 

As the bishop pressed his erection against his ass and began to rub against him, Ivar felt not only his cock twitching with excitement, but also his hole contracting as if the longed-for hard Christian cock had already entered him and was giving him the best pleasure he could imagine. He grew impatient, no longer wanting to feel Heahmund pressed against him muffled by fabric. 

Ivar didn't want to let go of his own cock, so he released his hand from Heahmund's hair and slid it between their bodies, unabashedly sliding over the noticeable bulge, dignifying it in his palm before he began rubbing over it in firm circular motions. He closed his eyes, concentrating entirely on the feeling in his hands, both filled with proud virility. One more prominent than the other. Through their connection, Ivar had the feeling that the strength that Heahmund's cock radiated seemed to spill over into his. This was again noticeable as he felt both cocks twitch almost simultaneously as another firm thrust caused him to have to take a step forward to cushion it.

With two fingers, Ivar tried to undo Heahmund’s pants, fumbling impatiently with the strings until he moaned desperately into the still-ongoing kiss. He opened his eyes again and, despite Heahmund's attempts to hold him in the current position, turned his head to the front, thus interrupting the play of their mouths. Heahmund tightened his grip, trying to pull him back, but Ivar withstood the pressure even though fingertips dug painfully into his jaw.

"Get the only thing I like about you out of there. Now!" Ivar said through clenched teeth. There was no room for pleasantries. He had waited long enough. He wanted to feel its strength right against his skin. He was about to turn around when he only heard a dark laugh, but didn't feel Heahmund loosen his hands from him to comply with his command. However, the grip around his waist, which Heahmund tightened once more when he noticed Ivar's intention, didn't allow him to break free from it. 

Ivar gave up his resistance and a frustrated growl escaped his throat but was immediately suppressed by Heahmund's lips as he sealed their mouths again after forcing Ivar to turn his head sideways once more. Heahmund pressed teasingly against the warm palm, grinding against it while moaning into the kiss as Ivar began massaging the outlines of his cock with kneading motions. It annoyed him that he was so easily controlled. He would have liked to make Ivar squirm longer, but he himself had no strength to hold back any longer. There was no escape from his weak mind.

Heahmund briefly considered which grip he could loosen to have a free hand to implement Ivar's wish, which of course also served him well. He wanted to feel Ivars warm skin against his arousal as much as the boy wanted to feel him. Heahmund made a quick decision, decided for the supporting hand, not wanting to run the risk that Ivar withdrew from the kiss again as soon as he could move his head freely. This mouth had to stay busy, at all costs, so Heahmund kept chasing after Ivar's lips. Fueled by his urge to rob Ivar of his breath, he licked deep into his mouth and took possession of the dirty thing that in some ways even tasted like an insult. An insult to the one true God, for not only was he once again standing in the Viking's chamber, with arousal throbbing so wildly between his loins that he could hardly think a normal thought, but he was also enjoying it on top of it. Too much. He feasted on Ivar's taste, craving the sweet sounds of pain-filled pleasure that traveled right into his hard-on. The need to fuck him into obedience grew immeasurably, causing his movements to become more and more frantic.

With quick and uncoordinated movements, Heahmund loosened the cords holding his pants closed, and let his tongue slide back into Ivar's mouth at the exact moment he pulled his cock out of his pants and slid it into Ivar's waiting hand. They both moaned at the same time, briefly parting their lips and continuing the dance of their tongues outside their mouths, while Heahmund kept thrusting into the hand that willingly tightened around him.

Without further ado, Heahmund started to open Ivar's pants as well, breathing heavily against his lips, stimulated by the quickened hand movements. As soon as he had opened them, he tore the fabric down a bit until the plump buttocks were exposed to which his eyes were immediately directed. A sound of craving escaped him and forgotten was the intention to keep Ivar's mouth occupied. His interest had wandered downward.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ivar's tongue licking over his upper lip, probably chasing the taste he had left on them. Ivar looked thoughtful, surely already thinking of his next taunting words he could get rid of now that he could do it again.

With one hand Heahmund grabbed one of the plump cheeks, growling deep in lust just by the nice and soft feel of it, and pushed it aside a little. Again, he let his cock slide through Ivar's curled fingers, guiding it so that it slid between his buttocks as well. His tip pressed against the tight ring of muscle that inevitably contracted at the contact. 

Ivar let out a long-drawn moan, which he initially had tried to suppress. The grip on his own cock loosened, his hand swung backward onto Heahmund's butt, trying to push him closer. His stomach fluttered at the anticipation and the corners of his mouth dropped when Heahmund didn't thrust forward, but simply slid his cock between his cleft. Up and down, at a pace slow enough to be maddening, but with no intention to breach in. Each time Ivar could feel him moving back and coming forward again his hopes rose that this time he would finally feel the pleasant stretch. 

It didn’t happen, though. With a sadistic grin on his face, Heahmund watched Ivar's features become increasingly bitter, his attempts to impale himself more and more impetuous.

"Come on, just..." Before Ivar could voice his displeasure at the delaying tactic in detail, Heahmund shoved two fingers deep into his mouth, silencing him in an instant.

"Shh. You better keep your mouth shut." Heahmund exhaled audibly as Ivar began sucking on his fingers. Startled by this kind of reaction, he pulled them out a bit, briefly thinking about whether this had been such a good idea. The tongue sliding over his fingertips, inviting them to plunge back in, made him give in and push his fingers in deeper again. After all, Ivar couldn't talk this way. It was worth losing two fingers in the worst case.

He did this a few times, matching the motion of his hips to the movement of his fingers. Images unfolded in Heahmund’s mind that he would not formulate aloud even before God alone. They were too shameless and betrayed too much of his sad true nature, which was not based on his faith but driven solely by primal instincts.

Grinning halfway, as best he could in his position, Ivar let it happen. His cunning in strategic plans was not limited to the battlefield. He also knew by now how to achieve his own goals when dealing with Heahmund. He was able to take good advantage of the bishop's weakness when it came to passion and desire and while he continued to do his best to welcome the fingers in his mouth, he simultaneously began to intensify the movements around Heahmund's cock, jerking it harder and faster. His thumb rubbed over the slippery tip, circling the slit from which came more beads of pleasure, which he spread around. By flicking his tongue around Heahmund's finger, he tried to convey that his talents were wasted at the moment.

It wasn't long before Heahmund abandoned his original plan. The sensations on his fingers were too much of an enticement, the hand on his cock suddenly insufficient. How could he resist this underlying promise? He wanted that wicked tongue pressed against his length and those sinful lips wrapped around his cock, sucking on it like Ivar was trying to get the last piece of meat off a bone.

One last time he pushed his fingers into the willingly opening mouth and let Ivar play with them one more time before he withdrew them. The slapping sound as his palm met the bare skin of Ivar's ass was accompanied by a surprised gasp as Heahmund had not held back.

A few purposeful maneuvers later, which made Ivar feel like a will-less doll being jerked around until it was positioned satisfactorily, he was face to face with Heahmund. His mouth immediately twisted into a grin as he glanced at his handsome face. Ivar liked the way Heahmund looked at him, how dilated his pupils were, how stern and determined his features. His bishop looked like a warrior ready to satisfy his hunger and greed.

"And here I thought you were going to bore me to death with your fingers," he said teasingly as he grabbed the hem of Heahmund's shirt and pulled it over his head. 

"You don't seem bored." Heahmund snorted and directed his gaze downward. With a casual movement, he skimmed over Ivar's still proudly erect arousal and chuckled as this touch made Ivar tremble and his cheeks turn red with embarrassment. "And besides, it was a good way to keep you from talking too much."

"Oh really? You couldn't think of something a little more…fitting? You disappoint me." Ivar tried to cover his reaction with a thick, mocking tone. His lips twisted into a wry grin as he felt a shove against his chest that brought him back into a sitting position on the chaise longue behind him. His eyes remained locked with Heahmund's at first, still enjoying the hungry expression they held. Only when his counterpart stepped out of his pants and carelessly threw them away, Ivar could no longer keep his gaze directed upward.

It was not the first time he had seen Heahmund naked, yet Ivar let his gaze slide with delight over his well-defined chest down to the flat belly at the bottom of which thick protruding veins led the way to the object of his desire. Instantly, Ivar felt his mouth literally watering and he sucked his lower lip between his teeth, biting down on it tensely. An amused snort made him glance back up momentarily. Heahmund looked down at him, seeming to know exactly what Ivar was thinking about.

"It's about time you get that big mouth of yours stuffed again, huh?" A wave of pleasure swept over Heahmund at the thought of what he was about to do. He could think of nothing but the image of him burrowing himself deep into that wet hole, mouth-fucking Ivar speechless. He reached out to him, grabbed him by the hair this time, and pulled him closer against his crotch.

"Ah, now you're finally starting to make sense, my dear bishop," Ivar said, hissing at the sudden pain. His breath brushed over the cock in front of him, giving Heahmund goosebumps that spread around his lower belly. 

Once again, Ivar was annoyed by the uselessness of his legs and by the fact that he was still wearing his leg braces. He wanted nothing more than to be able to drop to his knees and thus put himself in a better position to devour the thick cock he was thirsting for. However, he couldn't do this, but to allow Heahmund to step closer, Ivar grabbed both of his legs and moved them to the side.

As if magnetically attracted, his hand reached for Heahmund's cock right after, stroking it a few times until Heahmund increased the pressure against the back of his head a bit more, bringing him even closer and making it clear what he wanted.

Ivar pulled back the foreskin, exposing the sensitive redness. He let the tip of his tongue brush over it, absorbing the salty drop that had formed there. Another press on his head made Ivar tilt his head to the side, licking once along Heahmunds entire length. He could feel the vein he slid over twitching. He blanked out everything else around him and concentrated entirely on what he was doing. Even his own arousal remained uncared for.

"Now you bore me," Heahmund pressed out tensely, watching Ivar's actions closely. "Do what you are good for!"  With his free hand, he grabbed Ivar by the chin, forcing him to open his mouth by digging his thumb and index finger into his cheeks. Without further ado, he pushed his cock into the resulting opening, exhaling audibly as Ivar voluntarily opened his mouth a little more, the blue eyes searching for his again. It was stunning to maintain the look while watching Ivar devour more and more of his cock. The sight burned deep into his soul. 

At the first resistance, he paused, pulled back a little, only to thrust into him again right after. Deeper this time, meeting more resistance as Ivar began to press his lips tightly around him.

For Heahmund it was the best satisfaction to see Ivar like this. He, who otherwise always had a haughty look, marked by arrogance and perceived superiority. Seeing him now so submissive, sucking his cock like a good boy, which he most certainly was not, helped Heahmund a little to overcome his anger about the previous council. He found it hard to control himself, though, especially when Ivar swallowed, squeezing the tip of his cock in his throat.

He grabbed Ivar tighter by the hair and held him close as he sank into him again and again. Smacking sounds filled the room, complemented by gagging as his cock thrust deep into Ivar's throat. The resulting tightness whenever Ivar's throat tightened made Heahmund groan and become greedy to repeat it again.

Ivar pressed one of his hands against Heahmund's thigh when it became too much for him. He tried to keep him in control so as not to suffocate on his dick. It certainly was no way to Valhalla and even if so, he was not keen to enter Odin’s hall that way.

With his other one, he tried at the same time to undo the cords of his braces. He didn't really have to look at what his fingers were doing. He knew the position of each string, knew without looking how to untie the knots. Still, some could only be loosened with two hands, and Heahmund shamelessly exploited this by entering him up to the balls - with a wide and satisfied grin on his face, as he clearly enjoyed his superiority at that moment.

Heahmund was getting more and more impatient. Fascinated, he watched how much saliva had already spread on his cock, how long strings were pulled as he briefly withdrew completely to let Ivar take a few deep breaths before making him his plaything again. The tightness around his cockhead was driving him crazy, the vacuum Ivar was creating was robbing him of the last bit of self-control. He couldn't stop driving himself into him, didn't want this sweet pleasure to ever end. Heahmund felt the telltale tingling, perceived the lightning-like jolts that twitched through his abdomen. The greedy breaths that reached his ears whenever he withdrew a little sent shiver after shiver down his spine. His gasps became more frequent, louder, and turned into dark moans.

The sounds Ivar made, an interesting mix of wheezes and moans, fired him up even more. These were sounds he loved to hear coming out of Ivar's mouth - as he muttered out loud just a few seconds later.

His statement made Ivar laugh - or at least he tried to do so. The slight vibration this produced made Heahmund roll his eyes in pleasure. He briefly paused again, pulled out while looking at his wet cock and then at Ivar who was watching him in anticipation. His hair was disheveled, the braids not as neat as before, and his face had taken on a healthy red glow. With his thumb, Heahmund wiped a tear from Ivar's cheek that had escaped from his watery and slightly reddened eyes. 

"Take those off," Heahmund said while kicking lightly against the metal frames that were still loosely wrapped around Ivar's legs.

Ivar waited a moment with his answer, first taking a few deep breaths. That his answer would be teasing was already evident from the grin he wore on his face. 

"Are the consequences of disobedience something I would enjoy?" His lips shone with wetness, his voice now slightly rough in contrast to the otherwise rather soft tone. Before he bent down to comply with the request, Ivar spat the too much remaining spit in his mouth on Heahmund's cock.

"With your sick mind, I could imagine just that," replied as he smeared the spit over his shaft.

"Tell me more about the things you imagine about me," Ivar said while he removed the heavy supports from his legs. Gently, so as not to trigger those pains from which he couldn't gain anything good. He also got rid of his shirt right after. It had become far too hot in this room to keep it on. His pants, however, he kept as it was, pulled over his butt and crotch but continuing to cover everything underneath. "Do you think of me when you are on your knees in your church wasting your time with a weak god?" he continued to ask after receiving no response to his previous request.

Heahmund refused to answer Ivar's allegations or fantasies. There was not necessarily any untruth in them, but Ivar didn't need to know anything about what lay in the abysses of his mind. The images that actually haunted him in unfavorable situations were meant only for him. 

As soon as both braces came undone, Heahmund pushed them aside with his feet, not caring to be careful with them. They were in the way, they had to go. With the next movement, he reached under Ivar's legs, put them one-sided over his shoulder and was about to pull Ivar's butt closer to the edge of the seat when he was stopped by a grip on his arms.

"Bed," was the only thing Ivar said as an explanation, and Heahmund murmured in annoyance. A glance down made him hesitate, the next willing hole was right in front of him. All he had to do was push forward hard once, and he would be back in his temporary heaven. His being filled with delight.

"The chains. I want it there," Ivar continued, also not so sure anymore if he really wanted to wait for about two breaths longer before he was finally filled by Heahmund. His wet tip was already touching his ass cheek, letting the heat it radiated transfer to him. With both forearms, he propped himself up on the cushion beneath him, bracing himself, unsure whether Heahmund would listen to him or whether he would immediately start fucking him on the spot.

Heahmund turned his head to the said objects and briefly weighed his options.  Sighing, he let Ivar's legs slide off his shoulder again, grabbed him under the buttocks and lifted him up to carry him to the bed. With their heads so close again, it wasn't long before they found themselves in another heated kiss that bridged the short distance nicely.

Ivar was grateful that Heahmund saved him the way in this manner. Crawling on the floor in front of others always had something humiliating about it. Doing this with a boner, on top of everything else, was not something Ivar particularly fancied.

The chains above his bed, which usually helped him to get up, and which Alfred had been so nice to put up here in this room as well, clanked as Ivar reached into them and pulled himself up a bit, seeking a good grip. In this position, his shins only lightly bumped against the surface of the bed and no weight rested on them, which could cause harm.

Heahmund had crawled onto the bed right behind Ivar and without further ado pulled the boy's pants down a bit more and tightened the belt in the area of his middle thighs so that they wouldn't slide down even further on their own. He didn't need to see those legs. The bony feeling whenever he happened to touch them was enough for him to know that the sight of them would not bring him any eye candy. He, therefore, focused with great favor on the features that provided him with a pleasant view. Like, for example, the naked ass in front of him.

With both hands, he grabbed it and dug his fingers into the soft skin to push the buttocks further apart. He bent over the resulting crevice and spat into it, spreading the moisture with his thumb around the ring of muscle that contracted at the touch. Spurred on by Ivar's shaky exhale, Heahmund leaned his forehead against Ivar's shoulder. Not wanting to wait any longer, he thrust his hips forward without further warning and let his tip break through the barrier in one go. One of his hands held his cock at the root, pushing it deeper into the tight opening.

The chains clanked again as Ivar threw his head back, his mouth open in a silent scream, his eyes squinted. His breathing stopped for a moment, his heart was hammering wildly against his chest as Heahmund penetrated him deeper and deeper without wavering, stopping only when he had fully sunk in. Ivar felt it when the curly hair caused a tickling sensation on his skin. The knowledge made him take a deep breath again. Everything inside him tingled. The burning sensation of being stretched so quickly spread throughout his abdomen. He gritted his teeth to keep himself from screaming in bliss. He feasted on the sensation that made his cock twitch instantly, pleasurably tormented.

The pause didn't last long and didn't give Ivar enough time to get used to being filled so roughly. Heahmund increased his grip on Ivar's hips and pushed him forward, causing his cock to slip out. Again he spat on it, trying to hit the opening to ease his way inside. He was not doing this for Ivar's sake. He had no mercy on him, for he knew he would enjoy it just as much without. For his own sensibilities, however, it was more pleasant this way.

With a forceful movement, he pulled Ivar's lower body back against himself. They both moaned loudly as he sank into him again in one go. Since Ivar was virtually hanging from the ceiling, he had enough leeway to direct him as he wished. The resulting momentum also benefited Heahmund and ensured that he could generate a fast pace without much effort, continuously conquering Ivar, impaling him, accompanied by the sound of skin meeting skin and the noises that came uncontrollably out of both their mouths.

Ivar's moans became louder, almost turning into screams with every thrust that made his butt slap noisily against Heahmund's crotch. He tried to control himself, to be quieter, but the hardness of the thrusts knocked him out of his mind. The speed with which he was fucked made him barely catch his breath. The roughness with which he was handled almost made him burn up with inner heat. Again and again, the cock inside him rubbed over that spot inside him that made him see flashes in front of his inner eye. The clanking of the chains no longer managed to drown out his gasping sounds.

Heahmund had to muffle his moans by biting the shoulder in front of him as well. When Ivar's sounds became too loud, he unceremoniously took one of his hands from his waist and placed it over his mouth, pressing the side of his index finger against his nostrils at the same time. He slowed down his pace, letting his hips gyrate more in return. Ivar should feel how good he filled him.

The effort to hold himself up made itself felt in Ivar's arms. They began to ache, providing additional sweet pain. The need to touch himself grew equally into an unbearable urge in Ivar. His cock bobbed up and down with each thrust, craving touch. Just the thought of how good it would feel if he could jerk himself off caused a milky drop to emerge, sliding towards the sheet in one long thread. The squeezing of his airway did the rest to make Ivar want to get out of his current situation.

Without hesitation, Ivar simply let go of the chains and tried to catch himself with his hands as he fell forward, but his arms were too strained from the previous exertion that they collapsed under him. He fell headfirst into the pillows and felt Heahmund slip completely out of him for a moment. Only a breath later he was already above him again, pushing his legs to the side and entering him anew.

Ivar turned his head to the side to get some air and immediately saw that Heahmund was about to put his hand over his mouth again. He batted it away at first, but then reached for it only a second later, guiding it to his throat instead.

Pleased with the outcome, Ivar closed his eyes. He listened to the strained breathing close to his ear, stretched out to the thrusts that caused him a new wave of sweet agony. Heahmund kept fucking him incessantly, constantly changing the angle and his rhythm. It was driving Ivar crazy. His hole throbbed, clenched to keep that godsent cock deep inside him. He could feel the panic that automatically rose slowly in him as he was deprived of air. His heartbeat accelerated. Although his life was threatened in some way at that moment, he felt strangely more alive than before. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears, felt it racing through his body. His hand shot down, gripping his own cock tightly. A deep moan escaped him as he finally felt the longed-for touch. Quickly he began to move his hand, squeezing tighter whenever he rubbed over his tip.

A firm grip around his wrist made Ivar pause. It stopped him from getting some much needed relief. Confused and a little desperate, he turned his head further back, feeling the tug of overstretching as he tried to catch Heahmund's gaze.

"Let go!" he ordered in his classic commanding tone, a little more breathless than usual, but Heahmund just grinned superiorly in his face. Instead of obeying, he pressed Ivar's hand into the sheet next to his head, reducing his movement to a minimum.

"I said let go!"

"Oh, I heard you." Slowly, he let his cock slip in again, enjoying the squirm that ran through Ivar's body and the annoyance on his face.

"Then do it!"

"No mercy, you said," Heahmund reminded Ivar of his carelessly spoken words shortly after he had entered the room.

Ivar puffed in frustration and tried to slide his other hand under his body to get to his swollen dick. Heahmund was faster. As soon as he saw through the attempt, he grabbed it as well and pressed it into the sheet, just as he had done with the other. Both hands were now next to his head and Ivar didn't like the current situation at all. A plea was on the tip of his tongue, held back only by his pride.

In a rather pitiful attempt, Ivar tried to rear up and get his hands free, but Heahmund shifted his weight and supported himself entirely on his hands, pressing Ivar's hands even tighter into the sheets, and slowly they turned paler as they could no longer get proper blood flow.

Again Ivar groaned in frustration, more indignant this time. He wanted to yell at Heahmund. Wanted to give vent to his inner despair, but he held back. He knew it wouldn’t be smart. 

That he couldn't drive himself to climax was one thing, but that Heahmund remained almost still was hardly endurable. "At least move then." He tried another command. One that he was sure Heahmund would be more willing to carry out.

And so he did. 

Short, abrupt, and breathing harder and harder, his stamina slowly coming to an end.

Although each new deep thrust that pushed over his sensitive spot brought him close to falling apart, Heahmund changed his angle and rhythm too often for Ivar to reach his climax. Ivar tried hard to suppress his noises, not to give Heahmund any signs, because he felt as if Heahmund knew exactly when he had brought him to the edge of the cliff and he was ready to jump into the waves of the raging ocean that would sweep him away. Every time he was at that point, Heahmund would pull him back by changing something. It seemed that he had in fact no spark of mercy for him.

It was a cruel tactic. Ivar hated it as much as he loved this feeling of absolute submission and being at someone's mercy. A shiver ran through him as the thought briefly occurred to him that Heahmund could just leave him here, unsatisfied, after he was done with him, after he had satisfied his own lust.

He did not want this to happen.

When the tingling started to build up in his lower abdomen again and his breath only came out of him erratically, Ivar finally forced the words out he was almost choking on.

"Let go," he muttered breathlessly, adding through clenched teeth, almost whining, "Please!"

Only a few moments later, a gush of white liquid shot out of him and wetted his hand, which had immediately begun frantically jerking his cock as soon as Heahmund had released it. He screamed his cry of relief into the pillow, into which he was pressed even harder by one hand on the back of his neck to muffle the sound.

Ivar's whole body tensed, making Heahmund his prisoner once again.

Robbed of his sanity by the breathtaking tightness, Heahmund mobilized his last reserves and thrust himself madly into the pulsating hole, further goaded by Ivar's spasms.

"I hate you," he moaned in a voice dark with lust before digging his teeth into Ivar's shoulder and jerking violently as he spurted his seed deep inside him, fucking him even further through his orgasm. Abandoned of his strength, he slumped down on Ivar. 

They were both busy with themselves, quietly enjoying the aftermath. It took a while for them to catch their breath, and only then did Heahmund roll off Ivar and come to lie next to him on his back, letting out a wheeze that testified to his exhaustion. His eyes focused on the ceiling, his mind was blank, the anger gone.

Ivar used his newfound freedom and propped himself up on his forearms. Still flushed in the face and with wet strands sticking to his forehead and cheek, he looked at Heahmund.

"I love the way you hate me."

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

@youbloodymadgenius@istorkyou@ivarlover

[mwolf0epsilon]

If you're still playing the headcanon game, Love Language headcanon for the clone medics?

Headcanon Ask Game

Welp, the actual number of named clone medics is surprisingly slim, so I did my best with this!

💝 A headcanon about their love language

Coric is a no-nonsense type. Pragmatism and efficiency are things he lives by, so naturally his go to is words of affirmation. It's better to be upfront about his affection than let important things go unsaid. He's lost way too many vode who he should have appreciated more, and he regrets not telling them how much he loved them.

So Coric goes out of his way to thank, compliment and reassure others whenever he can. He tells them what they need to hear, and shows them every ounce of love and gratitude he has for them. It's a little harder to accept compliments from his vode, but he definitely appreciates the thank yous he gets in return. It's hard being a medic and getting honest to god gratitude for keeping everyone alive and together soothes his weary heart.

Kix has always relied heavily on acts of service to show his vode his affection. The war is grueling and the losses are constant. He can't afford to get attached but he really can't help it, so he does everything he can to make sure everyone is doing ok.

He checks up on them pre and post battle, listens to those who need to be listened to during the quieter moments, offers advice to those who might desperately need it, etc... It's rare that he lets himself receive the same kind of care, but when he gives in he's nothing if not content to receive his dues.

Korbel's love language shifted after the mission to Zigoola. Where once he'd resorted to words of affirmation, he now much prefers to show his affection via gift giving. Most clones don't really think about owning extravagant things, but Korbel's experience flying in Senator Amidala's H-type Nubian yacht opened his appetite for niceties in a way he's a little ashamed to express openly. He can't really give anyone anything expensive or flashy, but just the idea of giving a vod something they can own and cherish? Something that was given out of appreciation? It soothes a part of him that years for a life no clone thinks they'll ever have.

All gifts he gives are handmade. Mostly knitted items. Some are a little crooked and honestly not that well made, but the vode don't seem to care. They love getting gifts from Korbel, and Korbel in turn loves getting trinkets from his vode. It helps make their lives just a little less bleak.

Oake considers time precious. It surprises no one that the way he best shows his affection is through spending quality time with his vode. There's no stopping clone troopers from dying out in the field when things get particularly rough on campaigns. That's something all medics need to come to terms with some time during deployment.

Oake has learned this early on, and come to terms with the fact one day his vode will be there and the other they might not. So the best way to cope is to make memories he can look back on fondly, even if at first it hurts. The countless hours he's spent with vode still present or long past are cherished by him and those who spent them with him.

Splice is a SAR (search and rescue) medic. His love language is (out of actual necessity for his job) physical touch. The amount of touch starved individuals he's had to handle is immeasurable. But bedside manner aside, there's something absolutely gratifying about being able to express affection through the simple act of being close to someone.

While he's not one for hugs, he offers them like handshakes to those who need them. He's grounded vode who were in the throws of a panic attack by holding hands. Massaged others who needed physical therapy. Given gentle kedalbes to the Shinies. Even sparred with frustrated brothers who need a physical outlet.

The thing he most loves receiving back are head rubs.

[hcark]

(michiel huisman, he/him, human) to BOUDEWIJIN ‘BOB’ BEKKER, the whole world looks like an open page. with a leap of faith, their skills in CRAFTING grows a little stronger. for FORTY-ONE years, they have survived a world of magic with both their TENACITY and EVASIVENESS. they work as a LOWKEY FARMER & AUTHOR, but if they could change their fate, they’d want to PROVIDE THE BEST FOR WHAT REMAINS OF HIS FAMILY. 

DOSSIER .

tw: suicide, kidnapping

Growing up with a single father is hard; even harder, still, when said father was half-drowned in debt. Boudewijin was forced to grow up faster than his peers. He had to be scrappy and figured out ways to help his father wherever he could. Admittedly, his father wasn’t a perfect person or parent; most of the time he numbed their shitty situation with the promise of liquor. And, yes, there were times where he was a little heavy-handed with him if he did something foolish, but they both loved each other all the same.

Nothing could have prepared Boudewijin when his father fell ill. They couldn’t afford the treatment required, and he had to stand witness to the slow decline of his father’s health. The man went from being a sizable man to bone-thin in a matter of months. And one day Boudewijin didn’t see him at all. At the time, he’d thought that his father was working overtime – that he’d be back home later or sometime during the night. Then one day became two, and then two became three… Worried, he called everyone that knew his father and filed a missing person, but his answer wasn’t brought to light until the police arrived at his doorstep by the fourth night. Suicide, they had said. The evidence was clear with the note left in the passenger seat, and the pistol gripped in his father’s hand. Boudewijin was only sixteen at the time, and never acclimated to foster care. Two families tried to adopt him for the next two years, but neither lasted. When he was of age, Boudewijin set out to make a life of his own – still at a loss in life and in immeasurable pain. Even then, he managed to make ends meet; mainly through anger and spite. Boudewijin did everything he could to better himself in order to get more and more money; honorable or not. Night classes, acts of thievery, double shifts – whatever it took to get a CPA and a stable job. So much so that his sticky hands got him tangled with something, or rather someone, that he couldn’t shake. A member of some syndicate caught him red-handed and offered a transparent ultimatum – either he joins the organization or he dies in a watery grave. Though brash and standoffish, Boudewijin was no fool. He followed along and trekked his way through the initiation and ranks of the family. Up until he found his place as a financial advisor. By the time he was in his late twenties, a close friend, Helena, was known to be a steadfast part of his life. So much so that they toed the line between platonic and ‘romantic’. As romantic as the cardinal sin of pure lust could be considered anyways. All it took was that one time for the both of them to grow closer than ever. Nine months later they were gifted with the absolute apple of their eyes, Bram Walker-Hummel. Life was good then – just for a short year, at least. Boudewijin had been convinced that he was safe from the rumors of waning loyalty within the syndicate. Sure, Helena had offhandedly mentioned a safer lifestyle to help raise their child, but the conversation always ended with Boudewijin dismissing it as useless and impossible. And it was the exact same blind faith that brought him misfortune in the worst of ways. His best friend disappeared in thin air one evening. A ransom was then posted the next day; the same kind that the syndicate was notorious for. Boudewijin knew that it was a test of fidelity to the corrupt family, but that didn’t staunch the outrage. Naturally, he scrounged up the expected sum as soon as possible. After that, he waited.. and waited.. and waited. Helena was never seen or heard from again. Unlike most civilians, he knew what happened and it struck more than one nerve. Deep-seated hatred for the syndicate planted its roots and consumed him, but again – he was no fool. A one-man riot would’ve been a suicide mission. So he waited once more. This time with his ears strained to catch wind of other members that experienced similar heartache and detested all that the mob stood for. Boudewijin put forth his all when the upheaval of power ensued. If the unkindly grace of fate wanted to have him drop dead then so be it. There was hardly any worth to his life, after all. Yet he somehow survived the bloodbath; not without significant bodily damage but still very much alive. While peace eventually settled, he continued his days with unrest. The sizable abode he once lived in was no more as he started to pinch pennies. The pristine visage he once carried so proudly diminished into a mere husk of vanity for years after. Then, somehow, by some miracle, one good deed of a trusted friend led to the next chapter of his miserly life. A fresh start under a new guise. One that required him to at least try and shape up in the grand crawl of Selphia.

MISC. INFO .

tw: car accident, body horror

Boudewijin was involved in a car accident when he was fourteen. It resulted in a fractured clavicle and concussion. The latter of which cost him his sense of smell. As off-putting and terrifying as that was, his doctor reassured him that the chances of it being permanent were only in the ten to the twentieth percentile. Yet a year passed and he never regained the sense. So he was forced to acknowledge that he has anosmia.

Anosmia is the loss of smell & it impacts the sense of taste as well. So while Bob is unable to taste the nuances, he is able to taste the basic taste sensations of salty, sour, sweet, bitter, and umami.

It can still be a struggle for Boudewijin to retain the determination to uplift himself and live in a healthier / safer manner. Though tedious, he keeps track of nutritional values and calories to make sure his body got enough nutrients. Harder still, he makes sure he exercises somewhat regularly in order to balance out his physical and mental health.

Notable features: Scarring on back of both hands ( tends to wear gloves often ) and prosthetic eye. ( tw: body horror / gore - hands ) Bob does not bear the syndicate’s tattoos on the back of his hands. It happened a few months after the syndicate was overthrown, and he couldn’t stand the idea of having a physical reminder of being a part of that group. He depersonalized extremely bad, severed the skin off the back of his hands, got some skin grafts smacked on, and now has some really gross scars.** NOTE: All questions about hands and eye are always answered with a different reason that’s stupidly far from the truth.

Personality: First and foremost, he is a workaholic that just so happened to lose most of his manners along the way. An absolute stickler for details ( learned that it’s better to cover all aspects / asses before anyone can place the blame on him and be right ). Cheeky, sly, has some capacity for mischief, lazy when it comes to anything aside from work, humorous ( crude ). Always willing to respect someone until they give him a reason not to.

Pets: Bo ( short for Boatmeal ) – Rottweiler. Certified emotional support dog & scent training.

Boudewijin was very much an alcoholic with self-sabotaging tendencies. But has started to make an actual effort to sober up and is now 7 months sober. That being said, he still visits bars from time to time with the stipulation of maintaining alcohol free drinks.

CONNECTIONS .

Messed up with the mix up ( 0/? ). Random, weird situations – Bob’s has plenty of ‘em. Anything from first encounters to constant encounters of the same oddness goes here. Found him vehemently sick in a Denny’s bathroom? Plausible. Witnessed him get sucker punched on the gob for saying the unfiltered truth to some asshole? Definitely happened. One of his distant neighbors when the fire alarm went off for the nth time this month? More likely than you’d think.

Foodie squad but bastardized ( 0/? ). If there’s a new eatery in town you can bet Bob’s fixin’ to go. He’s willing to try anything once, but be warned - the combos he crams down his gullet can be a bit horrendous in theory and texture.

That one bestest of best friends ( 0/1 ). Aka the person that called him up, verbally dragged him for all he’s worth to 'get his ugly mug over here because there’s so much written protentional going to fucking waste and you need someone to actually look after you until you seek therapy’. And after another two dozen phone calls, he did just that. How and when these two met is up for discussion to whomst ever is interested! 

Ghost of his past ( 0/1 ). But instead of an actual specter, they’re a legitimate, living person that Bob didn’t think he’d see again. Be it a friend, enemy, frenemy, someone he valued as family – he acts clueless as Boudewijin Bekker.

Ghost of his past but with spice ( 0/1 ). But instead of an actual specter, they’re a legitimate, living person that Coen once worked with for a long time. Their bond had begun before the usurping of the mob and doubled past it. Yet, as things went on, Coen wanted to maintain minimal connection with that life. So much so that he discarded his identity and all the ties with it.

Romance ( 0/1 ). Let’s be frank, Boudewijin has never fallen in love with someone before. His ex hardly counted since it was just physical for him. Don’t get him wrong, he wants to know what all the hub-bub’s about, but that’s all uncharted land for him. He’s never felt butterflies swarm in his stomach, had his heart nearly drop out of his ass from panicked misunderstandings, or had that ah ha! moment about how this must be what it’s like to be fully in love.

[pinknipszz]

HIS PLANS FOR VALENTINE'S DAY

⤷ toji fushiguro, hiromi higuruma, takuma ino, and hajime kashimo

TOJI reserves a table at a nice restaurant. toji doesn’t have a lot of money. he’s barely able to put food on his own table, so going out to eat quality dinner is really fucking rare. he knows how important valentine’s day is though, so toji puts in double the effort at work to rake in enough cash for a table at the restaurant downtown. it’s not michelin star or anything like that, but the atmosphere is nice and the food is good, so toji gives them a call the second he gets his next salary. he nearly busts his balls when they ask for a deposit though. but whatever. toji bites his tongue and makes the reservation anyway. dating is hard in this economy.

he also buys you gel nail strips. toji loves making you feel pretty. he is a very confident man, so of course he wants you to feel confident too. the only problem is how goddamn expensive it can be to get your hair, nails, and makeup done. toji doesn’t have a lot of money for himself but it’s nearly valentine’s day for god’s sake, so he explores the mall for something good to give you. he finds that gel nail strips are a safe option; they’re cute, accessible, and easily applicable. they don’t ruin your fucking nail beds either, so he buys plenty in your favorite colors and designs. the uv lamp is a little pricey, but he loves you enough to buy one that matches your room aesthetic.

HIROMI takes you to a gallery opening. hiromi is a modest man, and so is his idea of a date. with valentine’s day approaching, he decides to purchase two entrance tickets for a new art gallery in the heart of the city. he only learns about it from a coworker who suggests that they go together, but what’s better than critiquing art with your girlfriend? although there’s not much to do besides supporting local artists and eating finger foods, there’s an elegant simplicity to it that really reflects hiromi’s character. he values quality time above all else, and he doesn’t need frou-frou things to demonstrate that for him. 

he also buys you matching jewelry. valentine’s day is one of the rare occasions where hiromi is willing to indulge in materialistic temptations. since this will be your first of many together, hiromi wants to seal it in stone to make it more memorable. so he decides to visit a jeweler for something pretty to give you. however, that quickly proves to be much harder than he thought. hiromi never realized how many types of jewelry there are. necklaces, earrings, bracelets, pendants, anklets. the list goes on and on. don’t even get him started on what kind of gem to get you. pearls, crystals, beads, stones. at the end of the day, hiromi settles for something simple: thin matching sterling silver necklaces.

INO takes you out on a picnic. ino is a very humble and optimistic guy. he believes that as long as something is done right, its value is immeasurable no matter what, which is why he decides to go with something more simple and intimate. like a picnic! he knows it’s a risky choice. a lot of things could go wrong, like bad weather or a nearby hit-and-run, but he doesn’t let that deter him. ino triple checks the weather app before purchasing decorations for the picnic, like scented candles, a nice blanket, flowers, and more. he even orders a cute cake from the local bakery. something nanami himself suggested. 

he also buys you matching sonny angels. ino isn’t rich rich, but he doesn’t mind taking extra shifts at work to buy you something special. he knows about the existence of sonny angels. although ino is not as enthusiastic about them as most people, he understands the appeal. they’re cute, silly, and a little scary, and he enjoys the thrill of a good blind box, so when ino discovers sonny angel hippers, these ugly little things that can attach to your phone, he’s absolutely hooked. ino ends up buying a bunch of blind boxes for you to open together on valentine’s day, wanting to make sure that you two get the cutest combination possible. 

KASHIMO takes you to a carnival. kashimo is very excitable and loves a lively atmosphere. he’s not the kind of person to stress over quality food, fancy clothes, or the like. he just wants to have a good time with you. and you really can’t go wrong with carnival dates. everything about the carnival feels very casual to the point where you can be the most authentic version of yourself without having to worry about how you look or how much it costs. that’s what valentine’s day means to kashimo. there’s something nostalgic about them too, and being able to extend that feeling to you makes it all the more special for him.

he also buys you vinyl records and cds. kashimo knows how much you love music. even if you don’t own a record player, he insists on visiting the local music shop for vinyls to decorate your walls with. he just can’t help himself. with valentine’s day coming up, kashimo spends every single night refreshing the merch websites of your favorite artists, pleading to whatever gods are up there that they restock. when they do, kashimo is one of the first fifty people to order a limited edition cd you can play in your car. when he gets his hands on a signed copy, he knows he hit the jackpot. it does big numbers to his wallet but he couldn’t care less.

(masterlist) | (a/n: not proofread rip)

[kazuwhora]

THE RIGHT VIBES— TOKYOREV

ft. kazutora, baji, chifuyu, souya, nahoya

cw. fem!reader, use of vibrators, overstimulation, edging, dacryphilia, praise kink, orgasm denial, creampie

an. what happens when you bring a vibrator to their cock?

-> tokyo revengers taglist

KAZUTORA

kazutora would be ashamed if not for the way his tongue lolls from his mouth as you press the very tip of your wand to his cock. he would be ashamed if he had even a sliver of his composure to process his surroundings. but instead, he lay slumped against the wall, eyes crossed as drool drips down his chin and his begs and pleas mix with his spit like nectar.

"m-more... please... ngh—" he whines, thrusting his leaky cock against the head of the wand held in your hand. you gaze back at him with lust in your eyes, watching the way he struggles so sweetly to keep himself upright the more you push him.

his cock is twitching and throbbing already— the tip is red as dribbles of precum coat his skin like a gloss, and you can tell he's near his limit already by the way his eyes well with tears as your hand wraps around his length and presses him into the whirr of the vibrator. kazutora can barely take it— he's writhing and whimpering, begging for more but choking on his moans every time you push harder against his cock.

"what's the matter baby? thought you said you wanted more, hmm?" you coo, running the soft plastic of the wand up and down the underside of his cock while your palm teases his tip. his hips are stuttering now— body jerking as he violently shakes his head in response to your question.

"can you be a good boy and hold out a lil longer for me?" you ask, trailing down his length as the vibrations make his fingers dig into the ground below.

kazutora nods his head but the tears in his eyes tell you otherwise, and the second you switch the speed of the wand to high, he's already lurching and writhing— desperate to grab onto you for stability as his body doubles over itself and practically collapses against yours. his whimpers turn to sobs and his tears drip from his eyes like the cum that drips from his cock as your torture pushes him over the edge of his pleasure.

"that's it" you hum, letting his body slump in your grasp as you turn down the speed of the vibrator till it stops. kazutora struggles to catch his breath and his hands cling to the fabric of your shirt as you set the wand down and hold the back of his head for stability.

"you did so good for me tora"

and that, was all he needed to hear to make the pain of your stimulation worth the while.

BAJI

baji's eyebrow is raised the second you pull out your device. he's scanning it like his life depends on it— inspecting the attachments you've brought that resemble a fleshlite that he's not so sure he's seen before.

"what're you gonna do with this?" he asks, intrigued, yet hesitant all the same.

a smirk raises on your lips, one baji knows all too well and for someone who prides himself on his toughness, his face is quick to blush. little words are needed in this moment as baji sits back on his hands, giving you nearly full access to his body. he'd like to think he's dedicated himself to you— that everything he does serves the purpose of making you happy. yet he can't help but feel selfish the second his cock is sucked in by the sleeve and the vibration begins to whirr around his length. his head is spinning already and a groan falls from his lips as his brows knit with the immeasurable pleasure you've thrown on him from god knows where.

not much remains on his mind as you pump the sleeve around his cock, watching the way his lips part as if to beg for more, yet all that slips is the sound of his groans and the occasional crack of his voice when you switch the speed. he looks so pretty with his long black hair that sticks to the side of his face as sweat beads at his forehead. his fingers grip the sheets, almost as if to mask the pressure building at his core as you push him closer and closer.

"fuck" he groans, though his voice has nearly been reduced to a growl as his eyes turn dark with the way he looks at you. "m'gonna cum if you keep doin that"

"is that so?" you ask, pumping the sleeve around his cock with more force than you had used before just to watch him struggle to maintain his composure. the look that dwells in his eyes would be threatening, if not for his groans that have turned to hushed whimpers as his body struggles to maintain the pressure you have built inside him.

"gonna cum for me kei?" your voice is taunting in tone, but baji barely notices as his eyes squeeze shut and he nods his head frantically.

just as his core begins to tense and his cock twitches with his inevitable pleasure, you switch the vibration off and yank the sleeve from baji's cock, leaving him nearly sobbing with frustration as you giggle, amused by your accomplishment.

"gotta save it all for me later, mkay?" you coo, placing your toys aside as you watch him struggle to compose himself after your stint.

but baji can only nod, reminding himself through the pain of his ruined high that everything he does, he does for you.

CHIFUYU

chifuyu's sense of confidence is blown the second he lays eyes on the pink bullet vibrator you'd somehow snagged while he selfishly buried his cock deep inside your cunt. you're used to his selfishness, used to the way he indulges himself in the warmth of your walls. at the very least, you know he can't resist himself when your body wraps around his length and pushes his head in the clouds till his vision is fuzzy.

"you don't need that" he scoffs, thrusting himself deeper inside you in an attempt to hear your moans grow louder. but chifuyu fails to notice your hand that's trailed down your torso to press the pink wand to your clit. a whimper falls from your lips as your walls tighten around his cock, and chifuyu groans as his hips slow with the burning friction of you walls.

"y-you gotta stop princess.. can't move like this.." he stammers, squeezing his eyes shut as his hands frame either side of your head.

"mkay" you sing, relaxing your body as he picks up his pace and ruts his hips into you.

as sweet as his cock feels kissing your walls and pushing against your sweet spot with a gentle force that makes your chest flutter, you can't help but wonder how he would feel jolting and humming inside you. so you reach around his hips, slipping the vibrator against the underside of his cock just enough for him to jolt in response and curse at the contact.

"fuck baby— w-what are you— hnggh" his voice trails into a whine as you increase the speed of the vibration, feeling his energy course through your body as his arms buckle and his chest presses against yours with a weakness chifuyu didn't know he had.

he can barely move— his cock stuck pulsing and throbbing inside of you as the tension builds and builds until he's not sure he can take it anymore.

"i-if you keep doin' this... I think I'm gonna c-cum.." he groans burying his face into the crook of your neck as his hips rock gently against your body.

the whirr of the vibrator is distant, but the sensation of his cock twitching inside you couldn't be closer and chifuyu's composure begins to crumble the way his body already has.

"cum for me then" you coax, pressing the vibrator harder against the base of his cock. it isn't long before he's whimpering and whining into your hair— hands desperately grabbing at the sheets as his cum shoots from his cock in spurts of warmth that fills you up just the way you wanted, and you giggle as his weight collapses on top of you.

"you were right, I didn't need it. but you did, huh?" you tease, switching the setting off and stroking his back as chifuyu struggles to regain his stability.

his confidence may have been knocked, but his pleasure sure hadn't.

SOUYA

souya never has to hide his desires around you— he knows that, but that still doesn't stop him from sporting a sheepish expression as he watches you strap his cock to a contraption he isn't quite sure he understands yet. it's black, and in two separate pieces with bands that connect each side, and all souya knows, is to obey your wishes to get what he wants. and that, is exactly what he does as you toy with the tip of his cock and slide the strange device down his length and switch it on.

the first sound that falls from his lips is the sound of his breath being caught in his throat. souya gasps as the vibration around his cock send shivers up his spine. it's a familiar feeling of overstimulation that he knows all too well, but this time your softened eyes scanning his body— observing his pleasure— brings a sense of comfort and calmness that he doesn't normally get.

"good boy" you praise, watching his chest rise and fall as he concentrates on keeping himself composed for you. "you're taking this so well, aren't you? you just wanna be good for me huh?"

souya nods, eyes already teary as he bites down on his bottom lip. he's never one for words, but the way his body responds to your toys brings enough pleasure to your mind to keep you going.

he's already struggling to keep himself grounded, feeling his aura seem to drift further and further away from his body the higher you raise the vibration around his cock.

souya is ashamed— it's barely been a minute since you pushed him to the highest setting and his cock is already leaking with precum and begging for any sense of relief with the building tension of high pushing the boundaries of his composure.

but through the dizziness of his mind, he manages to stutter "p-please.. s-stop.."

his eyes are nearly dripping with tears, but you know he's close by the way his back arches off the bed and his body writhes and struggles through his pleasure.

"almost there baby, you can do it" you hum, locking your hand with his while the other tightens around the contraption strapped to his cock. your words seem to push him over the edge as his cum leaks from his cock and pools on the sheets below, his body glistening with sweat as his brows knit tighter than ever.

"that's it— you did so good souya" you hum, tapping the strings of cum from the tip of his cock as he whines and squirms under your touch.

at the end of the day, souya knows that nobody knows his body better than you.

NAHOYA

"fuck y'think you're doin with that?" nahoya's voice is filled with doubt as he leans back against the headboard of the bed. he acts high and mighty, but his arms are bent across his lap to hide his cock that's already hard and pushing the confines of his sweatpants at the sight of the wand you have held in front of his face.

"just lemme try something" you whine, jutting out your bottom lip in a pout you know he can't resist.

"fuck if I'm gonna let you try anything on me— try it yourself!" he huffs, putting up a fight as he shakes his head till strands of peach tendrils cover his eyes.

"I have.. c'mon 'hoya pleease" you're practically begging, propped up on your hands and knees in front of him with the wand in your hand pressed against your cheek.

nahoya's hair shades the tint of desire hidden behind his eyes as he groans and presses his head against the wall. "fine. just once"

despite his defiant tone, the rush of adrenaline that's coursing through his veins at the thought of what you might do with him has made his head spin and his heart race the closer you crawled to his lap. your free hand runs alongside his inner thigh, parting his leg to the side as you paw at the imprint of his cock that nearly makes you drool. your fingers are devious, pulling at the hem of his waistband but nahoya swats you away and moves your hand back to his length that's aching to be touched.

"through the pants" he grumbles, guiding your hand to press against the thickness of his cock. you nearly moan at the contact, desperate to take him all at once but you know better than to let yourself get carried away too fast.

"fine" you sigh, bringing the vibrator to the imprint in his pants.

you give him little time to prepare before switching the setting on to the highest speed, and nahoya's head slams back against the wall with a groan that slips past his lips. deviance washes over your expression as he curses and squirms under the whirr of the vibrator, grunting and groaning as you run it up and down his length and relish in the way he twitches and jolts in response.

"see? feels good, doesn't it?" you tease, pushing and pressing harder every time he sucks in his breath.

"fuck you" he snaps, running his hands through his hair gripping his locks at his scalp as his eyes squeeze shut.

you've nearly humbled him— reduced him to a crumbling mess in less than a minute as his curses grow louder and his cock starts to push against the fabric of his pants the further you go.

"guess that means you want more" your eyes are dark, but nahoya barely notices the malice in your voice when you switch the speed to the highest setting, and bask in the satisfaction of his groans that have quickly switched to helpless whines and pleas for you to stop before he can't hold on anymore.

"too— it's too much— fuck" he stutters, eyes squeezed shut as he sinks into the headboard. "you gotta stop— please"

watching him struggle to breathe brings bursts of excitement that shock your mind like electricity as you watch nahoya fall apart until the fabric of his pants turns dark, and sticky strings of cum ooze from the cotton blend.

but even as his high comes with the inevitable chorus of moans and the sweet taste of satisfaction on the tip of your tongue, watching him struggle as you push him to the boundaries of overstimulation brings an even sweeter taste you can't deny, even through his defiance and struggles as he grabs the collar of your shirt in a desperate attempt to yank you away.

"fuck— please" he groans, kicking his feet at you as you reach with an excited sense of desperation to keep the sensation glued to his cock. but even drenched in his own cum and pushed into overstimulation, nahoya is still stronger than you, and his hands wrap around your wrists twisting at the skin until you yelp into surrender and pull the wand away from his cock.

"bitch" he grumbles, steadying himself on the bed as you place the vibrator down and cross your arms.

but even with his resistance, you can't deny the thrill of watching him whimper and whine even just once.

🔖: @wakaslut @manjiroscum @01-20-1992 @tirzamisu @maytey @keisaint @haruphilia @miytsuya @champagnej @lovemegood @tofu-and-aesthetic @ravenina14 @dilf-city @z-na @souyatr @icecreamranwich @toyomitsus @saitaso @chieeeeeee @lalalemon101 @wakasa-wifey @roppongiperfume @tokyomanjihoe @iz-ana @blueparadis @crybabylisa @zitabob @bxnten @minoozi @whosarlet @rindousprincess @s-nzu @zuuki @thevoidwriting @k-ryuuguji @thekillingtimethekillingmoon @chronic-claire-universe @dukina @dessceased @chifuyuslilkitten @justhere @sofiakujo @4g0j0 @sloth-fox @cults-soundtrackthree @kttyfuyu @plumtora @slyoki @sacredsukuna @blondbirb

[artemelle]

bestie i’m begging you please write that artem karaoke hc/fic it would be so endearing

artem karaoke hcs  <3

okay first of all : the power you probably hold to convince senior attorney, artem wing, to karaoke...immeasurable ! anyways, this man was lowkey nervous the entirety of the work day knowing that you’d be going to karaoke at night.

lets you take the first few songs because he needs to build up the courage -- and maybe down a few drinks -- to actually join in on a duet or maybe even dedicate a song just for you. 

while he’s watching you, artem just has full-blown *heart eyes* like this man is looking at you with so much affection and endearment it would have made your heart melt if you weren’t too busy belting it out. he may or may not have taken his phone out a few times to not so secretly take a few photos and videos.

eventually you get tired of him just watching you so you grab him by the hands and shove the microphone in his face. and of course, this sweetheart is just too stunned to sing...but when he does...wow.

artem can most definitely carry a tune, it’s just that his knowledge of the pop music canon may not exactly be the best. so he’s squinting at the screen to read the lyrics and trying to make sure that he’s not making a complete fool of himself. 

he’s a little stiff at first so just grab him by the shoulders and shake all the nervousness out of him. it’ll make his face bright red but it gets him to loosen up quite a bit. he’s singing and even dancing around a little to try and match your energy.

this is really just for me but imagine this tall dork with the first two buttons of his top undone, his tie discarded somewhere in the karaoke room but his coat is neatly folded on a chair, hair disheveled, and face pink from alcohol singing a cheesy, upbeat love song like one direction’s one thing or no control or something.

but the end of night, artem actually dedicates a really sweet song to you. and you could tell in the way he looked at you that he means every single word he’s singing. 

...bonus !  nxx coming with you guys to karaoke >:)

bold of you to assume that the gen z king, marius von hagen, doesn’t have every single taylor swift song memorized like the back of his hand. like you can’t tell me that he’s not vibing the fuck out to shake it off and you belong with me. he’s not even singing, he’s practically screaming the lyrics. but what can he say? miss taylor just has that effect on him. i'm sorry to your ears, but nothing will ever make you laugh harder.

and of course chaotic childhood besties, luke pearce and miss rosa, have an entire karaoke routine down. they have everything from line distribution to well thought out choreography. catch them giving out a show stopping performance of bye bye bye, i want it that way, hit me baby one more time, and wannabe. we stan.

you’d think that owner of the group’s one functioning brain cell, vyn richter, would be pretty chill and just watch the chaos unfold? well, yes and no. while everyone’s having fun with their cutesy lil pop songs, he’s pulling out the hozier and mitski and just screams into the mic. mans needs to let off some steam and i don’t blame him </3

oops sorry this took a while >_< it got buried in quite a few request asks so i wasn’t able to get around to it soon enough </3 but i do hope you still like these despite the wait :) hope you’re doing well and taking care of yourself <3

—   see if you can request something here  ;  masterlist <3

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