#I want it tattooed on my sternum because that’s exactly where it hits with the delicious angst | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dearest-kibble · 4 years ago

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WELLL GANG IT TOOK FOR FUCKIN EVER BUT HEY HERE IT IS ABOUT 7,000 WORDS OF KAGEYAMA. THANK YOU ALL FOR STICKING WITH ME IT REALLY MEANS A LOT THAT Y’ALL WERE STILL HERE EVEN THOUGH I WAS TAKING FOREVER LIKE HOLY FUCK MAN I APPRECIATE YOU ALL SO SO SO MUCH FOR THIS AND HOPE IT’S ALRIGHT!!

tw: noncon dacryphilia breathplay(choking) kidnapping general shady-ness very blink and you’ll miss religious symbolism. Abuse

“Don’t mess this up Kageyama.” You wake up in an old building, seven men stand above you, head to toe in suits. And you distinctly remember reading something someday, about how the yakuza always cover their body. And about how the yakuza have a hand in human trafficking.

“Damn Kageyama, we don’t do any of that Oikawa-Gumi shit here!” The Man who's speaking is shirtless and his hair is buzzed short. He’s got a red dragon winding up his stomach and a red koi on his sternum.

“So many women were brought to Oikawa I just thought-” The man - Kageyama you assume - has black hair and blue eyes. You think he’s staring at you.

“You thought? I find that hard to believe.” A guy with glasses (do yakuza wear glasses?) sniffs and turns his nose at Kageyama. “I thought you only thought about being Oyabun.”

“Shittykawa is a liar and you all know it!”

“Still more honorable than a guy who deserted his family and has a samurai tattoo!” A considerably smaller redhead speaks up with a defiant voice.

“They betrayed me!!” His attention (if it was on you, is not anymore.) shifts as Kageyama raises his voice, flails his hands a little and starts to pace.

“Kageyama, be quiet!” A man behind you talks. The man with blue eyes immediately stops talking, the man with glasses and blonde hair laughs.

“All of you shut up!” A louder voice bounces off the walls, all five men stop talking and look to the man behind you. He’s got brown hair, short, militant and an angry-looking scowl on his face. The man next to him has silver hair, but you don’t think it’s from age. A chorus of “sorry Oyabun” echoes through the room, large, dark and empty.

“Kageyama, you will not mess this up.” Intense coal eyes stare into blue.

“No Oyabun, I will not.”

“Good because she’s under your care.” You almost expect the man with brown hair to offer you a smile, it’s the silver haired one who does.

“What?!” You turn around quickly as the voice sounds much closer than you remember it being. “I’m-” The man takes a few seconds looking at his fingers. (His left pinky is a stub) Before continuing. “Oikawa never had me do anything like that. Girls just talked to me.”

“Girls talked to you!?” A newer person, short, standing next to the shirtless one - has an energetic voice. “Why’d you ever leave?”

“Because Oikawa treats his family like shit!” And like that, the talking erupts into furious voices trying to get a word in edgewise until once more, the two behind you speak up.

“Everyone shut up!”

Once again they all fall silent.

“Kageyama, get her where she needs to go. You know what to do right?”

“Yes Oyabun.”

“Good.” His gaze is away from you, glaring at someone else as silence splits the room.

“C’mon.” He makes a show of not looking at you when he gruffly gestures for you to move to his side. Try as you might to seem calm, your joints are cold and stiff as you march to his left.

“Don’t cause a fuss okay?” He sends a sharp glare your way.

“She’s terrified Kageyama, you don’t need to scare her more.” The man with silver hair looks at you more apologetically than you’d thought a yakuza could. But as his hands rest on his hips you can see the gun holstered on his side. You look away quickly after smiling quickly.

“Yeah! Be nicer to her!” Kageyama shrugs off what the redhead says and walks towards the singular door and opens it to walk through. It leads to an empty, grey hallway - chilled and complete with flickering light. About fifteen paces ahead, there's a flight of stairs with the much-needed railing that rusts and peels in the flickering, damp hallway. There's the faint sound of city pop coming from the top of the stairs, through a bleak door with peeling paint. There are no other places of entry or exit, simply the one large, looming, decrepit door at the top of steep steps. Still begrudgingly silent, Kageyama starts up the stairs, feet falling hard on each step like drops of a guillotine. You follow numbly after him. What other choice is there really? Go back to the room with so many others? Die in a hallway while muffled music plays from a door? Your legs ache by the time you stand near the door. It’s not a high climb. Kageyama opens the door and you expect to hear nails on a chalkboard but are greeted by the soft melody of plastic love and the smell of cigarettes. The beeps of slot machines punctuate loud cheers and disappointments around a roulette table, the thwap of cards hitting the table and laughter at a bar does little to distract from the fact that Kageyama who had barely looked at you before — (Was it on purpose?) — was staring directly at you. Pressing a hand to your face, you feel a drop of wetness on your cheek. A tear. You wipe it quickly and Kageyama turns away slowly. Eyes lingering a second after he turns his head.

“You’re slow, move quicker!” You nod in his direction though he’s already moving ahead again. The casino is loud and boisterous and though you’re sure it’s actually an illegal gambling den, many well known wealthies sit around a roulette table with a man in a suit, typical of a yakuza.

“You want a drink?” You expect it to come from a sleazy, older man wearing an old baggy suit, not the man who’s been leading you through this mess of tables and smoke and glitz. It’s fine, there are so many people around you.

“Why are you offering me a drink?” He’s turned to face you, still not smiling but eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion.

“O-Oikawa said to offer women drinks. I-” Oikawa? He might not be so bad. Still, a yakuza who didn’t run with the good kind any more so-

“No thanks.” The confusion displayed earlier on his face, deepens into a frown that forms on his lips and lines that appear in between his brows.

“What, why?” He’s actually confused somehow.

“I don’t know you, you’re a yakuza - you might drug my drink - the list could go on?”

“I'm not going to drug you" He sounds angry and mutters "Just trying to be nice, fuck." And you've stopped for only one moment but the sleazy men you thought would hound you start to crowd, either unknowing or uncaring that you are in the custody of organized crime.

"Pretty lady want a drink? Got a margarita with your name on it." It's unsurprisingly a man with cigarettes' smoke on his breath and intoxication in his step. You note he's already holding the drink in question.

"No thank you-" You begin to answer, in a politely exasperated tone that you think is quite amicable for someone whose arm is practically around your waist.

"Listen - she's with me, alright?" Kageyama doesn't stop there, despite that in your opinion, he should. "She's mine." The words send a pang of anxiety straight through your spine and into your brain before they reach your feet and as they itch to step away into a crowd, another man speaks up someone much less intoxicated, still - with a drink in hand.

"She in trouble with the Daichi-Gumi then?" They're much more informed. And Kageyama nods to the asker.

"Guess he's still got his Oikawa roots then, huh?" And that doesn't make any sense at all because he's nothing like the man you talked to and who gave you a handsome wink and made small conversation.

"Don't compare me to that bastard." And instead of the usual anger, you think it's a note of exhaustion in his voice. And the conversation ends right there, "mine" being a forgotten word in the mix of much more confusing sentences. It's relatively peaceful after that, the scowl on your captors face scaring many others away. You continue down the luxurious gambling hall and into much quieter corridors with soft sounds passing through doors as you walk down a carpeted hallway, well lit and warmer. Once again, Kageyama opens a door and walks through. For a long, fleeting, whirlwind of a moment, you are alone before remembering that if you walk out without Kageyama, you run the risk of having a yakuza family hunting for you. Hell, they'd hunt your family, you've heard about what they do to screamers. Twisted fingers, bloody stomachs and scarred backs - missing eyes if the they’re lucky. You step through the open door and into the room. It's low-lit, casting a pleasant glow on the furniture.

Kageyama is already sitting down on an expensive - looking sofa no —loveseat. He picks up a remote from the side armrest and turns on a TV installed into the wall. Loud moans and the sound of flesh on flesh boom from the speakers before he switches to the sounds of shoes squeaking as they run across a floor. He pulls a nail clipper from his pocket to trim already short fingernails. There's a large bed with lights hanging above it on one side of the room, a wardrobe - open - full of thin clothing you wouldn't be caught dead in outside of your house. There's a small table, a bottle of wine and two glasses on mahogany wood, next to a singular unlit candle. Though the sound is gone you can’t help but linger on the moans that came from the TV and how Kageyama has led you into a room with such a large bed and a shower that has no door and is only walled with glass. You forcibly relax your jaw just before you speak.

"I'm here to-" You gulp down air, trying not to look at the silk sheeted bed. "Pay a debt."

"Yeah dumbass, what else would you be here for?" If he doesn't bring up any other possibility, neither will you.

"How?" The way that he instantly looks at you, blue eyes ever intense when he speaks makes your stomach flip unpleasantly. You know exactly how. He’s led you to this room, what else could he be expecting?

"Daichi put me in charge of you, you'll do what I say." Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

"I'm not going to do what you tell me. I'll work off my debt in this casino, but I'm not doing everything you tell me to do!” Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. He blinks at you, brow once again furrowed in confusion. He puts his nail clippers down on the arm of his seat, and stands, taking off his jacket in the process. You knew it - you fucking knew it.

You shuffle backwards as quickly as possible, spine hitting the round doorknob.

You can’t go any further.

Kageyama creeps forwards, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal raging water delicately inked into the toned muscle of his right forearm, chrysanthemum petals drifting downstream from a skull at his shoulder. Down his left, where his elbow meets his forearm stands a samurai, maple leaves falling gently from the mouth of a black koi that flounders to appear just over the edge of his shoulder. On the front of his chest there is only a solitary demon - red and standing amongst black clouds which dig deep - over his nipples as the Oni stands on the cool blue with its fiery feet. He walks over to you, shirt off and tugging at his belt. With a decorated arm, he sets the white shirt on your head, careful not to touch you. What flees from your lips is a very audible sigh expressing your relief that he doesn’t seem to want to violate you.

“I’m going to take a shower. Put that away for me.” You don’t even attempt to retort as you quickly move it off your head and turn away from wherever Kageyama sounded like he was. You conveniently face towards the wardrobe and walking towards it, you notice all the clothing you had neglected to think about. Short schoolgirl uniforms, a pair of fluffy handcuffs, all sorts of exposing clothing that you think for the second time, you wouldn’t want to be caught dead in. You push sets of clothing aside to find an empty hanger, not finding one, you kneel down to check the bottom of the cabinet. You find a box full of something, flat squares that are easily torn, and one empty hanger with a leather suit that probably went on it beforehand. You instinctually turn at the sound of water hitting the tiled shower. He’s standing still, body naked through the glass and quickly you avert your eyes from him. The loud crash of falling water on the tile makes you turn, despite your knowledge of where it comes from. You can see Kageyama’s naked back through the clear glass, koi and cherry blossoms disappearing in rapidly forming fog that covers the rest of his body. Watching the glass fog with the softening sound of water on tile in the dim light of the room, a dry sob of relief releases from your throat. He isn’t going to do anything. It’s just one large scare tactic. With the realization that Kageyama is just going to unorthodox lengths to make sure you don’t run, your knees buckle and you crumple to the floor, back stable against the side of the wardrobe - and you let the tears fall.

Each bone, muscle and thought eases with the knowledge that this yakuza is just taking a shower. He’s still the good kind of yakuza - Oikawa taught him well. He just happens to be a little strange. While he showers, your face is bathed with your own free tears. Your hands cup your cheeks and you smile softly into your palms, feeling so much steadier as your breathing returns to its normal steady in and out. Picking yourself up from the carpeted floor and feeling you back crack you bring yourself in front of the TV watching as people toss a volleyball into the air. It’s awfully methodical as they toss it to each side over and over, you almost forget about the pitter-patter of water behind you. You don’t even notice as it stops and the man comes out to watch you watching the game. You barely hear the zipper on his pants - just dismissing it as some sound from the game. It’s not until he’s directly behind the couch and he asks you a question that you remember where you are.

“Where’d you put my shirt?” You turn and tilt your head to look at his dripping hair, wet pants and wetter jacket.

“It’s in the closet.”

“What?”

“It’s the only place to put a shirt.” He grumbles at your words but it’s not hostile.

“You have the bed, that’s where I normally put my stuff.” You glance at the bed again and then back to him.

“Who doesn’t use a closet?”

“Next time you’re going to put it on the bed. No point in using that shitty closet - can’t find anything in there,”

“Hopefully there won’t be a next time.” His eyes squint face lowering to yours. He blinks twice before his blues widen.

“Have you… been crying?” Your eyes must still be puffy red.

“No?” His nose is just a hairs’ width away from yours.

“You better not be lying. Lying to your Oyabun has serious consequences.” Abruptly he stands up. “And you’re mine now. You can’t lie to me.” His hair bobs as he nods and removes his dripping suit jacket. Once again the black koi surfaces across the spanse of his muscular back.

“I’m…” You shouldn’t be asking, but he must mean this in some other way, right? “Yours?”

“Daichi told me to watch you,” He says dumbly. Well, If that’s all he means, it shouldn’t be bad. You’re going to ignore how his head turns slightly to look and that the lights that glint off his eyes menacingly. “You're part of the family now. My family” A slimy feeling crawls up your back at his words, not for the first time.

“What does that mean?”

“Talking back to your Oyabun has consequences.” It hangs over your head, his words and your next ones clashing in your mind before deciding on,

“Same can be said for thinking you’re Oyabun.” It’s a much less dangerous thing to say, now that you know you’re safe and he’s just a strange person.

“I will be Oyabun, and you’re part of my family. You already have to do what I say.” He’s scared you enough, he’s not going to do anything and you’re not even sure he can with patrons of the gambling den so near. You take a breath and steady yourself though you aren’t even nervous and without thinking-

“I’m not some part of your fucking yakuza family!” Your palm makes harsh contact on his cheek. He was just trying to scare you earlier. You turn aside as he stands still as a leaf in water. Clasping your hands together you wait trying not to think about the fact that you just slapped a yakuza. He turns slowly, wide eyes a lighter blue than you had originally thought.

“Do it again.” A large hand rubs at his red cheek. “Please?” Kageyama cocks his head to the side, hand still over his red cheek. You’re rooted to the ground, standing still, you're not going to move even if he said he wants you to hit him again.

“If you won’t do it, I will.” He removes his hand from his cheek, and makes a fist before stopping. “You had an open palm.” All four fingers of his left hand splay open as he inches towards you with confident steps. “It felt so nice to be touched by someone again.” Eyes like the Starry Night glare down while his face holds the least unsettling smile you’ve seen from him. You can’t do anything against a member of the yakuza, and the important thing about the yakuza floods back into your mind: the man with silver hair had a gun, why shouldn’t he?. You stand still as a statue, you will not flinch, you will not cry. He’s right in front of you, and you stare defiantly into his eyes as he stares right back. There is nothing to say and both of you are waiting for the first blow.

It lands.

Hard, right on your cheek and the sting is so much but so little compared to the gun that could’ve put a hole in your head. Your head is pushed to the side by force before you snap it back to look into his eyes.

“It doesn’t feel the same…” He mutters the words. “Maybe if you-”

“I’m not going to do anything you want me to.”

“Fine. I’ll try again.” And the hand connects with your cheek once again. If the first stung, the second was like a stab. Cold and sharp and the feeling staying much longer than you’d hope. Kageyama looks at you, whose face is still utterly defiant and pointed towards him. Though the red welt on your cheek is far more noticeable, he seems to be looking at your eyes.

“Shit.” It’s a quiet utterance, but he sounds mildly put out. “It’s not gonna work unless you touch me.”

“No.”

“Either you touch me and I figure out why I get this weird pit around you. Or,” And he seems to have to think for a second about his phrasing. You think you hear a ‘can’t blow her brains out.’ “Or I give you to Oikawa.”

“Oikawa?” And you know this is a bad idea, you’re standing up to a Yakuza for fucks sake. “Oikawa just gets people to pay their protection tax. Hell, he’d clear my debt.”

“He’s the guy who has the top joint of my pinky, you don’t wanna be given to him, trust me.”

“Oikawa has a soft spot for women, he’d clear my debt and let me go.”

“He had me bring in any woman I found.” Oh. “A lot of them lived where he used to spend a lot of time. Called them prostitutes?” Oh no. “I think Oikawa would be happy to see you. Suga always says to try and make things better between our families.” He’s not going to get to you like this, you’ve seen Oikawa around - talked to him. The most harm he’d ever cause is when someone harassed a woman. Knowing this yakuza, he’s probably trying to scare you again.

“You’re lying. Oikawa helps women on the streets. I heard he even set up a safe house!” Oikawa would never do anything like what Kageyama said he would. He wouldn't!

“He called it a brothel.” He wouldn’t he wouldn’t. Oikawa always said to go to him if you needed help - he did.

“Oikawa wouldn’t do that! Not to me, not to anyone!” He wouldn’t he wouldn’t he wouldn’t.

“Shut up!” Deep unexplored, ocean blue eyes churn as the yell falls upon your ears..

“Oikawa wouldn’t do that! He’s kind and he’s helpful!” You’re advancing so much closer to him, letting your guard fall.

“You’ll shut the fuck up if you know what’s good for you.” His hand is gathering in a fist again, skin straining against his rapidly whitening knuckles

“No I won’t! Because Oikawa would only ever take care of a woman and treat her much better! You’re making up blatant lies to ma-” The blow lands hard on your stomach, and you stumble back on shaky feet, tripping over themselves as you try to stay upright.

“He called your “Safehouse” a brothel. He kept women there, they smiled after enough time. I won’t fucking hesitate to give you to him too.” You fall over as he speaks, air being beat from your lungs as you fall flat on your back. Even while you’re gasping for breath he continues.

“The guys call it a horrible, shitty place and I don’t wanna send you to Oikawa, he’s a shitheel. But you’ve gotta fucking learn to listen - and Oikawa always made sure they did.” But Oikawa wouldn’t - he told you that you were safe with him and his people, that they were the good kind of yakuza.

“He’s not like that.” It sounds hollow to the both of you.

“Just listen to me dammit!” His large hand is tangled in your hair, threatening to beat your head into the floor. “I’m trying not to send-” The agonizing feeling of hairs being pulled from your scalp forces you to blink back tears. You yell at him again anyway.

“You just wanna see me as a prostitute!” And your voice doesn’t break but you can feel the tug of your vocal chords pulling on your eyes.

“Maybe.” It’s strange that his eyebrows furrow at your words but his grip on your hair tightens. “I wouldn’t have to threaten if you listen and touch me.”

“I shouldn’t have to if I don’t want to!” The wet tears that might’ve shed earlier are replaced with dry anger.

“It doesn’t matter what you want. Your Oyabun told you, that should be enough.” He yanks your head up by your hair, a few strands ripping right out of your scalp with a sharp pain. “Touch me.” The pain is splitting in your head, on your cheeks, in the breath that you're still trying to regain. “I said, touch me!” And he drops you. Weight held up by Kageyama comes crashing down onto the carpeted floor and you with it. He growls, sound deep in his throat as he makes another threat.

“Fuck, I’ll even give you to the Ushijimas’ to use as target practice if you aren’t obedient. How’d you like to be shot full of holes? That better than touching me?” The words come out in a harsh jumble, spilling from his mouth like a bitter wine. “Do it. Touch me before I stop being nice and kill you myself.” This time it's a kick to your back. “Then someone from your precious family will pay your debt.”

“How do you-”

“I make it a point to know my future family members.” He gives you an uncomfortable smile, mouth curling up as eyes don’t shift from their stoic glare. He steps even closer, hand rising once again to make you flinch but it doesn’t stop rising as he squeezes your neck harshly. “C’mon, get my hands off your neck! Pry me off of you!”

“N..” Air is fleeing your collapsing lungs, “O” It takes all the willpower in your body to fight against the muscles in your shoulders that want to lift your arm and the tendons that control your fingers to curl around his wrist and tug. Kageyama snarls as he frees your throat. His hands reach behind him and he must have a gun. He’s threatened to shoot. His hand moves so slowly, fingers curling around something behind his back. The black of his suit jacket reflects the all too bright light, cheers and beeps of the slots muffled by thick walls. The blunt pain throbbing in your face, on your stomach. The sharp intakes of breath sending stabs of pain to your lungs and the man with dark black hair and dark blue eyes keeps his hand behind his back, his left hand tugging on his suit jacket. He’s getting the gun, it’s in the back of his pants. You feel the familiar, cold prick of tears at the back of your eyes, that only intensifies as you he squats down and you flinch softly.

“C’mon,” His hand is still behind his back “Touch me.” You don’t want to die. You don’t want anyone to bear your debt. You suck in a deep breath, heavy weight forming in your chest as you reach out your hand towards his face. He inhales a tight breath, cheek twitching as your palm inches closer and closer. When just a finger finally grazes his cheek he flinches away from it and the weight inside you gets heavier. You didn’t do what he wanted.

You fucked it up.

You clamp your eyes shut. Slowly - what’ll he do if you move too quickly - you begin to drag your fingers from his cheek, rough with the smallest starts of stubble. He raises his hand with four fingers to keep yours on his cheek, trapping your palm against his clammy hand and rough chin. He exhales a shaky breath, his black-blue eyes closing and head nuzzling into your hand.

Softly feeding from the hand that bit.

“Thank you,” Your eyes are wide open as you stare at his features seeming so soft in comparison to his sharp, metallic anger. He murmurs softly into your palm. “It feels... nice when you touch me.” It’s such a stark contrast from the roaring, growling man threatening to force you into prostitution. The Kageyama who’s in front of you is smiling gently while his hand - though chilled and rough - is gentle against the back of your hand. It’s too much, one blink and tears start to fall. A hiccup erupts from your mouth which you shut as soon as he pokes an eye open. Whimpers based in the bottom of your sore throat start to strain against your closed mouth. His smile widens, growing into that uncomfortable smirk with lips stretched too thin.

“Fuck, you’re such a pretty crier, y’know that?” Kageyama groans the words staring at your face, still in the palm of your hand. “It makes me hard.” As if to emphasize his point, he jerks your hand downward, to the bulge in his suit pants.

“I - Kageyama I’m here to pay off a debt,”

“Yeah, you are.” He grinds his clothed hard-on into your palm. “You’re here to do whatever I tell you to. And I said-” The back of his hand brushes against your palm as it reaches to pull at the zipper of his pants. The grip around your wrist tightens as he drags your hand down. “Touch me.” and slowly your fingers curl around the length that was pulled from his pants.

“Good girl.” He snarls the words as his fingers ghost over your clothed sex, thin panties doing little to dull the strangely gentle caress of his four fingers. He pushes the fabric aside quickly and though you’re completely dry, shoves a finger into your tight cunny.

“Haven’t touched… anyone,” He groans as your hand stays deathly still on his cock. “Like this.” He thrusts his finger into you again. Beads of precum drip from his cock onto the back of your hand.

“Stop… please,” He smiles at your watery eyes. “It doesn’t feel good…” It feels like someone breaking your trust. How could you have trusted a yakuza?

“I’ll make it feel good.” He was going to leave you alone. He was going to leave you alone. A fat tear rolls down your face. Kageyama’s lips curl into another smirk as he pumps his fingers just a little faster.

“Is this what Oikawa meant when he said I’d have trouble ‘fingering’?” He says it to himself more than to you. “Cause I don’t think I’m having much trouble.” He wasn’t going to do anything. A small scream falls from your mouth as you think — you did this to yourself. You slapped him and now… Your hold on his cock tightens. You wish you could say it was in anger rather than for the sparks flying through your body. “Stop closing your eyes.” He huffs. “Makes it seem like you’re not enjoying it.”

You aren’t. You aren’t fucking enjoying it. The way he stares at you, leering at your misty eyes and dripping nose. The way he’s got his fingers stuffed inside you. The way he has your hand wrapped around his dick. It’s much easier to think this is some dream. To pretend your breath isn’t quickening or this is just some fucked up fantasy you’d never want to be real. But it is. And the gasp you let out when you feel your pussy clench - that’s real too.

“Sounds like you do. Feels like you do. Tightening around my fingers like that?” He chuckles darkly to himself before barking, “Dumb whore! Move your hand!” Immediately you release your grip on his cock.

“Not like that.” He glares at you and uses his free hand to grab your wrist once more. Harshly, he tugs it to his mouth and spits onto your palm. “Stroke my cock.” Once more, he shoves your hand down, saliva dripping from your palm to the couch and his bare legs. He hisses at the feeling of your hand, moans as you pump your fist. “Keep doing that.” You nod, mouth parting to gasp only for tears to fall in.

“Holy shit.” His fingers curl inside you, his cock twitches harshly in your hand. His arms woven with ink, flex as his right hand curls into a fist slowly unclenching - rising. All too late, do you notice his fingers lacing themselves around your neck pushing you down, down into the cushions. You can still breathe, he’s not meaning to choke you yet. Your head is still, and that is enough, his face inching ever closer, blue eyes blown wide - mouth parting just so slightly. His face growing closer with each second that makes your brain tick with dread.

“So fuckin pretty….” He sighs quietly. “Bet your tears even taste good.” His mouth presses to yours. He wastes no time shoving his tongue inside. It’s sloppy - like you’d’ve expected, salty saliva spilling from the corners of your lips as he drags his long, rough fingers slowly from your cunt. You whine through spit and sob as the feeling of fullness is taken from you. (though you’ve felt empty this whole time) Your hips roll on their own, grazing against his knuckle. Your cunt weeps at one final touch before you're stuck humping nothing.

“You're wet enough right?” Breathless, he pulls away from your mouth, lips pink, swollen and parted, his cheeks flushed a dark shade of cherry. He looks from your eyes to his fingers to the hand around your neck. “You better be after all that crying. My pathetic little crybaby, so wet for my cock.”

You wish you could spit in his face, wish you could scream. But all that can escape your lips are soft moans, little whines at the loss of his fingers. “Please” dances on the tip of your tongue, pirouetting its way through your teeth and tapping at your lips.

“God…” His cock pokes at your entrance. “You’re so warm…” It’s hard to ignore as he presses in, pushing against your walls so firmly, warmth making your hips roll to meet his cock as it buries deeper inside you. Your hand had been moved a long time ago - or just recently, it’s hard to tell, hard to remember. Or have you already forgotten? Still coated in spit and precum, it rests on his chest, over one of his many tattoos, you slide it upwards to his shoulder. Watching as the spit leaves a trail over his body. Pretending like it’s just water. Your eyes gloss over the forced extravagance of your prison. The ceiling is in between - the sky. Some say heaven. And your sullied hand raises to pull for the sky. When was the last time you’d seen the moon. Surely only hours ago. A rough thrust and something loud echoes in the room. You can barely hear it over the dry crust on your hand. Reaching for the above as your beaten body is defiled. For a second you can feel it, the clouds of the sky.

The sky disappears too as you’re dragged back down to earth by long fingers that squeeze more harshly at your neck. Suddenly only the constricting of his fingers on your windpipe and your pussy on his fat cock are present in your mind. Pleasure and fear hazing together in your mind to create nothing more than blank sight in your eyes and sparks running from your legs to your brain. Your hands continue to tighten around his wrist, pulling harshly as he continues to squeeze and squeeze at your throat.

“You gonna cum?” He continues, picking up his pace and pushing you further into the sofa. You try to shake your head, despite the tightening in your stomach,

“No Kagey-” He looks up from where he’d been pounding into your sloppy cunt, cock shoved right against your cervix, throbbing hashly while he raises his other hand to give a harsh slap to your cheek.

“What do you call me?”

“O-o” You can barely breath and the cock inside of you is so hot. The stinging against your cheek feels so good in the fog of shallow breath and fullness that you can’t help but moan at - when he adjusts his angle and turns you around, pushing your face into the cushions and ass in the air.

“Oyabun,” You can’t help the way your voice breaks as you sob and Kageyama once again starts to move.

“Fuck I feel powerful when you cry.” If only every word didn’t make you wail even louder.

“That’s a good girl, keep crying.” You shove your face further into the cushions, tears soaking into the fabric.

“Please,” You don’t sound like yourself. You already sound broken and halfway gone. “Just cum.” Anything — fucking anything to just end this.

Kageyama just groans behind you as the nauseating pleasure continues. Balls slapping against your clit, friction building slowly as you moan through every thrust unable to keep from feeling every tiny twitch of his cock, every vein sliding against the walls of your cunt.

“Fuck fuck fuck! I want you—” He lets out a loud shaky breath as years of frustration paint your walls.

Breathing heavily with his hands planted firmly on your hips bruisingly tight, he holds you against him. Even fuller than before — with your womb filled with his cum. His hold on your hips releases so gently before he puts a hand on your ass, rubbing it softly, stopping occasionally to squeeze lightly at the flesh. You whimper softly, “Please, no more.” He ignores you, or perhaps he didn’t hear, coming off of his first orgasm. His hands find your hips once more, far gentler than before as he speaks with labored breath.

“Everyone better’ve heard you moaning.” Slowly he begins to pull out, inch after painful inch slowly exiting your sore cunt. He slaps you again, right on your ass. You’re too sore, too used to the point of breakage to cry at the pain (or is it pleasure?) “I’m your Oyabun, they better know that.” The zip of his pants coincides with the cheering for a point in the game that’s still playing. He sits next to your fucked out body on the sofa, and rubs one hand over the still sensitive part of your ass before quickly running his hand over your spine, shoulder blades and neck, settling in your hair. His fingers stay there, nails grazing gently against your scalp. His fingers linger for a minute before he pulls your body up and into his side, propping your head against his shoulder. You stare blankly ahead, eyes glazed with tears and cum dripping from your abused pussy onto the sofa. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you as close as he can, both of you breathing heavily. Kageyama seems to recover his breath quicker than you, as his slows and steadies — head falling against your crown with tiny, quiet snores coming from his chest. Half clothed, sore and exhausted you breath in the smell of the room, barely registering the feeling of cum dripping from your cunt. Hardly noticeable with the sound of snores and the feel of a body pressed against yours. Fat, raindropped tears roll down your cheeks. And instead of your wish to pull away, to leave this room — you cannot. What would happen to your family, to you? Would the man who beat you really let you pull away from him even in his sleep?

No.

So you settle into his side, raise a hand to rest over his tattoos and wait. Eyes wide open.

---

He wakes up about thirty minutes later - pats your head - dresses and runs out of the door without a word. You're too catatonic, still on the couch, still watching men play volleyball on the television. You watch him leave, tension held in your shoulders melting — unlike the candle on the table. Realistically, it's probably thirty minutes that he’s out of the room but it feels like only a few seconds. Time flies when you're having fun. He returns with a bottle of water and a bowl of something that smells wonderfully of spices and cooked pork. He sets both water and bowl on the glass coffee table. He’s gotten one spoon and he sits next to you on the sofa, pulling your legs onto his lap, jerkily giving a message to your thighs that only serves to renew tension in your body. He continues for a few seconds, delicate hands hardened with callouses knead into the flesh before abruptly stopping and leaning forward. He picks up the bowl and lifts the spoon, a small drop of liquid spills.

“I don’t know your favorite yet so I got you mine.” He waits, watching your lips tremble. Your jaw falls and even if you were to speak, you're not allowed to. He shoves the spoon in and waits for your mouth to close. He sits there for a minute. He’s staring at you again and instead of wiping a tear from your cheek, closes your mouth with a delicate touch. You begin to chew slowly, staring straight ahead of you. The sound of volleyball fills your ears and Kageyama doesn’t speak for ten whole minutes, only feeding you curry and closing your mouth when you cannot. It’s peaceful. Even as you're naked and Kageyama is shirtless again. He takes his time making you finish your meal. Only watching set after set of volleyball on the screen.

“You like volleyball?” The hand that has settled back onto your thigh rests softly - so different to the way he was beating you before - moves to where your neck meets your shoulder. “My grandfather was a coach.” One more bite and you’re done. “I think he was gonna teach me before he died.” The match on the screen ends, shifting to commentary and Kageyama opens the bottle of water. “Let me know what you like to eat, okay? I’ll make sure to get it next time.” He brings the bottle to your lips without any sudden movements and steady hands, and with his other he takes your chin and holds you in the most gentle grip you’ve ever felt. He rubs the bottom of your jaw line, easing your mouth open once more and presses his lips softly to your temple before tilting the water back.

“You’re such a pretty crier,” He pulls the bottle away and kisses the corner of your mouth, the slight stubble on his cheek grazing against your cheek. “When I’m Oyabun, I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of, okay?” He sets the plastic water bottle down and pushes your legs from his lap. He rises from the cushions only to sink between your thighs. “Just do what you’re told and I won’t have to do - this -” He presses two fingers onto the forming bruise at your stomach. “again.” He parts your sore legs.

“So will you be my good little crybaby?”

#tw noncon #yakuza!au #yakuza!haikyuu #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama tobio #yandere kageyama #yandere kageyama tobio #yandere haikyuu #yandere haikyuu x reader #yakuza AU #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu kageyama #yandere kageyama tobio x reader

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justatiredghost · 3 years ago

Text

The Cost Ch4

Based on this idea by @serikyl, in which Klaus is able to bring Dave back to life, but there’s a cost; he also gains the ability to see the dead.

Just getting dressed in the clothes Klaus had found him felt like a huge undertaking to Dave’s tired muscles. By the time he was done, his arms were shaking from the exertion and he collapsed back onto the bed to rest a moment. He felt suddenly nauseous, itchy all over, and his entire body felt sore and drained completely. And the horrible ache in his chest was back, like he’d been punched in the sternum. Or hit by a cannonball.

It seemed like Klaus was feeling some of the same things, because when he glanced over, he saw him scratching his back and arms and everything else as he pulled on his own clean clothes. Or, at least, cleaner. He’d just grabbed some from off the floor, doing a quick smell check before shrugging and pulling them on.

Dave couldn’t help but smile as he watched him, loving any time he got to be so himself, in all his messiness and chaos and joy. Their hire-ups tried to stifle any personality out of all of them, but they never could get to Klaus. And getting this look into his childhood, his room? He felt so lucky to be able to get this peek into his life.

He wanted to look around more, maybe examine the writing and doodles on the walls, but his head was getting so heavy and fuzzy, and he was having trouble focusing enough to even make out the words, so he let his head fall back onto the bed and closed his eyes. He was just so tired.

“Dave? Dave, can you hear me?”

Klaus’ voice broke through, bringing him back to the present, and made him realize just how close to falling asleep he’d been. But there was a fear and urgency in Klaus’ voice that he had rarely heard, and somehow that hurt more than any physical ache.

“Yeah, yeah, all good here,” he said quickly, trying to sit up a little, reaching out to blindly pat Klaus’ arm. A habit they’d picked up, a way they could show some physical comfort and reassurance even when surrounded by fellow soldiers.

“Sorry, you were just so still,” Klaus began with a shaky sigh before he seemed to pull himself back together, voice taking on a teasing tone. “I probably should have let you sleep. You look like shit.”

“Ouch,” Dave chuckled. “Hit a guy while he’s down, why don’t you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll be as good as new once you get 30 or so hours of sleep,” Klaus said with a grin.

Klaus had left the door to the bedroom open. It was a habit of his, not wanting to feel trapped, which Dave could understand. Still, if he’d been paying more attention, he might have at least asked to close it while they dressed. But then, they hadn’t seen anyone since they arrived and he was beginning to wonder if the place was completely abandoned despite how many siblings Klaus was supposed to have. He was wrong, though, and the sound of someone pointedly clearing their throat caused them to flinch apart.

“You good?” a boy, probably in his early teens, asked, one eyebrow raised as he glanced between the two of them and the bloody pile of clothes they’d left on the floor. He studied Dave with an intensity that made him feel like he was looking right through him, like there was nothing he could hope to hide from him.

“Five, hey,” Klaus exclaimed, and at least he didn’t sound upset to see him. He shrugged casually like this was all completely normal. “Yeah, fine.”

Klaus had, of course, told Dave a bit about his siblings, and Dave frantically tried to get his foggy brain to recall anything he could about this brother.

“Where do you want to begin?” Five asked, turning his full attention to Klaus, like Dave held no more interest to him.

“What do you mean?” Klaus asked innocently.

“Well, there’s the blood, the new tattoos, the man in your bed--”

Horrified, Dave shot up and scrambled off the bed to his feet. He could feel his face burning. Maybe he was overreacting, Klaus had mentioned his family didn’t caring that he was pansexual, but he didn’t exactly want to test that. Especially when the consequences of discovery not too long ago would have been severe, if not fatal. That initial fear response wasn’t something he was going to be able to overcome easily.

“Oh, no, it’s not—” Dave began, stumbling over his words and with no real idea what he was going to say, just that he needed to give Klaus some sort of out if he wanted it. Thankfully, he was interrupted.

“It’s fine, sit down,” Klaus said, waving a hand dismissively at him, like this wasn’t anything to worry about. To an amused Five, he continued, “It was just a crazy night, don’t worry about it.”

“More than one, by the looks of it,” Five said knowingly. He gestured towards Dave. “What about him?”

“I’m Dave, nice to meet you,” Dave said quickly.

“He’s with me,” Klaus said defensively. He dropped down into a chair, rubbing at his temple like his headache was getting worse. Dave let himself slump back down onto the bed, itching absently at his arm.

“Fair enough.” Five said, shoving his hands in his pockets as he studied the two of them. “You know, I can recognize the symptoms. And you’re both having them”

“What?” Klaus asked, sitting up to look at him, clearly ready for an argument.

“Jetlag, full body itch, the headache that feels like someone shoved a box of cotton up into your nose and through your brain,” Five explained, voice surprisingly sympathetic. “You gonna tell me about it?”

Klaus sighed and leaned back in his chair, glancing at Dave briefly before giving in. “Your pals, when they broke into the house and couldn't find you? They took me hostage instead.”

“And in return you stole their briefcase,” Five guessed, a slight grin tugging at his lips like he was impressed or proud.

Dave had heard some of the story and was worried Five was focusing on the wrong part. Yes, he was glad Klaus had managed to get the briefcase and escape, but if Five really did know these people that had been after him, he should know what they were capable of. What they might have put Klaus through.

“Yeah, I thought there was money in it, or I could pawn it, whatever.”

“And then, next thing you knew you were-- where? Or when?” Five asked excitedly.

“Why do you care?” Klaus said, standing up and turning away, suddenly defensive, and Dave knew he wasn’t going to tell him what else he’d been through.

“1968,” Dave filled in quickly when he saw the annoyance flash across Five’s face. He earned a glare from Klaus, and maybe he was overstepping, but he could tell when Klaus was ready to start an argument just to end a conversation. It was what he did when he felt too vulnerable, and maybe this way he could at least get the attention off of him. And, perhaps, avoid a fight between the two brothers.

“Thank you,” Five said pointedly to him. “Now, please tell me you’re from this time and just happened to accidentally get caught up in all this.”

“Um,” Dave said, glancing between the two, not sure what to say. Klaus shrugged unhelpfully.

“Klaus, you didn’t,” Five groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can’t just— pull people out of their timelines like they’re souvenirs! Do you have any idea what his absence could do?”

“Don’t worry, he was already dead at the time,” Klaus said much too casually.

“Oh, great, you faked his death too?” Five said, exasperated.

“Didn’t need to,” Klaus said simply.

“I guess that means I was already absent from my timeline if you think about it,” Dave chimed in, earning a glare from Five. It was surreal to be talking about his own death like this, but he did his best not to think too much about it. Whatever drugs he’d taken earlier were helping with that at least.

“I— don’t have time to unpack what that’s supposed to mean,” Five said absently, beginning to pace. “Just tell me what you did with the briefcase. One disaster at a time.”

“I don’t know, I threw it in a dumpster,” Klaus shrugged.

“Where, Klaus?” Five snapped, spinning to face him, clearly running out of patience.

“In the alley behind the bus stop on 6th,” Klaus said, hands raised defensively.

“Fine. Don’t go anywhere,” Five snapped. “Just tell the others to stay put too.”

“Yeah, like they'll listen to me.”

“We’re not done talking about this,” Five spared a pointed glare in Dave’s direction before disappearing in a blue flash.

Dave just stared at the place he had been for a long moment, trying to figure out if he’d really just seen that. Sure, Klaus has talked about his family of superheroes, but it was still jarring to see someone literally vanish in front of him.

“Well, I think that went quite well,” Klaus sighed, dropping onto the bed beside him, sprawling out.

“Yeah?” Dave asked doubtfully, gingerly laying down beside him. “If that’s going well, I’m worried what going poorly will look like.”

“Blood, violence, for sure knives, there’s no getting around that one,” Klaus said cheerfully.

“You’re not helping,” Dave couldn’t help but laugh, gently shoving Klaus’ arm. But then he took his hand and squeezed it. Whatever weirdness he was going to go through, at least he could go through it with Klaus. “Are you doing okay?”

“What? Yeah, sure,” Klaus said. His voice was casual, like the answer was obvious, but there was no missing the way his eyes slid to the side, avoiding eye contact.

“Should we have told him about the whole coming back to life thing? If he knows about the briefcase, maybe he knows what happened.”

“Maybe later,” Klaus said. “He has to go save the world first.”

“Oh.”

“Come on,” Klaus jumped to his feet and hauled Dave up with him. “Let’s go raid the fridge and get some real food while we still can.”

#klaus hargreeves #dave katz #klave #klaus x dave #the umbrella academy #fanfic #the coast #my fic

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yikesharringrove · 5 years ago

Note

So I have this theory that Steve and billy would take a long time to get to each other. They both have so much damage. They know they would be amazing but they also know they aren’t ready yet. So they go with their separate ways. They grow up, they get better. 10 years later they are both back home for a wedding (let’s say Dustin/Erica because I personally think they would be awesome. She would run his life and he would thank her for it) And S/B realize they are ready now. The timing is perfect

Read on Ao3.

“It looks good, buddy.”

Steve was sitting bored in the leather armchair. His hand was propping his chin as he stared at Dustin. He had tried out 18 suits and Steve was tired.

“I don’t know, Steve. I don’t think I like the blue.” It was his sixth navy suit. Steve wanted to bash his head in.

“I still maintain I like the first one.” Dustin took another look in the mirror before nodding.

“I’ll put the first one back on.” Steve groaned at the ceiling.

Steve was Dustin’s Best Man. They had kept in close contact even as Steve moved to Chicago, worked entry-level jobs until he went to college, studied, and became a special education teacher.

Dustin had recently graduated from MIT, was living in Indianapolis with Erica. He worked at an engineering lab, was designing already. Steve was very proud. The past few months he had driven to Indy every Friday and staying through the weekend, helping him with plans, the registry, and addressing invitations. He nearly shit when he wrote Billy Hargrove’s name and address.

“Okay, I think this is the one.” Dustin was back in the first one. Steve wanted to hit his head against the wall until he fucking died.

“Okay, so we’ve got me and your mom, and the Sinclairs, and Marnie, and Robin at Table 1. Table 2 is El and Mike and Will and Seth and Reggie and Max and Angie and Lucas, which, shouldn’t he sit at table one? Family and that. Table 3 is Nancy and Jonathan and Mrs. Byers and Hopper and-” Steve choked on the next name. “Billy? Why didn’t you tell me he was coming?” Dustin looked up from the huge board they had been using to make the seating chart.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes. You know he’s the love of my fucking life.” Steve was gawking at Dustin who rolled his eyes.

"He's not. You've just been gross and hung up on him for ten years, Steve. That's lame."

"We could've had something! We were getting close and I kept-"

"You were getting closer and you kept feeling electricity and then he died and then he was fine and then he ran away to California I know, Steve." Steve felt his face heat up He looked back at the seating chart. "Stop pouting."

"I'm not pouting." He was totally pouting. "It's just, I haven't seen him in ten years. It's gonna be, what if he's moved on."

"He's not bringing a plus one."

"Maybe they couldn't come." Dustin rolled his eyes.

"Just fucking talk to him when you see him. Don't know why it has to be such a big deal."

"I can't talk to him, Dustin. what would I say?"

"Start with hi, Billy. And just see where it takes you."

"I just, it's been a while since I've dated and-"

"But it's time you moved on from Taylor. I told you that guys was bad news, and lo and fucking behold, he ends up sucking." Steve shifted uncomfortably. That relationship had ended over three years ago, ended with Steve spending two months on Robin's couch. He was still in therapy over it.

"Yeah, I know." Steve was talking to his arms, folding tightly over his chest.

"Buddy, I'm not trying to be an ass. Just saying. You're doing much better after that. And Max says Billy's really good. That he's got his life on track and is happy."

"Then he probably has someone. And he might not even be into guys!"

"Okay, then get over your lame self, and be his friend." Steve huffed. "But whatever you do, just help me finish this fucking seating chart."

Steve was fucking running.

He had been in charge of the rings, and he had, misplaced them.

Because of course he fucking did. Of course, he held onto them for weeks only to lose them on the day.

He was sweating through his white shirt in the Hawkins heat. Running from room to room in the upstairs of the old house. His parents kept the Hawkins house, just in case they were ever passing through. Steve doesn't think they've spent more than three hours in it since he was nineteen, but it gave him a free place to crash whenever he was in town.

He was tearing through rooms, anywhere he could've been these past few hours. He knows he had the rings when he put on his shirt, had them in his pocket when he realized he needed cufflinks.

He flew downstairs, rummaging through the drawer in his father's side of the bathroom, finding the rings exactly where he had stolen the cufflinks from. They were thin, gold bands. Erica's had a small diamond set into it. They were engraved on the inside, quotes for Star Wars, Dustin's holding Princess Leia's I love you, Erica's with Han Solo's I know. Steve had made fun of them endlessly when he had picked them up from the jeweler's.

"Steve, you're a fucking idiot and also a genius." He scrambled to his car, driving well over the speed limit to the venue, a historic house in the old part of Hawkins. It was grand and beautiful and much cooler than the summer air outside. Steve was so focused on delivering the rings he didn't notice the Camaro sitting out front, still in its pristine condition. He opened doors at random, getting screamed at by Erica's Maid of Honor, Marnie, when he burst into the wrong room. Marnie fucking hated Steve, and he didn't really know why. Apparently it had something to do with the engagement party. But, he got blackout fucking drunk at that thing, so he had no idea what she was so pissed about.

Well, now she was quite obviously pissed that he had slammed open the door to find her and Erica in robes, getting their makeup done. She threw a shoe at his head.

He was fucking sprinting down a hallway when he crashed right into a fucking wall, solid and steady. He was knocked back on his ass,

"Oh shit, sorry!" He looked up, finding Billy Hargrove staring down at him. "Steve fucking Harrington. As I live and breathe." Billy's hair was long, was wild and big. He was wearing a well-fitting suit, looked thick and muscled, more than he had in high school. Steve's mouth went fucking dry. Billy had his shirt unbuttoned to the bottom of his sternum, showing off a large chest piece, gorgeous flowers weaving around and through the scar on his chest. Steve could see it was healed, but still raised, pink and shiny in a few areas, the skin pulled and puckered where Billy had been stitched back together.

Billy extended a hand, a scarred tattooed hand, and heaved Steve off the floor.

"Hi, Billy." Billy grinned at him. It was softer than he remembered. "You look good."

"You seen yourself? You're still as pretty as I remember." Steve fucking giggled like a fucking schoolgirl. He had let his hair grow out some since high school. Some of the kids liked his long hair.

"What have you, what have you been up to?" Steve was overly aware of his arms. Was trying to find a way to hold himself that didn't look stupid.

"You know, California. USed my government hush money to go to culinary school. I'm a sous-chef now at a restaurant in L.A."

"Oh, wow. Congratulations. You've really, you've come a long way. You look, happy." Steve flushed a little more.

"What are you doin', Pretty Boy?" Steve's heart tripped over itself at the old nickname.

"I'm in Chicago, now. I teach special education at an elementary school. I'm actually, I'm in line to become head of the department when the current one, when she retires." Billy's eyes crinkled at the corners with his smile.

"That's so perfect for you. What made you choose special ed?"

"I went to college and learned I'm dyslexic." Billy barked a laugh, one Steve had never heard before, a fucking real one.

"You didn't know? I could've told you that!"

"I mean, I just thought I was fucking stupid, but once I learned what the problem was, the university gave me some resources to help. I was actually in the nursing program, but I kept thinking about how the university helped me so much, that getting a real diagnosis was fucking life-changing, not only for school, but just in the way I thought about myself. I don't want kids to grow up like I did, convinced that their literal disability is just, just stupidity." Steve met Billy's eyes, saw them glow with fondness.

"I'm so happy for you, Steve. I'm so proud you found such an amazing calling, you seem like you've come such a long way." Billy squeezed his upper arm, made Steve melt.

"Thank you, that, that really means a lot to m-"

"Steve! I have been looking for you for hours. Where have you been, Asshole?" Dustin was stomping down the hall

"Doesn't matter. I'm here, I've got the rings, I'm ready to go."

"Did you not have the rings?" Dustin looked like he was going to explode.

"I have them! See!" Steve pulled them out of his pocket, clinking them together. "All engraved with your nerd shit and ready." Billy was watching them, an amused look on his face.

"You are a nightmare and the worst best man in the history of-"

"Can you not be dramatic for one fucking da-"

"I'm allowed to be dramatic today, I'm getting marrie-"

"You're never allowed to be dramatic you little-"

"God, you two really are brothers. You fight like siblings." They both whipped to look at Billy, giving him the exact same pissed off-glare. Billy laughed at them.

"Look, I'll get outta y'all's hair." He clapped Steve on the shoulder. "It's good to see you, Stevie. Hope we can catch up more. Congrats, Dustin." He trotted down the hall. Dustin grinned at Steve.

"It's GOOD to see you, STEVIE. He's totally into you. It's exhausting being right all the time." Steve slapped his arm.

The ceremony was short and sweet.

Steve stood behind Dustin, handed him a tissue when he got all misty, took one for himself when he began tearing up. He noticed Billy sitting a few rows back, noticed how his eyes were always on Steve whenever Steve's trailed over to him. He was smiling softly at him, even fucking winked at Steve, made him go red and look away. Robin noticed something off about him, noticed the way he was flushed, raised her eyebrow for her spot in the first row with Claudia. He shook his head.

The cocktail hour took place outside in the oppressive heat as the large ballroom was altered from ceremony set-up, to dinner and dancing. Steve was overseeing the transition, as Dustin was extremely specific, and someone needed to deal with it.

"You've been weird all day." Robin knocked her shoulder into his. "It finally catching up to you that one of your kids is married?"

"Mike and El have been married for like, years."

"Yeah, but Dustin is your baby." Steve rolled his eyes.

"It really doesn't bug me. I just, Billy's here. We like, talked earlier. And he kept, lookin' at me." She sighed.

"You know what I've always said about Billy. When he was coming into Scoops like, every day and being all flirty. But just, be careful he's been through a lot and, I just don't want the whole Taylor situation to happen again." He shuffled his feet.

"It won't. He seemed, happy. Like he was all bright and was, was laughing, and I've never heard him laugh like that." Her eyes were soft.

"Just be careful, Dingus."

At dinner, Steve had to give his speech.

He was a wreck, had dropped his cards, and started fucking crying a couple different times. But he got laughs in all the right places, and Claudia had cried loudly so he was feeling pretty alright about it.

He had made a point not to look at Billy the whole time, couldn't fathom looking into his bright eyes as he talked. As dinner winded to a close, the bar opened, and the music began.

Dustin and Erica's first dance was so sweet, they had chosen At Last, the Etta James number that made Steve and Claudia tear up. Lucas took Erica out next, swapping with Mr. Sinclair as Claudia took Dustin.

And then the music devolved into upbeat dance numbers, kept everyone on their feet for hours.

Steve was taking a much-needed break. Nancy had worn him out during Rio, arguably the best Duran Duran dong to ever exist according to Steve.

"You're really tearing it up out there. Nice to see your taste hasn't changed at all." Billy was leaning against the bar, was nursing an amber-colored drink. Steve sipped his pink wine.

"I stand by Duran Duran." Billy laughed, leaning forward enough for Steve to feel his warmth.

"Your speech was nice."

"Thank you! I was so fucking nervous, you have no idea." It was easy talking to Billy. Felt like not a day had passed since they were sitting on the hood of Steve's car at the quarry together, throwing rocks into the water and passing a joint back and forth.

"I wanna know everything about from these past ten years." Steve took in a big breath.

"You pretty much know it all. Took me a good while to get my shit together and get through school, finding something I'm passionate about."

"But there has to be more. A lot can happen in ten years. You dating anyone?" Steve's heart lodged itself in his throat. He blinked down at his wine.

"Not right now. Last one was, uh, it really fucked me up." Billy's hand was so warm when he placed it on Steve's shoulder.

"I'm sorry I asked. You don't gotta explain." Steve blinked, shaking himself.

"Are you, are you with someone?" Billy chuckled. He ran a hand through his hair, through the wild curls Steve was obsessed with.

"Nah. Hard to find guys that don't get weirded out by the scars. I've got a whole lotta baggage."

"Sorry, guys?" Billy gave him an odd look.

"Yeah, Harrington. Guys. I'm gay. That a problem?" It was the closest Billy had looked to his old Hawkins self, puffing his chest up.

"No, that's not a problem. Just didn't know is all. I'm, uh, I'm bisexual." Billy's eyebrows shot up.

"No shit?"

"No shit." Billy smirked at him.

"You know I've always had a thing for you." Steve choked on his wine, coughing harshly as Billy laughed, thumping him on the back.

"Don't say that shit to me. I've had the biggest stupidest fucking crush on you since I was seventeen. That summer before everything when to shit, when we were, like, hanging out, I kept thinking something was gonna, was gonna happen." Billy's smile fell.

"I know. I'm sorry, Stevie. I just, I wasn't good back then. I was so fucking angry, about moving to Hawkins, and everything with my dad, and then getting possessed, I wouldn't've been good to you. And you deserve good, Stevie. You wouldn't have grown like you did if you were always trying to take care 'a me."

"Sometimes, the growing hurt, and I, I wish some of it hadn't have happened."

"I know how that feels, Pretty Boy. But the growing, sometimes it has to hurt. Everything that happened to me, everything with that thing, it made me who I am, and for the first time in my whole life, I really like who I am." Steve took a breath.

"You know, I never got the story from you. Why you actually moved to Hawkins. You'd say something different and ridiculous every time I asked." Billy looked down at his drink.

"My dad. He caught me with a boy in my room. He said, he told me living in the midwest would straighten me out. I think he thought either I play straight or I'd get hate crimed."

"I'm sorry, Bill." He smiled at him, just one side of his mouth ticking up.

"Honestly, Pretty Boy. Like I said, everything really happens for a reason. That's what I live by now, because all that horrible shit, it led me here, and I'm okay."

"Good for you, Bill. I really mean that. You've made such a great life for yourself." Billy pressed in closer to him, made Steve's breath catch.

"Thank you, Sweet Thing. That means a lot comin' from you." He leaned even further into Steve's space. "You wanna get outta here? I've got a nice hotel room." Steve felt warmth spread down his spine. He hooked a finger into one of Billy's belt loops.

"You know, I've always loved that car 'a yours. First time I saw you get out of it, kept thinking about getting fucked in that back seat." Billy groaned, his head falling onto Steve's shoulder.

"It's parked right outside." Steve leaned to Billy's ear.

"Race ya."

They ran, giggling like little kids all the way to Billy's vintage car. Billy fumbled with the keys, dropping them twice before Steve yanked open the door, diving in the back seat.

They were still giggling as they struggled outta their clothes, making out in between items. Steve flopped down once he was undressed, pulling Billy down on top of him, laughing as Billy knocked the wind out of him.

The giggles turned to moans when Billy latched onto his neck, sucking and biting. He finally put his hand in those curls, the other trailing down his back, ghosting over the scars there.

"I love all your tattoos. So gorgeous." Billy pressed kisses down his chest. He stopped at the large scar running from the inside of Steve's collarbone a few inches down his arm.

"What's this from?" Steve stiffened under him. He sat up, brushing some hair off of Steve's forehead.

"It's, it's from a surgery I had."

"What happened?" Steve pushed his hand away from the scar.

"Shattered my collarbone." Steve was sitting up, was tugging his pants back on.

"Shit, Stevie, I'm sorry. I won't, you don't have to talk about it." Steve huffed, flopping back into the seat.

"It's okay. It's just-" He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Billy tugged his own slacks back on. "The relationship I told you about. The last one I was in." BIlly's eyes went big. He took Steve's hand.

"Stevie, I'm sorry." Steve shook his head."How long were you two together?"

"A little over four years."

"Holy shit."

"I ended things over three years ago. Packed my shit and left when he was at work. Lived with Robin after that." He crossed his arms over his middle. "I should've known too. There were, there were so many red flags, but I didn't, I never really ever felt loved, and he told me that he loved me, and so I stayed. Through everything."

"Was he your first relationship since Nancy?"

"Like, full relationship. Once I moved to the city, I let myself go wild a little bit, fucked around with a lot of different people. I thought he was it for me, thought he was the one. We moved in together after about six months." Billy placed a hand on Steve's thigh.

"I'm sorry, Baby. I know how you feel. I know how painful it is to live like that."

"I know you do. And I'm, Robin and Dustin really helped me. They helped me find a support group for queer abuse survivors, and, and Robin drove me to therapies, and I'm so much better, but it's, especially the scar, it's a painful reminder." Billy leaned over, pressing a light kiss to the center of it.

"Stevie, I really like you. I'd like to do this properly. I want to take you on a date." Steve looked at him with wide eyes.

"You, really?"

"Yeah, Baby. Been gone on you since I was sixteen years old." Steve took Billy's face between each palm, kissed him softly, smiled into it, into how right it felt, these two broken boys, these two healed men finally finding one another again.

#yikes writes #harringrove #steve harrington #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove fic #harringrove ficlet #harringrove drabble #harringrove au

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onlycags · 4 years ago

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Self-Control | Çağlar Söyüncü

Born out of an odd discussion with @words-for-marcus (because of course), please enjoy this manifestation I like to call “Yet another thing I want Çağlar Söyüncü to do to my body”

- - -

You were laying on your back in the comfortable tattoo chair, shirtless. “This is gonna look so good,” Meg, your artist, murmured as she peeled off the stencil. “Why don’t you go have a look in the mirror - make sure it’s positioned exactly where you want it.”

The moment you caught sight of yourself in the mirror, you gasped. The stencil was perfect. An intricate chest piece, the rose in the centre fanned out into leaves and miniature flowers with teardrop jewels dangling from delicate chains. It outlined your tits perfectly and added something to the rest of the ink on your body that you couldn’t quite explain.

“Thoughts?” You asked, turning to your boyfriend, Çağlar.

His eyes instantly darkened as he took in the purple stencil. “Çok seksi,” he murmured, his voice rough. So sexy.

You were half-tempted to kiss Çağlar, especially with the look on his face right now, but you didn’t. Instead, you flashed Meg a grateful smile. “It’s absolutely perfect.”

“Alright, love. Let’s get started then.”

The hum of the tattoo gun instantly put you at ease. You often found yourself at a tattoo parlour to both add to your collection and release any negative or overwhelming feelings you were experiencing at the moment. This sternum piece was something you’d wanted for years and you couldn’t believe you were finally getting it.

You’d actually met Çağlar at a different tattoo studio in Leicester that had since changed locations. You were getting stenciled while his tattoo was halfway done, the two of you chatting throughout the remaining duration of his tattoo. As you’d gone up to the counter to pay, the girl behind the counter had slid you a card with Çağlar’s number on it, saying that he’d left it for you. You worked up the courage to call him, the two of you went for a date, and now almost a year later, here you were.

You moaned a little as the tattoo gun went over a sensitive spot on your sternum. “Doing alright, love?” Meg asked, pausing.

“Yeah, thanks, babe.” You offered her a shy smile before you closed your eyes again.

Your mind wandered as the tattoo gun roamed over your skin while Meg did the linework. You couldn’t help thinking back to the first time Çağlar had used the flogger on your tits. Heat pooled between your legs as you thought about it, the vibrations from the tattoo gun going to your clit.

Çağlar watched you from his phone, occasionally looking up to see how the linework was coming along. He couldn’t wait to play with it once it had healed, but the healing process in and of itself was also fun and he couldn’t wait to rub lotion onto it for you.

Meg finished up the linework, running the paper towels over your skin. “Wanna take a look?” She asked and you nodded, getting up on shaky legs as you walked over to the full-length mirror. You didn’t want to think about the sweat streaks you’d probably left on the chair, but you were getting turned on just watching Çağlar.

“Thoughts?” You asked, turning to him.

Çağlar’s gaze ran over you and his eyes narrowed in a look you knew all too well. “Seni sonra becermek için sabırsızlanıyorum,” he murmured. I can’t wait to fuck you later.

Meg muttered something under her breath and you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “Tu dis quoi?” You asked, a total shot in the dark.

“Tu parles francais, aussi?” She asked and you nodded.

From then on, the two of you spoke in French about everything and nothing. It had been a while since you’d found someone who spoke the language and you were excited to finally flex your language muscles. It didn’t help that she was beautiful and her ink made you want to kiss all of it with your tongue while you asked her what everything meant.

During five minutes of silence while Meg was adding the colour, your mind floated back to the first time Çağlar had used nipple clamps on you and you found yourself clenching around nothing while the green on the leaves went into your skin. Sweat beaded on your upper lip and you knew you were gonna cum again just from the pain alone.

“I’ve just got one more colour to add and then we’ll be done, okay?” Meg asked in French.

“Oui,” you replied, hoping you didn’t sound too whimpery.

When it was finally done, you laid still and let Meg take pictures of the finished product from various angles for her Instagram. You tipped her well, the two of you conversing in French the whole time, making plans to meet for coffee in the near future.

“Did you have a good time?” You asked Çağlar as the two of you walked out, the bandage rustling around under your shirt.

“Of course,” Çağlar replied, kissing your temple. “I got to spend seven hours staring at your tits.”

You rolled your eyes, giggling. “And I got to spend seven hour getting tattooed and having two orgasms.”

Çağlar’s eyes darkened as he processed your words. “You what?”

You repeated yourself, smirking. “You heard me, baby.” You knew you shouldn’t have admitted it - you had to ask for every orgasm you wanted and something like this was strictly forbidden - but you couldn’t help yourself. A part of you was still up in the clouds from two orgasms, especially since you’d been denied for close to a month and now you’d just had two pain-induced orgasms in the span of seven hours.

“I don’t believe you,” Çağlar growled, his accent getting thicker and making goosebumps break out across your skin. “I was watching your body and I didn’t see any of the telltale signs of an orgasm, let alone two.”

You shrugged. “Guess I’ve just gotten good at hiding my orgasms.”

“Like hell you did. I know you and I know your body. Sen Benimsin.” You’re mine.

It had been so long since Çağlar had punished you in the way that you craved. Both of you had been busy with your careers and in the last three months, every time you had sex it was so vanilla you had wondered if you’d done something wrong.

You got back to your place, throwing him a cheeky smile as you unlocked your door. “Are you gonna punish me the way I deserve?” You whispered in his ear, nipping on his earlobe to make him groan.

The door shut behind you and you gasped when you felt Çağlar behind you as he pulled you back against him. “And then some.”

***

Thirty minutes later, you were tied securely to your bed, naked except for the bandage covering your new tattoo.

“You think I don’t know your body?” He asked, the first stroke of the riding crop on your displayed pussy making you moan into the gag. “You think I don’t know what you look like when you cum?” Another strike. “You think I haven’t been fucking you right?” Five hits all in succession had you writhing and moaning around the gag. “Well, sweetheart, I’m going to make you regret those two orgasms you stole from me in the shop today.” He paused, landing more blows specifically on your clit. “And don’t think I didn’t see the way you and Meg were flirting. This pretty pussy is gonna get all marked up.” You screamed some more behind the gag as Çağlar spread your lower lips and focused ten harsh spanks with the heel of his palm directly on your sensitive clit. “Look at that,” he breathed, his index finger tracing your entrance. “Look at that pretty little pussy pucker just - for - me.”

You tried to beg behind the gag, but you couldn’t. Çağlar watched you try to speak, chuckling at your predicament. You shrieked as he disappeared into your closet where you kept all your toys. The smirk on his face made your stomach drop - Çağlar could be merciless and you knew that this would be one of those times where he didn’t let you go until one of three things happened: 1) you used your safeword, 2) you passed out, or 3) he got everything he wanted from you.

The clamp on your clit was the first thing he applied, and for the first time that night you were glad he’d gagged you. He parted your pussy lips and held them open with duct tape that you knew would be the final bit of torture after you were spent and used. The Hitachi buzzed as Çağlar plugged it into the wall, the gleam in his eye making your pussy drip.

It wasn’t hard to slide the vibrating head of the Hitachi in your dripping cunt, making your eyes roll back in your head. Çağlar leaned down and bit the inside of your thigh - hard. You squealed against the gag. “Don’t think you’re going to get away with faking an orgasm with that eyeroll. I’m not falling for your tricks, little girl. If you’re cumming, I’m going to make sure you’re screaming my name and you can’t possibly be lying.”

Your eyes went wide.

“If I take this gag off, are you gonna be a good girl?” You nodded. “If you make a sound I don’t like, though, I’m going to put it back on and it won’t be coming off.”

“Thank you,” you whimpered, breathing heavily.

Çağlar hummed, running his hands up and down your torso, the calluses on his fingertips amplifying the sensations. He bent down, his tongue swirling in your bellybutton, the scruff of his beard making goosebumps spread across your skin. You desperately wished you weren’t tied up so you could run your fingers through his hair, but all you could do was bite your lip and take it.

“I need ice,” he murmured, getting up abruptly and leaving the bedroom.

He returned minutes later with a large glass of ice. Your stomach dipped at the sight of him towering over you, thinking about all the things he’d do to you with the ice. Your pussy clenched around the Hitachi inside you and it took all your willpower not to scream.

Çağlar took off his shirt, revealing his inked torso that always managed to leave you breathless. “Like what you see?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

You nodded, biting your lower lip to keep from making noise while you drank him in.

Çağlar’s tattoos were your favourite part of him. You loved the way the lion moved over his back; it was your favourite thing to trace, pressing kisses to it whenever he walked around the house shirtless and you could pounce on him from behind. The script on his torso over his ribs always made you bite your lip - you knew firsthand just how painful the rib tattoos were and it always turned you on to think about Çağlar sitting shirtless in the tattoo chair getting them done. Finally, there was the ink across his chest that you were constantly running your fingers over. You couldn’t deny that every inch of the Turkish centre back left you a dripping, achy mess, but the best feeling was knowing that you had the same effect on him.

You were so in your head about him that the ice touching your skin made you jump and strain against your restraints, angling the Hitachi further in your pussy. You had learned a long time ago with the vibrator that if you held still, you could last a long time but it was always Çağlar’s personal mission to make you move as much as possible.

“Soğuk?” He taunted, watching the ice melt as he moved it down your neck, your whimpery moans spurring him on further. Cold?

You weren’t going to give him anything, slipping on your passive face as you said, “Not really,” with a blank expression.

Your self-control had always been above-average. From a young age, you learned to manipulate your emotions to bend to the expectations of others, using them to get what you wanted. It was both a blessing and a curse that nobody could figure out what was going on inside your head, but somehow Çağlar was able to break through the barriers you had long-since put up. He knew just what to say and do to get you to break, and right now that was his sole focus. You knew just how good Çağlar was at getting what he wanted and if he wanted to make you truly let go and show him what you really looked like when you came, that’s what he would get, one way or another.

“It’s a shame I can’t suck on these tits tonight,” he mused, running the ice over your distended nipples. “But they already got so much action today it would be unfair to your pussy.”

His gaze flickered to your face and he smirked at you, the ice and his fingers trailing down to rest in your bellybutton. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as Çağlar held the ice in place, letting it melt and pool in your bellybutton until it filled and spilled over, running down your sides and down your pussy.

Çağlar reached into the glass again. “Açık.” Open.

You opened your mouth, watching as he placed an ice cube on your tongue. “Keep your mouth open - I wanna watch it melt.”

Another ice cube, this time he settled between your legs, running the frozen water along the insides of your tattooed thighs. His tongue followed the water droplets, licking and sucking all the sensitive spots he’d long-ago discovered. You squirmed, the Hitachi hitting your g-spot as the melting ice dripped from your tongue and traveled down your chin, mirroring your dripping cunt.

“Are you close?” Çağlar asked, his nose accidentally brushing the clamp on your clit, making you whimper. “If you are, I’ll take the clamp off and then we can really get started.”

You were torn between wanting to keep the clamp on and letting Çağlar take it off so you could have what would no-doubt be a mind-blowing orgasm. In a moment of pure, unadulterated need, you nodded.

Çağlar’s fingers paused over the clamp. “You’ve gotta swallow first.”

The last of the ice had melted and you did as he asked, swallowing the meager drops of water that had managed to stay inside your mouth.

“Good girl.”

The rush of blood to your clit almost pushed you over the edge but you refused to give Çağlar the satisfaction. His lips kissed your clit, followed quickly by the melting ice. Your hips bucked off the bed, a feral whimper leaving your mouth.

“Finally - a reaction,” he mumbled, reaching for the riding crop again. “Since you’ve cum twice from pain today, I see no reason why you can’t do it a third time.”

“Sir-” you were cut off by the riding crop on your clit.

“Not tonight, baby. You say my name or nothing at all.”

“Çağlar!”

Another slap. “Better.” He reached for the Hitachi, changing the angle.

“Çağlar, please!” You were unravelling and you both knew it.

“Eight more,” he commanded. “You cum on the last one.”

Çağlar watched you come undone with the next seven slaps, a plan forming. He struck your clit harder than any of the previous nine strokes you’d received, watching as you had the most mind-blowing orgasm of your life. He held your hips down, his mouth latching onto your clit to draw every last sensation out of you lost control.

“Please!” You moaned once you’d regained the ability to speak. “The vibrator. Take it out!”

You whimpered when Çağlar took the still-vibrating Hitachi out of you and turned it off. The duct tape on your lower lips was next, one final infliction of pain as he took the tape off. You were anxious for Çağlar to untie you - the restraints were fun while you were in that space, but the moment you got what you needed from them, you wanted them off - your hands reaching for him while he untied you.

The moment you were free, you launched yourself into his arms, burying your fingers in his hair, your legs wrapping around his waist, your lips on his. You always got needy after sessions like that, but Çağlar never said anything, letting you take the comfort from him that you needed.

Çağlar helped you take the bandage off when it was time, his hands gently running over the fresh ink, patting you dry lightly. “You’re so bruised,” he murmured when he noticed the marks forming in some areas. “I don’t like it when you’re marked up and it’s not my doing.”

You smiled looking up at him. “You already marked me up so much tonight, I think you’ll live.” You groaned when he slid a hand between your legs.

“I’m sure I will.”

#cags writing #cags originals

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pain-somnia · 5 years ago

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‘cuffed

pairing: sasusaku rating: m (I cannot stress enough that the rating is for sexual content) disclaimer day’s notes: read this drabble here to see where the inspiration came from. It was supposed to stay as just something funny but there was slight demand for continued smut.

sorry for this long ass author’s note but I do want to preface this fic with a little bit of a warning: This fic in no way is a reflection of a proper real life BDSM relationship because of the lack of communication before the physical aspect of the relationship started. Before entering the scenario phase of a dom(me)/sub relationship, communication is vital for the safety of the sub. I actually have a tag that you can read through if you would like more information which you can read here. It is of course in no way a full list because of the tumblr purge but it's somewhere to get started.

This of course covers my headcanon that Sakura is a sub in all universes/relationships so if that isn't your thing, this may not be the fic for you. It also covers my dom!Sasuke headcanon, him teasing his wife at the end of Gaiden kind of set that off lol. Being a sub can be quite liberating and empowering in a proper relationship. Doms tend to spoil their subs, so if you ever run into a case where there are only punishments and no rewards, especially in the aftercare part, that's a big red flag. Subs hand that power over to the dom, the doms don't have it without a sub, and a sub can take it back whenever they want.

okay, enough PSA, here's the fic under the cut and I hope you all enjoy the smuff!

He ended up calling.

Sakura wasn’t entirely sure why he would considering their interaction didn’t exactly paint her in the best light, but he didn’t trash the receipt Ino had handed him and he called her.

Sasuke was much more of a gentleman than Sakura expected. He told her he “would break her” so she wasn’t expecting to be treated so gently.

He opened car doors and walked her to her doorstep, never trying to get past the door. Sasuke would text her, asking her how she was and offer to pick up something for her if she needed it. When they went out to the movies he let her curl up into his side and cuddled with her in the dark of the theater without letting his hands wander.

Sakura never had to argue with him about the bill at restaurants. He was always ready to pay for them both and if she snatched it from his hand to pay for them he would let her have her way. She got drunk once—really drunk—and she dragged him by his shirt into her apartment. Sakura woke up, completely dressed to Sasuke making her a light breakfast and a blanket and pillow on the couch, a sign of where he had spent the night.

The man even rubbed her feet when she had a long day and her feet hurt from the heels she wore to work. He would massage her feet, hands soothing the muscles of her calves as well, and then those hands wouldn’t wander higher than her knee.

It was nice to get spoiled for once, but their relationship started because she couldn’t contain her thirst and Ino took advantage of that. Sakura wished that Sasuke would do more with those strong hands. Put them in places she ached━for him to make her come apart.

It’s what she wanted. So why did she tense up at the clicking sound above her head and the feel of cool steel against her wrists?

Weeks of dating and Sakura wanted more. She made herself cute and headed over to Sasuke’s apartment with a bag of groceries with the intention of wining and dining him with a home cooked meal in the comfort of his own home where they could be alone.

She liked when they were alone. As obviously sweet as he was to her, it was all done with such subtlety that it was like it wasn’t there at all. At least not in public.

Sakura liked that there was a Sasuke only she knew, a side of him just for her. But there were more sides that she wanted to discover.

Sasuke had barely finished washing up the dishes he insisted on taking care of on his own when Sakura got to tugging on his arm, pulling him toward the couch in the living room. She pushed him onto the plush three-seater and straddled his lap. Sakura was enjoying the languid kisses and the way Sasuke’s hands slid up and then back down her back. He smoothed them over her hips and grabbed her firm backside, groping her through her skirt. She loved being caged in his arms, feeling small and safe.

In one smooth movement, Sasuke stood up, easily lifting her in the process. He cradled her thighs in his hands, securing them to his torso as he carried her off to his bedroom. This is what Sakura wanted when she first saw his bulging biceps peeking out from underneath the short sleeves of his police uniform. The black ink of his tattoos wrapping around the curves and dips of his muscular arms had her itching to trace the contours of his body.

“I would break you.”

Sakura tried to put her arms back down after Sasuke had lifted them above her head only for her to feel resistance and metal around her wrists. He handcuffed her. She hadn’t even seen him grab the cuffs, too distracted by the way he slid her blouse off and sucked on her pulse point and down her chest. He bit her nipple through her bra and when Sakura attempted to reach behind herself to unhook it, Sasuke had taken her wrists in his hands and slammed them above her head. She gasped and Sasuke took advantage of her shock to mold his lips with hers, sinking his tongue into her mouth, tracing the bit of of her mouth behind her teeth with the tip before folding it around her own tongue.

It was nice and more to what she expected. Sasuke was still soft with her, pressing against her carefully so he wouldn’t crush her under his weight. It wasn’t until he had let go of her arms to ghost his fingers down her sides that she realized that something was wrong.

Sakura attempted to reach for him, to pull him back to kiss her more when he started pressing open mouth kisses down her sternum toward her navel when her wrists were pulled back by the cuffs.

“Did you just—?”

“You’re the one that wanted to be ‘cuffed.” Sasuke flipped up her skirt and tugged on the waistband of her panties, sliding them down her thighs and calves.

The more she pulled her arms the more the chain of the handcuffs clanked around one of the poles of the headrest. The iron headboard had stood out originally because it wasn’t a contemporary style, but she figured Sasuke didn’t care for that despite the fact that a headboard with storage would be more practical.

It was clear now that the iron barred headboard was very practical for Sasuke’s use.

The more she struggled the more her wrists chafed. It was a peculiar feeling having no use of her hands. She couldn’t guide Sasuke to where she wanted him, not unless she voiced what she wanted.

Peering down her torso, she caught Sasuke watching her face as he continued to lavish her with lazy wet kisses on the skin right above the waistband of her skirt. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes and Sakura wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.

Sasuke ducked his head under her skirt and was out of her line of sight. At first he was still and Sakura frowned, unsure of what he was planning to do? It should have been obvious but with the way he kept her skirt on and shielded his body from his head down past his shoulder blades she wasn’t completely sure. But then he moved.

Sasuke’s teeth scraped against the side of her knee before he pressed a kiss to the area. Sakura felt his lips ghost down her inner thigh, his hair brushing against her skin. Sakura’s stomach felt tight from the anticipation as he crept closer and closer and then suddenly he pulled away, repeating the same treatment to the other leg.

Closer...closer…

The chains chimed again as they hit the bar holding Sakura’s arms up above her head. She had tried to reach for her skirt and then dig her hands into Sasuke’s hair. A whine got caught in her throat as she squirmed, trying to get Sasuke’s lips closer to her folds.

As soon as she started wiggling, two strong hands grabbed her thighs and pressed them down on the mattress. Sasuke pulled out from under her skirt and narrowed his eyes at her.

“I have more handcuffs if you’re going to keep moving like that,” he warned, voice husky. Sakura squeaked and shook her head. She relaxed in her restraints and inhaled and exhaled deeply to calm down. “Good.”

He ducked back under her skirt and she could feel his hot breath against her moist folds and she shivered at the sensation. He said to stop moving so maybe if she listened he would finally touch her where she wanted him to.

It was a strange predicament to be in. Yes she was tied up, but she wasn’t suffering for it. Sakura wanted to touch him back, slip his shirt off, and run her fingers along the hard planes of his abdomens. She wanted to lick her way down the hard cut of his adonis belt and hear his breath hitch from what she did to him, but at the moment all she could do was sit back and feel and all she could think about was how spoiled she was to not have to do anything.

“Sasuke, I━” Sakura gasped as Sasuke’s tongue made contact with her nether lips. He clutched her thighs with his hands and spread her legs to gain more access. She still couldn’t see his face, but she didn’t need to in order to know what he was planning.

She felt him spread her lips open and probe her with his tongue. Lazy little flicks at first before he took one of her lips into his mouth and sucked on it. He pressed open mouth kisses, licking and nipping everywhere but avoiding her clit, which Sakura was sure he was doing on purpose. Sakura squeezed her thighs together, drawing him closer and causing his nose to dig into her folds and rub against her clit. The nudge was enough to send to send a shockwave from that collective bundle of nerves and up her spine. She tried to hold tight and grind against him, chasing that moment of pleasure.

But the moment of stimulation ended quickly when Sasuke pulled away from her, licking his lips as he glared at her. He sat on his knees and raised a brow at her as she huffed in frustration.

“Quit teasing,” Sakura demanded, wrapping her legs around his hips and trying to pull him back to her. The next thing she knew, Sasuke had grabbed her hips and flipped her over. She cried out when the skin of her wrists pinched against the handcuffs when her arms crossed above her.

She hissed from the pain, cursing as she realized that in her new position she was a lot more vulnerable and exposed.

“I thought I told you not to move,” Sasuke murmured against her ear. He dragged a single finger down her spine, causing a tingle to run down her back.

“Technically,” Sakura argued, her words slightly muffled by the pillow underneath her face, “what you told me was that you had more handcuffs.”

“I should get those,” Sasuke murmured against her nape, kissing his way to her shoulder blades. “Considering you refuse to behave.”

He gave her one last kiss between her shoulder blades and Sakura felt the mattress dip on one side as he reached for something. The mattress dipped again as he straddled her legs to make sure she didn’t move. He took one of her ankles in his hand and bent her knee to lift her foot up enough so he could kiss her ankle and then slip a leather cuff. She felt him pull on the strap with his fingers tucked between her skin and the leather to ensure that it was tight but not too tight. He then repeated the process on the other leg.

As soon as she was strapped into the cuffs, Sakura moved her legs to test the range of movement he left her. She was able to spread her legs and bring them together. She explored her limited range, curious as to why there was so much chain in the handcuffs. He left her with the ability to attempt to sit up on her knees. The handcuffs above her head, chaining her to the headboard, were far more restrictive.

“These have more slack than the regulation cuffs,” he informed her. “But that’s for my comfort, not yours.”

For some reason that didn’t sound like the truth. Sasuke’s words contradicted his actions. He had placed the cuffs on her ankles but if she moved her foot she could feel the space he had left her so that she wouldn’t injure herself.

Face down and with her ass up, she felt the balance. As low and dark as his voice got, as tightly as he held her down...Sakura still felt safe. It fucked with her mind, and yet it didn’t stop her from getting wet.

It didn’t help that while the skin of her wrists kept pinching, Sasuke was stroking her folds and dipping his middle and index fingers in and out of her, but only entering as deep as the first set of knuckles. He would press them to the roof of her walls and then drag them out slowly against her folds and then back in.

Sakura whimpered and spread her thighs apart a bit, pleading with him to stop his teasing. “Please, Sasuke?” She swallowed deeply and pushed herself lightly against his hand. “Deeper?”

“How deep do you want it?” Sasuke leaned over her body and murmured against the spot below her ear, kissing her neck. He sank his fingers a millimeter further in and dragged them out.

“Deeper than that,” Sakura whined. He was going to make everything difficult for her. “And faster.”

Sakura didn’t realize he could go any slower than he already was until she had requested a faster pace.

“Please go faster.”

“Good.” Sasuke pressed a kiss to the back of her nape and dragged his teeth down her left shoulder blade, all while thrusting his fingers at a much more desirable pace.

Snaking a hand under her, Sakura felt his hand travel up her stomach and then grab one of her small breasts, squeezing it through the cup of her bra.

“How are you doing?” Sasuke asked as he slid his fingers under her bra and rolled nipple until it pebbled. He tugged on it as he pressed open mouthed kisses down her back and continued to thrust his fingers in and out of her, occasionally swiping at her clit when he stroked her folds before inserting them back into her wet heat.

Sakura moaned in response, grinding down on his hand, trying to take his fingers in deeper.

Mind hazy, Sakura felt his lips descending down the curve of her spine. He kissed a straight path lower until he reached her bottom. Removing his hand from her breast Sakura felt him take one cheek in hand, rubbing it with his thumb before he—

Sakura cried out when he sank his teeth in the fleshy part of her ass cheek. He had bitten her hard enough that she was sure that there would be a mark.

“Wait, no—don’t!” Sakura bemoaned the loss of his fingers when he removed them to slide them up over her other cheek, squeezing both of them and spreading them apart. “What are you—“

Sakura felt his warm breath against her folds once more, as he pulled her closer to his face. Her wrists pinched again as he dragged his tongue against her core and probing her with the tip. She arched into him, chasing the pleasure of his mouth on her even though it increased the chafing from the handcuffs. It was give and take, a little pain for a little pleasure.

Sasuke bit her clit between his teeth before sucking it into his mouth. Rolling his tongue around it he suckled on it and used his fingers again until he had her crying out.

“Sakura,” he spoke against her wet folds, her name vibrating against her flesh. “How are you holding up?”

Her wrists hurt and she wasn’t having the best time breathing, partially from how her body was positioned but also partially because she couldn’t catch her breath from the way she panted as Sasuke touched her.

“Can I be on my back instead?” Coming down from her high, the discomfort of her position was no longer easy to ignore. “Please.”

“Sure thing,” Sasuke answered, pressing a kiss to the base of her spine. Sakura felt his hands working on the cuffs that held her legs down. When he removed a cuff he rolled her ankle in between his palms, massaging it.

When she was free of the restraints on her legs, Sakura struggled to right herself so that she could flip on her back. Carefully, Sasuke turned her over so that she was looking up at him again.

“How about the hands?” Sakura lifted her wrists so that the chain clanked against the metal bar. She wanted her hands free so she could remove all of the clothing that Sasuke still had on. She was practically naked and he hadn’t even removed his shirt.

“No.” A soft smile was gifted to her. “I think I’ll keep you like this.”

“You’re being unfair.”

“I could always,” Sasuke took hold of her calves and folded her body upward so that her feet were over her head and against the bars, “leave you like this instead.”

“No thank you,” Sakura squeaked, although she couldn’t prevent the clenching of the muscles of her vaginal walls at the thought. The position was positively lewd and she was even more exposed then when he had her on her stomach. “This is embarrassing.”

“Is it?” Sasuke smirked down at her before cocking his head to the side, seemingly contemplating leaving her how she was. “Then maybe I really should leave you like this.”

What happened to her gentle boyfriend? Sakura’s mouth ran dry as he held her ankles up and pressed his groin against her bare folds. Sasuke rocked back and forth against her with his hardening cock still hidden beneath his jeans.

“You’re soaking through my pants.” Sasuke leered at her before pressing further down against her. Sakura thanked God that she had always been flexible, keeping up with her stretches even after leaving gymnastics behind.

“I would have,”Sakura panted between kisses, “had you out of those already if you hadn’t ‘cuffed me.”

“Oh, really?” Sasuke dragged his lips down the line of her throat, sucking on her pulse point and then her clavicle. “Sounds like you had plans for me. Too bad I got in the way of them, huh?”

Sasuke’s hands slid down her calves to her knees, relaxing her muscles from the tight stretch they had been in as he sucked on the skin on the top of Sakura’s breasts. He kept easing the tension of her leg muscles as he set her legs over his shoulders.

“I just want to touch you too.”

Sasuke paused in his path back down her torso. He looked at Sakura for a moment before he pulled back, setting her legs back down on the bed.

“Okay.” Sasuke straddled her, resting his knees on the mattress by her chest. He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans. He pulled himself out of his pants and stroked his cock. “You can touch me, but only with your mouth.”

Swallowing deeply, Sakura shakily nodded her head. It wasn’t as if she could get herself out of the handcuffs anyway and it was still something she had planned to do anyway.

Sakura opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue. She stroked the underside of the head of his cock and flattened it along his slit. She dipped the tip of her tongue into the slit and raised an eyebrow up at Sasuke. She could feel his legs trembling around her body from where she lay beneath him.

“Give me more,” she pleaded with a pout. If that was all she could work with, she wanted as much of him as possible. He adjusted himself and thrust gently into her mouth. She stroked him with her tongue until Sasuke had thrust deep enough to satisfy her and she tightened her mouth by sucking in her cheeks.

“Fuck,” Sasuke hissed. He cupped her face in his hands, forehead resting against the wall behind his bed as he looked down at her. “I think that’s enough,” he breathed out softly.

If she had the use of her hands, Sakura would have held onto his hips, keeping him right where he was. Instead she sucked her cheeks in even tighter causing Sasuke to moan and shut his eyes tight.

“Sakura,” he warned, “are you sure this is how you want me to come?”

Sakura paused in her sucking, loosening her hold on him. If he came, that was it. She would have to wait for his refractory period to end and who knew if he would keep her handcuffed the whole time or not. She opened her mouth, dropping his cock from her mouth.

Sasuke scooted back until he was between her legs again, sitting up on his knees. He narrowed his eyes at her before his face softened into a smug grin.

“You keep misbehaving.” He clucked his tongue at her, gripping his cock in hand. “I should just finish myself off and have you watch.”

“No,” Sakura whimpered softly, watching him stroke himself. That was what she was supposed to be doing.

Sasuke took the hem of his shirt and bit the bottom of it, holding it away from his crotch and stomach. Without any shame he played with himself, keeping his eyes on Sakura, only lowering them from her face to leer at her form. He forced her to watch while she couldn’t touch him or herself.

So unfair. Sakura moaned, watching as Sasuke’s abdominal muscles clenched with each downward stroke. She couldn’t even press her thighs together to hide her increasing wetness with how he spread her legs apart to sit between them.

“Where should I come, Sakura?” Sasuke asked with a teasing lilt in his voice. “Stomach? Thighs? Face, if you’re into that? It would be your ass but you did want to be on your back.”

Sakura chewed on her lower lip. “You’re talking so much more than usual,” she sighed. “So talkative only when you want to torture me.”

“That’s not an answer,” Sasuke reprimanded. “If you don’t decide soon, it won’t be up to you.”

“Inside,” Sakura pleaded. “I’m on birth control—it’s safe!—just please, put it in.”

“Good choice,” he grunted, grabbing her thighs and spreading them on his lap. The head of his cock brushed along her folds and upwards, nudging her clit. Sakura shivered in anticipation.

Sasuke guided himself until the head was nestled between her folds. Sakura held her breath, waiting for him to finally thrust inside.

“You know what? I changed my mind.”

“What!?” Sakura cried. “What do you mean you━ah!”

Sakura arched her back, rising as much as she could from the mattress as Sasuke interrupted her with a single quick thrust, filling her up with as much of his cock he could fit inside of her. Sakura’s inner muscles fluttered around him and Sasuke smirked down at her as she hit her second orgasm of the evening.

“Did you just come?” Sasuke taunted her, thrusting without giving her a chance to come down from her high.

With every thrust she cried out, overly sensitive and dizzy from the assault on her senses. Sakura’s wrists were pushed and pulled━the metal pinching her skin repeatedly━with every snap of Sasuke’s hips.

“Wanna come again?”

Not trusting her words, Sakura nodded her head furiously, only for Sasuke to pull out of her. She choked on a bereft moan. She watched in disbelief as Sasuke gave his shaft two quick pumps and spilled his ejaculant all over her thighs.

“You—you said you would—“

Sasuke cut her off again by slipping his fingers into her folds and pumping them in and out of her, swiping his thumb over her clit. Leaning over her, Sasuke took her lower lip into his mouth and sucked on it before melding his lips with hers. He swallowed her moans and with his hand brought her to the final release she was chasing.

“You said you would let me pick where you came,” Sakura grumbled against his mouth between kisses.

“Next time,” Sasuke chuckled, kissing her forehead. “Maybe.”

“What do you mean maybe?” Sakura questioned him as he stood from the bed and tucked himself back into his jeans.

“Maybe means maybe.” He shrugged his shoulders and walked out of the room. There was a thumping sound like that of a dryer before he returned and without a single glance in her direction, Sasuke slipped into the en suite.

Did he just━? He just left me here!

Sakura kicked her feet in frustration. She heard the water the sound of the shower being started and let out a curse. She was sated and exhausted and was done with this little game. She was just about to shout for Sasuke to free her so she could go home when he returned.

“Shower is ready,” he explained, finally unlocking the handcuffs. Slowly, he set Sakura’s arms back down at her sides. Supporting her, he lifted her so that she could sit up and took a wrist in hand, examining it. “You did really good. After you get cleaned up, a soak in the bath will help the soreness.”

With an unsurprising ease, Sasuke lifted her up, cradling her in his arms. Sakura tucked her head under his chin and let herself be carried to the bathroom. Sasuke sat her on the counter of the sink and helped her unhook her bra and slide her skirt off. Gingerly he placed her inside the shower cabin and helped her clean up all of the sweat and grime. Carefully and without any lecherous intent, he cleaned his ejaculate from her thighs and helped her lather the lavender soap all over her body.

“Do you want to wash your hair?” Sasuke asked softly, rinsing her off with the retractable shower head. Sakura nodded and he placed it back on it’s hook, grabbing the shampoo and massaging it into her hair.

Sakura sighed, content with the attention. “Are you going to shower too?”

“Later.” Sasuke shut the water off and guided Sakura to the tub.

One of the things Sakura was jealous of was Sasuke’s beautiful en suite. She didn’t think it would take getting chained to his bed in order to actually use the large tub.

“Is the temperature alright?” Sakura nodded in response and slid into the water. She sighed and closed her eyes, enjoying the heat on her sore arms. “I’m going to leave you for a sec, alright?”

Sasuke kissed the top of her head and turned on the jets to the tub and Sakura slipped further into the water until her shoulders were covered. She was just beginning to doze off when the bathroom was permeated with the scent of chocolate. Sakura opened one eye and caught Sasuke sitting on the edge of the tub with the blue and cloud printed mug she always used when she had tea in his home.

“You made me hot chocolate?”

“Yeah, with some cinnamon.” Sasuke set it down on the edge of the tub and then headed to the shower to finally clean up. He was a lot quicker with his own shower than the one he helped Sakura with. “I’m going to get you some clothes and toss yours into the wash. Let me know when you want to get out of the tub.”

“I might just live here,” Sakura giggled. The heat was heavenly and the bubbles from the jets were pleasant.

Sakura let Sasuke run off and clean up around his bedroom. She could hear him removing the sheets from his bed and collecting the handcuffs he had used on her. She took her time sipping her hot chocolate, listening to the sounds of Sasuke fixing up his bed and using the washer. Just as he had told her he would, he brought her a fluffy towel and a t-shirt of his and a pair of boxer shorts.

“I’m good now,” Sakura declared as she drained the tub. She carefully pulled herself out and dried off before changing.

Sakura had barely slipped the t-shirt over her head when Sasuke was back in the bathroom and massaging her arms with an amazing smelling lotion. It was minty with a hint of eucalyptus and was probably for the soreness of her muscles.

“Come here.” Sasuke let her walk this time, but he held her hand, guiding her back to the bed. He grabbed a cashmere blanket from the foot of his bed and wrapped her up. The blanket was warm as if he had tumbled it on low heat in the dryer before bringing it out to her. It solved the mystery of what he had been running in the dryer while she was still ‘cuffed to his bed.

“What now?” She asked, curious as to what he had in store for her. It was an odd night, she couldn’t deny that. He was sweet during dinner, than rough with her, but now he was back to being gentle, possibly more so than before.

“That’s up to you.” Sasuke sat on his bed and brought her down so that she was sitting sideways on his lap, still wrapped up in the warm blanket.

“This is nice.” Sakura settled in his hold, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. She gripped his shirt in her hand, just glad to be able to touch him properly. “Just this is fine.”

Sakura could feel him nod his head as his chin brushed against the top of her head. Sasuke stood up and set her back down in bed, crawling in after her and pulling her against him. She pressed her ear to his chest, and listened to the steady beating of his heart.

“You can totally handcuff me again some other time.”

Sasuke snorted, only shifting his body to get more comfortable. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” She hummed, snuggling against him. “As long as you cuddle with me after.”

“Deal.”

day’s notes: i hope you liked the fic. i was asked if i would write more for this au but i’m not sure

#sasusaku #ss fanfiction #day!fics

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stetervault · 5 years ago

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Hi there could you possibly recommend your personal fave steter (or stetopher) fics from this year? :) Appreciate your blog!

This is so late, sorry. I haven’t been on to do more than queue a few posts lately. But recent faves, I can do that. Here are some off the top of my head:

Call Me, Call Me Any, Anytime by Triangulum

In which Stiles is a phone sex operator, Peter is searching for his soulmate, and Erica has a telephonic ding dong ditcher.

Rewriting the future by Synesthetic (this one finished recently but started like three years ago, it’s very good if you’re into abo verse with plot)

Two days before their planned bonding, alpha Derek Hale runs away with his secret beta girlfriend, leaving Stiles heartbroken. With the demands of his omega physiology forcing him to bond with someone before his first heat, Derek’s uncle Peter steps in and offers a solution.

Keep You (Safe) Within my Shadow by lavenderlotion

Stiles has never been scared of the dark. The shadows are his friends.

Pin Feathers and Primaries by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids) (wing fic + fluffy hurt/comfort + sexy times, what more do you need ;))

Peter’s wings remained sensitive after his resurrection.

They were perfect again; perfect white coverts with perfect black primaries. Perfectly glossy feathers, perfectly oiled and perfectly clean. No more twisted flesh. No more mangled plumage. No more broken blood feathers, jaggedly screaming for relief.

His wings were perfect.

The were perfect, and it chafed him that he had to remind himself of that now rather than simply know.

Wind Chimes by wynnebat (SO GOOD, i want like 50k more ugh)

“Why are you here?” Peter asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. “I can understand curiosity, but Stiles, you have visited me nearly every day for years. It can’t be that simple.”

Stiles shrugs. It’s both simple and not. For him, who grew up with the wind, who is inseparable from it in the best of ways, it is absurdly simple. For Peter, who doesn’t trust the wind as Stiles does, it may not be. “The wind says you’re mine. That’s all I need.”

A Love for Millennia (a story never told) by OneSmartChicken

Stiles had to go into the woods that night. It didn’t make sense. She was lured by the sense of adventure, but there was a more that dragged at her.

Or: Stiles is the only one to realize she and Peter are soulmates. She doesn’t mention it.

Signal on the Mountain by bellefire (this is a wip but i really like this one, the train station realm in the Ghost Riders arc had so much potential for worldbuilding/development, I have like half a dozen ideas based on that myself lmao and one of these days maybe i’ll even finish one fml. anyway, definitely check this one out, idk what Archive 81 is but i understood everything fine.)

In which Peter and Stiles find a way out of the station on their own and the two end up somewhere else. Somewhere familiar and altogether different. A place in between, where time is different, strange creatures roam and all the while the world outside moves on, unstoppable as a train.

Robber Foxes (Have No Fears) by RayShippouUchiha (wip but another big fave, i am eagerly waiting for the next chapter)

In the end all Stiles really has left is his dad, a lonely house, the key and deed to the loft, and a chest filled up with emptiness.

A void, yawning right behind his sternum.

That and the laughter of a fox trapped right beneath his skin, echoing in the hollows of his skull, whispering behind his teeth.

Stiles should have known it wasn’t over.

Magic stains everything it touches after all.

From Ashes Rebuilt by ambersagen (murderbaby!stiles)

“You shouldn’t be alive,” Stiles finally admitted. He sounded sorry, smelled like anxiety and hunched in on himself as he fell back from Peter to land in the dented chair. “I heard the doctors telling your niece. She wasn’t quiet about it, and no one cares if I’m around anyway so I heard the whole thing, about your burns. I snuck in to see you.”

“Like a sideshow freak,” Peter sneered, starting to understand.

“Like a miracle,” Stiles corrected.

You Are A Call To Motion by neglectedtuesday

Here at Hale Industries ® we don’t believe in limiting one’s pleasure. That’s why we’re dedicated to bringing our clientele the best in Jackbot technology. Whether you’re a busy dom in need of a service sub or a baby boy desperate for an Alien Daddy, Hale Industries ® has the perfect bot for you. Built to your specifications, our customer service team is devoted to building a bot that will never fail to meet your needs. And if you discover something new you want to try, you can subscribe to our monthly upgrade packages in order to add or remove kinks at your leisure.

Hale Industries ® - The Only Limits Are The Ones We Place On Ourselves.

Here Begins the Land of Phantoms by Triangulum

Stiles is four and scared of the dark. There are things in the shadows of his room, whispering to him, showing him terrible, violent things.

There’s something in the basement, too. He can feel it while he’s sitting on the old, worn sofa, its presence curling around the edges of the room. He thinks he can see something sometimes, a mass shimmering in the corner, but he always looks away. He doesn’t want to know.

Peter is a demon that lives in the Stilinskis’ basement.

Where I Want to Be by Tahlruil

Peter wasn’t exactly surprised when he ‘woke up’ in hell.

He’d known his wounds were fatal as soon as he’d gotten them. In truth he’d never expected to still be standing after his quest for revenge had been completed. What mattered was taking the Argent family down with him and making sure they died before he did. Peter had saved Kate and Gerard for last; they had looked into his eyes as they bled out. They had known that he was the instrument of their family’s doom and he couldn’t ask for more than that.

On Edge by Bunnywest

“What do you mean, Stiles is missing?” Peter demands, scowling at the phone.“Missing, Hale! Can you help find him or not?” The sheriff’s voice cracks, and Peter can tell he’s out of his mind with worry. Peter doesn’t blame him.

In which Stiles gets bitten by a rogue alpha and bolts into the preserve, terrified and out of control.Peter’s the one best qualified to find him, because Stiles is Peter’s mate.Peter maybe hasn’t quite gotten around to telling him that part yet, but Stiles is his, and he’s damned if he’s going to lose him to some feral alpha.He’s going to find his boy, bring him home, and as for the rest? Well, Peter has a plan.It’s Peter. He always has a plan.

Kissing Air by Ragga

“Listen, I’m going to be straight with you. Just before I arrived, I—figured out some very alarming things that I feel you should know.”

Peter tilted his head. His eyes roamed over Chris’ face before flicking over to his steadily beating chest.

“What is it?”

“You should stay away from Stilinski.”

Roots of Silver by Werif_esteria

Peter stalks through the narrow confines of his kitchen three times before the Alpha madness clears from his mind and he can finally figure out what it is that’s changed the air in his home.

He’s not alone.

And from the newest batch of Steter fics that just came out for Steter Reverse Bang, I’ve only had time to read these two:

Into Eden by GracieBirdie

Stiles deciding to bring home the stray alpha he’d hit with his jeep probably made him certifiable, if it hadn’t turned out Peter was as crazy as he was.

Something Powerful Between Your Thighs by Bunnywest

Someone’s actually replied.Fuck.

I’ll give you what you need, pretty boy. And you can call me Sir.

The hairs on the back of Stiles’s neck prickle at that, and his dick throbs. He clicks on the profile and the picture that pops up is UN-FUCKING-FAIR. Jesus Christ on a bicycle, nobody should look like that. The man’s staring into the camera, a smile that’s almost a sneer on his face. And what a face it is. Intense blue eyes, cheekbones like cut glass, and a strong jawline covered in the perfect amount of stubble. His neck, what Stiles can see of it, is thickly muscled, and Stiles can see the beginnings of a tattoo that travels down. There’s the tiniest scattering of grey at his temples, and Stiles breathes out, “Oh yes, Sir,” as he drinks in the details on the profile.

#teen wolf #steter #stiles stilinski #peter hale #fanfic rec #ask #anonymous

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let-it-raines · 5 years ago

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Hi! So, I just saw an interview to Kit Harington from GOT, and he's got the most ridiculous moustache because of some proyect that he's filming or something. Can I request a one-shot in the BotB universe where Killian has some ugly/funny/ridiculous hairstyle or beard or moustache for one of his movies and Emma can't have sex with him or just simply look at him without laughging? And the talk shows' people find about it and ask about it in every interview or something. Thank you!

Hi, nonnie! I’ve been saving your ask for awhile now (I had to finish the story first), and I’m too thrilled to get to answer it now! And to the others who have sent me Betting on the Bullseye prompts, I’m working on them ❤️

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tag list: @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @andiirivera @superchocovian @cs-forlife @qualitycoffeethings @notoriouscs @mariakov81 @jonirobinson64 @bmbbcs4evr @thejollyroger-writer @lifeinahole27 @ultimiflos @galaxyzxstark @idristardis

-/-

He settles down in the bed, pulling the covers up over his shoulders and inching closer to Emma until he can get one arm slung over her waist and the other underneath the pillow, his chin on her shoulder and her feet tucked between his calves. Her moving her feet is how he knows that there’s still some kind of consciousness left in her and that she’s not dead to the world as she slumbers.

“You smell good,” she mumbles, and he smiles at that, spreading his hand out across the width of her stomach and tapping his fingers against her skin as he nuzzles further into her.

Working these long days on set has been killing him physically, but mostly it’s been killing him emotionally as he’s away from Emma and McKenzie, only really seeing Emma on the rare occasions that he’s home in time for her to go to sleep. He’s thankful that he’s shooting in LA so that they’re not far apart distance wise, but it doesn’t feel that way sometimes when he only sees his wife when she’s asleep and only sees his baby girl when she’s in that post-nap phase where she could care less that Daddy is home and all she wants to do is play with her toys. The ache he feels missing them almost reminds him of being away filming during the early stages of Emma’s pregnancy with his Kenzie girl, but that may have been far worse as he very literally couldn’t be there to hold her when she was suffering through nausea and fatigue.

At least he can hold her for all of that now even when he’s not around as often.

“It’s my aftershave,” he whispers in response, turning his head and kissing just below her ear, pressing his nose into her skin as he works at the skin there, listening to the little moan Emma elicits. God, he loves that. “The one you bought me for my birthday. Good to know that you – ”

Emma very suddenly twists in his arms, kneeing him in the stomach and kicking at his calves as she lands on his hand and is staring at him with their noses less than an inch apart, her lips parted and eyes widened with her brows raised.

“What the hell happened to you face?”

He recoils is head, furrowing his own brows while he looks into her eyes and tries to understand just what about his face has her so shocked. Is he bleeding and hasn’t realized it? Did he nick himself shaving? Is he getting a black eye from filming? Did he get hit without noticing?

“What do you mean, love?” he questions, pulling his hand out from underneath her to grab onto her waist, squeezing her hip as Emma’s hand rises to touch his cheek.

“You shaved, KJ,” she whispers, almost as if she can’t accept the words she’s saying.

“Aye, I know. I shave all of the time.”

“But, babe,” she continues, her fingers moving up and down his cheek, seemingly unable to stop touching him everywhere that she can get her hands on, not that he would ever mind that, “you never shave all of the hair on your face off. You just trim your scruff. It’s so…”

“Handsome? Dashing? So attractive that you simply have to kiss me right now?”

“Smooth,” Emma says instead, her brows pressing together as she concentrates on the movements of her hands. “It’s like baby skin but still the tiniest bit prickly.”

“Funny, that’s what I say about you.”

“Shut up, you idiot.”

“You’re so good to me.”

“I really am.”

“And forever the most humble and kind woman on the planet.”

“I mean, I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“You never do.”

“Gah,” Emma groans, running her entire palm over his cheek while he slowly pulls her closer to him, their hips nearly touching, “this is so weird. I’ve never seen you with no facial hair. I’m not sure how I feel about it.”

“Well, I’d hope that you do still find me handsome. I’d hate to think a movie role is what’s going to break apart our marriage.”

“I know. I always thought it was going to be a mid-life crisis where you go out and spend all of our money on a new boat or something.”

“That could still happen.”

“Could it?”

“Yeah, I’m only thirty-seven. Still plenty of time for me to spend McKenzie’s and baby Jones’s university fund.”

“All over some facial hair,” Emma sighs, leaning in to gently slide her soft lips over his, seemingly happy to linger there instead of moving. But then she does, encouraging him to open his lips with a flick of her tongue a little pressure from her lips as he forgets about everything but Emma and how she feels with her body against his and her lips effortlessly moving while she lets out this little gasp that he doesn’t think he’ll ever get over. He doesn’t really want to when she makes the most glorious sounds that only he elicits from her. He’s about to fully tangle his tongue with hers and press her body down into the mattress, but then Emma’s trailing her mouth away from his lips and across his cheek and his jaw, rubbing her nose into his skin. “It’s like I’m kissing a different man.”

“People are always telling me to help keep the spark alive with things like that.”

Emma giggles into his cheek before he gently nudges her down onto her back, placing his knees on either side of her thighs to keep himself from weighing down on the small curve of her stomach as he slowly, leisurely, desperately melds their lips together. God, he misses her so much, and after this baby is born in six months, he’s not working for a solid year so he can spend time with his wife and his children. He doesn’t have any other commitments, and he plans on keeping it that way.

“I don’t think that’s what they meant.”

“Probably not,” he hums, nipping at the dip in her skin just above the collarbone. She smells of vanilla strongly enough that she must have taken a bath just before he got home. Or maybe Kenzie got her wet when she was trying to give her a bath before bedtime. He misses bath time. In the morning he’s going to get Kenzie to take an extra one so he can watch her giggles as they play with the letters that stick to the tub wall. “But I know that I romance you well enough to not need advice from others.”

“Can you use romance as a verb like that?” she asks on a gasp of broken air as her hips push up into his and her hands start running up and down his arms, staying at his biceps while he teases her skin.

“Does it matter?”

“Only for – ah – for future reference.”

“Well, I say that you can,” he murmurs into her skin before he starts working his way down her body, slowly pushing away clothes to kiss the tops of her breasts and her nipples, biting and teasing and driving her wild all the while she whimpers and moans and encourages him to keep doing exactly what he’s doing.

When he makes his way down to her thighs, having taken her pajama pants off, he’s just about to work his way past her underwear when he hears another giggle that he knows has nothing to do with the way that he’s kissing her. He ignores it, nudging his nose into her skin just above where he knows that she wants him when he hears it again, this time a little louder and more insistent as Emma’s legs close in a little on him.

“Darling?” he questions, poking his head up to look at her over the very slight swell of her stomach. He can’t see her face as it’s twisted to the side and into a white pillow case, but he can see her shaking from laughter. “Emma, love, I know I’m a confident man, but I can only take so much of my wife laughing at me when I’m about to have sex with her.”

“It’s y-your…it’s your face,” she sputters out before falling back to the pillow.

“That doesn’t make it any better.”

“Oh, KJ, that’s not what I mean,” she insists, propping herself up on her elbows while he starts moving away from the crevice of her thighs, his ego a little bruised even as he moves back up her body, trailing his lips and his teeth up her stomach and sternum and down her arm until he’s planting a kiss against the little MJ inked into her skin where the dot used to be. They’ll both have to get another one soon whenever they decide on a name for this baby.

He still wants to get Emma’s name somewhere, but he hasn’t decided where yet. They’re not going to have any more children after this, so he doesn’t have to worry about needing a place for a third initial for a child. He’s thinking he might get their wedding date tattooed around his ring finger for when he has to take his ring off for work even if it’ll have to be covered in makeup every day. He’ll know it’s there.

That’s really not the point right now, though. Emma laughing at him for no apparent reason when he was primed to do his best work is, however, is most definitely the point.

Falling back against the pillow himself, he stretches his arms and legs out, trying to cool the heated blood in his veins down as he takes several deep breaths, Emma still laughing beside him. What the hell is happening?

“What do you mean?” he growls, likely a little more agitated than he should be.

“I – okay, it’s going to sound stupid,” Emma says more quietly as she moves around on the bed until she’s sitting next to him and looking down at him with a soft smile on her face and her hair matted up in a way that makes her look like McKenzie when she wakes up from a long nap. He’d love baby Jones to be a boy, but he thinks he might like another girl too so that he can have all of his girls.

Really, though, he simply wants the little lad or lass to be healthy. That’s all that matters. That’s always what’s mattered.

“But?” he encourages, taking her hand in his and twining their fingers together despite him being a little annoyed with her.

“Your face is really smooth, babe. Like, it kind of feels like when I’ve just shaved my legs, so when you’re kissing my thighs, that’s kind of what it feels like and I can’t – I can’t stop laughing at it. It kind of tickles to be honest, which is totally the opposite of how it should be. I’m just really used to you going down on me and feeling your scruff.”

He sighs before he laughs himself, unable to stop as he shakes his head from side to side, disbelief at this woman never ceasing. He seems to remember her once saying her legs felt like a dolphin when she shaved. Maybe that’s what his face feels like to her, and it’s too foreign of a feeling. “You’re telling me you can’t have sex with me because of my face.”

She raises a brow. “Am I allowed to make a joke here or not? Because you totally set yourself up for that one.”

He reaches over and pinches her leg, watching her squirm and settle back down next to him so that their intertwined hands rest on his chest while his free arm wraps around her shoulder. “I did set myself up for that one despite knowing better.”

“Mhm,” Emma agrees, adjusting her head and her legs until she’s comfortable and totally intertwined with him, just not in the way he thought they would be. “I love you. I do. And I love your face no matter how it looks, but I have known you for five years and never once experienced you with a totally clean shaven face. It’d be like if one day I showed up as a brunette.”

“That’d be hot.”

“Shut up. You know what I mean.”

“I do, I do.” He turns his head to the side and kisses her temple, purposefully rubbing his chin into her skin. “You know, just because my face is different doesn’t mean my tongue works any differently.”

“Later,” she yawns, running her foot up and down his calf in a way that is not at all helping the situation. “I just got really tired.”

“Did you nap today?”

“Didn’t have time.”

“Emma.”

“I know, but I got home from work and Kenzie was super whiny about everything and the nap didn’t happen. I was in bed by nine, though, and then you came home and I got all distracted by that handsome face of yours.”

He smiles into her hair and shifts a bit under her weight, running his hand up and down her arm. “You’ve got a bit of a Russian nesting doll situation happening. You need your sleep.”

“A Russian doll situation?”

“Yeah, like the dolls where you – ”

“I know what they are. Are you saying that’s what pregnancy is like?”

“Isn’t it?”

Emma laughs and shakes her head. “If only I gave birth as easily as those things come apart.”

“Now that would be a sight.”

“A really creepy one. Kind of like your face right now.”

“Sleep, love,” he chuckles. “You can make fun of me some more in the morning.”

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.”

She doesn’t make fun of him the next morning, and he mostly thinks it’s because they don’t get a lot of time together before he has to go to set. Mckenzie wakes up a little before six, the monitor they have in their room going off for her, and instead of staying in bed and waiting for her to go back to sleep, he slowly unwraps himself from Emma and heads down the hall to his daughter’s room, picking her up and holding onto her as she babbles to him. She’s got quite a few words down now, and for a sixteen-month-old, he thinks she’s doing pretty well. She’s happy and healthy, and even if he doesn’t get to do bath time with her, they do spend a little more time together than they’ve been getting, Emma eventually coming down the stairs with her pajamas still rumpled up.

But then he’s off to work, and it’s the same routine over and over again for the next month.

He thinks that Emma gets used to his lack of beard of his face, no longer giggling uncontrollably when he tries to romance her, but when the time comes for him to start growing in his sideburns and mustache, he braces himself for her to hate it.

But she doesn’t.

Mostly because she doesn’t notice.

He knows that Emma is busy with work and with balancing a million things on one very small plate, but for the fuss that was made about his clean shaven face, he really did think that she’d notice he was growing a handlebar mustache and some seriously thick sideburns for his movie. The seventies were an odd time, and he cannot wait to be able to shave all of this off and grow back his normal facial hair.

Seriously.

But he’d also kind of like Emma to notice.

He knows the exact moment she does. They’re sitting on the beach with Kenzie, trying to keep her from stuffing sand into her mouth because that’s the phase they’re going through with her, when Emma’s gaze lands on his and her lips part and brows rise high on her forehead, eyes most likely widened under her sunglasses.

“What is happening with your face right now?”

“Darling, no offense, but I’m beginning to think you don’t pay attention to what happens with my face since you are continuously shocked by these changes.”

“I swear I look at you and pay attention to you, but I don’t…no, no, Kenzie,” she sighs, getting up from the towels and reaching to grab their daughter and pull her back to them. “We don’t eat sand.”

“Yummy.”

“You’re such an odd child, little love,” he chuckles, reaching forward to tickle her stomach until she dissolves into a fit of giggles, “but we don’t eat sand. It hurts our tummies.”

“It yummy,” she repeats.

“No, it’s not,” Emma sighs, resting McKenzie on her thigh and tickling her hands across her stomach to make her laugh. “KJ, I really don’t think I noticed the mustache.”

“What about the sideburns?”

“There are sideburns?” she laughs, placing her hand in front of her mouth in a pathetic attempt to cover up her giggles. “I’m…I’m so sorry. I – I shouldn’t…Killian, how long are you going to be sporting this kind of facial hair?”

“At least two more months.”

“Okay, okay,” she nods, her eyes most likely shining under her sunglasses, “I can deal with that. It’s just going to take some getting used to. If anyone can pull off this look, I have faith that it’s you.”

“Thank you, love,” he smiles, a little at Emma but mostly to himself at how much Emma’s affected by his changing facial hair. He knows she would never love him any less no matter what he looks like. It’s simply amusing to see how she takes the changes. “Alright, Kenzie, let’s put on your floaties so we can go out in the water and look for fish.”

Their life goes on, Emma’s stomach and his facial hair growing every day, and while he appreciates the roundness of Emma’s stomach and the growth in her breasts as their son (that’s right – they’re having a boy!) grows healthily within her, Emma does not seem to appreciate his facial hair. Nothing really changes with them. If there’s one thing he’s come to appreciate about his marriage – and really there are far too many to count – it’s that while he and Emma do get into disagreements, they’re a team who laughs together. She makes him laugh more than anyone just as he does to her, and no matter where they are or what they’re doing, they always have that playfulness that comes with being so comfortable with someone. It’s special, what they have, and he never wants a day to come where Emma doesn’t laugh at least once a day.

But the fact that she’s started laughing during sex (more so than usual, really since the two of them definitely aren’t the type of people where it’s always serious. Where’s the fun in that?) when she gets a good look at his face is definitely not what he was expecting. He doesn’t mind. He laughs too. His appearance isn’t what it usually is and sometimes when he gets a good luck at himself in the mirror, he can’t help it either. But it becomes this constant, consistent thing that he grows used to, and even if some people think that it’s a bit harsh, he’s forever charmed by his wife.

When filming is over, he gets to shave, his face returning to almost normal, and when he and Emma celebrate the night after filming is finished, Emma carefully situates herself on his thighs to help with her stomach as she runs her lips over his jaw.

“I kind of miss it,” she lets out on an exhale as she sinks down onto him, her walls enveloping him in all of their goodness, the slick warmth nearly driving him into the madness that it always does.

“My darling, we slept together four days ago. I don’t think you missed my cock too much.”

“Sometimes you shouldn’t say the things you think,” she giggles into his neck while his hands find her hips to help guide her a bit.

He waggles his brows even if she can’t see them with her head resting on his shoulder like it is. “We were both thinking that.”

“I was actually thinking about your mustache.”

“Emma,” he gasps, sliding his hand down to rest at her ass, squeezing the slightest bit, “you miss my mustache? You hated that thing.”

“It grew on me.”

“Technically it grew on me.”

“Your jokes have become so much worse since becoming a dad.”

“I have a reputation to uphold for all other dads when it comes to telling dad jokes.”

She hums, swiveling her hips a little bit more and making him nearly lose himself right there. “You do have a reputation to uphold. I’d hate to make someone think that you weren’t keeping up with your quota of dad jokes.”

“Next thing you know they’ll find out I haven’t been wearing the cargo shorts.”

“Killian, my love,” Emma says very seriously, pulling back from his neck so she can cup his cheeks while her hips do something indecent to him, “I will accept the mustache, but I will not accept the cargo shorts.”

-/-

Six months later his beard is back to its normal length and shape, has been for awhile now, and he’s on James Cordon to promote his movie. It’s the last piece of work that he has to do before he can finally take a break to be with Emma and the kids without any work interruption, and as fun as this is, he cannot wait to go home in two hours.

“So you know I have to ask,” James starts from behind his desk while Killian smiles, wishing the lights weren’t quite so bright as he reaches up to scratch behind his ear, “about your wife, your family. It’s a bit of a tradition with my producer threatening me if I don’t.”

“Well, what does she threaten you with?”

“I’ve signed an NDA and can’t tell you that.” He laughs and nods his head, waiting for the words he knows are coming. “So, I love your wife. She’s a sweetheart, but there’s a rumor making its way through the Hollywood grapevine that your facial hair in your latest movie caused a bit of an issue in your marriage.” Killian rolls his eyes and leans down to bury his face in his hands before peeking through his fingers, wondering if this story is ever going to go away. “Would you like to expand on it a bit?”

“Would I like to?” he laughs, sitting up against the couch and pushing his hair back while he smiles. “No, likely not, but I will. So I was out to eat lunch with my brother. We were chatting. It was all fine, and I, being an idiot and forgetting that people care about things that I say, was telling him that my wife found my moustache and sideburns to be quite a…she couldn’t stop laughing at me. Like, she’d look at my face and bust out laughing, and it’d get particularly bad when we were having private time.”

“When you were fucking?”

“Oh hell,” he chuckles, his laugh mixing in with the audience as they play the fake censorship bleep over the speakers since that’ll have to be censored later. “Pretty much, yes. Sometimes she couldn’t help herself and would laugh until she couldn’t breathe, completely taking us out of the moment because then I’d start laughing too.”

“Really?” James hiccups as he laughs too, leaning forward on the desk. “It didn’t hurt your pride?”

“No. Emma, you have to understand that Emma is the funniest person I know. Far funnier than me, and we’re always laughing. Usually not at each other’s faces, but we’re always laughing. I looked ridiculous for a really long time, and honestly, I’d keep that damn mustache for the rest of my life as long as it makes her laugh.”

“But at what cost to your sex life?”

“Well, we just had a little boy, so I think things are still looking up there.”

He finishes the interview, his face hurting from laughter as they thankfully move away from his personal life and onto other things, and when he and Emma settle down to watch the interview that night, at her insistence of course, she laughs throughout the entire thing, their bedroom filled with the melodious sound he’ll never tire of.

“KJ,” she giggles, peppering kisses all over his face, “I love you and your face always.”

Seeing this tiny, sarcastic, fun-loving woman smile or laugh or cuddle with their children or light up like a constellation in the sky gives him life and reminds him of just how much he loves her and her face always.

Though, Emma with a mustache and sideburns would be quite the sight to behold.

#betting on the bullseye #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #captain swan fic

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seenashwrite · 6 years ago

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I am considering getting an anti-possession tattoo, but I am afraid of needles. Do you have any advice?

Do I?!

I won’t ask what it is, exactly, that is trying to possess you. This is a personal matter, and I’ll assume you’ve chosen the correct design for your needs.

I shall also assume you’ll take in as finely-rendered design as possible, in black-and-white, no shading or such (unless another copy, just for their reference) so that they may clearly see what you want and make any transfers to a guide easier. I’ll ALSO-also assume you’ve vetted the shop appropriately via word of mouth and health department rating.

Having said that, what’s below is actually legit advice coming out of NashHole, Inc. for once, and I’ll shoot you straight, a bit from personal experience but mostly factoids body/anatomy-wise. Let us begin.

Sounds like this is your first one, yeah? Going off of that…

Keep it small. I don’t mean size-of-a-pencil-eraser small, I mean more in the range of fits-into-the-palm-of-your-hand dimensions at a maximum, in that ballpark.

Since you’ve got a needle worry, advise don’t go fancy - tons of colors (just one, maybe two) and shading and twisty-curlies and stuff that would make Escher tingly. Basic, basic, basic. Make this an in-and-out to the degree it’s possible.

No aspirin or ibuprofen ahead of time - the former thins blood, the latter can potentiate bleeding in some folks. Tattoos bleed, but shouldn’t go on and on and on, y’know? Think more like a moderately skinned knee - that kind’ve scattered action - no gushing or anything. Many tattoo parlors - the good ones - will refuse service if you come in and are clearly under the influence of something, be it painkiller pills or Xanax or alcohol or weed. You need to be able to give informed consent. Plus, does nobody any good if you’re puking or rambling or can’t focus on staying still. They’ll also stop cold (or should be) if you pass out.

On the subject of pre-medicating, don’t do any topical creams for numbing, if you know someone who’d write a prescription. They’re not meant for stuff like this, EMLA and others in that vein don’t penetrate to the layer where tattoos go, and are meant for one-stick jams (epidurals, port access, lumbar punctures, gums pre-Novocaine injection, quick piercings, etc.). Could it get you over the initial hump? Maybe. I’ve heard tale of it being helpful in things like the start of electrolysis in sensitive (read: genital) areas, and the quick boop! boop! boop!-s for radiation tattooing, and the start of more advanced things like wound debridement, but as for the latter, there’s very likely more pain stuff on board, as can be quite painful. I legit think it’s a waste of time and money, and that’s primarily because…

…about a third or so of the way through, you’ll notice that your body will stop going WHAT THE HELL, and it’s not that you won’t still feel it happening, but the pain receptors have gotten a handle on the sensation. The sharpness of it, for lack of better word, isn’t as striking to your brain anymore. And, of course, you’ve entered the situation by choice, vs. a situation that’s a surprise and starts setting off the whole flight-fight-freeze cascade.

Having said that? The part about your body getting used to it? Location, location, location. Choose a place that’s between bony and smushy. Those areas are gonna hurt more. You want dense, firm. Places where it has some “give” when you push in. Like, feel around your neck. Notice how in front, you can press in a lot, then as you go behind, it gets firmer. Also notice the skin - more delicate, right? Steer away from delicate. So - top of feet, top of hands, inner arms, inner thighs. And for heaven’s sake, don’t go genitalia ballpark or ass or boobs/nips for your first time.

Some will say inner wrist or inner arm is ideal, but I’m telling you: with your needle thing, it’s gonna hurt like crazy. Other areas that will hurt like crazy are the bony parts - the ones you can’t mash very far in with your fingertips. So - ankle area, to be sure (unless you’re pitching it a decent distance above, more on your lower leg, inner or outer), clavicle area (collarbone), and - again - top of hands/top of feet/fingers/toes. I cannot emphasize how vascular the inner wrist and tops of hands/feet are; there will be more blood, there just will be, and methinks that’ll ramp your anxiety unnecessarily, just choose somewhere else. “But Nash, I’m not some skinny bird bones person!” ::sighs:: This is punching deeper than you may realize, it has to in order for it to be “permanent” (they fade, as you know), so it’s gotta be a decent amount below the epidermis or else tattoos would slough away in a heartbeat. It ain’t gonna hit bone, but it sure as shit could seem like it to you, so just dodge that bullet for now, huh? Til you know how your body reacts to tattooing, pain-and-anxiety wise. You can always add to or get more.

In terms of location as related to time, and regardless of your personal body type/weight, go for as flat a surface as possible. That’s easier on the tattoo artist as well. And will help you stay still. So what are some good places that are firm but not bony or smushy?Biceps/shoulder, top of arms, top of thighs, calves, high pectoral (boobs), sternum (smack in middle of chest), possibly belly depending on your body/your weight, back of neck, and honestly, essentially the entirety of your back. Mine’s in the center of a scapula (shoulder blade), he just leaned me over a chair I sat in backwards, and my upper body was against the tilted headrest, folded my right onto a padded table he pulled over, rested my head on it, dropped the left (it’s on L scapula) to make it even surface. Piece of cake. Flat areas are also easier even if you’ve got pudge on a given place, because it’ll flatten in kind, whereas pudgy ass and big boobage just, like, spreads everywhere, it’s hard to keep it stable, so it’s gonna - naturally - take more time. Talking about your back, though, remember: if mid-back, the more it creeps around the sides, you’re getting into rib town, which - weight/amount of pudge aside - is a curved surface.

RE: the position I was in? Here’s my last tip in terms of location in the context of the needle anxiety: consider places where you won’t be able to see them doing it. This kinda goes with my “keep it small and simple” stance, you’re not gonna feel the need to watch them like a hawk to make sure they aren’t screwing up (plus, you should’ve already perused their portfolio of work to gauge their talent/style) and can concentrate on relaxing. Don’t bring a friend or family member who is giddy or hyper or chatty. Mellow. Mellllllllow.

Needle-wise, this is not like a vaccine or an IV or a blood draw, because we’re talking tiiiiiiiiny diameter and it’s sooooo fast. I mean, a stick’s a stick - it’s sharp. Different broad sensation, though, because of the rapid-fire and it’s a spread vs. concentrated in a single spot, and it’s not like a vaccine (deep into muscle) or Novocaine/Lidocaine for root canal/suturing (moderately deep/not into muscle) or an IV/blood draw (miiiildly deep, into vein) because those leave a bruise or lasting ache once all’s said and done. This’ll be sore and have some puffy inflammation when it’s over but more in the dermatology sense. You don’t feel like there’s this hole bored into you that’s trying to heal up, in other words. May get itchy later, too. (don’t scratch!)

Last, wear clothes that can slip off the area, or just one part can be taken off. RE: mine on the scapula - I wore a tank top and just took off my outer button-down, then slipped the strap and my bra strap off my arm. So think ahead depending on location - for instance, loose athletic pants with drawstring (scoots easy for lower back, rolls up easy for lower leg).

And remember: you can always stop. I know, I know, it might mean you’ve got, like, a line in bright purple on your lower back, but like I said, you can always add to it once you re-group, try again later.

#Dear Nash #NONNERS #Not Tyler Durden #I swear #Queueby Dooby Doo #Dad's on a blog post and #he hasn't been queued in a few days

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kingjamesonfawkes · 7 years ago

Text

Oh defo defo!! I plan on making a page for them later because stuff with my ocs gives me life & I have a few interactions written between them and canon characters that are just.. chillin on my computer.

So more info about OCs under the cut if you want to read about them!

Azalea and Sullivan are the most fleshed out but I have a lot of ideas for all 5 of my babies.. Feel free to send me asks about my ocs~! I love talking about them I’m a huge nerd haha.

If y’all are REALLY interested, like i said I have a lot of interactions written for most of them saved on my computer. ((mostly with Sullivan but I have some of all the others as well))

________________________ Azalea

Azalea is the first overwatch OC I made! She started as just like “this is me, but in overwatch” and since I made her she’s grown into her own character. There is still a lot of me in her personality but her background and some parts of her personality are completely different now.

Azalea is a 35 year old who lives in Las Vegas. She’s a magician by trade. She’s very very flirty and one-night stands are abundant. She has problems with getting close with people, it gives her anxiety and stress, and this leads to commitment issues. She’s originally from a small town in the southwest where, when she was 8, she saw her first magic act and she was like “magic is cooool” and she started teaching herself party tricks. Over her life & during the time of the uprising she studied technomancy because she wanted to be the World’s Greatest Magician. This got her her show in Las Vegas. (Her stage name is the Mistress of Mysticism) Her show in Las Vegas led to a party lifestyle, and she got into heavy drugs which fucked up a lot of her personal contacts. She hit rock bottom and almost lost her magic show, which is the only thing she really cares about, so she went to rehab and got clean. She’s really careful now but certain situations trigger her urge to use again. Her manager and closest friend is an omnic named “Edie,” and she commonly is seen supporting omnic rights and protecting them from assaults. At the time of the recall she is recruited by Winston for Overwatch because he thinks she would be an asset to the team.

She’s 5′4′‘ with wavy dark brown hair and green eyes. She wears glasses. She has pale skin with freckles on her body. Her outfit is a black and white tuxedo dress with lime green details. She has both of her arms covered in sleeve tattoos of florals in black lineart. Her weapon (& key item in her shows) is gold with green and purple gems on it. [The first thing i drew of her] [Here’s a ref] But i forgot her tattoos [Heres a page of doodles] (spoiler i ship her with Hanzo)

“In Game” (support hero) >Creates ‘orbs’ from her staff. (Works similar to Zen’s harmony & discord orbs) She has to aim them and shoot them, they do small amounts of poison damage when hitting an enemy, and heal when they hit a teammate. Hitting the same target more than once builds the effect. >Smoke Bombs for quick getaways. Enemies in the smokebomb area show up red like with hanzo’s sonar or widow’s ult. Smoke lasts for only a few seconds. >(I dont have a secondary ability for her whoops) >>ultimate: “Grand Finale” : heals nearby teammates and poisons enemys in the radius, Azalea disappears for a quick getaway (invisible like sombra) She passively heals her shields but not her health.

Voiceline ideas: Her ult “GET READY FOR THE GRANDE FINALE!” Elimination “Easy as pulling a rabbit from a hat” “That’s the trick!” “It’s all in the cards” (dorky magic stuff tbh)

Sullivan

Sullivan is my first junker oc, I have 2 of them. I ship her with Jamie or sometimes poly with Mako too depending on mood.

Miley “Hot Rod” Sullivan is a 24 year old from Junkertown. She’s eccentric and high energy, determined and quick witted, very very skilled in mechanics and machinery. She has severe mental health issues that put her at risk from herself and cause large periods of depression and anxiety. (this stuff is based on my own experiences with mental health issues & not from the web tbh) When she was 13 or 14 she lost her family and both of her legs in an explosion that also left her homeless. She almost died, and had to cauterize her own legs in order to try not to get infections, it mostly worked. The amputated parts of her legs are messy and awful looking but she doesn’t really care anymore, not like she did when it happened, plus everyone in the outback is at least a little roughed up. ((Another thing is that she can’t have children, radiation sickness fucked that up for her.)) Instead of prosthetics, she built herself a wheelchair & souped it up. It’s her prized and only possession.

She has firey natural red hair with golden undertones, shaved into a mohawk with dangling "sideburns". [styled like this] On top of her hair, she wears a brown pilots cap that isnt properly fitted to her head, so it's pushed back and her hair comes out the front and back of the cap. on the cap she has big black goggles that she uses during her mechanical work. these DO fit and she DOES wear them occasionally. She has deep set eyes and her eyes are brown. Her "make up" leaves one wondering, IS that make up, or is that dirt & soot??? the world will never know. She has dark circles because she stays up too long working on projects and hyper fixates on things she wants to do when shes set on a task, she could work on something for 2 days and forget to sleep and eat until she finishes or Mako (or less likely, Jamison) makes her stop. She's very frequently smeared with grease esp on her hands, face, and arms. She wears a denim jacket, littered with patches, studs and safety pins. it's pretty old and belonged to her father and before that her grandfather, who was obsessed with "old" (but not so old to him lmao) punk bands (ramones, the clash, ect) it's kind of falling apart but she stitches it back together when she needs too because its her favorite possession other than her chair. under that she wears a black form fitting crop top. she doesnt wear a bra bc fuck bras and also she has like b cups ("more than a handful is wasted" she tells people who tease her about small boobs.) She wears really short jean shorts that are black and stitched together with gromets on the sides like a corset and they also have studs on them (these are VERY SHORT! VERY SHORT!! like basically underwear. and probably no underwear bc thats who she is) [reference] and under her jean shorts there is a high-waisted band of fishnet [example]. around her waist she has two bandoleers of bullets for her turret that she wears like a belt. they sit just a little under the top of her shorts. Her legs end about halfway down her thighs and the amputations are naturally scarred. She also has burn scars on other parts of her body, but not very extensively. She also has a few tattoos, [on her left leg above the scars] [on her right wrist] [across her sternum]

“In game” (offense hero) Her wheelchair is equipped with her primary fire which is a scavenged and repurposed bastion turret. (since she is more mobile, it would not be as powerful or a fast) The turret sets over her shoulder while shes using it and folds back to behind her when not in battle. See [a really old ref i drew] to show this. >Grenades, simple & basic grenades >speed boost, souped up wheelchair has an engine in the undercarriage and she flips a level to “overclock” it and speed up for a short period of time. >>ultimate: makes her more mobile/faster and powers up her gun, giving it faster speed and higher damage.

Zed

Zed is my 2nd junker babe! He is a good boy and i would die for him.

Zed is a mecha fighter from Junkertown. His full name is Ezekiel, he goes by Zed to his friends, and does not like being called Zeke. He's mixed, mostly black and maori but he doesn't know exactly what else since heritage is hard to track in Junkertown. He's 19 years old and since he was very very young he's been building. His pride and joy is his Mech that he uses in battles. He's a small town hero bc he fights until he literally can't anymore and puts his whole heart into his mech. His father was the reigning mech battle champion for a long time before he died, and he wants to win back the title and keep it in the family. he's never known his mother. He literally built his mech from nothing and has been working on it for years. He changed his mech's name to Manaaki after his father's death. Manaaki basically means protector and to look after someone, which resonated strongly with him as someone that he wanted to become

[a ref i made on a dress up maker] [a better ref that i doodled]

about his mech: It's shaped pretty much like a large bird that he can climb inside. (it's based on the australian raven) and its painted black with like oil slick. its a junker mech so its not perfect and its in battles so it gets scuffed and dented. it also has patches of metal where its been repaired with scrap paneling.

In Game: (Tank hero) Zed relies on his mech to fight, so if you destroyed it he would go with it, unlike D. Va. The mech is piloted similar to a jaeger from pacific rim, but on a much smaller scale, about the size of D. Va’s meka. >Primary fire is the rifle on the head of the mech, where the beak would be on a bird. >Primary ability is flight, it would work as like a mix between pharah and d va but without as strong as a boost, and when in the air has a passive glide ability like mercy, but this is disrupted when hit or hacked and he must land. >Secondary ability would be shielding himself and teammates with the wings of the mecha, teammates must be close to be shielded. >ultimate: an air strike, in a straight line roughly the range of the "point" square (maybe a little larger) and when he uses his ult you hear a great roaring caw and see the shadow of the mecha over where the drop is

proposed interaction between D. Va and Zed: Zed: D. Va! Yer mechs looking betta than eva! How 'bouta rematch sometime? D. Va: Sure, If you think you can keep up this time! (playful laugh)

Vivian

Viv is my brothers fav oc of mine haha other than maybe Sully. She’s a bitch and I love her. I don’t have AS MUCH figured out about her as I do my other characters.

Vivian is a movie star "by day", big fancy life in the limelight, but "by night" she's a talon agent and a spy. The only people who know she's a secret agent are other high ranked Talon agents, and she has infiltrated Helix to gain information from them for Talon, and because of her status as a celebrity she talks to organizations she infiltrates like "hey can we keep this on the downlow bc like i know im a good agent but the paparazzi would have a field day with me if they found out about this, and acting is my first love i cant give it up" she acts like a huge bitch but she is pretty sensitive about a lot of things, she just doesnt let people in.

[a ref i made from a dress up maker]

In Game: (offense i think) >Primary weapon is a handgun >Primary ability is “infiltration” that makes it look like shes on the enemy team to that team. >secondary ability “paparazzi” is a flashbang that looks like flashing camera lights and stuns the enemy. >>ultimate ability is basically a guise that anyone in the effect radius on the enemy team sees their teammates as enemies as well and can deal friendly fire to them. lasts for only a brief period.

My last oc I just made this week so I haven’t figured out a lot about her, she doesn’t even have a name yet lmao but here’s a copy/paste from my groupchat where i talked about her concept

Support hero. She's based on valentines day/cupid/eros

she has a bow and arrow, like ana's gun they heal her teammates and damage enemies. her powers are ""divine"" is what she tells everyone but its really technology lmao. it fools no one except gullible people like junkrat

>her primary ability is "true loves kiss" and she blows kisses at her teammates and gives them small amounts of shield (shield that works like doomfist's shield and lucio's soundbarrier) and she can stack this ability >idk what her other ability is, probably a glide or low-air flight >her ultimate stuns and confuses the enemy, knocking them prone, and gives teammates in her radius a larger amount of shield

shes a gossip and shes petty and she sticks her nose in EVERYONES business and she would try to get people to date each other and theyre like "No" and shes like "but youd be so cuuuuute"

her color scheme is white and pink (& a little red), she's from greece, and she has brown eyes and really long magenta hair

#junk.txt #my ocs #canon insert ocs #azalea tag #sullivan tag #zed tag #vivian tag

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old-long-john · 8 years ago

Text

Davy Jones AU: Part One

There was an unseasonable chill creeping into the air as Hamish Reid set about lighting the lanterns aboard the deck of the schooner named Casco. The weather had been fine for weeks, the sun beating down hard upon their backs during the day and the stars cascading across the sky like a shimmering sea of shattered glass at night. Hamish had found himself praying for clouds, of the familiar sort that tucked in damp and close around the shores of the Firth of Clyde. He hadn’t known you could miss such things until he found himself in this place, desperate for a moment’s reprieve from this wide, hot, and foreign sky. In the failing light he could see the clouds that were finally looming on the horizon, but they were tall and deep purple, not the muted greys of home, and the air already felt sharp and pregnant with the weight of an angry storm brewing. Perhaps he’d sent up one prayer too many. He hadn’t considered that he might be tempting fate. Or perhaps his prayers had simply been heard by the wrong god. There were stories about these waters, and the false heathen deities that still clung to their depths.

“Boo!”

Hamish leapt back from the rail, the still-smoking taper in his hand falling over the side as he spun. “Jesus Christ!” he hissed. “Fuck’s sake, Philip, don’t do that! I nearly shat myself.”

Philip sniggered, leaning against the rail at Hamish’s side, while William, the Carpenter’s Mate, stood laughing behind him.

“You were miles away. Couldn’t resist,” Philip said, looking out towards the horizon. “That storm looks nasty. Should pass east of us, but the Captain’s changing course just in case.”

As though it could hear them, a long, low rumble of thunder rolled across them, and Hamish felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“Don’t get too close to the edge,” William said. “Long John Silver’ll get you. He sails these waters, prowling along the edges of the storms just waiting for men to go overboard. Your soul won’t even make it as far as purgatory.”

“You’re talking shite,” Hamish said, but he took a step back from the rail, just in case.

“You think so, do you? Calypso conjures the storms, he collects the souls,” William went on. “Everyone knows it. She cursed him. Bound him to his ship in servitude forever. He can’t make port; can’t eat or drink; can’t feel the touch of any woman. Ever. An eternity of solitude with nothing on the horizon but empty seas and violent storms. And all because she heard him telling stories about her, doubting her power. The offence had to be answered, see, so she proved her power to him once and for all.”

“That’s not how I heard it,” Philip interjected. “Who’ve you been talking to? They were in love. Or at least, he loved her. Don’t know that a god could ever truly love a man. She took a fancy to him at any rate. Then one day he went overboard. New sail was being hauled aloft, or something of the like, and the lashing snapped. He went clean over the edge, knocked out cold. He should’ve drowned, but she saved him. His whole crew saw it: a mermaid with hair as red as flame, hauling him back above the waves, blowing air into his nostrils to keep the water out. That was when they knew for sure just how far he had her favour.”

William looked sceptical. “Yeah right. If they loved each other then why would she curse him, eh?” He raised his eyebrows to emphasise just how clearly infallible he considered his logic to be.

Philip snorted. “She cursed him because he broke her heart. He betrayed her. Ancient gods might not be able to love, but no-one else is capable of such fathomless hate.”

“That’s not what Mr Calvin said,” Hamish blurted out, and he cleared his throat as two sets of eyes focused on him. “He said she betrayed him, and then he tried to cut his own heart out rather than live with the pain of it. That’s why he became so corrupted. She ruined him. He was barely even human after that. He was supposed to ferry souls to the afterlife in safety, not keep them from it.”

William shrugged, and said, “Yeah, well, whatever the truth of it, the stories are all the same in the end. He’s a man made monstrous. There’s no end to his appetite for cruelty. Any goodness in him turned to hate. Any kindness into rage. He shows no quarter, and the only mercy he ever offers is a quick death.”

“Unless you’ve got red hair,” Philip said, scrubbing a hand over Hamish’s head and earning a punch in the arm for it. “He has a soft spot for redheads. They remind him of her.”

“You’ve got it backwards,” said William, shaking his head. “That’s exactly why they’re always the first to go. Hard luck, Hamish lad. It was nice knowing you.”

“Fuck off,” muttered Hamish, smoothing his hair down. “Maybe we should talk about something else.” The air was feeling colder by the minute, and the goosebumps spreading up his arms were only making him feel more tense.

“Afraid he’s going to hear us?” William teased. “Don’t be such a milksop. They’re just stories.”

“I know that,” Hamish said quickly. “They don’t even make sense anyway. If he was a man of flesh and blood once then there’d still be some way to reason with him, to gain his mercy. Even if it was by a trick. There’s always a way, even in stories. No-one has a heart of stone.”

“I don’t have a heart at all.”

At the sound of the voice, all three of them leapt back against the rail, and Hamish thought his heart might hammer its way right through his ribcage. His pulse was roaring in his ears, though it was difficult to distinguish it from the thunder rolling overhead.

From out of the lantern-lit gloom a figure appeared. His gait was odd and lilting, and his every other step thudded hollowly against the decking. He wasn’t all that tall, but he seemed to fill the dark and loom over them nonetheless.

“Who’s that?” William called, the first to find his voice again. “Tom? You’re not fucking funny, mate.”

“Mm, no, not so funny these days, you’re right,” the man said, finally illuminated by the nearest lantern. “I was though. Once upon a time.”

Hamish felt his knuckles crack as his grip on the rail tightened. The thrum of blood in his ears had turned to ringing and he wondered whether he was going to pass out and hit the deck. Maybe he was ill. Maybe this was all just some strange fever dream.

The man seemed to be waiting for them to speak again, his eyes unnaturally blue in the low light.

“Long John Silver?” Hamish breathed, suddenly too certain of the truth of it to feel foolish in saying it out loud.

“The very same,” Silver replied, with a smile. It was wide and easy, but there was no kindness behind it. It looked like an old habit warped into something cruel.

Up close now Hamish could see him clearly. His hair was long and dark and wild, fighting free of its loose binding; crisp curls casting a halo around him in the lamp light, like the pale foam upon a storm-tossed sea. Here and there among it were trinkets braided in: cowry and auger shells; sleek blue-black feathers; and even what looked like the bones from a human toe, fixed in place with silver beads and neat threads. There was an air of the carefully kept about them, at odds with the chaos of the rest. His ears too glinted with silver rings that were tarnished with age, but looked to be maintained out of some sense of sentiment.

He didn’t look so monstrous, Hamish thought. Not in the ways his own imagination had constructed, at least. Indeed, he might even have been considered handsome by some, in his way, with his round, boyish face and those bright eyes and white teeth. But as Hamish looked closer he saw the wet patches of mottled grey-green on his skin, that looked like the rot of flesh submerged for days, and the odd barnacle that clung on along the edge of his rough beard. There were scars in places, like wide pockmarks, where other such unwelcome stowaways had been dug out with the point of a blade, or with impatient gouging fingernails. He looked half a dead thing; the other half simply hadn’t realised it yet.

“What do you want with us?” William said, and Hamish jumped a little as he remembered that he wasn’t alone with this apparition.

“Want? Who said I want anything?” Silver said, thumping another pace forward.

Hamish’s gaze dropped to his feet, and he saw that in place of a left leg stood a splintered and sea-worn wooden peg. Perhaps it had once been the handle of an oar - it was of that size and shape - but it looked to be a part of him now, fused to his flesh in lieu of bone and gristle, and bleached by the sun and the salt.

“Did your mothers never warn you?” Silver continued. “Talk of the Devil, and he shall appear.”

“Sir, please!” Philip said, his voice desperate and high. “We meant no harm. They were just ghost stories. That’s all. Please. If you leave us be then we’ll never speak of you again. We swear it. We can tell anyone who’ll listen never to tell stories about you. Not ever.”

Silver laughed, the sound of it almost drowned out by the rumble of the storm now roiling directly overhead. “And why would I want you to do that? I always loved stories. You were right. That is how he found me.”

“How who found you?” Philip whispered.

“Calypso,” Silver said. “Half the truth between the three of you, and yet the little details always end up lost, don’t they?”

They pressed their backs harder against the rail as Silver took another step closer, barely four feet away. His shirt was ragged, hanging open down the full length of his sternum, and Hamish saw that there was a tattoo on the left side of his chest: a mermaid with red hair. No, not a mermaid, a merman. Its flowing hair fanned out around it, its tail coiled over his heart, but a jagged and vicious looking scar ran through it, slicing it in two.

Silver’s eyes followed Hamish’s gaze, and he reached up and pulled his shirt open wider. “He betrayed me,” Silver said. “He broke my heart. Beyond repair. So I did what you do with all things that are broken irreparably: I cast it aside.”

“Why are you telling us this?” Hamish breathed, cold dread trickling down his spine. His knees felt loose and weak. He didn’t think he could stay standing for much longer.

“I so rarely have a captive audience these days. Seems a shame to waste the opportunity,” Silver replied, stepping closer still. “And besides, it adds a much needed flair of the dramatic to the whole proceedings.”

Some days later, when the crew of a fishing boat came across the schooner Casco drifting with the current, their first thought was that the crew must have abandoned ship in the storm. Strange though that there was no damage above the waterline that they could clearly see. The masts remained, the sails were neatly furled, and the hull looked to be intact. Perhaps then she had simply broken free of her mooring, drawn out into the open sea by the gusting winds. When they boarded her, however, and found her crew drowned, to a man, in even the most watertight bowels of the hold, their clothes sodden and their skin greying and slick, they began to understand. As they fled the ship, feet skidding across the deck in their scramble to escape, desperate prayers flooded out of them as they turned on the spot and spat on the deck to ward off the evil spirit responsible. But it was as they sailed away and caught sight of the figurehead, thick ropes of kelp binding her to a corpse with red hair and a cavernous wound in place of a heart, that the name Long John Silver came whispering past their lips. The stories told themselves after that.

#black sails #Davy Jones AU #ohflint #kambarbay #(this is your baby really)#so this is a thing #it was originally going to be a response to the prompt 'no-one has a heart of stone'#because all I could think of was Silver replying like that ^#but then it didn't feel properly silverflint enough to use as an answer so I'm just posting it like this #this is like...the very far end of every cool idea I've read about this AU #there's a bunch of awesome 'this is how they fell in love' stuff too #and I'll probably play with more of those (like the actual romantic parts & the parts where Silver isn't a part rotting cursed monster...)#but this was fun anyway #even if I didn't actually fit Calypso!Flint into it #other than as genderbent grapevine ghost stories #I never knew how fun it was to create OCs for the express purpose of doing terrible shit to them #every day of writing's an adventure #also an exercise in how to google what flesh looks like after days in water without ending up on a list #or seeing full on bloated corpse photos #delightful

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