#It was jarring- nearly brought me down to my knees

[scuddle-bubble101]

Puuuuud!!! I missed you guys

(Sorry I haven’t interacted much ^_^;)

Oh hey Lumina-BHRYBGRHVRUVNRUVNRHJNVIJRNHBGHFHVGNFV

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Illuminated.

Pairing: Yandere!Apollo x Reader (Greek Mythology).

Word Count: 1.0k.

TW: Stalking, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, No Specified Gender For The Reader But They Are A Hunter Of Artemis, and Implied Kidnapping.

[Commissioned Piece. Donate To Palestinians In Gaza Here.]

“You, my love, are the poet’s demise.”

You stiffened at the sound of his melodic voice, shrinking into yourself before thinking better of taking on such a mouse-like posture and straightening. Still, you failed to stop yourself from crossing your arms over your chest, pulling your knees up and hoping beyond hope that the silvery water would be enough to hide your form from his unfaltering stare. You thought it’d be safer to bathe at night, apart from your sisters, when the softened moonlight protected you from his burning gaze, but you’d been naïve to think that any hour could be late enough to spare you haven. During the day, you lived under the burning gaze of his blazing chariot, busied yourself with shooting down hawks and ravens carrying gifts in their beaks, and at night, he had no burdens to keep him from closing the distance between you using less... ancillary methods.

“I’m afraid you must be mistaken, my lord.” You forced yourself to laugh, glancing over your shoulder. Sure enough, Apollo stood on the river’s opposing bank, his tanned skin nearly radiant in the darkness. If the sight of him hadn’t brought you such dread, you might’ve thought him beautiful. “As of late, my aim’s been so poor that I can hardly call myself a stag’s demise, let alone a man’s.”

You were quick to look away from him, but you could still hear his gentle hum, picture the way his lips would lilt upward as he shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s deathly true,” he went on, taking a step forward. The water rushed to part as he stepped where it had once been, and in turn, you scrambled for the robes you’d left on the shore, barely managing to pull the ashen cloth around yourself before Apollo came to stand in front of you, his light quickly doing away with what little protection the shadows offered. It was only after you were haphazardly dressed that you considered it might be considered an affront to hide any part of yourself from divinity, but the worry was quickly forgotten. It was only natural to want to create yet another barrier between you and him. Even insects knew to run from their betters. “For even the most talented bard would struggle beyond words to describe your beauty. They could be chained to their desk for an eternity, study under the Muses’ own tutelage, and still be unable to write a single line.”

He held out a hand to you, but you pretended not to realize he meant for you to take it. “You’re far too kind. If you have a message for Lady Artemis, there’s no need to bribe me with such—”

“My love,” he cut in, his smile unwavering. “If I had any desire to speak to my sister, your help would not be necessary.”

“A prophecy concerning our next hunt, then? If there’s something we mustn’t do, I ought to get the Huntmaster, she’ll—”

“My love.” You felt your throat tighten, your mouth go dry. “Although your voice is sweeter than honey and lovelier than birdsong, I’ll admit – I do find myself rather irritated when it’s used to employ such thinly veiled excuses. Any more, and I might think it better to encase your tongue in gold. At least, then, I might have something charming to admire while you lie to me.” His fingers grazed over your jaw as he moved to cup your cheek. It was not a gesture you had the luxury of ignoring. “You know why I have come here.”

Oh, how you wished you’d gone with your sisters.

“I… I can’t, my lord.” Unlike his, your voice was perfectly capable of trembling, of shaking, of plummeting into the sort of jarring, unsteady downward inflections that would’ve been the death of any proper storyteller. “My vows are to Lady Artemis, and—” It was your turn to smile, now, to lilt your head to the side apologetically. “—she’d never forgive me if I broke them. Especially with you.”

For the first time, his good humor seemed to ebb, giving way to not anger, but a melancholy sort of disappointment. “I suppose you’re right,” he relented, his golden glow dimming ever so slightly. Suddenly, it did not hurt quite so unbearably to look at him. “It’s a terrible thing. Me and my sister never did learn to share.”

Relief nearly managed to overshadow your revulsion. “I really am sorry. My desire is not to insult you, but—”

This time, when he interrupted you, it was not with a teasing remark, a nectar-dipped pet name, the vague implication of an affection he expected you to return. Rather, there was a sudden brightness in his golden eyes, a sharpened point to his smile, and then, his lips were pressed into yours. The kiss was shallow, but lingering, and when you tried to draw back, the hand on your cheek kept you firmly in place – his hold not crushing, but steadfast, resolute. His unoccupied arm wrapped around your waist, his hand finding its place at the small of your back as he sapped the last of the breath from your lungs. It was only when your palms pressed into his chest, your blunt nails burrowing into his bare skin in a silent plea for air, that he pulled back. Panting and flushed, you made a desperate effort to pull away, to escape back to your encampment, back to your sisters, back to your goddess, but he only cooed, his bowstring calloused fingertips fanning over your cheek.

“Such a terrible thing,” he muttered, and you considered, briefly, that you might’ve been the first mortal to realize just how wretched his voice truly was.

“How fortunate it is, then, that you’ve caught the attention of such a selfish admirer.”

[suigetsusunny]

Temporary Whispers Of The Heart ⊹₊⟡⋆ | Sosuke Aizen X Reader

Chapter 2 | No Scrubs

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

The saccharine taste of jasmine tainted your tongue as you brought the porcelain cup up to your lips. A sugary scent filled your nostrils, and you hummed, satisfied that your tea was sweetened to your taste. You gazed out of the shoji doors of the Captain's quarters, enjoying the alluring scenery of the dusk sun tinting the sky a gentle amber as it submerged into the horizon. 

“You may as well eat a jar of fresh honey, rather than wasting my precious jasmine tea for your… sugar overload.”

Aizen quipped, scoffing as he sipped his own cup of jasmine tea, deficit of sugar before placing it back down on the small coffee table you two were chatting at.

“And you expect me to say that wouldn’t be delectable?”

He rolled his eyes at your declaration, causing you to chuckle into your cup as you tossed aside the courtesy of speaking to an actual Captain through your teasing. 

“I’m making jasmine tea to suit your tastes, I would prefer to hear some words of thanks. I’m sure you’re well aware of my actual affinity for hibiscus tea…” Sosuke murmured, kindly sliding a plate of red bean mochi towards your cup until it clinked from collision. You hummed eagerly in approval, greedily stuffing it into your mouth, savouring the gentle sweetness that bursted into your tastebuds. You shifted from your position on the floor being a polite kneel to sitting on your behind, knees held up to your chest. You tilted your head, gazing back at him whilst your tongue trailed the leftover powder on your lips.

“I’ll keep it in mind, Mr. Aizen.”

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

A soft reflection shone your features onto it as you stared into the porcelain cup, admiring the intricate golden design adorning the rims of the cup. 

Attempting to train Sosuke Aizen had somehow been more arduous than trying to find a needle in a haystack. The enigma had somehow always been dissatisfied or had something to say about the Soul Society, his never ending criticisms serving as some deeper form of torture. The dense silence accompanying the office only grew thicker, occasionally broken by the pitter-patter of the rain outside. 

It was devastatingly just you and the man in the office, as you two were considered executive soul reaper officers, your timetables did not give way to many holidays unlike the other reapers… Death stops for no one, as that cunning man Shunsui once stated.

A knock on your door, once again. You groused, reluctantly arising from your comfortable chair to swing the door open. “The computer has ceased functioning again.”

You raised an eyebrow at Aizen's statement, discerning his arms confidently crossed and a complacent look on his face. At least nobody else was in the office to watch the humiliation you had to endure trying to have a mutually intelligible conversation with him. 

“Did I not just train you how to use it? How did you mess it up already…” 

“You are aware I haven’t been in the human world nearly as long as you have recently to adapt to this technology, right.” He grumbled, his tone asserting his authority and irritatingly pronouncing you underneath him. 

You simply rolled your eyes at his sassiness. “You cannot learn yourself instead of clinging to me like a newborn? I’m sure The Sosuke Aizen is capable of figuring it out himself.” You snapped, muttering curses under your breath that you had to interact with him. It felt like ants crawled under your skin every time your ears were forced to hear his belligerent yet smooth voice.

“Do you think I’m willingly asking you for assistance?” He calmly fired back, following his statement with a mocking huff. 

“You’d think a man who’s attained the status of a God could work a simple computer.” You scoffed as you trailed behind him, halting at his desk within his office to investigate the buffered screen.

You stared intently at the display, leaning down to hold the mouse in your grip, clicking it incessantly to somehow get the screen to work. You weren’t too familiar with human world objects either despite your heritage, yet still you refused to look weak in front of that man. You slid a hand behind the thick, cream coloured monitor and slammed your palm against it roughly. Aizen gave you a slightly startled and humoured look as you tried to get it to work by… hitting it.

“Resorting to physical violence is not a trait I thought you had in you.” He jested, a slight curl tugging at his lips. 

You adamantly avoided his comment, focusing predominantly on the task at hand. After shutting the computer off and giving it a bit of a ‘massage’, the rusty tech seemed to crackle and switch on again. 

“Just press this power button to shut it off and on if it acts up again and slightly give it a push.” You muttered, exhaling in relief that at least something was complying with you today. You swung around to leave, facing your office through the gap in the doorway, about to exit the scene. Before you did so, you slightly turned your head to the right, ensuring your side eye pierced deeply into his hazel irises. 

“You may have known who I was before but you don’t know who I am now, Mr. Aizen. ” 

You let the sour statement roll off your tongue harshly before swiftly strutting back to your office. You rubbed your temple with your palm, your head starting to ache at the sheer amount of frustration you felt around him.

Ordering more modern soul pagers, sending Zanpakuto requests, organising Kido training timetables and areas… As of recent, working for the soul society had become… oddly mundane. You hadn’t gotten a request to deal with a threat in a while now, the competence of newer Soul Reapers proving to be more than sufficient.

You pushed in specific buttons on the telephone nearby, leaning back on your inky leather office chair as you rang Urahara’s store about the new transfer of employees to the Karakura district building. As you played with the cord and dwelled on your past, the line abruptly picked up. 

,,Hello? Oh, Shunsui-chan? Is this your new company phone number? Fancy fancy I see~’’

You fumbled in your seat, the legs you had kicked up onto your desk immediately slamming back down on the floor as you sat up, not expecting the man himself to pick up instead of Ururu. Speaking with Urahara was still largely a foreign concept to you. After all, he was the partner of the sister you weren’t in contact with anymore… You let out a deep breath, settling your racing heart as you spoke once again.

“Hello, Mr. Urahara. This is Y/N. I am calling to check in the new July intake of employees that you had organised. Could you please forward me their contact information ASAP?” 

The line went oddly silent, sounds of shuffling and stumbling reflecting on the feedback that blared throughout your ears. 

,,Hey..! Y/N! So nice to hear from you again, how have you been? I heard you were working in the human world now... isn't that great? How have you been finding it-’’

“It’s good. Could you please just send me the files.” You attempted to retain a collegiate demeanour, fiddling with your pens and clicking them incessantly. God, I’m acting like a child.

,,...Of course. I’ll send them through now.’’

You hummed in approval as you perceived the email notification pop up on your screen.

“Thank you. Goodbye.” 

,,Bye! Oh and, also-’’

Shit…

You had slammed the phone down onto its dock reflexively as he bid farewell, accidentally cutting off his sentence. You contemplated calling back, yet you were still unsure as talking to him felt like a thousand needles piercing into your back-

Ring!

You picked up the phone once more, Urahara’s hoarse yet jovial voice booming through the device.

,,Sorry to bother you once more! But, are you attending that higher-ups dinner thing in a few days? It’s being organised by the new Gotei 13.”

You tilted your head to the side, puzzled. A dinner..?

“Oh, I haven’t heard of that. I’ll check the mailbox now.” You stated to the cheerful voice that blasted through your eardrums. 

You contemplated your answer to the blonde, aware that you would have to probably see your sister again.

“I’ll go.”

A boisterous gasp and a slight giggle followed your statement.

,,I’ll be looking forward to it~! Bye now!”

-beep.

What have I gotten myself into…

You slid back the sleeve of your blazer to discern the time on your analog watch. Sure enough, it was already 5pm, as you could tell from the shuffling outside your room indicating Aizen’s unfortunate existence. You tucked your belongings meticulously into your beige messenger bag, slinging it around your shoulder as you left your office.

A familiar gait ensued further behind the clacks of your heels, causing you hasten faster to press the elevator button before the steps caught up to you. After what seemed like a millenia, the lift arrived and the doors finally decided to part, causing you to rush inside and slam the button to shut them before Aizen caught up to you. 

Unfortunately, a familiar vanilla scent rose throughout your nostrils as you reluctantly looked up to see the man standing in front of you, staring passionately into your eyes with his deep, brooding, sepia ones.

Aizen gazed at you profoundly as he took a step forward towards you, causing you to take one backwards. You backed further into the corner as he continued to step forward and close the gap between you two, until you could feel his warm breath erecting goosebumps on your cheeks. The brunette raised his arm to the side of you, his pointer finger gravitating far closer to your face than you would have liked. 

Your heart raced, heat flushing across your entire body as your eyes continued to lock longingly with his, roaming to gaze at the lone sepia lock drizzled onto his face from the rest of his neatly tucked hair. 

“What… What do you want…?” You finally mustered out, your heart uncontrollably beating at his increased proximity. He’s still so…

“The elevator floor button...

You’re blocking it.”

Oh.

Eyes widened larger than saucers, you hurriedly moved aside, muttering a rash apology under your breath. I am the epitome of idiocracy. Aizen proceeded to push the ground floor button, setting himself farther away yet adjacent to you in the lift as it proceeded with its descent. Embarrassed was probably the most softest way to describe what emotion ran through your entire body right now. How did I get so foolishly excited over that… Imprudent, half witted… absurd excuse of a Shinigami. The only thing you could even compare your flippant behaviour today would be a child…

As the elevator completed its descent, the doors parted once more to allow the both of you to spill out and seperate out of the building. You glanced at Aizen momentarily on your path to the car park, pausing your flustered thoughts to ponder where he was supposed to even stay in the human world. You then discerned a stern Hisagi emerge from a sleek black Mercedes, the reaper slapping on another pair of handcuffs onto Aizen and sealing his hands behind his back securely before nudging him to step into the car from the door left ajar. You give a gentle grin and a wave to the familiar face as his head still bobbed above the car door, his eyes seemingly noticing your figure in the distance of the car park as he suddenly ceased his movement. Shuuhei removed his sunglasses after seeing you, giving a wide grin as he waved merrily to you before another driver in the car seemed to nudge him to return inside so they could leave. The two of you hesitantly bid a silent goodbye before he stepped back into the car, driving off. 

You recalled the invites sent for the gathering Urahara spoke to you about, causing you to make a U-turn to visit the office mailboxes. You scanned through them as you entered the building again, searching for the one designated to your floor. You slide out what seemed like four invites and held them against your chest before slipping them into your bag. You left once more, wincing at the gush of wind that decided to dishevel your hair as you walked outside.

A sudden call incessantly buzzed in your pocket, causing you to hurriedly fish around for your cell phone and find out who the perpetrator to the call was. You flip open your phone, letting out a sigh of relief after discerning the caller id. You picked up the phone, lifting it to your ear as you greeted your friend amicably.

,,Y/N! Look to your left!’’  

You whipped around to see your closest companion Rangiku, leaning on a hot pink mazda as she clicked her tongue at you. You chuckled under your breath as you snapped the phone shut, sliding it back into your pocket.

“Look at this baby! Isn’t she beautiful? God, I really love human world tech!” Matsumoto chortled, admiring the way in which her fuchsia vehicle sparkled in the dusk sun. 

“Gosh, it’s even prettier in person, Ran…” You mumbled as you stared in awe at the gorgeous car, taking in all its stunning features. Rangiku signals for you to come in as she unlocks the car, a minuscule yet cute beep following her pressing the button on her sparkly magenta keys. You gazed around the vehicle after taking a seat and meticulously shutting the door, knowing how hard the poor girl worked to purchase something like this - and the curses to your entire bloodline that would follow had you done something to it - you tried your best not to damage it. Before you could shower it in more compliments, the strawberry blonde turned to face you suddenly with a sincere look in her eyes.

“Do my eyes deceive me or did I see you walk out with… Sosuke Aizen?” She inquired firmly, a tinge of worry in her tone.

You groan, finally in an environment comfortable enough that you could slam your palms to your face and loudly grouse into them.

“Don’t remind me. I have to work with the degenerate now because of Shunsui.”  You slowly slid them off your face, turning to see Matsumoto’s reaction. She winced, eyebrows furrowed with worry and fury.

“That’s so scary?! How could he just do that?! Put you with someone like that… That must be torture, I’m sorry Y/N.” She pouted, and you pinched her cheek gently between your fingers as you felt guilty seeing her solemn expression. 

“I’ll be fine. It’s my duty.” You give a sincere grin back, reassuring her by patting her shoulder. She didn’t seem convinced in the slightest, yet she let it go for your sake. “There you go again, rambling on about your duty… You really haven’t changed.” Rangiku scoffs before setting the car into drive, shoving her foot onto the pedal to accelerate. Before you could respond, you were thrown back into the seat from the reckless way in which Rangiku sped off. You could hardly have a comprehensible conversation with her from the consistent near-death experiences greeting you almost every 2 minutes.

“Ran!? Oh my god be careful- WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” You yelled thunderously, flinching backwards as you braced yourself for impact.

The blonde slammed the brake pedal before she was about to get T-boned by crossing a red light. “Sorry… still getting used to all these rules..!” Matsumoto giggled as she poked her tongue out childishly, causing you to mentally facepalm at her stupidity. “I doubt this car’s lasting more than a day…”

Before long and after a lot of gossip from her Kido training, you two had arrived at your apartment. Miniscule yet cozy, though nothing compared to your Captain quarters when you used to live in the Soul Society. Rangiku remained in the human world often to do Kido training with the novice soul reapers in Karakura as per her orders, so being the close companions you were, you both mainly took care of each other. It felt good to have a good friend whilst you navigated this place pretty much alone. 

˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Rangiku burst out in laughter, the pungent smell of saké wafting towards you and seizing your nostrils. 

“No… No fucking way… Oh, goodness Y/N, I’m actually going to pee myself.” She chortled, causing your humiliation to spike by tenfold.

“How was I supposed to know!?” You berated, irritated at her never ending cackling. After you had told her about your encounter with the enigma, she was only able to respond with cacophonies of laughter and many failed attempts to not topple over from amusement and the sheer amount of alcohol in her system.

“I deplore that piece of shit but holy hell, that’s so funny… I want to hear more! I’m so excited to hear more!~” Rangiku's chortles boisterously reverberated throughout the compact apartment, causing you to hush her before you received any more complaints. 

“I can’t do it! I can't hear this asshole spit any more nonsensical shit at me Ran. For the Soul Kings sake, save me. I can’t.” You rested your head onto your arms, leaning down on the table cluttered with several bottles of saké. A drunk Matsumoto snickered at your oddball of a metaphor, a stupid grin lying on her face.

“Wait… Y/N…”

Rangiku’s attitude abruptly changed to a sincere one, her cerulean eyes piercing through you.

“Don’t tell me… You still-”

You cut her off before she could finish the brainfart of a statement you knew would follow.

“Over my dead. Deceased. Rotted. Mouldy. Fossilised body. God, no.”

A playful smirk tugged at her lips as her grin stretched wider than a cheshire cat. You scowled at her, avoiding eye contact as she cheekily tried to fluster you with her teasing looks.  As you turned away, you discerned the time, noticing the clock strike midnight. Her gaze followed yours and both of your moods immediately dissipated from the observation, causing you to sit in a solemn silence. 

“Should we talk tomorrow, Ran?” You queried in a soft voice as you stared at her sorrowful expression. 

“Can I stay over tonight?” She sighed, twiddling with her fingers. You nodded keenly, shifting across the floor to sit beside her. You discern the gentle tears that fell from her reverent sky-blue irises, travelling gradually down her porcelain features. 

“Gosh, I know it’s pathetic… It’s been so long.” She mumbled, bringing a hand up to brush the tears away with the back of her hand. Your own eyes began to water as you tucked both your arms around her, letting her lean into you and sob into your chest. Gentle tears slid down your own cheeks, your sorrow exacerbating as her sobs grew rougher and more painful. 

“You’re not pathetic, don’t say that.”

After a while of comfortable silence, Rangiku shot up abruptly, shuffling around to grab her bag and search through it. Finally, she found her desired item… A large bottle of alcohol. She slammed the azure bottle onto the low coffee table you two were sitting on the floor at, unscrewing the cap and pouring herself a shot.

“I brought it this time.”

You sighed before rotating the bottle towards you, staring intently at the label before you poured yourself a shot alongside her.

Pure Gin. 

Today was the anniversary of Ichimaru Gin’s death. 

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

happy reading ! and as always, comments and thoughts are always appreciated :-)

sumi <3

[2012wannabe]

Lace Dreams

cw/tw: rich!abby x reader, little seed of sugarmommy!abby, poverty insecurity woohoo, reader grew up poor, references to sex

wc: 986

an: financial stress has been hitting a bit too hard lately. I always write with a femme reader in mind because that’s what I know but there are no indicators of gender/looks. (unless wearing panties counts as an indicator of gender for you)

Abby came into your life suddenly and you wouldn’t have it any other way. It was almost as if the universe had heard your prayers and sent a guardian angel into your life. The second you saw her, you felt your knees get weak and every cliché stereotype come to life.

When you met her in person for the first time you had gone to breakfast at a diner near her college, pancakes for her sweet tooth. She was not only the most gorgeous woman you had ever laid your eyes on, glistening muscles and all, but you both clicked immediately. With her, the words flowed, and getting lost in conversation was easy. The way your stomach had butterflies around her was jarring, something you hadn’t felt since you were a kid with your first love. Texting and FaceTime calls almost immediately became a constant and you shared each other schedules to plan around your college classes.

For the first few months of your relationship, you hadn’t ever went to Abby’s apartment. You knew that she had one and she had a one bedroom, extremely impressive for a college student, but that was really it. Money was never really a topic of conversation either, so imagine your shock when you found out she was loaded. You had figured she was doing pretty well since she was always insisting on paying for dates and you were glad because honestly, you couldn’t really afford to keep going. But going back to her apartment after she took you to a Broadway show, your jaw dropped before you even got into the elevator.

Walking in, she greeted the doorman and instantly you felt kind of down on yourself. You had had her over at your dorm and now insecurity started to push at every angle in your brain. Still, you pushed it down and followed her up. She was being funded by her lawyer mom and brain surgeon dad until she was able to work as a doctor, she explained. The apartment was absolutely beautiful, and modernly decorated, with stainless steel appliances and a fully stocked fridge. It was perfectly clean, with not a speck of dust and certainly no vermin or bugs, unlike your childhood home. The nice soap alone could have brought tears to your eyes.

Why would she like me? I’m not on her level at all! Your brain taunted. Abby seemed oblivious to all this and put a smile back on as her she showed you around the apartment. She brought you to her bedroom and your jaw nearly dropped. Her bed was possibly the most comfortable looking bed you had ever seen, several thick plush blankets with two huge pillows. You wanted to cover up your insecurity with a joke about what you could you do in the bed but no joke came.

“Your apartment is so beautiful,”

“Thanks.” Abby said with a slight tinge of awkwardness in her tone.

“Is there something wrong? You got quiet.”

“No, no. Definitely not.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s just so nice. I kind of wish I didn’t show you my dorm now.” You said, reflecting on your tiny room. Something was always broken and everything was put back together with the shittiest of quick fixes.

You studied her face as she responded, wondering if she had judged you in the past. It didn’t seem like it and it definitely didn’t seem like she was judging you now. She invited you to sit on the bed with her and laced her hand in yours. You had gotten so close to her in only a 6 months, it seemed like such a short amount of time now and you even agreed on moving in together after your lease at your dorm was up.

“I don’t know how I had never come over before. What, you hiding it from me?” You attempted to tease. Abby laughed,

“I’ve spent so much time studying for the MCAT, the library was more my home than here.”

“Right. How does it feel to be finally done?”

“Weird. I honestly feel kind of old because in 4 months I’ll be a senior in college and then I’ll be in medical school.” You flopped on your back and let out a sigh. She laid down next you and shamelessly admired you. Your cheeks flushed and Abby giggled.

“I hope you’re not ruminating.” She said.

“Maybe a little bit.”

“Can you talk about it? I can practically see the wheels turning in your brain.”

“It’s the same as I said before, everything here is just so nice. It’s nowhere near what it was like for me growing up. The fact that you have soap that hasn’t been watered down several times to make it last longer makes me want to cry. Having soap shouldn’t make me cry.” Abby’s features softened and lightly caressed your face with the pads of her fingers.

“I’m so sorry baby. I have a lot of privilege, there’s no denying that and if it hasn’t been obvious enough I want to share what I have with you. I love you and you deserve more than I could ever give you.” Your eyes teared up and she wiped away a tear as it fell. You rushed to get closer to her and let her strong arms hold you as you cuddled.

“I don’t have words to express how much I love you. Things are going to get better one day. I mean fuck, they already have.” You said. A moment of comfortable silence passed until you suddenly turned to her,

“You can bet your ass one of the first things I’ll be buying with my paycheck from my adult job is some lacy panties. Lavender ones too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You said.

“How about you make forget all about my shit and top me into this comfortable ass bed?” Abby let out a laugh.

“How could I ever say no?”

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

You're Special to Me | Us Too

You’re Special To Me is so? mmm I don’t have the words to describe it but. (it’s really good) (all your fics are really good but this one just hit the spot for whatever reason) …any plans for a second part with more comfort than hurt? where the others realize what they’ve been doing to Remus and make it up to him (and summon a mattress from the room and have a cat pile sleepover)? – anon

All I've got to say is: touch-starved Remus. That's it. In anything. Just poor Dukey needing a damn hug. (/nf) – anon

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: none

Pairings: none

Word Count: 3323

The others have a nasty habit of comparing Roman and Remus. It starts to get grating after a while. Good thing Roman's always thought his brother was the best.

 

Logan comes up to him when he's in the Imagination weeding Ollie's pond. The Kraken rumbles and shifts in the water, making the reflection dance as he turns to see a figure with a large bag over its shoulder emerge from the mist. He stands up and wipes his hands on his overalls.

"Lolo? Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me." Logan finally steps out of the fog, holding one hand in front of his face as if to shield his glasses. "My apologies for intruding, but Roman said I might find you here."

"You found me, good job. Did you want something?"

"I was hoping we could talk."

A cool greyness far starker than the surrounding fog starts to creep into the edge of Remus's vision. "Talk? What about?"

"It's come to my attention that I've been very unfair to you. And by that I mean Roman gave me a kind reminder as to what it's like to have your work process judged, verbally or otherwise, and I'm here to make it up to you."

Remus blinks. Logan is here to what, exactly? And Roman did what? And Logan what? "What?"

Logan sets down the bag on a nearby rock and comes to stand next to Remus, who only then realizes he's wearing over-the-knee muck boots. "It was my fault for assuming that you and Roman would have similar processes because you are both Creativity. My response to realizing my error should not have made you feel as though your process is inferior or inadequate compared to Roman's."

"O-oh. Uh, I don't think you meant it, but, um, thanks?"

"Of course."

"Why're you…" He gestures to Logan's everything. "This?"

"Well, I was hoping we could have another brainstorm if you were feeling up to it—no pressure to say yes, obviously, this was not planned ahead of time—and I brought things to help."

"Help with the brainstorm?"

"Roman had mentioned you were looking to test the salinity of Oliver's pool in case you needed to introduce other creatures to his habitat," Logan explains as he opens the bag and unfolds it to reveal a series of vials and jars held in fabric sleeves, "and so I thought I would—"

"You made this for me?"

Logan pauses, looking up at Remus's disbelieving face. He huffs a laugh. "Yes, Remus, I made it for you. I was intending to leave it with you to do on your own time, but I figured as I had an apology to make—"

"You're forgiven, exonerated, whatever." Remus all but pounces on the bag. "Now shush and help me run some tests. Ollie! Get ready to throw your ball around a lot 'cause we got work to do!"

Logan chuckles and pulls out a notebook as Ollie trills in excitement, already fishing around in the kelp for his ball.

2.

"You got your gloves, right?"

Roman flexes his hand—his already gloved hand—and Remus rolls his eyes. "It's okay, I'm excited too."

"Shut up and let's get going. I want to try and have this ready for the afternoon."

"Shutting up!" Roman opens the Imagination door with a flourish and they walk out into a sunny field of lavender. The smell is nearly overpowering; if it weren't so pleasant, Remus might offer Roman something to plug his nose with, that's how strong it was. The last time his nose had been so thoroughly ensorcelled had been when— "Re? You okay?"

Remus blinks and sniffles. "Yeah. Sorry. Smell got me remembering Willow."

Roman joins him in the quiet as they walk through the field, both of them remembering the baby dragon that loved the flower fields so much when she was still a hatchling. The dragon had grown up and flown off to the Cloud Kingdom, somewhere high up in the Imagination that they could only get to on the back of Roman's dragon—so they didn't go very often anymore. The lavender rustles around their legs and does a great job of cheering them up when they finally find a spot to gather the plants.

"How much do we need?"

"Let's try and fill these baskets if we can, I think we need to have enough for both the glaze and the cake itself."

"Sure." Roman nudges him as they crouch down. "This was a really good idea, Re, I'm glad you suggested it."

"Thanks for coming with me."

"Oh, shoot—" Roman pats his pockets and stands up. "I think I forgot the stopwatch."

"You mean the one that we take into the Imagination each time so we remember what time it is in the rest of the Mindscape? That one? The really important one that we keep on the hook by the door—"

Roman cuffs him half-heartedly on the shoulder. "I'll be right back, you asshole."

"Love you too, Roro."

Roman walks back down the rows of the field as Remus gets to work. He doesn't bother with the gloves, not at first. His hands spend too often smelling of Kraken slime and other gross things, which normally he doesn't mind, but if he has the chance to smell of lavender instead, he'll take it. He falls into a soothing rhythm of plucking and pruning, the basket at his side growing slowly fuller, until a shadow falls across his lap.

"Ro, you're back, did you…?"

He trails off when he looks up and sees someone who is decidedly not Roman.

"…Pat-Pat?"

"Hey, Remus!" Patton looks around. "This place is really pretty. Did you and Roman make it?"

"Yeah." The flowers start to grey a little at the edges. "Did you see him on your way in? Is he almost back?"

"Yeah, I, um, passed him in the hall." He suddenly looks sheepish, fiddling with the sleeves of the hoodie tied around his shoulders. "He agreed to give me a few minutes to apologize to you."

"To what?"

"I'm not very nice to you," Patton says bluntly, "I know I'm not. It was—Roman was really upset with me over the whole baking thing. I didn't know—I didn't realize how it felt that I basically bossed you around for the whole time and you didn't even get to make what you wanted."

"…so you're apologizing for it?"

"Yeah, I am. I'm sorry, Remus, I was mean to you and it wasn't your fault."

"Uh, thanks." He drops another lavender leaf into his basket. "I appreciate that."

"Are you guys making something will all the lavender?"

"Yeah, we're gonna make a tea cake."

Patton claps his hands. "Ooh, that sounds really good! Can I help at all, or should I just wait?"

"I think you'd better wait, Patton, too many cooks and all that," Roman's voice comes over Patton's shoulder and Remus thanks everything he's ever made that his brother knows how to say the stuff he wants to say in the way where no one actually gets mad at him. "But we'll be sure to save you a big slice!"

Patton claps his hands and squeezes Roman in a hug before he's leaving the Imagination. Remus holds his breath until the door closes and then sags into Roman.

"I'm sorry," Roman murmurs, "I didn't realize he'd…I thought that'd be easier on you than it seems like it was."

"It's fine, it's not your fault. He's just a lot sometimes."

"Yeah, he is. But on the good side, I'm pretty sure that means you and I have free run of the kitchen all afternoon."

"Can we make him regret it slightly?"

"Oh, we can make him regret it way more than slightly—"

"Yes."

"—with how good this tea cake is."

Remus pouts and Roman laughs.

3.

"You look sad," comes Janus's voice from beside him as arms wrap around his waist, "so you're getting cuddled now."

Remus just turns his face into the crook of Janus's neck and breathes out, long and slow. Janus hums, setting his chin on top of Remus's neck and rubbing his back. They shift around a little to get elbows out of ribcages and knees out of groins before Janus starts scratching his hand through Remus's hair. Which isn't fair, and he knows it, because it always makes Remus want to tell him what's wrong, even when he doesn't want to.

Like now.

"I'm so tired," he whispers, the words leaving him with no small amount of shame, "I'm just so—I want it to stop."

"Want what to stop, sweetie?"

"This," he mumbles and bonks his head against Janus's chest, "this, this thing in my brain that won't shut the fuck up, I want it to go away and leave me alone."

"Do you want to tell me what it's saying?"

"No."

Janus pauses, then shifts up enough to press his mouth against the crown of Remus's head. "You be quiet in there, you here me? Don't make me put my angry gloves on."

The reference to a set of gloves Remus had made when they were younger, complete with snarling mouths that opened up when the palm was exposed, makes him laugh. Janus chuckles along with him, kissing his forehead and holding him a little tighter.

"You're doing so well, sweetie. Everything is a lot right now and you're dealing with it as best you can. You're going to be okay."

"I'm really tired, Janny."

"Then sleep." He shifts underneath him to lie down properly, Remus arranged atop him like some great weighted blanket. "You're nice and warm and I am excellent at cuddling. Have a nap."

"Right here?"

"Yes, on this couch, where we're both safe, where I can take care of you and steal all of that body heat you and Roman hoard to yourselves." Another kiss to his temple. "Do you want a blanket too?"

"Yeah."

A quick snap of Janus's fingers and there's a thick green comforter resting on top of them, not too heavy, not too hot, just enough weight and cover that some part of Remus actually relaxes underneath it. His eyes begin to drift closed against his will, something he knows Janus realizes by the slightly smug turn in the air.

"Shh, now," comes the soft voice, "that's it, sweetie, just go to sleep. It's alright, everything's alright, you're safe with me, I'll take care of you."

"I don't know when the last time someone hugged me who wasn't Roman was."

Janus is quiet for a minute. Then: "I hope you know I'm not letting you out of here until dinner time, and maybe not even then."

"Okay."

"And I might kidnap you to warm up my room since I've been getting cold falling asleep."

"Okay."

"And I might have to get Virgil to help me too."

"…okay."

"As long as you're aware of what's about to happen, sweetie."

"Mm."

4.

Janus does end up telling Virgil, which is how he ends up with a heavy lapful of Emo one evening when they're all lazing around before movie night. He'd sat down on the couch to finish digesting the insane about of spaghetti he'd managed to eat during dinner, and yelped when something landed on his lap, sighed, and squirmed around to get comfortable.

"Virgil?"

"Hey, Remus." Virgil grins up at him. "You don't get to be mad about me surprising you when that's literally all you do to us."

"I wasn't—okay, maybe slightly," he amends when Virgil gives him a look, "but…it's not like you do this, not to me."

"Yeah, well." Virgil shifts a bit more and one hand comes up to clumsily pat Remus's shoulder. "You and I haven't been around each other that much lately. I gotta make up for lost time and all that stuff."

"You do?"

Something flickers across Virgil's expression and he sits up, his face only a few inches from Remus's. "Yeah, Remus. We were—not as close as you and Janus were, but we were close. You used to sneak into my room to put on crazy shadow puppet shows and I used to run to you when I was scared of the thunder. And then I…left, and we haven't really been that close since."

"Because you made everyone think we didn't like each other."

He winces. "Yeah, I know. But I—hmm. I'm really trying to be better about that, Remus, I am. I really did miss you."

"You did?"

"Yeah." Virgil quickly glances around and leans closer. "Don't tell anyone about this, okay?"

"Okay."

"The reason I started picking on Princey at first was because he reacted kinda like you did when I pushed Janus's buttons. He got all uppity and loud and it made me think of how you'd always pretend to be some weird knight riding to Janus's defense whenever I pissed him off."

Remus's cheeks flushed. He'd forgotten about that, when Virgil was being a pest and Janus was running out of patience, he'd jump in between them and start a play fight with Virgil to defuse the tension and get everyone laughing again. To hear—well, he'd known that Virgil got close to Roman for similar reasons—but something like this? Just because he missed Remus? And here he was thinking that Virgil was thanking his lucky black holes that he was away from Remus.

"I didn't know."

"I know you didn't," Virgil says, his voice softer now, "and I know you didn't think I cared enough to notice you were touch starved."

"Well—I—I didn't—I only—Janny said—"

"Janus said, Roman said, I thought." Virgil flops back down onto his lap, burying his face in his stomach as he wraps his arms around Remus's waist. "You get cuddles because you need them, and I give them to you 'cause I spent too many years pretending I didn't wanna."

"That was mean," but it's weak as Remus starts to sag into the warm embrace.

"I know, bud, and I'm done with being mean to you. Now we just get along unless we're play fighting, deal?"

Remus nods back, but his voice is too shot to make anything close to a reasonable response, and Virgil doesn't seem to mind.

5.

He's having another bad day when Roman sinks into his room and carts him back off to the Imagination, this time picking one of their favorite rooms in the high castle. It's all warm grey stone and warm wooden floorboards that've been sitting in the sun all day, pillows and blankets tossed about the room for making temporary mattresses. He sags into Roman's side and refuses to budge when Roman insists on getting some of the blankets and pillows.

"In a second," he laughs as Remus whines in protest, "just let me go for two seconds and you'll be happier, I promise."

Remus pouts but does wait the few seconds for Roman to throw something together. Then he just lifts his arms like he's a toddler asking to get picked up. Which he does, and he's tossed unceremoniously onto the pile of pillows. He bounces and Roman laughs at his surprised face.

"Come on, no pouting," he teases, lying down in the blankets too and pulling Remus into a cat pile, "let's just enjoy the sunset, okay?"

Imagination sunsets are the best. There are always a ton of pretty colors, always enough strategically placed clouds to keep you from being entirely blinded, and they last for just as long as you want them to. The one today they can see through the wide windows of the high tower is no exception. Rich blues and purples chase the reds and pinks around the sky, the clouds airbrushed with the most delicate versions of the colors as the sun slowly descends over the hills. There's no risk of mugginess this high up, nor any biting insects thanks to the constant breezes around the top of the tower. Remus feels his eyelids growing heavier and heavier as he sinks into Roman's embrace.

"Hey," Roman whispers and he hums something in reply, "you're the best brother ever, you know that?"

"No, you."

"No, you." Roman squeezes him around the middle and presses a gross, smacking kiss to his cheek. "And I love you."

"Don't get all sappy, Ro."

"Sunsets are sappy times, Re! Besides, you've had a really long day and that means getting cuddles while I tell you how much I love you 'cause you're a great brother."

"You mean it's the time you try to kill me with sap overload."

"Semantics."

Remus swats half-heartedly at him and his drama queen of a brother yelps like he's been struck with a whip, but he can't keep the smile off his face.

Roman loves me. He really, really loves me.

It would be a very different world if he didn't have such an amazing brother.

+1.

There are still bad days where he doesn't feel like getting out of bed or talking to someone who isn't his brother.

There are more good days. Days like this, where he gets to spend it surrounded by his family.

"Shush," Virgil mumbles, swatting Logan's leg with a pillow as he tries to go on another rant about a certain trope that Remus never caught the name of, "it's sleep time."

"You're going to fall asleep on the floor?"

"Right, good point. Princey?"

"Coming right up." Roman snaps his fingers and the familiar giant mattress appears in the middle of the living room, much to the delight of Virgil and Janus, who both sprawl onto it like overgrown kittens.

"You both need to make some room," Remus grunts as he shoves at an errant leg, "c'mon, let the rest of us on."

"Ooh, I want Remus cuddles today," Virgil mumbles, only for Janus to snatch him. "Hey!"

"Too slow."

"Children," Logan scolds, reaching out and ruffling Remus's hair with a wink, "I could've sworn we talked about consensually abducting cuddle victims."

"I'll fight you for him," Virgil declares, already reaching for a pillow, but Patton grabs it instead. "Hey!"

"No," Janus whines as Patton joins in the playful fight for Remus cuddles—when Remus himself is more bemused than anything else and Roman and Logan are just smiling, the useless wonderful bastards— "get your own Remus! This one's mine!"

"That's all of our Remus, you have to share!"

"Yeah, give us each a limb or something."

"No, I want the torso!"

"I want the head," Logan remarks casually with another wink when Remus blushes, "but I think Roman would prefer we kept his brother intact as much as possible."

"You can share," Remus gasps out eventually when he's getting battered with pillows, "I wanna cuddle all of you!"

"Well, if that's what he wants—"

"Who are we to say no?"

Janus just chuckles as the four of them quickly make themselves at home in the middle of the blanket, arms slung over Remus until he can't quite tell whose limbs are whose. But the warm pressure and familiar scents of all of them right here, safe, under the blankets are sending the everything good, sleep now signals that his brain is having a hard time ignoring.

So maybe he won't ignore them and he'll just fall asleep.

He makes eye contact with Roman before his eyes slip closed properly and the last thing he sees is Roman's soft grin.

There will be good days, there will be bad days.

But Remus never feels truly grey ever again and for that, he's happy.

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[beneathashadytree]

I love ur imagines especially the One Piece ones!! Would it be alright if you could make a scenario of a g/n reader who's an Ancient Weapon and like they're afraid of getting close to anyone since everyone they get close to dies. They're a part of the Heart Pirates and then suddenly the crew is hunted down relentlessly because of the reader and they decided to leave the crew. While they're about to leave after an argument with Law, Law stops them by kissing them and then they try to reason things out! Hopefully this works! Lubsss uuuu

NEVER A HOME - TRAFALGAR LAW X READER

Warnings : mentions of death and injuries, probably some abandonment issues sprinkled in, this is not proofread, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : angst to fluff (I think)

Word count : 3.4K words (holy shit—)

Additional notes : I… have no words to say—but apparently more than enough to write 😭 I got so carried away while writing this. Honestly, I just absolutely ADORED this request, so I couldn’t help but write this much. Aside from all this, please make sure to check my bio! My requests are actually closed now. I do hope you like this, though! Much love to you💗

Requests : Are closed.

Tip jar if you’d like to buy me a Ko-Fi!

Masterlist

They don’t know when they’d decided to let their guard down. They don’t know how that constant nagging feeling; that creeping thought that ate away at their mind, was reduced to nothing more than a dull ache at the back of their head.

Born so different, and living so isolated—truly, they were destined to lead a cursed life that they couldn’t run away from. The circumstances under which they’d been brought into this world dictated that; after all, an Ancient Weapon instilled terror and carnage in every place it would set foot on. The fact that said Weapon was in the form of a human being was a tragedy scripted by the cruelest deity.

Something so horrifying, someone so overpowered, could only prove as a threat to everyone’s safety. Perhaps it was out of selflessness and a will to protect others from that gruesome fate of being tracked down and hunted for their relationship with them, or perhaps it was out of innate selfishness because they didn’t want their company and happiness pulled out from underneath their feet and leave them wanting—for whatever reason, they swore to never let a single creature in. To never stay for too long, to never speak too often.

But since stumbling upon that unruly group of pirates that seemed to follow the beat of their own drum, they’d found themself settling in. All ties to the wretched history of the world felt as though they were severed the moment they stepped on board, facing their carefree smiles and lively talking. The Heart Pirates, if someone looked too closely, were like a rowdy balm to soothe all the aches that the years of utter loneliness had left in their weary bones.

And, if they dared to admit it, the main contributor to that fact had been none other than their captain. Ever-enigmatic, nearly-always brooding, and startlingly sharp-witted Trafalgar Law. The man whose wicked smile and nimble fingers were famed across the entire Grand Line, and the name that struck a certain chilling fear in pirates and marines alike, had a startling calming effect on them.

They couldn’t exactly put a finger on how or why that was. All they knew was that Law was equal parts scary and endearing, with his bloodstained hands that still held the soft fur of Bepo at night, his cold demeanor that melted away when he directed his words to his crew (and by extension, them), and his own self that carried the past he never spoke of, in his tattoos and his clothes.

A mix of intrigue and genuine fondness had gradually grown inside them towards him, and they soon found that maybe that wasn’t so one-sided. A small, selfish part of them was reveling in the fact that he often sought them out in the midst of the crowded rooms of the Polar Tang, knees knocking and skin brushing. Tingles went down their spine whenever he called them into his office, with reasons that even they could see through as flimsy excuses to have them within close proximity. Even his guarded eyes turned a warmer shade of molten gold that had their heart thrumming in their chest.

With the new-found stability they’d found with Law and his crew, their fear of having everything ripped away from them, that was always very much there, had somehow become just background noise to them. And that was probably their first mistake.

That false comfort came shattering down on them the very second Shachi slammed the door to the cabin open one normal day, a frantic look in his eyes that was anything but normal.

“Marines?” Law swiftly got up, hand reaching for his sword at the same time they gripped the sheath of theirs, already alerted by the loud presence and thumping of feet outside.

“I’ll go outside, check if we’ll need you to interfere,” they said, turning back to Shachi who now had an uneasy expression on his face. “Spit it out. What’s wrong?”

“Uh, I wouldn’t advise you to go out.” He swallowed thickly, his eyes flitting between his captain and the person that was considered closest to him. “They’re… sorta looking for you. Something about… weapons?”

Their face blanched instantly, all color draining from their face at the realization that their past and identity had finally caught up to them in the absolute worst way possible. Shachi was saying something about him not really understanding what the Marines wanted with them, but they couldn’t register a single word that was being said. Their blissful days spent on the Polar Tang were nothing but borrowed time, and fate had sent a harsh but much-needed reminder.

Flashes of images seared into their memory finally resurfaced, reminding them of what had happened the last time they’d allowed themself to indulge in someone’s presence. As Law rushed onto the deck and began to shout orders that Penguin rapidly relayed, they remained stuck in the loop in their head.

As the loop played, they watched people they’d grown to care for get sliced and gutted so brutally that the ground seemed to soak up their blood and gore—sometimes meeting a much worse fate, plainly vanishing off the face of the earth without leaving a trace behind, as if their existence had never been.

The reel was only snipped clean in half when Law huffed back into the room, an unreadable expression on his face as he called their name and snapped them out of it.

“Yes, Captain?”

He clicked his teeth. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d remind them that there was no need for stiff formalities between them when he’d been as honest with them as his tentative heart could allow him to, but he said nothing this time, and only pinned them with his piercing stare.

“What’s that they were saying about you being an Ancient Weapon?”

Say nothing, reveal nothing. That had always been their policy as they jumped from ship to island to ship. And besides, it was impossible for them to open their mouth and speak when it suddenly felt like dry sandpaper.

“I vaguely know of some of them,” he went on to say as he gestured for them to take a seat on the worn-out sofa, “But I’m sure that I’ve never heard of a single mention of your name—and considering the circles I’ve been in, that’s unusual. Why’s that?”

Swallowing thickly, they tried once again to push past that barrier and speak. This time they succeeded, but their words still came out very stilted. “Because they’ve all been… eradicated. Everyone outside of the Marines who knew, that is.”

Law inhaled sharply. “Pirates?”

“And civilians alike.”

Silence at that moment wasn’t one that they welcomed, as they often did while being in their captain’s presence, but instead an oppressive thing that snaked around their neck and squeezed their airways.

Luckily, Law saved them the trouble of having to miserably fight for words. An inked hand rubbed over his face for a second, and it took them that second to glance his pure exhaustion. “I think I get the general picture.” He sighed, opening his eyes again as he moved to sit behind his desk. “You’re on watch duty tonight.”

They could tell a dismissal when they heard one. So with no more words left to say—and none that they were able to, anyways—they nodded curtly, taking themself out with the weight of their sword heavier than usual.

***

That was the first of many, many times in which they’d directly endangered the Heart Pirates with their presence amongst them. It wasn’t just one time they’d find themself scurrying on deck despite Law’s exasperated yells for them to stay protected inside and let the rest of them handle things; wasn’t the last time they’d gotten into a heated argument with him over how keeping them sheltered was insulting to them.

The raw fury had flashed in both their eyes multiple times, subordinate and captain blurring the lines into something else entirely. The immense care and worry was plain to see in Law’s golden eyes, and were what fueled his anger, but all they felt was indignation and a deep sense of shame at the fact that he and his entire crew were fighting for them and their safety.

After all, hadn’t their very presence been the exact reason why they’d risked their capture in the first place? Hadn’t the fact that they’d been born that way condemned them to become targets for the rest of their lives, simply for associating with them? They could only dread what would befall the Heart Pirates when the Marines found out just how close they’d grown to the crew, and particularly Law.

It was that fear, deeply ingrained into their bones, that had them clenching their fists after another angry back-and-forth with him that ended with him slamming his office door with a curse. Enough damage had been done already, and hearing the small crack in his voice as he demanded that they let him do his job instead of recklessly throwing themself into danger, was the last straw.

It was time they begged for forgiveness from the Heavens and tried to undo the sin of getting too greedy.

***

The sixth time it happened by the half-year, they’d already come to the final decision, and nothing could deter them. Maybe they’d managed to fight off the Marines this time and leave them worse for wear than they were, with far less injuries on their side busying Law, but that did nothing to dispel their worries. It did nothing to calm that storm of guilt tearing up their insides.

And that’s precisely why they’d taken the chance to sneak past the bustle of the infirmary and into their room. With Law distracted like that, they could quickly pull a backpack out of their locker, and begin to stuff it full of what few possessions they had (after having spent so many years on the run and jumping from place to place, they learnt to keep the things important to them scarce and close by at all times).

Once they’d crammed it with everything that seemed of value (whether sentimental or monetary), they scrambled out of the room as fast as their feet could carry them without making their disappearance known to everyone on deck. They were currently moored to a mild-tempered island with enough inhabitants to deem it well-lived in and populated.

If they got off the Polar Tang now, they could stay at the inn in town until sunrise. By then, the Heart Pirates will have sailed away, and they could do some miscellaneous jobs to earn enough cash to carry them for a while. Once they deemed their savings enough, only then could they hitch a ride with any pirate group without feeling like they were a burden.

They’d successfully slipped past the scurrying feet in the hallways and frantic yells for helping hands from the infirmary without attracting any attention to them. Light on their feet, they hopped off the railing and landed on the grass on the other side that muffled the sounds. A light hiss followed them, and before they could get further than five steps away, they stumbled in their tracks as their (now ex-) captain materialized right in front of them.

Their eyes widened for a second, having not foreseen this. After all, wasn’t Law supposed to be holed up in the infirmary, stitching up his injured crewmates? They’d predicted a disappearance of at least an hour or two, even with his otherworldly medical skills and Devil Fruit. Their stunned expression vanished just as quickly as it crossed their face, and they stiffened in place as he trained his hardened eyes on them.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“Visiting the village, obviously,” they simply replied, not bothering to divulge more. It was better to stay quiet.

However, it seemed like he wasn’t buying it. Not in the least, if the skeptical look he gave them was anything to go by. Pointedly glancing at their stuffed backpack, he folded his arms across his chest.

Part of them grew angry at the demanding stance, while the other part absolutely crumbled in their chest as they thought of how familiar that sight was. Only before he’d been scolding them for spilling booze and not cleaning it off the counter, instead of catching them escaping.

They fumbled for another excuse, settling for a lame, “Restocking,” as if that would explain their overflowing bag.

“Funnily enough, I thought it worked in reverse. You go with an empty bag and come back with a full one.” His tone was icy as he snorted, probably at the idiocy of the entire situation.

A warm blush made its way on their face, partially out of the humiliation of getting caught in such a stupid lie. Gritting their teeth, they contemplated their options for a few seconds. Another fancy lie would only seem ridiculous and would never add up to their already-falling-apart excuses, and telling the truth would risk angering the captain and having him try to stop them.

Law had already crossed the distance between them by the time their thoughts had come to a halt.

“I’m not daft,” he snapped. “You’re leaving.” They opened their mouth for a second, and he interrupted before they could utter a word. “And don’t get smart with me and tell me that that’s what you’ve just said. You know what I mean.”

His eyes had always been intense, but now they were burning holes into their face, and they almost forced them to turn away. “And if I say that I don’t know what you mean?”

“Then I’ll call you a fucking coward,” Law barked a snarky laugh. “For running away again from the possibility of staying in one place.”

“Am I a coward for wanting to keep you guys safe?” they hissed, eyes burning with either unshed tears or anger. “Wasn’t it cowardice to force me to hide every single damn time we got chased down?”

“That’s not cowardice, that’s common fucking sense. Or did you want to announce your presence to the entire world?”

A watery laugh made its way out of their throat, and they had to clench their hands into fists and dig their fingers into their palms to stop themself from crying out. “Oh, please, as if the entire world doesn’t already know. The Marines have been tracking me down for years now, and—”

“And they’re not stupid enough to release a statement as to why.” Law interjected, clicking his teeth in annoyance as he read the stubbornness on their face that prevented them from thinking logically. “They wouldn’t want anyone to know more about the Ancient Weapons.”

Shaking their head, they took a step back, and it seemed that they were escaping this conversation on purpose—because they knew that if they stood there for any longer, they’d have to listen and believe in him. The body language wasn’t lost on Law, whose keen eyes tracked their every movement, and only grew harder with determination.

“We can protect you from their shitty attacks. We’re not weak.” He spat the final word out, as though the mere idea was an insult.

“Well, neither am I. And that’s why I’m taking the decision to walk away because it’s better for both our stakes.”

His hand flexed around the sheath of his sword, and he lowered his hat over his eyes for a second. They knew him well enough to know the signs of him shoving his feelings down and hiding them from others, and it hurt to know that he was doing this in front of them for the first time. But before they could wallow in the misery of being pushed out of his heart, Law had already looked up with an almost-cruel smirk on his lips.

“Is it really that easy for you to walk away from someone you love?”

His words felt like a punch to their gut, and it left them almost gasping for air. After having spent so much time running away from the reality of the situation at hand; trying to deny the very core of the problem that had them wanting to flee in the first place before things could get worse, hearing the words spoken out loud terrified them more than anything could.

It scared them; not knowing what to do with the feelings they knew endangered him. Law was incomparably strong, yes, but he wasn’t immune to the curse that followed them and wrecked everything in its wake. And to make matters worse, the fact that he’d already known of their feelings frightened them even more.

After all, no matter how much they liked to believe that they’d snuck into a crevice of his well-guarded heart as a close companion, they didn’t know what he truly made of this secret of theirs (if one could even call it a secret, after seeing the way they looked at him behind closed doors, or the lopsided smile they gave him when he shared a small piece of him with them).

If anything, it only triggered their fight or flight instincts—and at the current moment, they were leaning much further towards fleeing. In fact, their feet already took position to run off, heart hammering in their chest.

Law’s expression hardened as he observed their reaction, but before they could take off towards the town, his hand had gripped their wrist firmly enough to still them without hurting.

“Fuck off,” they snarled, in a last attempt to stave off any tears that might betray them. “Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not. If you’d only listen—”

They snorted, eyes as wild a as a caged beast’s as he got close enough for them to see the beginnings of his unshaved facial hair. In their panic, their reply only confirmed his words. “Listen to what? You enjoying making fun of my feelings, when I’ve only ever respected yours? Listen to you get cocky and hold my feelings as leverage over me?”

One step was all it took for Law’s long legs to entrap theirs. Rough, calloused palms reached out to cup their cheeks, and before they could wrench their way out of his grip, a pair of soft lips landed on theirs. Rooted in place, they didn’t even dare to move a muscle as his lips brushed against theirs in a firm kiss. Only seconds before he pulled away did they regain their senses, and the fact that Law was actually kissing them finally registered in their brain.

Tentatively, their eyes fluttered shut as they began to kiss him back, leaning into his touch that contrasted against his demanding mouth—warm and soft, and everything they’d ever dreamed of but had never dared to take for their own. It was sweet yet bitter; forceful yet gentle. It was all shards of Law’s soul pieced together against the tattered remains of theirs.

All too soon, he’d pulled away, though his bright eyes remained trained on them. It almost felt intrusive; the way he seemed to be reading something in them that they couldn’t see. Breathing heavily, they couldn’t find it in them to utter a word amidst that fragile moment. It was as though a string had been pulled taut, and threatened to snap in half at the lightest pressure. Carefully, carefully, they both had to be.

“Come back,” he gruffly said, thumb daring to brush against the flushed skin of their cheek. If they strained their ears a little, and if they put faith in what they knew about him, they’d know just how damn close those words were to begging. “Sit with me in my room. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Swallowing thickly, they blinked back the tears that they knew they had little control of anymore. How could they, when he’d wrenched their heart open and left it beating out in the open like this? They mustered what little strength that remained, and nodded. “Yeah,” they croaked out, allowing themself a selfish moment of letting him take their hand in his.

Whatever this was, it wasn’t kindness. Trafalgar Law wasn’t kind. He was all rough edges and charred pieces, and he was infuriatingly stubborn. What he was was selfish. And if nothing else, they had faith in that selfishness that drove him to caring too much. They could, at the very least, believe in him at that moment, and believe that whatever came next they’d brave through together. All they had to do was just jump back onboard with him.

And so they did.

Taglist: @stories-that-shaped-me @finch-ya @wifeofkyojuro @livwritesfics

[5eraphim]

on my knees desperate for heavy smut i beg i beg i need to be manhandled by him

Ok, for this one I wanted to try something a little different, so this one isn’t exactly canon compliant. Hear me out though- So Imagine a scenario where instead of Heavy’s mother and sisters isolated in a cabin in the wilderness, what if they were sent to safer land, something like a communal living safehaven and Heavy is the one stuck fending for himself in the Russian wilderness. Also, this wound up far less "aggressive" than you might have wanted, he's not nearly as brutal as he could be- so I apologize for dropping the ball there-

Summary: Reader is a traveler seeking shelter after getting lost in a storm, and as night swiftly approaches is almost certain she won’t live to make it through the night. Risking it all, she strays from the path home after seeing another's home in the distance, praying whoever lived there would provide shelter for the night. Her prayers are answered when she's seen and brought in from the cold, but now in the abode of this new guardian angel. And the fear of death becomes the fear of something much less certain.

Character: Heavy 🐻 (Team Fortress 2)

Rating: X (MINORS DNI)

Content Warnings: hurt/comfort, forced intimacy, dubcon, yandere, canon divergence, thigh ridding, unhealthy relationship, handjob

Word Count:

Master List

Tip Jar

(Song Insp)

"Is this where I die?"

The one thought you tried so hard to keep in the back of your mind now pestered you more than ever. You had no idea how long you'd been wandering alone or when exactly you strayed from your predetermined path, but you knew you were unquestionably lost. Not strayed, you made sure to stay on the trail, but at some point, you got turned around and were completely thrown off your bearings. It wasn't yet nightfall, but the shadows brought by twilight were already stretching into nightmarish figures shifting and following you out of the corners of your eye. By now, you felt as though there was nothing left to protect you from certain death but the dwindling light of your lantern. A pitifully weak beacon of light, you held as tightly as you could in your numb, trembling hand.

Earlier that morning, when you set out on your trading expedition, you knew it was dangerous to travel through unknown territory alone, even more so with the rumors of an oncoming storm were true. If only you listened while you had the chance. Your father, who earlier that week came down with a terrible fever which showed no signs of letting up any time soon. While your family wasn't one of high birth or wealth, his job was vital all the same, and if he wasn't there to transport his goods to the trading post by the end of the day, his reputation as a merchant would be tarnished forever. As the eldest in your family, you knew risking going out at a time like this could kill or otherwise send your father out of commission, so you volunteered to transport the goods yourself. 

It was a choice between his weakened condition and your lack of experience, a tough gamble, but eventually, you were granted permission to strike out on your own and deliver the goods. The mission was successful, but the route back began the real challenge.

The snow fell much heavier and sooner than anticipated, blocking out crucial sunshine and diminishing visibility with a stinging swill. The path you thought you knew scrambled beyond recognition. You move as fast as possible while trying to conserve as much energy as possible. Still, once the panic set in, you could not focus, navigate or think rationally. Things were going from bad to worse with no clear end in sight.

"Why am I still moving? It's only a matter of time."

Time felt as though it were standing. Still, you were sure by now your mind had long since begun to give way to delirium, and there was no hope of living through the night. Without the sun's light to guide you had a bad feeling you were now walking in circles, waiting for exposure to take over. Or perhaps a wild animal attack, whatever it might be, it was all the same for you in the end. The air felt so thin and bitter against the sliver of your face, which peaked out from under your hat and over your scarf. It was almost impossible to breathe, much less to continue walking. Finally, with a final pathetic stagger, you found yourself on your hands and knees, mustering up the last of your strength to keep the lantern upright. For a moment, you just sat there numb and stunned. You'd have broken down in tears if only you still had the strength to cry. But looking up a little, you swore you could see something in the distance. A structure almost totally hidden by the dense trees surrounding you, but you could've sworn you saw smoke rising from a chimney top in the distance. You needed to move, if you didn't get up, you would die, but you were so tired and overwhelmed by agony that you could only hobble a short distance before losing your balance again.

The wind whistled deafeningly overhead. You tried to scream for help but knew no one was close enough to hear. In a matter of hours, you would lose consciousness. In a matter of days, your body would be picked apart by the wild animals of the forest. These were your final moments alive. Mentally you called out for your family, called out to God, with dying breaths begging for someone to save you.

In your last moments of coherency, you could've sworn you saw a figure drawing nearer in the snow, one unmistakable silhouette strikingly clear among the swill and heavy snowflakes which clouded your vision. Before you blacked out, you hardly had time to wonder what was encroaching. In your final moments, you tried to absorb any warmth from the lantern, curling your body around the light in the fetal position, feeling as helpless and scared as an infant, alone in the wilderness.

"Am I dead?"

The world around you was all black, and you were vaguely aware you were still curled up in the fetal position, though you couldn't hear the wind blowing around you as you remembered. No, it wasn't that you couldn't hear the wind blowing, but it sounded so much further away now. You could feel your body shivering involuntarily, your mind too hazy to comprehend much of anything. It was too hard to move, but you managed to control your shivers just enough to consciously begin breathing a bit steadier than before. Taking weak, quivering breaths through your nose while you felt your still-freezing body shiver weakly. Your senses were all numb, but you were subconsciously aware of something so soothingly warm beside you. A tremendous thing you found yourself trying to nestle closer to. Something warm and soft, so comforting and soothing, if you were dead, you must be in heaven now. Never before had you felt such calming warmth or such delicate touch. It took you a moment to realize you were curled next to another human body. You were vaguely aware the other body was breathing, and the sound of another heart beating so close hypnotized you back to slumber like a lullaby.

With a gentle hum, you shifted a little in your sleep, slowly moving your wrists and ankles with circular movements and stretching out your limbs after being tense and rigid for so long. Little by little, you felt your senses returning to you, the dull throbbing of your head, the smell of another person's body so close. The uncomfortable dryness of your mouth and congestion in your nose and throat from so much time spent out in the cold.

Despite your body's pain in protest, you tried to force yourself to sit up a little, only to realize you were held firmly in place by… something? You weren't quite sure where you were or what was happening, but the confusion did nothing to help the dull pain of your headache. Focusing hard, you did your best to open your eyes and understand where you were. Not to say you were in too much pain or anything. You just felt disoriented above all.

With a sickening realization, it fully hit you. The soothing presence you found continuing to lull you back to sleep was the beating of a heart and the slow rise and fall of a chest, your cheek resting against the naked flesh of a man's chest. With a start, you jolted a little, instantly scared of the current situation, only to feel your body firmly in place, two strong arms wrapping around you effortlessly, keeping you as close as possible to their owner.

You tried to say something to protest, but given how dry your mouth was, you could manage nothing more than a weak noise of protest. Struggling, you looked up and were met with the relaxed face of the most massive man you'd ever seen. His eyes were closed, but his strong features and heavy arms caused you to freeze up instantly. Looking around, you realized you weren't home in your own warm bed as you thought, but in the bed of a stranger, or rather, in bed with a stranger.

A fire burned in the corner, a silver kettle and tall pot on an antique stove, bearskins piled on the floors, and the curtains were drawn over the windows, but you could feel your skin crawling hearing the whistling winds blow outside. You could smell the spice of tea and something bubbling in a pot over the oven. All things considered, the scene around you was pretty cozy and charming, but given the circumstances, you were far from at ease.

 The fear of the situation caused fresh goosebumps of fear to prickle along the length of your skin as you couldn't help but try to push yourself away again. Of course, your body was unbearably sore from all you'd endured, but still, you were too scared to stay still, though the feeling of one of the plump arms tightening around your body caused you to squeak in fear before forcing yourself to remain still.

"Stay still. Your body it's warming up. Stay longer."

You didn't say anything but nodded. His eyes were half-lid as he stared at you.s feeling somewhat suffocated in your current position. It was too intimidating to look the stranger directly in his eyes, so you kept your gaze fixed squarely on your hands as you rubbed them together, as though to buffer away the memories of the awful stinging you felt moments ago when the coldness overreached the wool of your mittens, leaving you frozen to the bone.

You wanted to speak and say something, but this was all so overwhelming, and you were too scared to say the wrong thing. Doing anything which might incur the wrath of your "savior" and once again returning to the awful cold and darkness outside. 

"Tea is warming. Will you drink?"

It wasn't wise to say yes, but better to accept any offerings he had rather than have him force you to oblige. You nodded but couldn't help but ask,

"Who?"

Was the best you could manage to ask. Hearing your voice made you realize how hoarse and weak you sounded. He looked down, somewhat surprised to hear your voice.

"I am called Heavy."

"How did you…."

You trailed off, but the question was understood. It was dangerous to ask your "benefactor" how you got here or say anything to provoke ire and risk being cast out again, but thankfully he merely nodded.

"I saw your lantern light. You fell. I took you here. You've slept hours."

It terrified you to think about what would have happened if you'd lost your lantern earlier or if it burnt out before you could be saved. It was a miracle you were alive. The thought of every terrible thing that could've happened to you caused tears to brim as your mind was filled with visions of your cold, lifeless body torn apart by wild animals or your blue-frostbitten body being blown about endlessly in the snow. So many miserable ways to go, and you were alive now, but why were you still so scared?

"Don't cry- you are safe now. Heavy will protect you."

You didn't do anything to stop the older man when his massive hand found your chin, tilting your head up so he could entirely focus on your lips. Nor did you so much as flinch at the feeling of his face making contact with your own. He was shy, a bit stiff, but warm. Despite his initial silence, you could hear him humming softly against your mouth, and from your place resting on his chest, feel his breath in his lungs as he nuzzled his face closer to yours. 

"Still too cold. Skin to skin will warm you up faster."

Nodding feebly, you realized with discomfort that you had been stripped of your clothes from earlier that day. You weren't too broken up about this. However, the idea of putting on those soaking wet, frozen clothes back on made your stomach churn. You tried to keep your fear under wraps as you felt the stranger running his hands over your bareback. 

"It's ok, just relax, let me warm you, little one."

Swallowing your nerves, you felt his hand on your bareback under the blanket, his fingers smoothing against your soft skin, gently ushering your naked body to lay against his. You must've fallen asleep on his chest, your sleeping body wanting to crawl as close as you could to the hypnotic warmth of his body. With a few deep breaths, you allowed your arms to slither away and felt the admittedly pleasurable sensation of skin-to-skin contact. He had the body of a beast yet moved gently against you, but you knew the moment you tested him or tried to resist, he would show you his real might. You lay bare-chest-to-bare-chest against Heavy, resting your head against his chest. 

"I can move to the side if I'm too heavy for you- I wouldn't mind, really, I'm not that cold anymore-"

He laughed heartily at your protest, running his hand up your thigh to rest comfortably on your ass, giving the flesh a gentle squeeze in mock assurance.

"You are nothing! The weight is good. Too long now, I've been alone. Prayed for companionship, and now you are here. You will not be leaving again."

He spoke with such a light-hearted voice, but his words still chilled you, and you didn't like his implication. Kissing the top of your head, he hummed lowly as you felt the reverberations deep in his chest. You didn't know the melody but were sure you'd heard the song somewhere.

"Kiss again?"

You could've sworn you could feel the slight increase in his heartbeat, as though simply holding you in his arms and a shy peck on the lips was enough to excite him. His hand left your back to find your jaw again, though he took a moment to stroke the side of your face, feeling the pulpy skin of your cheek under his calloused fingertips.

"I've been alone for so long- too long. I pray to God to send company, and tonight, I bring home an angel."

He kissed the top of your head sweetly, and your breath hitched as you felt him sitting up in bed, effortlessly pulling you to sit on his lap. Both his hands resting on your waist, looking down lovingly at your flushed skin and bare tits, you could feel he grew aroused quickly and would only remain so gentle for so long. He pushed you up a little to meet his lips with your own, shyly suckling at your bottom lip, wanting to pull you closer and closer. You used his broad shoulders to keep yourself balanced, hesitantly returning the kiss, having no idea what the man had planned for you next.

"H-heavy, will you please tell me where I am?"

"We are home."

He was about to press his lips to yours again, but you pulled away, just a little, but enough for him to hesitate, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. While Heavy was irritated by the delay, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for you. He wanted to hold you close, kiss you, and show you how safe you were under his roof, but he understood why you were too shaken to give in. He wanted to help you relax. Clearly, you were timid, not ready for such close intimacy in bed.

"Tea is still hot, I'll get it for you."

Nodding in response, Heavy allowed you to slide away, giving him space to get out of the bed to the kitchen, leaving you in a nest of blankets, noticing the absence of his body heat immediately. You couldn't help but watch with slight paranoia as you stared at him intensely while he fixed the drinks. 

"No sugar rations left. Can you drink it black?"

"Black is good."

When he returned to the bed, he held two mugs of steaming tea in one hand, holding something in the other you couldn't quite make out. You sat on the edge of the bed to take one of the cups in your hands as he set the other on the bedside table. In his other hand, he revealed an old-looking little glass bottle labeled in a worn print you couldn't quite make out. 

"Medicine for your head. You'll need it."

Hesitantly you accepted as he handed you the bottle. It looked legitimate and, from an outside perspective, looked exactly how you'd expect cold medicine to look. You knew the bottle being unsealed was a major red flag, but other than that, it appeared precisely how cold medicine should be. He watched you, clearly not going anywhere until you took your medicine.

"Just a few sips. It's strong."

Your mouth felt dry, and the longer you looked at the little bottle, the more confident you were something was wrong. Still, despite your better judgment, you raised the bottle to your lips, letting the thick elixir pour into your mouth as you forced yourself to swallow quickly before the taste made you hesitate. After successfully doing a decent amount, you only realized the taste was much sweeter than expected. But artificially so, in a way that made your teeth hurt. Satisfied, Heavy took the bottle back, patting your head with his chubby palm.

"There is hot water for a bath. I'll draw one now."

You lay back, sipping a bit at the bitter tea to help wash the sickeningly sweet taste of the medicine out of your mouth. You let your eyes drift shut, feeling the drug begin to kick in. The pain in your head easing away into a lighter, becoming more bearable, and if not for Heavy returning to your side to let you know the bath was drawn, you could've quickly fallen asleep right there.

Guiding you by the hand, you walked with a slight unsteadiness, swaying, needing to support yourself against Heavy even at such a slow pace, especially up the stairs. Eventually, he led you through the open door into the bathroom, where he shut the door behind him. Instantly putting you back on edge, not exactly understanding why he decided to step into the bathroom with you, the feeling intensifying when he pulled off his shirt.

"I think I can take it from here. Thank you for this, but I-"

"No. I will stay."

You flushed slightly at his resolution and how unbothered he appeared now, standing topless before you.

"Oh! I'm, I'm so sorry, it's just… I'm not sure how I feel about, uh, this? I can wash by myself. No need for you to worry about me!"

You had a bad feeling about this, and you could already tell by how intently Heavy looked down at you there was no way you could talk your way out of this. You reasoned with yourself that it'd be safer to appease him this way than trying to refuse the bath and invoke his wrath. Your discomfort was hardly softened with this rationalizing. For some reason, though, you had trouble imagining Heavy hurting you. He was intimidating; anyone could see that, but the way he touched you so gently.

It was hard to undress in front of him, but he had an undeniable charming innocence. Something about how he wasn't awkward or flustered helping you out of his clothes, like he didn't look at you with lust but with a pure desire to help. 

The bath felt instantly soothing, and you were thankful for Heavy's hold on you as he gently lowered your body into the hot water. You were so sore from what happened the night before that you couldn't help but sigh, sinking into the tub. The hot water felt so comforting, easily more soothing than anything you'd felt before. However, it was hard to fully let go of your modesty, and you couldn't help but curl into a ball, trying to hide as much of your body as you could.

It took quite a while before you truly relaxed and let the larger man soothe your body. You were simply too tired to feel insecure anymore. The longer Heavy stayed by your side, leaning over the side of the tub, warming his hands with the bathwater, rubbing little patterns into your skin. Eventually you uncurled yourself from the fetus position, leaning back and resting your head against the outer lip of the tub. The water felt so much better once you allowed the tension to leave your body. 

As unsettling as the situation might've been, you couldn't help but feel so protected under the stranger's care. He was bigger than anyone you'd known before but only touched you gently, the caresses loving and tender but with an element of restraint, as though he feared you would shatter under his touch if he weren't careful. 

Once again, you felt yourself drifting off, knowing Heavy wouldn't let you drown. Sure enough, when he noticed the way you were falling back asleep, he spoke softly to you.

"Back to bed with you."

You were helped out of the tub, your legs unable to support your weight. You allowed Heavy to support your entire weight as he pulled you up, trying not to get distracted by the feeling of your body so hot and sensitive against his bare skin. He wrapped a towel around your body, carrying you back to bed. Your body limp and sore, your mind drifting through a haze. You felt Heavy tuck you into bed, pulling the damp towel from your body before pulling the covers over your body, kissing your forehead before pulling away to get into bed himself. Heavy undid his pants, stepping out, he left them in a heap on the floor before crawling up beside you, shuddering slightly at the feeling of your bare skin up against his, especially when you mindlessly curled closer to his body.

For what felt like hours, you could feel your body drifting in and out of sleep, unable to fall asleep in the foreign place. Not to say you were uncomfortable, just restless given such a radical change. In a dreamlike state, you could feel the warmth of another body beside you, a body almost hypnotically warm. You felt as though you couldn't help but want to draw closer. The stranger's body was massive, and the bare flesh felt comforting. You rolled onto your side, sliding one leg around his as you curled closer, wrapping your arms around his forearm. His was so large you felt like you could spoon it. You nuzzled against him, running the side of your face up and down with complete bliss. Burrowing your face into the side of his body, unaware of how intently he watched above. He dared not try to move the arm you were clinging onto to push you closer for fear of waking you up. But the moment he felt your lower body grinding against his, he knew he couldn't remain still any longer.

He tried to be strong. He really did. But after being in isolation for so long, even the tiniest provocation from you turned him on. He grit his teeth, breathing through his nose, and he could not stop the growing arousal between his legs. It was so wrong, you weren't aware of what you were doing, and to take advantage of you now would mare his conscience forever, but you made him feel so weak and so virile at the same time. He knew he wasn't strong enough to endure the temptation, mentally praying for forgiveness for what he was about to do.

He pulled your body from laying on its side to an upright position without breaking the contact between your hips and his thigh, supporting the weight of your body with no trouble at all. Just the feeling of your hips sliding from the side to the top of his leg sent a shiver of pleasure down his spine. While you might not have been entirely of sound mind, you were awake enough to keep your head from falling back. Unfortunately, moving you like this caused you to awaken a bit more as your bleary eyes fluttered open. You momentarily looked aware of being upright and, with your dizziness, were almost sure you would fall.

"Be calm. I have you, don't fear."

You felt ashamed realizing what you'd done, but Heavy looked at you with such love. You felt unable to stop grinding. You simply weren't awake enough to understand the situation, likely thinking all this was some erotic dream brought about by the cold medicine and delirium. Heavy was lying down, his upper body propped up a little by the pillows, he couldn't exactly watch your lower body grinding on him, but the sight of your face, in a haze of pleasure, was all he needed. He'd fantasized about something like this before, not even he had the willpower to ignore his carnal desires altogether, but now that he had the real idea before him, the pleasure felt more incredible than ever before. Yet still, he needed more.

You slouched forward a little bit, your hands pushing against his gut to support yourself and roll your hips a little harder than before. All the while, you giggled to yourself, mindlessly pawing against the softness of his gut, giddy and delighted, feeling your fingers sink a little into the thick layer of fat. His chest wasn't too hairy, much smoother than you expected, and his thick skin felt so comforting.

By now, Heavy was sure he was at his limit. He could feel a wetness where you were grinding but watching you mindlessly feeling him up really sent him over the edge. He groaned in frustration as he rolled his hips upward, knowing you were too far away to provide any friction. But still, he didn't want to interrupt your hands against him. But by now, his erection was almost painfully swollen, and he needed release. He, ever so gently, so as not to startle you, took hold of one of your hands, curling it into a fist as he brought it down lower. 

You didn't try to stop him. Hell, you were hardly aware of anything, so you didn't tense up or retract your arm when you felt Heavy bringing your hand down to rest over the straining fabric of his boxers. He let out a low moan when he felt your fingers curiously groping at the material, not entirely aware of your actions, not an issue as Heavy took the initiative for you. 

Taking your hand on his own, he guided your hand to wrap around his shaft, not yet moving but wrapping his hand tighter around yours, his hand covering yours entirely. Even without moving, Heavy could feel a bit of precum leaking from his tip as he edged painfully close to his release. And with a deep breath, Heavy used his other hand to pull his boxers down. He couldn't help but sigh in relief, finally freeing the sensitive skin from the uncomfortable confines of fabric. Not waiting another moment, he used your hand in his to begin pumping away, using the precum as a lubricant, helping your hand move up and down with no resistance. You lazily ground away against his thigh, squeezing tighter. Despite not being all there, the feeling of the big guy under you moaning in pleasure turned you on. 

Heavy knew using you like this was dangerous, it was wrong, and desperate, but all morality was forgotten as he felt more and more desperate the closer he came to his climax. By now, he was bucking his hips against your touch, tightening his hold on your hand to the point of pain. But the pain in your body failed to reach your mind as all you could think about was how good it felt to lay down beside this comforting stranger, feeling so warm and held beside him, everything melting away as you felt him moving your hand. You couldn't move your fingers much in his firm hold, but you knew how hard it was to fully wrap around his shaft, given the size of the thing. Heavy wanted to make the moment last, to make this first risque encounter with you feel genuinely intimate, but he didn't last much longer. The touch of your smaller hand trapped in place as he used you to pleasure himself while you numbly chased your own pleasure. Heavy at last came, his head falling back as he panted and moaned, feeling the strongest orgasm he'd ever known rush over him.

In truth, you weren't sure if you came or not. The delirium of hunger and the sleep-like brain fog made the events that transpired feel like an out-of-body experience. As though you weren't truly in your own body, but were not taken by sleep either, drifting around between the two as you felt another in control. You still get a tingling pleasure lingering between your legs, perhaps an afterglow, but you allowed the pleasure to take over as your body slackened in Heavy's hold. 

He pulled you back under the blankets, carefully supporting your neck and back with his enormous hands as he settled you in a comfortable position o top of his body. Your head on his chest, listening to the slow hammering of his heart, almost inaudible given the immense fat and muscle surrounding it. Something about the position felt so right. Like the two of you were one in this bed, soothing one another with a warm body to help the other drift off into sleep. Smiling softly, you kissed the bare flesh where your head lay, feeling drowsier and drowsier by the second. You had no idea Heavy wasn't as loopy as you were and could feel everything, even the feather-light kiss and the way you were so relaxed and at peace. Heavy began to hum gently, the reverberations profoundly soothing, the last thing you heard before you allowed sleep to claim you.

Heavy felt a bit of pride in this. He knew nothing about you before today, but something about seeing you so frail and vulnerable in the harsh wilderness, a dying light moments away from being snuffed out. Or how even in the warmth of his abode, you trembled, the cold still shilling you to the bone. Your poor body is so fragile compared to Heavy, and it hurts him to see something so small in pain. But now you are out of the cold for good. He was the one to give you warmth, pleasure, and peace; merely knowing this gave him great pride.

Heavy was always so protective of the ones he loved, and he knew he couldn't ever let you go now. Not after the world had mistreated you so cruelly. He watched your breathing begin to slow as you settled into a deep rest, and while he wished you were awake and holding him back consciously, he knew this was for the best. Furthermore, Heavy had been up for hours taking care of you and ought to put himself to bed, but he wanted to hold on a little longer. But he was fading fast. Being on his own for so long had made him lonelier than he realized. 

He stopped humming, gently murmuring to your unconscious body.

"I thought I'd seen the last of my family. Thought I'd be all alone. But you give me a second chance. To start over a new life, a new family. To share with you."

Heavy had no idea what the next day would bring, but he allowed himself to hope for the first time in what felt like forever. To honestly believe a better future was coming, and he held the key to his fate right here in his own hands. 

[marchsfreakshow]

Inconsistencies [JPM x Reader]

The Countess has been getting too friendly again. And James keeps missing your dates. !Angst! No one's perspective.

~~~~~~~~~

The Countess was walking down the hallway, looking forward only, but she felt a gaze. It was harsh and narrow. Like the gaze of someone else who hated her so. But she paid no mind to it. There was no point, nearly everyone did not like her. This one was different in her mind, it stang like it was more personal than ever other hate.

Either way, Elizabeth carried on walking, making her way into a room. It was a dark room, lit only by one lamp. James was on the bed, asleep. As asleep he could get really. "You can leave if you're truly upset with me." She traced James' face gently, not looking back. But there was no response, only footsteps, until you reached the bathroom, closing the door behind you. The bathroom was small, dim, and grim. Miss Evers clearly was only good enough for cleaning the sheets, but you didn't care at this point. Elizabeth had been taking James for herself again. She was kissing him, holding him, and talking more with him. It was unlike her, giving you stares whenever she gave him affection in your vicinity. "Come on mouse, you can't hide from me and James forever."

"Yeah? Fucking watch me!" You were sat in the empty bath, hugging your knees. Instead of feeling sad, you were just disappointed. James missed 3 of the dates you arranged. There was champagne set up, you put on your best outfit and had a speaker for music to show James, yet you constantly found him distracted by the other inhabitants or The Countess. The energy of the whole room became dull with your words. The bath was getting more uncomfortable, but you didn't want to show that weakness. You had your room, nearer the entrance of the hotel, since that was the best option.

Since you were walking behind The Countess, you just somehow made your way into James' room. The almost sleeping man, sat up, suddenly up close with Elizabeth. "Oh, Dear, how are you?" He just smiled as she leaned back, sitting by James.

"Your mouse is jealous James." She said simply, gesturing to the bathroom. Even though the words were muffled, you heard everything. You didn't want to give up and leave through their room. James would see you and try to talk to you, but you went petty. Being petty was the way you went whenever someone did you wrong. Dates or not. Sighs left your mouth as James' footsteps came closer to the room.

A knock interrupted your thoughts and you jumped back slightly. "Fuck off James." James let out a 'hmm' and raised an eyebrow almost being able to see past the door and at your small figure. "The Countess seems more important than our dates that I've put so much fucking work into." Your tone was jarring and you glanced at the door, keeping it closed. The footsteps got further away, so you assumed they had both left.

Slowly, you left the tub and unlocked the door, sneaking out while looking around. "Okay. Good."

"My sweet bird." James was behind you. The quiet fucker. He turned you around and grabbed your chin harshly, his eyes had no light in them anymore. "Mind explaining your tone? You know I don't appreciate that tone." You just gritted your teeth and crossed your arms, not wanting to lose confidence.

"Countess is getting too chummy." You hissed, looking away. James raised an eyebrow and brought your face close, your noses touching. Even though the interaction made you flustered, you still kept your posture. Both your breaths were heavy, but yours was less focused than James' were.

"You forget I have known my dear longer than you, and you. You're still alive, at some point, you will leave, and I will never see you again. You understand that yes?" James spoke sternly, keeping that tight grip on your chin. Bruises would appear the next day, that's for sure. You nodded the best you could, still mad at him though.

"I agree but it doesn't matter. You've missed 3 dates. At what point do you stop caring for me?" Footsteps stopped at the door. Someone was listening, so you attempted to turn around, leaving the grip James had on you. Quickly you opened the door, and The Countess was still there. She smiled at you, almost condensing. Her white dress didn't match the blackness in the room, but you felt it would soon if you didn't walk away. "Have fucking fun fucking him." The words left your lips as you stomped away, but the regret immediately ate out your heart.

James was looking at the ground, his hands in fists. He hated people who argued with him, most of them would end up ghosting the hotel. But he couldn't bring himself to follow you and kill you for himself. Something stopped him. The feeling he had of imagining you out. Out of the hotel and experiencing the life he couldn't. He could lose his precious hummingbird, but he felt too guilty. Not being able to walk into the lounge and see you working on your strange lap device he was so fascinated by. While he was distracted, the countess had left, following you, resisting the urge to just turn you or simply kill you herself.

"Mouse." She stated, standing over you as you laid on your bed, facing away from the woman. "Your darling lion needs you."

"I would be up for it if he hadn't pissed me off." You sat up, glaring at the woman. "If you hadn't stolen him again."

"Again? You forget he was mine first, I watched him kill, I married him."

"After nearly 100 years, can't you just leave him alone?" As soon as you said that, James walked in, no blazer off. He looked distressed, and off colour. If he could be off-colour since he was already so pale. "James..." You whined, seeing him appear behind the tall woman.

The Countess turned around. "Darling, you're just in time." She smiled, bringing her finger up. You were confused, but James went wide eyes, quickly attempting to run to you.

He wasn't quick enough. The Countess sliced your neck, leaving you to bleed out and James to hold your dying body. While he didn't cry much, he quietly sobbed. But the countess was not there anymore. She had simply left, no feeling on her face. "My precious dear..."

[imaginesofeverykind]

Witches Brew - Series Teaser

I recently read Napoleonville by @inthedayswhenlandswerefew (go and read everything they’ve written holy SMONKS) and the swampy, everglade setting just fucking embedded itself in my head for this one.

It’s KINDA a DnD AU, if you squint really hard it sits between something like DnD and I guess???

If you wanna be tagged when the full first part comes out let me know! <3 <3 <3

Warnings: HEAVY mention of blood, Magic described as visceral, magic is outlawed, catholic-centric monotheism demonised, Gore themes, language

Aegon ii Targaryen x F!WitchReader

Summary: To practice magic is to slight God with the devil's embrace. It is evil, sin, consuming and the price one pays is never worth what one seeks. Yet people, in times of desperation often turn to desperate measures, in Aegon’s case, medicinal remedy is not an option. No healer can undo what has been done. But the Hag tucked away behind reeds, water topped with algae and the voracious bog may be able to. For a price.

Vicious rapping squanders the peace and quiet of a relatively silent part of the swamp. Moonlight splits off, cutting through the canopy of overgrowth that shields a peculiar abode entangled within the trunk of an elder tree. The crickets sing among the toads’ baritone croaks until they cease, abiding by the loud pounding on the wooden door that barely stays on its hinges, splintering from wood rot.

”Please!”

A guttural plea, desperation lingering atop the vowels. No one ever came to the decrepit hut unless they were on the brink, teetering the veil of life, quite literally on death's door. But death hardly answered, in its wake, oftentimes stood you; for those who braved the trek.

He had almost given up, muscles begging him for rest, for a modicum of reprieve from the toil it took just to arrive at the steps of a stranger's hut. The weight, the pain, it was enough to finally buckle his shaky grime covered knees, splinters embedded themselves into the palms of his hands the moment his hands hit the wood beneath him.

“I need —,” a whimper, is all that managed to escape his throat. His eyes flickered to the body beside him — not body, he wasn’t dead yet — to his brother laying beside him, laboured breaths that sucked through his barred teeth in discomfort.

Lips curled into a snarl, he brought his fist down on the decking one final time, “open the door you fucking wretch!”

He nearly cowered when the door yanked open, yellow light spilling out into the dark bog from the hearth that roared inside. No one stood in the frame of the door, no one beckoned him inside the derelict home and despite this, he rose to his feet, scraping his newly acquired trousers. There was little energy left in him, just enough to drag the mauled body of his brother - one that inched closer to the afterlife - over the threshold of the hut.

”Sit.”

He spun on his feet, nearly tripping over the pile of wood stacked beside the hearth when his eyes landed on you, who had appeared, simply materializing from nothing. It was only mere seconds until he was set on you again, a frantic torment that willed him near you, “Hag, you must help him!” Despite his weary disposition, he demanded help.

A nobleman. You think, taking his appearance in. Both men donned the same white hair, similarly crafted attire that screamed wealth and you are automatically aware of who was inside your abode. The township off the kings road comes to your mind, owned by a Lord as it had been for the past century.

”Well?! Must I get on my knees?” He was angry, that much was clear, but he was more afraid than anything.

You waved dismissively, though not toward the stranger, the Lord. The table of apothecary jars and dissected creatures vanish, though they never are truly gone, and you gesture for the man to place his injured companion. He’s confused at first, most people are when they come to you. Magic was no longer what it was, you could feel it wane the harder religion sought to destroy it. He most likely has never seen it this close.

But he silently obeys, with great effort hauling his brother up on the table and like you had before, appeared behind him as silently as the fog that began to seep through the crack beneath the door. He flinched away instantly, you fought back a sly smirk but your focus was on the man with long matted locks. The hair was a brilliant white, the same as his brothers, identical as the Lord of the closest settlement, but it was marred with the crimson syrup of blood.

You bring a finger to his mutilated face, your pointed nails more akin to talons than humans, threaten to crack the white porcelain of his skin. Swiping a long line down, coating the pads of your fingertips in blood and bringing it to your mouth for a taste. Bitter. The able bodied man recoiled at the sight, but you pay him no mind as you examine the injured one.

His eye was gone. That can’t be helped.

”Can you heal him?” The man beside you asked, voice small, almost childlike and feeble. ”Name your price, make him whole again and I’ll — I’ll give you whatever you want. Fix him.” His anguish raked through your ears and rattled against your mind like razor sharp teeth, your neck instinctively lolling from left to right as if to ward off the discomfort that followed.

”They’ll know.” You answer cryptically, caressing the side of the younger man's face much like a mother would when tucking in a babe for the evening.

“Can. You. Fix. Him?” His patience was wearing thin.

You sigh, turning to face him properly for the first time since he arrived. Violet eyes. Magic touched his very heritage and yet his own kin sought to erase it, the irony was not lost on you. “He will be different.” You say as a warning, a politeness he certainly didn’t deserve yet you gave it anyway.

Anger overcame him, outstretching his and coiling his fingers around the scruff of your filthy dress to yank you toward him. You happen to catch the brief glint of silver, but you had caught it, the blade with your hand wrapping around it to stop it from piercing your chest. Not that it would have damaged your heart, you wonder if his intent was to scare or if he simply forgot which side the human heart resided.

The blade cut through your skin, rivers of red beginning to run down your wrist. The pain is welcome.

“Fix him. Or else I’ll drag you to Oldtown where you can burn in the circle you filthy animal.”

[coxxxmo]

I Found You

Len X Han

Word Count : 2642

Coffee and papers flew into a mess as the two strangers collided on their hurried paths, unaware their destinies were now intertwined. 

“Oh god, I’m so sorry about that” The guy in the apron said as he looked sympathetically at the girl now trying to gather her pages which were scattered everywhere on the ground. He bent down to help the poor girl in distress as he started to take the fallen papers in his hand. The boy looked over the girl, but she simply looked too stressed. 

He thought that if she doesn’t want to talk about it, he will quietly help her. With all her hair coming on her face, he couldn’t even see her face. As he reached out to grab the last paper he felt a soft hand on his and as soon as he traced it back to its owner, he finally saw her face. 

She was just there, close to him, tracing the back of his hand with the softest finger in the world. He stopped talking, stopped moving, stopped breathing. She looked up and saw him looking and he felt his knees give out and nearly fell flat on the ground, he held himself up using the remaining energy that was left in his body, until the coffee shop owner screamed at him to get back to work. He handed her the pile of papers and she smiled—that smile! let her smile again—and walked behind the counter with jars of coffee beans, pastries, cakes, sneaking up glances at her, while peering out from behind the counter so that she wouldn't see him. Her eyes are bluer than ice. When she looks at me my skin freezes. He did not, could not look away. The owner caught him staring and went to her, whispering things into her ear which only made her smile, politely sending her away. She looked and looked and did not see him, her brow furrowing. Let me be the iron that smooths her brow. I'll make a life's work of it. He followed them, moving through the crowd of students and office workers; but never looking away lest he lose her forever. She looked back and saw him. Is she true? Is she there? Or is it a dream of Satan to torment me with hope? Either way let him torment. I will dream. I will dream. And he followed them from the market.

Days passed by, but he couldn’t let her get out of her head. She was taking over every part of his mind like a plague finding fresh life yet the biggest mystery of Han Jisung’s life always ended up on a single question. Who was she and how did Mrs. Choi, his boss and the coffee shop owner know her? He tried asking her with all that he had to know something, anything at all about the mysterious girl who was now occupying her mind completely. At this point, he felt so desperate that he would even be happy knowing the initials of her name. But like any other time when he brought the topic of the blue eyed woman, Mrs. Choi gave him too much work to do while trying to hide her smile. 

A single chance was all Han wanted, he would do anything for this girl he barely knew. He felt so overwhelmed by her thoughts that he could barely sleep at night. So the next day, when he opened the door to the cafe ready to spend yet another day surmising in her blue eyes he could have never predicted what was before his eyes. She was right there. The person living in his head rent free for more than a week now sitting by the window, book in hand. It felt like the world around him stopped, he could no longer hear people talking, he could no longer hear Mrs. Choi dictating the list of tasks he had to handle. Oh, to drown in those ocean blue eyes - it was like their first meeting all over again. Yet this time, instead of pinning all alone when those eyes met his own brown ones; the stars collided, a beautiful chaos waiting to unfold.

But it ended as soon as it started, she looked away. Though leaving Han feeling a bit bitter, he still felt firecrackers exploding in his chest as he replayed what had happened over and over again.

“Serve a London Fog Tea Latte on table 4.” Mrs. Choi announced taking Han out of his thoughts. Table 4….Did she actually say table 4!!?? BUT THAT’S WHERE SHE IS SITTING! Could he really just walk up to her and TALK? WOULD HE HAVE TO TALK TO HER? Like the gears of a machine working on its own, Han too was making her order while thinking of all possible ways he could mess this up. Does he look bad today? Should he just have used a different perfume? Maybe it was better to have someone else get her order. What if he messes up and she doesn’t like him before he even gets a chance to properly introduce himself? 

“Is that my order?” Wait, that voice…Han saw her sitting in front of him looking up in anticipation. How does he not remember walking up to her? He tried to give his warmest smile and gave her, her order still looking at her face for any hint of joy or maybe annoyance but what he didn’t expect was for her lips to lie in a flat line and then laugh with tears in her eyes. What was so funny? Was there something on his face? She looked at him, filled with pure joy - please, keep laughing forever - and then back at the latte he had made. 

Horror filled his eyes as soon as he realized what he had done.

“Is that a dick? On my latte?” He couldn’t believe those vile words came out of such a pretty face. Of course, He shouldn’t judge someone like that after all; he knew better than to read a book by its cover but being right in front of her killed all the remaining sense in his body; even more so after the blunder he had made.

“Oh god, I can’t believe it.” She’s definitely gonna throw her latte on his face and stomp out, and he was gonna lose his job surely. 

“Are you okay? You’ve gone pale. You can trust me I won’t tell a single soul about this. Actually I am pretty glad this happened; my week wasn’t going quite as planned but this. It’s the most I’ve laughed.” She then said once again looking at him wiping her tears and he swore to himself that to see her like that; he would even take the risk of getting fired - because at any cost, each time her laugh reverberated through him he fell ever so deeply into this bottomless pit that he wouldn’t mind falling into as long as he got to see her in front of him everyday.

“I’m fine, thanks for worrying about me.”

“Oh, I see, I’m Len btw. Nice to meet you. I don’t believe I got to thank you the last time for helping me.” Her smile is the prettiest thing he had seen in his entire life; he didn’t care how many times he must’ve thought about it already but he will never get sick of saying it. 

“The pleasure is all mine, You can call me Han….or if you prefer call me yours~”

No way did he just say that. No way in hell he ACTUALLY SAID THAT. He’s doomed, for eternity. Now she’s going to think he has no game and he’s going to die alo-

“You’re adorable.” 

Excuse me….what. SYSTEM FAILURE!! SYSTEM FAILURE!! SYSTEM FAILURE!! 

“Stop flirting with Len and get back to work, Han.” Mrs. Choi called out while slapping the back of his head. Was it really that obvious? He walked back to the counter, stealing glances back at Len who seemed to do the same. The scene played out just like last time, Mrs. Choi whispered something in Len’s ear; her smiling making flowers grow with how beautiful it was and then politely sending her away. 

He couldn’t, wouldn’t let her go again this easily. It has just been two meetings yet why did it feel like he was meant to be hers the moment he laid eyes on her. Why did it feel like the chaos in the entire universe was meant to calm down once they were together. Why did it feel like each of Han’s troubles just melted whenever he was with her. This strange entropy among them which just felt so right, like it was always meant to arrange itself this way.

By the time, Han was supposed to close the store; it was already dark outside. He went out to keep the chalkboard that displayed a few popular items of their menu, back inside. 

He was not expecting the same person who caused chaos to spread through his entire system to be playing with a kitten on the sidewalk. Scratching its belly, picking it up in air; until she noticed his presence and once again as if storms were stirred and time stopped their eyes met like this was the first time.

“You’re finally done with work?” She said, getting up with the kitten still in her arms. 

“Oh…..Yes, I was just about to close down. Do you want to come in?” 

“Are you sure it wouldn’t be a problem? I’d hate to get in the middle of your work plus, what if you have plans?”

“Oh trust me, if I had plans I wouldn’t be here at the cafe at 8pm. Come in, It’s fine.”

Happy that he was alone with her, Han still couldn’t shake the feeling of uneasiness because of the exact same reason. He was ALONE with Len; and by this time the cafe gets no customers since it’s closing time so there was no way they could be interrupted by anyone. 

“The weather’s gotten chilly hasn’t it, I feel like it’s gonna snow soon.” Unable to form any responses Han just hummed in response getting behind the counter. 

“So, what would you like?” 

“A Fog tea latte with a dick please.” Han looked at her almost immediately; now looking at Len who was trying her hardest not to burst out laughing.

“You’re never going to let it die huh?”

“Never, not till I die.”

“Guess, I’m gonna have to kill you with my hands.”

“You’re so cute.”

“I’m talking about murdering you here miss, I don’t see what part of this is ‘adorable’.”

“It is, you just don’t see it.”

“I believe your definition of adorable is quite flawed.”

“I don’t think calling out someone like you as cute is a flawed definition, I think it’s quite befitting instead.” This is definitely a dream. He is absolutely dreaming. If only he never woke up from this.

“Oh god, you do realize you turn red when you’re flustered. It’s the cutest thing ever.” She said touching his cheek with the back of her hand. How was she so….direct with him. Her skin felt so cold, contrary to how hot he was feeling. But, this moment just felt so right. If time were to freeze at this very moment; neither of them seemed like they would complain for it felt like this was what the universe intended to happen. Every single moment in their life, led them to this particular moment where everything froze and it was just the two of them. Han didn’t know her yet he felt like they’ve known each other for years because the look in her eyes was that of longing and comfort, like she finally found what she had been searching for. 

“You haven’t changed one bit have you?” She said, retrieving her hand back and walking around a bit slowly.

“What do you mean?”

“Still as oblivious aren’t you” He tried his best to think about what she meant. How was she talking like she already knew him? 

“Well if it gets your memory going, we made a promise remember?”

“You promise right?” The little boy was now crying, unable to hold back his tears any longer. 

“I promise that I will find you and then we can live happily ever after together! Don’t cry Han!” The girl in the purple dress said, wiping the little boy’s tears. “Be brave Han! I’m sure you’ll make amazing friends there too and you can always write letters to me right.” 

“But noona, you won’t be there. And I cannot talk to other people properly, they scare me.” 

“I’m sure you’ll do great, don’t worry about it. I will definitely come meet you after we grow up!”

“Noona….can I ask you a question?”

“What is it?”

“When I grow up, will you marry me?” 

“Of course I would! Grow up into a strong boy okay?” She said, patting his head softly.

Han didn’t know what to feel about this. He felt so comforted yet so different. This felt like a dream come true. No wonder those blue eyes felt so familiar the first time he saw them.

“I can’t believe it….You were in front of me all this yet I-”

“Hey, It’s okay now I’m here in front of you.” She said, giving her famous smile that could indeed light up the whole town. 

“I just don’t know how I forgot you. You meant so much to me back then and now, I couldn’t even remember you…” He felt sad, deep inside he was cursing himself how he even allowed himself to forget her. 

“You really haven’t changed at all.” She said now going for a hug but did he really deserve this? He did love her but was he really the one meant to be the one who was going to keep her happy?

“I’m sorry….I don’t think I….” 

“Dumbass” She said and wrapped herself around him. If he thought her hands on her cheeks felt nice, then he couldn’t explain how good this felt. 

“I’m sorry to disappoint you noona.”

“You didn’t do anything at all.”

He couldn’t speak a word because of how ashamed he felt. 

“After all, what matters the most right now is that….I found you.” 

He was never a person with too much self confidence or someone who would openly do something cheesy but at this moment, it was like he couldn’t contain himself and did what he was supposed to.

“.....Jeogiyeo noona hokshi namjachingu iseoyeo?” (Excuse me noona, do you have a boyfriend?)

Len was clinging to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and running her hands through his hair and pulling him into her. He tastes so sweet. So hot and so sweet and she kept trying to say his name but she couldn't even find the time to breathe, much less to say a single word.

He leaned over her, cupping her face in his hands, his thumbs two parentheses around her mouth and he pulled her close and he kissed her, kissed her until time topples over and her head spins into oblivion.

It's a heavy, unbelievable kiss. It’s a kiss that had waited for years to happen.

It's the kind of kiss that inspires stars to climb into the sky and light up the world. The kind that takes forever and no time at all. His hands were holding her cheeks, and he pulls back just to look her in the eye and his chest was heaving and he says, "I think," he says, "my heart is going to explode," and she wished, more than ever, that she knew how to capture moments like these and revisit them forever.

Because this.

This was everything.

[bump1nthen1ght]

Animal Instinct (Werewolf x Reader)

Pairing: Male!Reader/Male!Werewolf

Warning: NSFT Content up ahead (18+ only), Non-Con, Predator-Prey Dynamics, Degradation

Word Count: 2454 words

Summary: You're caught by the beast hunting you, but he makes it clear killing you isn't his goal.

Request: Could ya do a Male werewolf x Male reader. And make it like a predator and prey scenario which turns spicy (SMUT) Plssssssssss😙

A/N: I’m gonna be honest y’all, this one is SPICY 🌶. I’ve added a short optional aftercare scene at the end, which establishes it as a consensual roleplay between two lovers, mostly because of the intensity of this piece. But if straight non-con is your thing, then enjoy!

The bite of the branches sting as you push through them, tearing at your clothes and leaving small scrapes along your skin. But anything is better than what runs behind you, taunting and screeching it’s horrible laugh.

“You can run all you want! But Imma still get you!” The voice cackles, the sound of large branches cracking as he easily tails you. The thump of his paws grow louder and louder, but you keep running anyway. A part of you says its fruitless, but a larger part of you is focusing all your energy on just fucking moving.

Don’t look back, Don’t look back, Don’t look back- That sickening hyena laugh rings through your ears as you are tackled to the ground. Tiny pebbles scratch your back as you and your assailant fall into a clearing in the forest, his large body pinning your shoulders to the ground. You clench your eyes shut, praying for this all to be a dream. That all you’re feeling is an extra heavy quilt your mother threw over you, not this….this thing.

“Gotcha.” He whispers, his wet breath blowing right past your ear. You scrunch up your face and jerk your head to the side, trying to avoid the muggy scent. He chuckles. “I told you.”  He leers, a drop of saliva dripping onto your cheek. “Now,” He grabs your jaw, the tips of his claws pressing into your skin, and forces your head towards him, “Look at me.”

You hesitantly open your eyes, blinded by the shocking white canines which hang above you, dripping with drool and exhaling hot breathes of exertion. Your eyes dart up, trying to avoid  his gaze, but his claws dig even deeper into your cheeks. “I said look at me, bitch.”

You suck in a deep breath, eyes finally meeting your attacker’s.

One is bright golden, glowing in the darkness, while the other is a faded white. The dull pink scar that runs up the left side of his face goes right across it, only adding to his menacing veneer. His smile is sickly, conniving, and he has the gall to pat your cheek; A reward for listening.

“Good, good. Now, ain’t that a handsome face?”

You don’t answer, the beast’s claws still pressed dangerously close to your neck. You gulp and the creature smiles, relishing in your fear. You can’t help but yelp when his wet nose presses against your throat, taking a large whiff. The creature shivers, his tongue lolling out in pleasure.

“You smell so delicious.” He takes another sniff, right up against your Adam’s Apple. “I love it when they run. Makes it all the more….” His long tongue licks a stripe up your neck, running from the clavicle all the way to your jaw, “Tantalizing.”

He keeps his right hand tight around your jugular while his other slides down your chest. His claws begin to catch on the fabric, tugging until it begins to leave small holes. You force your eyes upward, afraid to ask what he was doing. He eventually reaches the bottom of your shirt, where he grows impatient with his own teasing. In one quick movement, your entire shirt is ripped clean off of you. Goosebumps rise across your skin as your torso is exposed to the outside air. Your chest heaves with anxiety.

“Please.” Your voice begs, tears at the corner of your eyes. “Please just do it quickly.”

The creature clicks his teeth, tossing aside the tatters of your shirt and pulling his face away from your neck. You meet his gaze. His hungry, lusting gaze. He licks his lips, admiring  your flushed and sweaty skin. He traces dangerous circles around your nipples with his claws, enjoying how you jump at the contact.

“Sorry, little one.” He grabs the back of your head,  limbs moving so fast you barely have time to react, pulling you in for a passionate, sloppy kiss. His canines nip your bottom lip and he easily forces his tongue down your throat. You gag and thrash your upper body around, but his body weight has you pinned and his mouth is ravenous. When he finally detaches, a string of saliva still connecting your lips, he only smiles and whispers, “I intend to take my time tonight.”

He digs his claws into your hair and yanks your upper body upward and off the ground, your elbows pushing back to support the awkward angle. He lifts his lower body off yours, revealing his tattered shorts and massive bulge. It sends shivers down your spine, feeling your  stomach drop as he hastily undoes his trouser strings with one hand. Your scalp stings as he keeps it in place, right before he pulls out his cock. Your eyes widen and the creature cackles in delight. He spits into his paw and slathers his cock as he strokes it quickly, the hot-red tip being only inches away from your face.

His cock is thick, girthy and still almost eight inches long. Prominent veins run up the underside and converge at his head, which curves slightly upward. The skin of the shaft shines as his saliva lubes it up.

The creature yanks on your scalp and presses the tip of his cock up against your lips. You clench them shut, but can still taste the slight saltiness of his pre-cum. The creature tightens his grip on your hair and lets out a low growl.

“Open up.” He sneers, pulling on your hair when you falter for a second. You slowly open your mouth, praying he’ll take it easy on your poor throat. Before he slips his head in, the creature lets out another snarl. “Don’t even think about using your teeth. You won’t like me when I’m pissed.” You nod, the tip of his cock slowly resting on the tip of your tongue.

The creature doesn’t shove his cock down your throat, to your relief. Instead, he slowly forces your lips wider and wider as he slots it into your mouth, lavisciously moaning as he feels you clench and gag on his size.

“Oh yeah, that’s the stuff.” His cock hits the back of your throat, pressing uncomfortably up against your gag reflex. The creature licks his lips and his eyes roll into the back of his head. His claws dig into your scalp once more, but he avoids cutting your skin. When he looks back down at you, tears dropping from the corner of your eyes, he smiles. “Not that it would help you right now,” The creature says with a small thrust, forcing you to nearly choke. “But the name’s Riven.”

Another thrust and you try to ignore the overwhelming urge to vomit. Riven picks up his pace, his sweaty fur pressing up against your cheeks as he begins to fuck your face. His heavy balls slap your chin as he pulls out until only an inch as left, right before shoving you right back into his crotch. His moans turn into contented purrs and howls, his humps becoming sloppier and sloppier with each minute. Each thrust pounds the back of your throat, tears now freely flowing down your cheeks. You close your eyes and just focus on not scratching him with your teeth, lest it be the last mistake you make.

“Unng, gods. You were made for this, huh?” Riven strokes up your jaw with his free hand, before slowly moving down to your neck. “My little fucktoy. Throat just perfect for cock-sucking. Fuck!” He moans, stuck in his own ramblings as you try to not taste the salt of his dick. “Such a handsome boy, just asking for someone to shove their dick in your mouth, aren’t you?”

If you had the ability to form coherent thoughts any more, you might have shaken your head. But all your energy is spent on sending your consciousness away from here, trying to breathe through your nose and not choke on this beast's giant cock. Riven licks his lips.

“Oh, I bet you want it. Yeah, I think you do, little slut.” Riven pulls his dick out of your mouth and you gasp for a breath of fresh air. The taste of his dick still lingers on your tongue, and slobber runs down your chin and off his dick and rivulets. Your eyes begin to blur, but are brought back into focus when Riven slaps your cheek. A playful one, but still very jarring. “You’ve been so good to me so far. I’ll give you what you need, as a favor.” Your eyebrows quirk, befuddled, not letting the hope that he’ll let you go simmer in your chest. Riven wipes away the tear tracks that mark your face. It’s a shockingly romantic gesture.

But then he shoves your face into the grass, turning you so you lie on your stomach, and hastily ripping off your shorts. You didn’t think it was possible, but your stomach drops even lower, your heart seizing as you feel his claws fondle your ass.

“No, N-no, please-” Your mouth is shoved back into the grass, your body shaking as the wet head of Riven’s dick begins to circle around your asshole.

“Shut up and let me treat you.” Riven spits onto your butt, rubbing his saliva into your tight hole. The tip of his forefinger begins to press into the ring of muscle and your body instinctively tries to move away. Riven grabs your shoulder with one hand and pins you down. “I’m not always this nice. Fucking enjoy it, ungrateful slut.”

Two of Riven’s fingers force their way into you and the guttural whine that comes from you makes Riven laugh. You clench your eyes shut, burying your face into the rough ground below.

Please, just make it quick.

You pray, knowing the creature would never listen if you asked.  

Riven spreads you open with his fingers, pushing and pulling at your insides, only just grazing at the sensuous spot; The spot that sends jolts of electricity down your body, the one that makes your knees shake. They only tease and hint at what’s to come, bringing you only a hint of pleasure.

He pulls them out, quickly lining up his head with your asshole. You murmur more prayers into the ground, trying not to give him the satisfaction of your pleas.

His cock feels even bigger than when it was in your mouth, but Riven still takes his sweet time inserting himself all the way. His claws dig up the dirt, his breath washing over your neck as he leans his chest over your back. You can feel his thick fur rubbing against your t-shirt, moist and thick with sweat. He grunts as he slowly enters you, and growls into your ear when he’s reached the base. He whispers to you, voice stuttering,

“T-told you you 're made for this.”

Riven begins to hump, his hands moving up to your hips to pull you back against his crotch. The noises that leave you, tiny whines and whimpers, are unconscious and impossible for you to keep in. Riven moans and lets out long breaths as he fucks your asshole, his claws pinching against the thin skin of your pelvis as his thrusts in frequency. His dirty-talk is cut short as he simply enjoys the way you suck him in; He can see the way your body tenses and jolts every time he hits your prostate.

Riven loves the fucked-out look you have. You don’t realize it, but your tongue is sticking out of your mouth. Your muffled cries are all he needs, especially with how delicious your ass feels around his cock. Tight and barely-prepared, your beautiful back arching against him only brings him deeper inside you.

Black spots dot your vision as Riven rails you into the ground. Your hips have started to go numb from the brutality, the white scratches on your hips barely leaving an impact on your nerves. But that overwhelming heat remains; that tightness in your belly that reminds you where you are and what you’re feeling. You hate it, hate it so much, but the way his cock presses against that spot feels so good.

Your muscles slowly lose control and go limp from the pleasure, and you feel Riven’s thrust get more and more impassioned. You squeal as he fucks you harder and harder, that crashing wave slowly reaching its peak.

“Cum on my cock. Then I’ll fill you up, like the good little bitch you are.” Your fingers curl into the grass as Riven’s dick twitches inside you, his moans uncontrollable as he reaches his own climax as well. That knot in your belly slowly begins to snap; Closer, closer, closer-

“Fuck, fuck!” Streams of hot cum fill your asshole and you feel your cock jerk as you orgasm as well, cum staining the grass below. Riven lets out a powerful howl as he rides out his orgasm, his thrusts weakening as shoots more and more of his cum down your ass. His claws push you back one last time before he slumps over you. The smell of wet-dog and semen attacks your senses, but it’s like your entire body has lost its will to move. You fall into the grass, soaked in sweat and totally exhausted. Riven’s body weight lies on top of you. Like a humid, disgusting blanket.

“Absolutely perfect for me. My perfect little mate.”

-------------

(Optional Aftercare)

It takes you a second to catch your bearings, your long breaths taking up most of your energy before you can even think about speaking.

“That was….really good.” You sigh, still struggling to catch your breath and slow down your heart rate. Your boyfriend sighs, nuzzling into your back and nodding.

“Yeah. I wasn’t too much, was I?”

You shake your head, cheek still plastered to the grass. “Nope, just enough.” You give him a thumbs up. Riven laughs, the vibrations rumbling against your sore back.

“That’s good. Sorry about the slap, I was really in the moment.”

“Please, you couldn’t hurt me with a love-tap like that.”

Riven moves to push himself up, maybe to protest how strong he actually is, but his shaky arms give out on him and he collapses onto your back. You let out a small ‘ooph’

“..I guess that checks out.”

The two of you giggle, body’s still interlocked and exhausted. Riven runs his fingers, without his claws, up your sides and nuzzles into the back of your neck. You reach back and begin petting his shoulder. Riven’s tail lazily wags behind him.

“Love you.” He whispers, pressing a kiss onto your skin.

“Love you too.” You yawn, stretching your sore neck. “Now get off of me, you smell horrible.”

“Hey!”

[djarinsbeskar]

Foul - Boxer!Din AU

Definition - To break one of boxing’s rules (i.e. hitting an opponent below the navel, ear or while they are down), which can ultimately lead to point deductions if they are repeated.

A/N: The results of my Boxer!AU poll told me that the majority were interested in a jealous/protective boxer so I hope I have delivered! As always, relaxed fit = unedited, no beta. We also have a sneaky introduction to Paz in the Boxer verse which is super exciting! His concept art has been completed by the insanely talented @ronnieiswriting when I said I saw a mix of Jason Momoa and Winston Duke as our heavy. PLEASE heed the warnings in this chapter. There is nothing explicit but the topics hinted at might be triggering.

Word Count: 7k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: SMUT! (unprotected sex), blood and violence, toxic masculinity and derogatory speech, hints at discussions of non-con, somewhat possessive behavior, spanking, dom!Din and everything that comes with it.

Main Masterlist | Boxer Materlist

He might as well have been in hell. A colosseum of decaying humanity and dirt floors that erupted in a burst of dust like poisonous ash every time his next opponent fell. The hollow thump of pure muscle meeting the ground of the makeshift ring only drowned by the cheers of spectators. Masked, shadowed—unseen as they dropped hundreds – thousands sometimes – on which gladiator would remain standing in the end.

He felt like a king, a god among men within the confines of his realm of rope and canvas. It was easy to forget—standing under the spotlights that highlighted the sweat and blood and sculpted beauty of primal masculinity that it was a hollow victory any time he fought in the seedy underground rings of Akiva.

Every gladiator was a slave. Even the victor.

Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to let you come to one of these fights?

“Enough!”

Paz’s unassailable strength banded around Din’s chest, pinning his arms to his side—attempting to contain lightning in a glass jar. Sweat, blood—it all dripped into Din’s eyes as he growled at his opponent, passed out in the middle of the dirt ring—face swollen and puffy from Din’s fists.

Laser focus and animosity spilled from charcoal eyes as he tried to break free of his friends hold with a vicious yank forward of powerful shoulder and an unfaltering purpose. The bastard had it coming. One round a few punches wasn’t enough to slake Din’s anger, the fumes of rage seeping into his skin and clouding his senses until all he could think of was making the asshole on the ground before him pay.

The practiced speed that Din wrapped his hands slowed at the rowdy group on the other side of the room. Dammit, for all the money they brought in, could these cheapskates not provide separate fucking changing rooms so he didn’t have to be subjected to idiots jacking themselves up on testosterone and false hope?

But pissing contests and fragile masculinity weren’t what caught his attention. He could tune that bullshit out like a fine art. What caught Din’s attention was the obvious death wish one of his possible opponents had – if he even managed to get that far up the ranks to Din – when he waved a red flag in front of the boxers’ metaphorical bull.

“See that one in the front row? You know the one I’m talking about.”

Bawdy agreements and asinine gestures raked up Din’s spine, thorny—and prickling nerves of instinct that made him pause the music blaring in his ears. He fucking hated the scum he came across in these fights. Gang members, criminals—the dredges of humanity he sometimes worried he was part of.

“Gonna get her on her knees choking on my cock before the night is out. Sluts like that love titles, champions—why else do they attend? Good excuse to win tonight, eh fellas?”

“Do you wanna completely destroy your career?” Paz yelled over the chortles and raucous cheers for more, for revenge—for everything under the poor fallacy of a sun that strung in dim, bald bulbs along the notoriously infamous Avika fighting ring.

Din thought you would be safe, arrogantly assuming people would avoid even looking at you once they saw who you were with. And you had been—you were safe, but even he couldn’t protect you from the thoughts of others.

The larger man struggled with him, dragging him out of the ring when it was obvious his words were falling on deaf ears. All Din could hear was the little pricks voice in his head from hours before.

Din stood.

Inhaled, exhaled—tried those bullshit breathing exercises that were supposed to focus his mind before a fight. Help to rein in a temper like his from overflowing in devastating tidal waves to destroy all around him. Din didn’t lose his temper often—but when he did, it was lethal.

The breathing exercises didn’t work.

Because the idiot kept talking.

“Did you see the ass on that?”

Leers sounded from his group of friends. Encouraging the vile words that Din always knew came from a man who felt entitled to a woman’s body. He had seen enough of the underbelly of the world to know what that led to time and again. Din might have been shameless in his youth and even until recently when it came to sex, to one night stands, to women—but he fucking respected the girls he fucked or didn’t fuck.

“Traipsing around in a dress like that? She’s looking for the attention,” the asshole defended himself when one of his party voiced an alternative point of view. They were promptly shut down and didn’t speak again.

Din’s blood turned to ice. An image of you running a hand down his arm on your way to your seat when you parted ways for him to get ready, dress sinfully tight but effortlessly classy—a zip front he was dying to pull open with his teeth later that night.

“It’ll look so good with my cock buried in it…”

The ice in his blood turned to fury, white hot and molten as he tied off the tape at his wrists—throwing the roll into the dingy locker he had been given for the evening. The clatter of noise from where it slammed against the metal back was the only warning he was planning on giving them. The lull of conversation was fleeting, his warning going unheeded—when dim-witted morons didn’t read the murder in his gaze.

Looks like they weren’t nearly as intelligent as the pigs he thought them to be.

Grabbing his water bottle and phone, Din stalked towards the chipped door—distracting himself with a text of “don’t go anywhere alone in this place, sweetheart. Ask Paz to go with you” sent to you without a second thought.

The immediate response of “Yes yes I know, for the thousandth time. Don’t worry and focus on yourself” did little to assuage the roar of blood in his ears. There was only one thing he heard over the noise, one thing as his vision became hued in red and fixated on a single target.

“Wonder if she’ll let me fuck her there too—can’t imagine she’s a virgin but her ass will still probably be tighter than her cunt.”

Bald headed and littered in scars and tattoos of a gang known for their viciousness, the other boxer – if he could even be called that – thrust vulgarly into the air, mimicking the hold he would have on the girl. Din’s girl.

The fucker had a death wish.

And Din was only too happy to play the part of the grim reaper.

His friends voice hardly registered over that same ringing in his ears, the roar of protective aggression at the lecherous sneer on the other man’s face who now lay in a heap in the dirt, the filth he spewed about his masseuse, his girl. How beady eyes, cold and villainous dared to drift away from Din before the bell sounded—over his shoulder, to where he knew you were sitting. Knowing your body had been tainted by the gaze of a man who would sooner take what he wanted from you by force than look at you with anything akin to the respect you deserved—it made something snap inside of Din.

And he attacked.

He was lucky he had only been disqualified.

He was damn lucky no one called the cops.

But the perks of underground fighting, was that everyone who attended had something to hide. And no one wanted to be caught in the middle of shady transactions or betting on fighters to beat each other to a pulp. Hell, the savagery Din subjected the other guy to was exactly what half the fuckers who showed up hoped to see.

Din wasn’t just a nameless street fighter though, not anymore. He had something to lose. Any smear on his record for assault and he would be suspended from tournament participation quicker than the asshole’s body dropped after a crushing blow under the jaw by Din’s right uppercut.

Thank fuck Din’s main sponsor was equally as shady. A good man by Din’s logic, but merciless when it came to succeeding. Din being benched was the surest way to make his benefactors patience run out. No, Paz was right—Boba even more so when he clocked Din good in the cheek after Paz wrestled the irate male out of the ring.

“You fucking idiot, bloodlust is an ugly image, boy—”

“I am not a boy—” Din snapped at Boba, teeth bared and bloody from his split lip, neck straining when he spat the words viciously at his long-time coach. He ran his tongue over the metallic tang of blood before spitting it out of his mouth onto the dirt flooring by the chaotic rows of metal seating.

“You almost killed a guy in the ring, you little shit,” Boba snarled with equal venom, matching the anger reflected in Din’s gaze with furious sense Din didn’t want to witness.

“Let me go,” was all Din growled, eyes never leaving his coach’s even when Paz loosened his arms around his chest. Heaving, coal black eyes darkened dangerously and stabbed the former boxer with a dare to try and restrain him again. The other man shook a rope of dreadlock that had come loose from the strip of leather he kept his hair tied in and made to say something when Din interrupted,

“Where is she?”

Paz closed his mouth, heavy brows furrowing over his eyes as recognition dawned in their dark hues,

“Is that what this is about? Dammit, vod—it’s not like she’s your girlfriend, isn’t that what you always say?”

“Don’t fucking try me tonight—” Din snapped aggressively, the threatening hum between the two men charged to dangerous voltage.

“Din?”

Your voice washed over him – aloe on the burns his fury had scorched his skin with – and he was making his way over to you in the next moment, mind battling with instinct as he ignored the calls and curses of his friends.

Mine.

Not yours—

Mine.

He moved with feral grace, parting the sea of people who bleated from the sidelines but cowered in his presence once his attention was facing them and there was no canvas or rope to separate boxer from spectator. They were lucky. He didn’t see them. Would step on them if they were stupid enough to stay in his path. All he could see, was you—watching him with confusion and concern marring those pretty features, absent of fear in the face of an incensed, adrenaline fueled boxer post fight.

He exhaled a growl as he came to stand before you, the sound cavernous and deep in his chest—the hands you had lifted to examine his face intercepted by his own when he grabbed them. His fingers wrapped fully around your wrists, and he was reminded of how fragile you were – even if you worked out whenever you could and had a will of iron that would make you whack him for saying that – and just how easily a man like him, any of the fighters here tonight—could hurt you.

Never.

They wouldn’t dare.

Not with him around.

But how could they know?

How would they know to stay the fuck away from you?

Knuckles stained with dirt and blood; his hand rasped against the softness of your palm as he dragged you in the direction of the unused backstage waiting room fighters had been offered as a changing room. Where this whole fucking thing started.

“Din—Din, what the hell happened up there?”

You jogged behind him to keep up with his pace, long legs taking him farther than your shorter ones could when confined to the heels you had worn for the night out. He stalked through the dimly lit corridors to the flaky, chipped door with a temporary sign on lined paper with “ATHLETES” scrawled along the front of it like some ironic joke.

He almost bent the worn, cheap metal handle in half—nearly pulled it from its socket with how hard he tore the door open and dragged you over the threshold inside.

You whirled on him with a huff, eyes flashing and hands planting on your hips in growing annoyance.

“Din will you just—”

You didn’t get another word out.

His wrapped hands cupped your cheeks between them, his mouth on yours hungrily when he bent over you. Biting, clawing, desperate—the kiss was more a battle of tongue and teeth than anything else. There was nothing soft, nothing slow or affectionate about the way his teeth sank into your bottom lip so hard you gasped. The way the blood seeping from his split lip painted yours in a crimson rouge—smeared and varnishing you in a visceral mark of his claim.

“Mine,” he snarled unknowingly into your mouth, lapping his tongue along the prairies of your tastebuds, plundering the depths of your mouth to brand every inch of you he could reach. Inside and out. His hands had the same idea, forming down over the shape of your curves as he walked you back blindly to the disused vanity pushed against the closest wall. Topped with a row of mirrors undoubtedly used by performers for whatever this place had once been used for, the glass was now aged with discoloration.

It didn’t matter.

He didn’t have eyes for anything but you as he hiked your legs up to perch you on the edge, your fingers curled into the taut muscles at his neck and clawing down over the sweat slick muscles of his pecs—catching on flat nipples that made ripples of pleasure heat his body further. Mad him tangle a hand in your hair, yank your head back harshly and meet your eyes with dark desire before dropping to your neck. His newest target.

“Din…” your irritated, questioning tone had morphed to fervent sighs. His tongue mapped a trail from the corner of your mouth – tasting the tang of his own blood – to the rapid tattoo of your pulse, a delicate sheen of perspiration beginning to shimmer on your flushed skin from the arousal. Another layer of flavor for him to get drunk on.

So fucking hot under his hands.

So beautiful.

So his.

“Mine,” he repeated into the curve of your neck, framed by tremulous stretches of muscle either side that he carved with scrapes of his teeth to leave tracks of slow fading pink grazes before he bit into it. Your legs – already open and inviting him to settle between them – crossed at the ankles around his narrow hips to keep him close. It was fucking intoxicating the way he could make you feel, the desperate need he had for you.

Months of sleeping together, of knowing his body so intimately had given you a rare insight to his emotions whether he knew it or not. And you knew he didn’t need to talk right now, he needed to fuck. To work through whatever had affected him so badly in hard kisses and rough hands on your soft flesh. It didn’t stop your stomach from flipping at his possessive words though, deliriously spoken but whispering the unacknowledged desires you had for him beyond his body.

“Yours,” you admitted before you could stop yourself, your hand cupping under his jaw to lift his mouth back to yours. His raspy moan at your agreement turned positively filthy when you carded short nails through his damp hair. Din was weak to having his hair stroked, his staunch dominance buckling in violent shivers of pleasure when you dragged those skilled fingers down the back of his skull and neck.

Traipsing around in a dress like that…

His eyes flew open, and he broke the kiss—ripped his mouth from yours to press his forehead to yours, eyes searching while his free hand ran indulgently up your torso to the neckline of your dress,

“Never let anyone disrespect you, sweetheart—” he rumbled, his fingers already undoing the zip of the dress, the nude pink material tempting to the eye and celebrating those features you were most proud of—that he found irresistible to know you loved. That someone could make you uncomfortable in those clothes… fucker. He snarled and pressed a long kiss to your mouth, large hands spreading the sides of the dress open wide – no underwear, baby? – and shucked the material down your arms to leave you bare before him.

His appreciation for your body – fucking gorgeous – was only tampered by the frustration he had with himself at the noise of confusion you made at his words. Of course, you hadn’t heard anything that asshole had said thankfully—but fuck, he couldn’t get it out of his head. You read his desperation somehow, and nodded slowly with puzzled eyes, teeth sinking into your swollen bottom lip as you leaned back on your hands.

So trusting…

Fuck.

It made alarm and something akin to fear rise swell uncomfortably in his throat.

He tried again.

“Never let anyone take advantage of you,” he whispered against your mouth in earnest, his hands running up your bare thighs to press his thumbs into the seams of your legs and hips, “tell me—”

His mouth dropped to your collarbone, funneling those feelings into lapping down to your heaving breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth with a groan and befuddling your mind to his request until he nipped the swollen peak – say it, baby – and caused your head to fall back against the mirror,

“Yes—yes,” you moaned, “I won’t—”

He snarled internally, dammit. Hearing you say it didn’t help. He wanted to say how he wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you, how he wouldn’t let anyone ever take advantage of you. But he couldn’t. Had to frame it like advice he would give any woman he knew instead of speaking it like the promise he wanted to make.

Din had been fucking you for the last few months now, exclusively after only a few months—but it never went beyond that. He had no reason, no excuse to be worried over your life or safety or what you did when you weren’t in his bed. He wasn’t expected to be involved in your life the way a friend or family member was. Not the way a boyfriend was.

He didn’t do relationships. Never had. Too much trouble and frankly—he liked his privacy, his space—and liked not being accountable to anyone but himself. The consequences of any shitty decisions he made would fall on him and him alone. If he demanded that of the women he slept with and then insisted on inserting himself into their lives in the next breath, he would be a hypocrite. And Din hated hypocrites.

He couldn’t.

But fuck. He never wanted to hear someone speak that way about you, never wanted them to think they had the slightest chance with a woman like you. His blood boiled at the notion of someone else’s hands on you, his tempered flared when he imagined your pleasure or smiles, or laughter give to someone who didn’t deserve you.

Like he did?

Fuck no, he knew he didn’t.

He never said he wasn’t selfish though, and he coveted you with sinful greed.

“Fuck me, baby—please, please—” you mewled into his neck as your hands that had started all of this with that first massage, fit into the sliver of space between your bodies to stroke along his cock over his shorts impatiently. His head fell back, and his mind blissfully emptied for a moment, grunting your name at the frisson of pleasure before those damned memories resurfaced again.

Look at the ass on that.

That.

Her. You weren’t a thing, a possession. You were—

He snarled. Misplaced anger manifesting in aggressive passion as he grabbed your wrist from where you stroked him to pin behind your back on the vanity.

“Always so eager, aren’t you—” he grinned darkly when you nodded, “turn around.”

The command was delivered low and dangerous, more a rumble of noise—deep echoes of jungle predators crackling like the kindling of threat, inspiring awareness that one wrong move would be fatal. But you never made a wrong move—not for as long as he had known you. Whether it was alleviating a pain deep in his muscles that had bothered him for months or pushing yourself slowing off the vanity to your feet as you were now—you always knew what he needed.

Wisps of hair fell into his eyes as he watched you—the decided turn of your naked body to dace the mirror—eyes never leaving his even as they caught them again in the aged glass. Bending forward, your ass pressed into the front of his shorts, and you rested your elbows on the vanity.

Perfect.

He didn’t realize he had whispered the word as he pressed his mouth between your shoulder blades, tongue trailing down the arch of your spine while his hands kneaded plush cheeks—spreading them and exposing your slick cunt to the cool air. The hitches in your breath, small squirms of your hips for relief—they all fed into his desire for you.

And he desired you. Constantly.

“I’m gonna eat your pussy until you can’t stand, baby—and then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t speak,” he muttered against the shell of your ear, massive bulk bowed over your back and shadowed eyes – the duality of warm walnut and lethal obsidian – bore into yours through the glass.

“I want them all to know who you belong to,” he nipped your ear, flicking his tongue along the cartilage—the black ink on his back catching the light as his muscles rippled with movement, a roll of pleasure from your ass grinding back against him with a whimper of his name, “so don’t be quiet this time, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fluttered open molasses slow from where they had dropped closed at his words,

“What—what hap—” you tried to turn your head, the concern mingled with lust in those gorgeous, honest eyes making warning bells blare painfully – too close – and he silenced you with a kiss. Swallowing the worry that hinted at feelings that surpassed those expected from a fuck buddy, he buried it deep inside himself, in the shadows like a coward. To be locked away where he would remain safe from it.

Your tongue grew sloppy with a moan when he ground his crotch into your ass—dragging the solid thickness of his clothed cock between your soaked folds and up against your tight rear entrance.

Wonder if she’ll let me take her there…

Bastard.

He sucked on your tongue with a groan of your name, hand releasing your cheeks to fan up your ribcage and cup your breasts. You jerked in sensitivity when rough hands pinched sore nipples – he fucking loved how sensitive your tits got just before your period. The cry you released was nothing short of musical, tempting him lower as he kissed down your spine—wrapped hands sanding down over your ribs again when he lapped around the rim of your ass, circling it before he traced lower.

You were dripping.

He dropped to his knees behind you, eyes drunken with an ingrained pride that he was the one in this position, looking at the petals of your swollen pussy glistening with arousal he inspired from just a few kisses and rolls of his hips. He kept his eyes on the steady trickle of wetness from your twitching entrance, his teeth grazing distractedly down the back of your thigh as he did so.

A finger ruddy with flecks of dried blood caught a string of your arousal – don’t waste a drop – and he sucked it between his lips with an approving groan, the noise of your whimpers the perfect accompaniment. Blood and lust. The essence of humanity, that was what he tasted when he sucked his finger clean. It tasted like life. And he wanted more.

A sharp crack echoed through the room when his hand came down hard on one cheek, and again... and again—each strike making that dripping wetness gush until he couldn’t hold back anymore. He buried his face in your cunt, nosing at your entrance and tongue spreading puffy lips apart so he could trace in pitter patter swipes through your folds—greedily gathering anything he could get on his tongue before swallowing. Dehydrated on the sands of depravity and sordid company—your cunt was an oasis of relief where he eagerly drank his fill.

You tried to move, your hips slamming up against the edge of the vanity – that’ll bruise – and you keened with a shuddering cry when his mouth simply followed your attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure that was too much too soon.

“Fuck—fuckfuckfuck—” you gasped, dropping a hand back to tangle in his hair, dragging him closer despite your protests. Mm, he loved when you got like this—overstimulated from the first touch. No matter how much you whined, no matter how many times he wiped tears that smudged your makeup when he unraveled orgasm after orgasm from the knots inside you—he knew you loved the intensity as much as he did.

He spanked you again – take it – your cheeks red and beautiful when he spread them side for him to spit directly onto your quivering cunt. His saliva dribbled and mixed with your juices to gather over your clit, his mouth forming over the little bud enthusiastically, urged by your slow ruts back against his face to streak his face with your essence.

“More—” you whimpered.

“Greedy—” he growled back.

The sound of your breathless laugh meshed delightfully with the swallow of a moan – guttural and primal – and made his cock twitch in his shorts. His hips snapped up uselessly from where he was kneeling—finding no purchase or warm embrace to bury itself in as his tongue took that pleasure for itself.

It licked and curled with practiced, seemingly illogical strokes along your clit and up to your entrance—sloppily kissing it before his tongue dove into your tight depths, thumb working in quick circles over your clit. He knew exactly what to do to make you come undone.

Your first orgasm was sudden—strong and surprising. He hadn’t even fucking fingered you and you were already spasming around nothing. Your muscles tensed as you went on your toes to lean even further on the vanity, trying to escape his tongue that worked you through each wave—drowning you in the pleasure he knew only he could give you. You were his. His his his his h—

You sobbed his name, a raw answer to his internal mantra his mind struggled against and failed to overcome.

Din wanted you.

He wanted your body, your mind, your time—he wanted what Paz had.

Fuck.

The way the older man mooned and gazed with shameless adoration for the little baker he had fallen for in so short a time. Hell, Din teased him over it constantly. And maybe he didn’t want that—but he wanted something. Din wanted something with you. Wanted you to visit him in the gym and stop him mid set just to kiss him and tell him that you would wait for him to finish so you could go home together. He wanted to buy you flowers without having to think of a fucking excuse like last time to distance himself from the sentimentality. He wanted to open his front door and feel our presence as more than just a visitor. That a toothbrush and the stray pieces of clothing you forgot at his place would turn to shoes at the door and your taste in décor mixing with his.

Din wanted you.

But he had no idea how to do anything but fuck you. He didn’t know how to date or be romantic. Was clueless to things like companionship—to the softer emotions he knew you craved. That all people craved. Din had no idea how to do any of it.

You lay with your cheek on the wooden surface of the vanity, eyes half-closed and spacey as you watched him lift his head from your pussy, face shiny from your release and when he licked over his lips, still hungry for more—you mewled.

“Don’t tap out on me yet, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, a whimper and almost childish refusal while your cheek remained plastered to the vanity, all strength having left your body and an adorable pout trying to lie and tell him you couldn’t take any more.

“Mm, yes you can—” he answered you, dragging his mouth back up your slit and along your tight ass where he lapped at the rim again. Later. It took time for him to stretch you to take his size—it was better left for when he had you in his apartment and could take his time.

His hand followed his mouths direction as it continued up to meet your mouth—smirking against your lips at the whimpers you made from the slaps he gave your pussy—the obscene, wet sound filling the area with each slap slap slap until his hand was damn near slipping every time he struck your cunt from how wet it was.

A bang on the door—a harsh slap to your pussy so you would moan just right for him, and he growled out a threatening “occupied” to whoever was outside. You were too high strung to even notice.

“No one else can have you,” he rasped darkly into your temple, his free hand tangling in the strands to pull your head back against his shoulder—the position no doubt edging on uncomfortable with the way your spine and neck were arched back—moUlded into his hard frame. Your eyes fell to half mast even as your lips parted—still smeared with specks of blood you hadn’t yet licked or chewed off—and he bit your jaw in warning.

“No one else—” you parroted, your hot breath fanning over his cheek even as you rocked back against him, a steel confidence entering your fucked out gaze—mercurial in the swirling heat, “just like no one else can have you.”

The boldness of your words, the conviction spoken in that voice of wooden flutes and bubbling creeks made his blood light with fire—yes. As much as he anted you, he yearned for you to crave him in return.

“No one else,” he repeated your words back to you, rutting his hips against you when his cock pulsed with a negligent ache that demanded to be addressed. He kept one hand in your hair when he pushed his shorts down enough to free his leaking cock, the turgid length swollen and angry as he rubbed the tip between your lips.

Maybe he would buy you flowers tomorrow, after all.

Din gave you no time to prepare yourself – that’s my girl – sliding inside you with one brutal thrust that had you pushed up against the mirror and his cock engulfed in fiery bliss. He felt the heat run up his spine, a volcanic metamorphism into marble as his muscles froze in an immediate pause to stop himself from spilling inside you after one damn thrust.

You weren’t doing much better—one hand clawing for purchase on the mirror and the other digging your nails into his hip as you panted his name, an incoherent string of curses and praise as your sensitive walls convulsed around him. The position had him pressed right against that one spot he cock curved up against that could make you see stars and your care for being caught dissipate in cries of ecstasy.

“Baby—fuck please, so—too deep—” you whimpered in inane babbles, tightening in residual spasms from your orgasm and the sudden intrusion of his cock, still a stretch after all these months. Too deep… he snorted, rolling his hips hard to try shove himself deeper still. He could never get deep enough, always wanting more—always seeking to conquer the untouched lands of your body.

“Mm, want me to stop?” he teased, dragging his hips back with a smirk at your immediate rejection of no no no fuck—please, no—hand pathetically trying to drag him closer to you by the hip. Lovely little thing… thinking you were strong enough.

“That’s better…” he purred, relief washing over him when he pulled out—the walls of your cunt stretching around him, refusing his exit, and trying to keep him nestled inside you. The pace he chose was brutal. He fucked you like he fought tonight. Violently, mercilessly—and deaf to the calls to relent. But where he wanted his opponent to suffer, he wanted to devastate you with pleasure, enrapture you with ecstasy and leave you moaning his name where others would curse it.

Wet cock slapping as he pounded into you in short, frantic ruts – need you baby… fuck I need you – there was no time for you to catch a full breath before he was knocking it out of you again. His fingers had to tighten in your hair to keep you up – your body trembling under his as he sank his teeth into the taut muscle at your neck and his cock sank into your welcome body – exposed and waiting for him to litter in his signature.

He would never get enough of the way his marks looked on your skin—the way you decorated him in yours. You were powerless to do much else than accept them right now – likely getting him back later – boneless and weak under the attack of his mouth and the dominance of his body.

He would make sure everyone in this fucking shithole of a place knew who you were with. They would have to be blind not to notice the blotches of poppy bruises snaking down your neck with the elusion to more hidden from unworthy eyes. The smudge of your mascara as tears pearled like crystals in the corner of your eyes when you glanced at him in strung out bliss.

“M-more—” you begged, dropping one of your hands between your legs to rub at your clit—fingers splitting around the girth of his cock as he fucked you to feel the thick length disappear into you over and over, the soaked mess amassed from your frantic desire for each other trickling down your thighs.

“Yeah?” he grinned, breathless and sweating for much more pleasing reasons than he had been in the ring, a languid kiss to your neck as he hiked one of your knees up onto the vanity—spreading you wider for him to sink deeper.

You spasmed, your head falling back against his shoulder with a cry.

“Yes—there, there baby, fuck you feel so good…” you rambled, fingers working feverishly over your clit in wet strokes, grazing his balls every time they slapped against your skin and making him muffle his moan in your neck.

Rolling a nipple between his fingers, his large—bloodied hand completely swallowed your breast, squeezing it and tickling sounds that belonged to him from you and into his mouth when you kissed him. One last kiss before you collapsed back onto the vanity, and he stood to his full height so he could ruin you with his cock.

His name was the only thing you remembered as he split you open with full, hard thrusts—the entire length of his cock stretching your tight walls around it and playing along raw nerves already on the brink of another orgasm.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart—” he strained, desperate for release as he watched himself fuck you in the mirror—him behind your smaller body, squirming under the pleasure while his muscles bunched and relaxed with each snap of his hips—the veins in his forearms prominent and tendons taut as he poured all that training and dedication and determination into you, into pleasing you.

“Inside—inside, Din fuck, please—”

His mind emptied. Nothing else mattered about tonight—not the fight, not the disqualification, not the rage. Your eyes—cloudy with lust and achingly trusting as you looked back at him were all he could think about. Nodding without even realizing, the thought of filling you running in his mind on a loop.

“Fuck—!”

He wanted you to cum before him, he always did—but he was so high strung, so tense that he couldn’t stop himself, burying himself to the hilt with several punched out moans—exhaled rapture with every pump of his seed against your waiting womb. Your eyes rolled closed at the amount, bloating you with his release and as he came, you worked your clit frantically—chasing that addictive edge you gladly hurled yourself over at just the thought of him coming inside you.

Din dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a gasp, your spasming walls too much on his sensitive length but he had to stay inside—the contractions of pleasure, the gush of your release might push his out. He couldn’t have that. So, he gritted his teeth, mumbled husky praise – good girl, that’s it—just like that, soak me – to work you through your orgasm and pressed open mouth kisses to sweaty skin, the salt tickling his tongue as he caught his breath.

His mouth worked over the sweep of your shoulder, up your neck to your jaw when your orgasm subsided, purring your name and nonsensical strings of words he had no idea made sense or not. He finally eased his softening cock out of you slowly when you shifted your hips—testing your strength and finding it lacking when you realized both he and the vanity were what kept your legs up.

“Feel… feel better?”

“Mhm…” he confirmed noncommittally, nuzzling the marks beginning to bloom and darken like a forbidden garden only he was allowed indulge in the scent of. One of his hands ran absently down the back of your thigh, feeling for his release—pleased to feel nothing but your sticky arousal, his own still nestled inside your sore cunt.

“Want one of those crepes you’re always raving about from that twenty-four hour place?” he purred, helping you stand—going so far as to pull the straps of your dress back up so that zipping the metal teeth would be easier. Your eyes brightened despite the lazy, satiated fatigue hiding in their orbs.

“Gino’s?”

“Mm,” he nodded, looking down from his greater height and lips quirking in an annoying desire to smile when one – bright as daylight – broke out on yours.

You nodded quickly, looping your arms around his neck to drag him down to your mouth, kissing him good and proper while his hands fell under the still open sides of your dress to settle on bare hips,

“Are you ever going to tell me what set you off tonight?” you mumbled against his lips cautiously, the ghost of a smile from the promise of dessert still lingering but a hesitant worry entering your gaze, unsure if his mood would sour again.

It didn’t.

He nudged his nose along yours, aquiline curve slotting along yours as he hummed in thought, thumbs rubbing lazily into your hips,

“Maybe later,” he settled on and captured your lips again.

You left the changing room together, his gym bag slung over one shoulder and his free arm wrapped around your shoulder—nose never leaving your temple or nuzzling into your hair with blatant affection as you blushed at how obvious it was to anyone who saw you what you had been doing.

You had both tried to tidy yourselves—cleaning the corners of your makeup and trying to flatten your mused hair was about all you could do. Din didn’t even attempt to cover the freshly fucked look of messy hair and heavy eyes as he pulled an unzipped Mythosaur Gym hoodie on over his muscle shirt.

A group were passing in the corridor as you asked him something—his former opponent with one eye swollen shut from the bruises forming around his eye, jaw, and cheeks. Din answered you easily, an automatic response to whatever you were asking as his eyes met his opponents, cold fury and arrogant pride flashing in their depths.

You remained none the wiser as you passed the group, Din’s body protectively placed between you and them. He probably should have told you; he knew you wouldn’t be swayed by it—comfortable in your body as you were, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He could protect you from slander and toxicity at the very least—and he planned to. Even if he had to do so in the shadows for now.

For himself, the swelling and bruising on the idiots’ face weren’t the only thing he had to satisfy himself with. He was the one whose cum was still buried inside you, clinging to your thighs and keeping you slick and wet for him to add more to later when he got you back to his place. And as you glanced up at him with a disarming smile after he dropped his hoodie over your shoulders without a thought once you both were outside in the crisp air of the early morning darkness—he secretly hoped that he would be the only one to have that privilege from then on.

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A few who might be interested! @thepoisonofgod @absurdthirst @highsviolets @astroboots​ 

[thesapphictimelady]

Sacred Purity Chapter 6

Word count: 788 words

Warnings: Lesbian relationship, sex in a church, domme/sub relationship, I will poke fun at the church a lot in this, spanking, blackmail

Characters: Wilhemina Venable and OC (and a surprise character)

A/N I apologize for how long it’s been. Work is incredibly stressful and I lost all my inspiration. I am slowly gaining the will to write again but I can’t promise any kind of schedule or regular updates.

"I'm sorry!", Sister Anastasia cried, back arching as Ms. Venable’s cane came down once again on her ass.

“Sorry isn’t good enough,” Ms. Venable hissed, “perhaps I need someone more…specialized.”

"No! No, I swear I'll be good!"

"Oh darling," Ms Venable cooed, “I'm afraid it’s a little late for that..." she stepped away to pick up a jar of cream, “But don’t worry. Ms. Goode is the very best”

~ ~ ~

Sister Anastasia whimpered, tugging on the edge of her collar and bouncing from foot to foot nervously. Ms. Venable had dressed her in a simple purple dress to wait for Ms. Goode, leaving her hair down to frame her face.

“It makes you look innocent,” she had said in explanation. Sister Anastasia had barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Between the bruises crisscrossing her thighs and the hickeys on her neck, she wasn’t sure anything could make her look innocent. But Ms. Venable had insisted and the young girl knew better than to fight the older woman. The last time she had done so was the reason she was in this mess in the first place.

“Stand up straight,” Ms. Venable snapped, “You look like a street urchin.”

“S-sorry Ms. Venable!” Sister Anastasia quickly straightened up, hoping to avoid any of the woman’s sadistic punishments.

“Ms. Goode will be here any minute and I will not have you looking untrained,” Ms. Venable tapped her cane against the marble in warning.

“Y-yes Ms. Venable, of course,”

The older woman wrapped her long fingers around Sister Anastasia’s neck, applying the slightest pressure against the sides of her throat, smirking when the young woman whimpered and danced from foot to foot, struggling to keep herself in check.”

“Stay here pet,” Ms Venable whispered in her ear.

Sister Anastasia watched her walk away slowly, swaying her hips more than strictly necessary, teasing the young woman. She bit her lip as she watched Ms. Venable, knowing full well that there was a large purple dildo dangling beneath her dress, probably still wet from their earlier ‘training’ session. What she was being trained for, she wasn’t sure, but she did know she didn’t want it to end.

A soft leather glove grabbed her wrist roughly and she realized a moment too late that her hand had drifted under her short dress.

“And just what”, Ms. Venable hissed, “Do you think you’re doing? I trained you better than this. You know you don’t touch without my permission!”

“I-I’m sorry Ms. Venable! I-I didn’t know I was doing it!”

Ms. Venable scoffed, pulling Sister Anastasia along as she marched down the hallway.”

“Now Ms. Goode will have to wait for me to deal with you. And believe me your punishment will be severe. Get in this room. Now!”

Sister Anastasia nearly fell as she was pushed into the dark room, feeling her way to the bed she knew was there and taking up the position. Hands and knees, ass up chest down and God help her if she fell from that position.

“The question is,” Ms. Venable said, caressing Sister Anastasia’s ass, “How many times do I have to spank you for this lesson to sink in? Hm?”

Ms. Venable feigned a shocked gasp as she brought her hand down on Sister Anastasia’s ass. “Oh, little girl, don;t tell me you LIKE this! What would Mother Superior say? Tell me, have you been imagining her taking you over her knee?”

“N-no Ms. Venable! I-I only think of you!”

“Oh? What do you think about me?” Ms. Venable leaned in close, one long finger probing the young womans cunt. “Tell me and maybe I’ll lessen your punishment.”

Sister Anastasia whimpered and tried not to push back against her hand, knowing the punishment would be severe. “I-I think about you spanking me! I-I think about that day in my room…” The young woman trailed off, flushing bright pink.

A sharp crack filled the room when Ms. Venable brought her cane down on her ass, snapping her out of her daydreams.

“What about it, little girl? Be specific.”

“The-the day that you used your cane to-to fuck me!”

Ms. Venable laughed and smacked her cane over the nuns ass.

“Oh, pet that is pathetic! Do you touch yourself thinking about it? Tell me the truth.”

“Y-yes Ms. Venable!” Sister Anastasia squealed as the cane came down a third and fourth time.

A knock at the door interrupted the stream of questioning.

“Ms. Venable,” a melodic voice drifted through the wood, “may I come in? I’d like to get started as soon as possible.”

Ms. Venable grinned a sadistic grin that made Sister Anastasia clench around the finger in her cunt.

“Yes, please, do come in Ms. Goode.”

[beneathashadytree]

Hello dear author! I've just recently watched Moriarty the Patriot and I cannot get over the fact how beautiful the protagonist Willy is. Thus I'd like to request prompt 2,8 & 10 with him. A fluff piece overall. Additionally I would like add the reader kissing him here and there as to cherish him like the cheek, forehead, the spot behind the ear, neck, collarbone, the spot of the nose between the eyes, on the shoulder, back of his hand, the palm of his hand, the wrist [woah that's a lot] and anywhere else honestly

Please bear with me, I love this precious man so much and on top of that I'man hopeless romantic. If I was talking about timeline then may it be after the stunt he pulled on that broken bridge or whatever with Sherlock trying to save him

Yes and thank you very much ❤️💙

AFTER THE FALL - WILLIAM MORIARTY X READER

Warnings : none I think, just general talk of William’s suicide attempt, this is not proofread, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : hurt/comfort I think? Not sure

Word count : 1.2K words (oh shit)

Additional notes : Hi love! I’m sure we share the same feelings for William. He’s quite lovely, and I think he’s brilliantly written and complex. This is supposed to be an event for works 1.0K words long and under, so I couldn’t fit all those kisses in the request without it being too cramped. I did try my best though, so I hope you like it!💗

Prompts : “Could you play with my hair?” “You put your arm around me and I literally felt my knees buckle, this is so pathetic.” “You’re legally obligated to keep holding me.”

Tip jar if you’d like to buy me a Ko-Fi!

Masterlist

“Months?” William managed to croak out, an incredulous look in his bleary eyes as he tried to sit upright, only to have them stop him with a hand on his shoulder.

Shaking their head, they wondered how long it would take to convince him to take things slow; to finally rest easy after…

Before they could choke on their tears, they blinked them back and instead crawled into the space beside him on the bed. It took everything they had in them to not fling their arms around him and squeeze him in an embrace he could never escape from.

They had to settle for only curling up against his side, carefully reaching out and parting his fringe, checking whether or not the scar had healed up enough for them to be less cautious while touching him.

“Does it hurt?” they asked, deft fingers combing through his pretty bangs, careful so as not to tear it. After staying at the hospital for so long, it was only natural that his hair would grow duller and drier, much to their disappointment.

“Not really,” he thoughtfully answered, “Maybe a little twinge every now and then, but I mostly can’t feel my eye.” William watched as they mindlessly fiddled with the few strands in front of his good eye, before he spoke up again in a quiet voice. “Could you… play with my hair?“

Their movements stilled for a few beats, before a half-smile made its way on their face. “Of course.” And they obliged, one hand gently cradling the back of his neck, while the other began to run through his locks, fondness filling their chest as they watched the way his eyelids fluttered peacefully.

“Feels nice, does it?” they chuckled a little, feeling confident enough to let their other hand trail down his back, stroking his clammy skin until oh-so-carefully resting at the small of his back.

“Yeah,” their lover mumbled out. Despite the relaxed look on his face, William somehow managed to still look utterly exhausted. They supposed it was only normal, after having nearly flung his life into the pitfalls of hell—almost literally too, if one believed in God.

The very thought brought a stinging pain to their chest that wouldn’t let up no matter how hard they willed it to. After all, nothing could erase the memories of seeing William aching and moaning in feverish unconsciousness, welts and blisters covering his entire drenched body that shivered on the riverbank. It took more effort than they ever had to try and push these dreadful thoughts to the back of their mind, and focus on his now-healthy body in their embrace.

He let out a sound that was a mix between a depreciative sigh and a bitter laugh. Giving him a questioning look, they noticed how he failed to meet their eyes. “You put your arm around me and I literally felt my knees buckle, this is so pathetic. To not even be able to pull myself up…”

Weakly smiling, they tried to offer some sort of comfort. “If it makes you feel any better, the first time you reached out for me in your sleep I nearly passed out from crying so much.”

“It doesn’t,” he solemnly replied, “Make me feel better, that is. I’ve left you all alone…”

Before he could go on with his abundantly clear self-hatred, they interrupted him with a tender kiss to his now-exposed forehead. “I prefer having you in a hospital bed than not having you at all. You intended to leave us all, William. I’m just glad we somehow got you to stay.”

He fell silent for a few minutes, before his crimson eyes blew wide open and he scrambled to get up. “Sherlock—!”

Another kiss to his soft cheek. “He’s alright, darling. He’s been visiting you regularly, you know, even though he was quite banged up himself.”

That didn’t seem to ease his nerves; something they should’ve foreseen. “How bad is it? Is he alright? I must see him—“

“Absolutely not,” they firmly stopped him, pushing him down by the shoulder, hoping that it was with enough force to convince him to stay without causing him any pain. He settled back down, but the unease in his eyes didn’t let up. In hopes of soothing his rattled nerves, they pressed a chaste kiss to his shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere before the doctor allows it. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

Momentarily distracted, he asked, “You called for him?”

“I rang the bell as soon as you began waking up, yes. He’ll need to run another check-up to clear you out.” As they answered his questions, they began to press soft, lingering kisses to wherever they could reach in their position. The tip of his nose, the corner of his rosebud mouth, his chin… it was enough of a distraction to have him sighing at the lovely feeling.

William somehow managed to ask another question. “And everything’s working? Aside from my left eye, that is.”

In response to that, they pressed their lips to that spot between his furrowed eyebrows, hoping to soften the creases formed there. “Perfectly well, yes. Worry more about getting your strength back.” With a teasing smile, they leaned down to nip at the junction between his jaw and his neck. “After all, I’m sure Miss Moneypenny will need a helping hand getting the mansion back in order.”

“Miss Moneypenny and everyone…” A concerned look came on his face, consternation clear in his eyes. “Are they ok?”

“Liam, I’m begging you to stop worrying,” they huffed, “I’ve already written to them. Last time I had, they were fine, but I knew you’d work yourself up as soon as you awakened, so I made sure to contact them again.”

“I can’t help it.”

“I know you can’t, but that’s why I’m here.” Smoothing out the wrinkles between his eyebrows that refused to disappear, they looked at him with a look that was equal parts exasperation and adoration. “You always want to carry everyone’s burdens along with your own, and never ask for help either. It’s what got us into this mess in the first place.”

Swallowing thickly, William seemed to be blinking back his own tears as he visibly struggled to find the words. Ever-so-patiently, they waited, stroking his skin, giving him the time to think of what he wanted to say. Though under any other circumstances it might’ve been an act of seduction, the kisses they littered down his chin, over his throat, and on his collarbone were nothing more than an affirmation of love and a form of encouragement.

He took in a rattling breath. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Sorry does often feel like the hardest word, doesn’t it?” they said, though not unkindly. It was that smile of theirs that they gave him that spoke volumes of their adoration and immense relief to simply have him in their embrace once again. “You shouldn’t tire yourself out with your thoughts, my love.”

“Hmm, I’ll try not to.”

They shook their head, before nudging his neck with their nose, kissing behind his ear as they did. “You say that, but I know you’ll still be in your head until you fall asleep. So, let’s busy you with something else. As of now, you’re legally obligated to keep holding me.”

A weak, watery sort of chuckle left William. If they knew him half as well as they know they did, their lover would now be silently crying in their arms, where he was undoubtedly relieved that they couldn’t see him. “I’ll gladly be taken into custody, then.”

Taglist : @sherlockscumslut @lilias-highlights @thispersoniscrazy @wifeofkyojuro

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Palliate.

Pairing: Yandere!Witch/Reader.

Word Count: 3.7k.

TW: Emotional Manipulation, Amnesia, Obsessive Mindsets, Mentions of Violence, Blood and Bruising, Mentions of Death.

Mint, to settle your nerves.

That was the first thing he’d taught you, before you were strong enough to do anything more than sit on the edge of your bed and listen. Three leaves if you were desperate, two if you weren’t, and one if you just needed something to focus on, to take your mind off your own hazy thoughts and the places they tended to lead, when you let them wander freely. He said that was normal, that it should be expected. You’d spent so long incapacitated, it was only natural you’d be a little unsteady, once you finally got back on your feet. He said that it’d get better, over time, but you’d have to fight through it. You’d have to give yourself time to let it get better, even if there were little things you both could do to help.

The mint helped. Most of the time, at least. More than most little things did.

You tried to concentrate on the flavor, now, letting it distract you from the sun beating down on the back of your neck, from small bruises forming on your knees as you kneeled between rows of rue and sage and rosemary just far enough apart to let you tug at the weeds invading his otherwise pristine garden. It was a little odd to be outside the small cottage you’d become so closely acquainted with, even if you were only a few paces away, still hesitant to venture beyond the clearing you’d spent so much time observing while you were bedridden. You were still injured, technically, and you’d been told time and time again not to test your own limits. He said you should… You were sure you should be doing something, but—

“Didn't I ask you to rest?”

Right. That made sense.

You weren't supposed to get out of bed, just yet.

A hand came to settle on your shoulder, and reflexively, you glanced towards the man now lingering behind you. You really didn’t need to, though. His voice would’ve been enough, a calm drawl strung out into something playful, fondness coming easily and anger still a long ways off. He’d never gotten mad at you before, but the threat persisted. You didn’t want to be more of a nuisance than absolutely necessary, especially after he’d been so kind to you.

“There’s only so much sleep I can take,” You replied. You didn’t want to be a nuisance, but you didn’t want to spend the rest of your life in bed, either. “I’m starting to think that’s your only trick, uh...”

“Eden, love. Just Eden.” There was a pause, his sly smile turning sympathetic. “Is your memory acting up again?”

“It’s not as bad as it used to be.” You were telling the truth. For weeks, you’d barely been able to hold onto your own name, let alone anything about your eternally patient host. But, Eden (you tried to remind yourself of that, to make a note of it, Eden) was kind enough to give you time. You needed time. You needed patience. “I found the door, didn’t I?”

“And it’s nearly been a week since the last time you wandered into the forest,” He noted as he crouched at your side, earning a small, offended noise and an elbow to his bicep, just forceful enough to warrant a hum, a slight pout, something between a whine and a chuckle. You didn’t want to stare, but you let yourself watch as his expression softened, as his gazed flickered towards the sprout of basil at your feet and a shock of white hair fell over his eyes. He looked like he was going to reach towards you, like he was going to touch you, but he stopped himself, letting his hand slip down to the satchel at his waist, instead, calloused fingers running over the well-worn leather.

You wondered what he kept in it, sometimes. You’d never seen him without it, not willingly, and he spent so long in the forest every day, he kept himself so busy with so many traps and snares and spots of ink littered across hand-drawn maps, it would’ve been impossibly to guess what he thought was worth keeping by his side. He brought enough of it back, bundles of assorted feathers and glass jars full of golden pollen and other things, stranger things, things you could barely catch a glimpse of before they were shoved to the backs of cabinets and forgotten about, on your end, at least. Eden didn’t forget about such important things as quickly as you did.

“It’ll get better,” He went on, finally, just when you thought he’d stopped talking altogether. “And, if it doesn’t, we’ll find a way to make it better.”

He sounded so sure of himself. You wanted to believe him, when he sounded like that. You did believe him.

You couldn’t remember a time when you hadn’t.

~

Ginger, to alleviate migraines.

It wasn’t for you, luckily. Of all the ailments you suffered from, you’d been left mercifully exempt from headaches and vertigo and all those minor, awful things that would make your life just a little harder than it had to be. If anything, your head was always a little too light, a little too empty, especially after so many hours of following the same unpaved road with nothing to think about but the passing scenery and Eden’s vague instructions, little more than a list of names and goods. Little to go off of, despite his insistence that you be the one to go.

You’d asked why he didn’t just go himself the first time he sent you on your way with a basket of herbs and roots, but Eden had only frowned, shaking his head. He said he wasn’t welcome, not in the marketplace, not in a village that’d already come to know him by name. He said that, if you cared for him at all, you wouldn’t subject him to a full day of haggling in hushed tones with women who refuse to sell mediocre incense for anything less than a small fortune.

And since you did (foolishly) care for him, you went. Not that you were anymore wanted in the marketplace than he was.

You hated it, compared to the cozy isolation of Eden’s home. You hated how crowded it was, how alien it felt to have to navigate the cramped stalls, how the merchant in front of you scowled as he weighed small bags of the exotic, colorful spices Eden was so fond of, the ones that you could never seem to taste the way you were supposed to, judgingly by how liberally Eden used them. He didn’t try to hide the disdain in his voice as he spoke, aged weariness mixed with a self-righteous reluctant. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t used to it, that constant trepidation from people who didn't understand you, from people who didn't care for Eden. At least he was kind enough not to hide it. “Running errands for the witch hermit, again?”

“Eden’s not a hermit.” You tried to smile, to brush it off as if was just another misconception. He wasn’t. You weren’t sure what he was, but he liked people, he liked having someone else around. Or, he liked having you around, at least. He didn’t seem to care much about company, beyond that. “He just enjoys his privacy. We both do.”

“Only a witch, then.” There was a pause, a gruff laugh that didn’t match his grim disposition. Something in the back of your throat tightened, and silently, you wished he’d be a bit more wary of you. Just enough to keep him from speaking so openly. “I’d take what you can and go, if I were you. He takes after his father, and that man spent his whole life makin’ a monster of himself, playing with things no one should. His son ain’t much different.”

It was your turn to laugh, now. “He cries whenever he finds fawns separated from their mothers. He takes in tadpoles he finds puddles. I don’t think Eden is capable of cruelty.” He was a kind man. You’d never seen him be anything but kind. If he had an ulterior motive, if he had a single sadistic bone in his body, you had yet to find it. “He took me in, too, when I was injured. He might be the only reason I have a roof over my head, now. That’s not a kindness I can say very many people have showed me.”

His lips pursed, the barest hints of confusion crossing his expression. It was gone in an instant, and you tried not to linger on it. He thought poorly of Eden, but the mere fact that you were alive – walking and breathing and alive – was enough to earn him your gratitude. Regardless of what a merchant and a marketplace worth of gossip thought. You knew what you believed, you knew what was true, and you wouldn’t let a few rumors convince you otherwise.

Although, you’d be lying if you said that belief didn’t waver, as he went on. “Cruelty isn’t all you have to worry about.”

You opened your mouth. Then, you closed it again, keeping your eyes on the basket still hanging limply on your arm. He wasn’t done yet, not with the spices, not with his poorly veiled warnings, but you didn’t want to listen. You could listen, you would listen, but you didn’t want to. You didn’t want to believe anything you heard in such a crowded place, in such an awful place.

You just wanted to get back to Eden.

~

Willow bark, to take the pain away.

It’s more of a comfort than a necessity, by now. You used to need it, rely on it, and you still liked to keep a bundle nearby, just in case, for days where the soreness was worse than it should be and you needed something to take the edge off, to suppress that overwhelming ache back into a steady throb. But, you never needed it, not like you used to. Not like you had when your injury was a defining feature rather than an afterthought and Eden’s medical expertise was more of a experimental artform than a practiced skill.

His hands didn’t shake, anymore, as his fingers skirted over your bare skin, following along the outline of your wound, the trail of stitches that stretched from the bottom of your shoulder bone to the center of your rib cage and repeated itself, carrying over again and again and again, forming neat rows of tender flesh and scar tissue that refused to stop any higher than your hip bone. He wasn’t hesitant, not with the needle, not as he pushed it through the long-suffering spots where he’d first messily laid your stitches months ago, and he didn’t have to look at you to recognize the way you shifted, the soft string of expletives you let out, to notice your little attempts to turn your head at just the right angle, flinch at just the right time to—

“Eyes on the ceiling,” He demanded. With a small huff, you obeyed, turning back towards the furthest wall. “It’ll only get worse, if you look.”

You knew that. He’d said as much as thousand times before, once for every day he'd tended to your lasting wounds. You were tempted to try, to insist it was only fair that you got to know what was going on with your own body, but you trusted Eden, and it was easier to tilt your head back than to argue, to search the cluttered room for something more interesting than the boy sitting at your side and your own, nagging discomfort.

You were in his workshop, now, an area separated from the rest of the cottage and filled to the brim with the tools of Eden’s trade – blooming flowers permanently encased in blocks of amber, the shells of insects hollowed out and ground into a fine powder, pots, everywhere, some empty and some not, the largest placed over a smoldering hearth that never seemed to grow dimmer, despite how often Eden forgot to tend to it. There was something inside, a substance you didn’t recognize, bubbling and black as a starless sky. It was already solidifying around the edges of its cauldron, crystallizing into rows of jagged, silvery edges slowly creeping along the coaction's surface like an infection. Like a parasite. Like something that shouldn’t have existed but continued to, regardless.

Eden must’ve caught you staring. The needle stilled, and instead, he took to dabbing something cool and smooth around the edges of your scars. A rag, or a balm, or a dozen other possible remedies. You didn't try to look. “It’s for you,” He explained, as if that made it any better. “One of my father’s incomplete recipes. He never figured out how to stop it from hardening once it’s exposed to open air.” Eden clicked his tongue, pulling the thread he was working with taut, and you cringed, tying to ignore the slight pinch. It didn’t hurt, not really, not like it used to. It didn’t hurt at all, if you were being honest, but it felt like it should’ve. “The color isn’t right, either. And I’ve already fed enough dye into the damn thing to poison a small village.”

You should’ve laughed. You wanted to, you knew it was the reaction he was looking for, but it was all you could do to avert your stare, to let your fingers curl around the edge of the table he’d perched you on. "They really don’t like you.”

“I’ve noticed.” A blunt response, not abrasive, but not encouraging, either. Not as dismissive as you would’ve preferred. “And yet, they manage to stomach my cures regardless. It’s funny how quickly pain softens the heart, isn’t it?”

“They say it’s unnatural.” You were pushing, now. You should know better than to push. You never found out anything good, when you tried to push. “They say your father used to dabble in things that shouldn’t be.”

Eden sighed, pushing himself to his feet. There was a short silence, interrupted only by the sound of glass knocking against glass before he dropped what he was holding, stepping in front of you and cupping your face with both hands, instead, forcing you to face him, to meet his dark eyes. Black eyes. Lightless eyes. A contradiction when compared his tanned skin and warm smile. A contradiction you tried to overlook as he bent down, kissing the top of your head so gently, you could almost bring yourself to ignore it altogether.

“My father was a toymaker and a healer. My mother died in childbirth. He did what he could to take care of me, and there is nothing unnatural about that.” He took a moment to laugh, to hold you, and you couldn’t be help but be thankful for it. Only weeks ago, he’d been afraid to touch you, afraid to watch you break all over again. Now, it was all he could do to let you go long enough for his arms to fall to your waist, for your face to find his chest, his tunic, a place to hide yourself away from the rest of the world. You didn’t want to go back, not to the village, not to the marketplace, not to the lonely, hurtful, desolate world outside his cottage. You didn’t want to go back to a place filled with so many people so determined to separate you from Eden. You didn’t want to return to a life you couldn’t remember, one where you wouldn’t have the man who’d saved you by your side. “He loved his family, just as I love you.”

For once, you didn’t have to convince yourself to believe him.

~

Witch hazel, to stop the bleeding.

You’d need it. You’d need a lot of it, more than you should for such a small cut, a jagged line drawn from the corner of your eye to your opposite check, thin but deep and bleeding, pouring out, washing over your hands as you tried to clutch at your face and rub away the damage, like a child trying to blink away a bad dream. Your legs might’ve been bleeding, too, the sides of your ankles, the backs of your thighs, your skin scraped raw in all the places you’d hit the ground as you tripped, falling over your own feet at your stumbled backward, but you didn’t check, you didn’t want to check, you didn’t want to see how bad it was. You didn’t want to take your eyes off the man in front of you, his towering stature, his grim expression.

His sword, silver and unsheathed and pointed at your heart, as it had been from the moment he first caught sight of you.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. No one was supposed to be here, in Eden’s forest, only minutes away from the cottage you’d come to think of as your safe haven. He hadn’t asked for your name, he hadn’t mentioned Eden, he hadn’t said a word to you, not before there was a dagger flashing across your line of sight, a weapon quickly discarded for something more intimidating, something that’d let him stay at arm’s length while he approached you, his stare holding yours, his lips pulled into a thin frown. “I—” You tried, but your voice gave out quickly. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had threatened your life. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been so scared. “Please, I didn’t mean to get in your—”

“Stop talking.” His tone was flat, apathetic, the barest hints of rage seeping through a weathered veil of neutrality. Immediately, you fell silent. “Who said you had the right to use that voice?”

You opened your mouth, but you thought better of it, biting down on the inside of your cheek as you bowed your head. You wanted to get back to Eden, back to his cottage. You wanted to be anywhere but here. You wanted to run, but you wanted to get out of this with your head on your shoulders, too. “Are you going to kill me?”

“It will not be a true death.” There was a pause, a reluctant hesitation. You pulled your knees into your chest, your hand still pressed to your wound, but the gesture didn’t seem to earn you any pity. “But, I am going to make this—”

He stopped, abruptly, his head attention towards something behind you. You heard it a moment later – measured footsteps, barely making a sound against the dead leaves and branches that littered the forest floor. You didn’t turn around. You didn’t have to.

Not when there was only one person who’d ever bother to save you.

“Adam,” Eden called, already positioning himself at your side. His hand was already on his satchel, toying with the buckle. Like he’d done this, before. Like he already knew it wouldn’t resolve itself peacefully. “There are easier ways to introduce yourself. If you put that sword away, I’m sure (Y/n) could still find a way to forgive—”

“Do not call it by that name.” He was focused on Eden, now, leaving you to fade into the background, to observe as his hands began to shake and he glared, baring his teeth, as Eden had done more than try to play peacekeeper. “That is not (Y/n). It doesn’t deserve to pretend it is, none of your abominations do. It won't bring— It can't—” He trailed off, his sword falling back to his side, his eyes clenching shut. You almost felt bad for him, your would-be murderer, but Eden’s expression remained cold, unbothered. Slowly, almost idly, he reached down, taking you by the arm and helping you to your feet, letting you tuck yourself against him as Adam finally found his voice.

“(Y/n) is dead. Nothing you do can change that.”

A moment passed in silence, still, deathly, frigid silence.

Then, Eden spoke.

“I can handle this on my own.” He didn’t deny it. He wasn’t denying it. Why wasn’t he denying it? “I need you to brew tea, Chamomile. Gather as much lavender as you can on your way home, until your pockets are full and you can’t carry anymore. Can you do that for me, love?”

You nodded, but you were still shaking, still unsure, still so, so confused. You weren’t dead. You could breathe, and you could think, and you ate and you slept and you weren’t dead. “I’m not.” You didn’t know who you were talking to – Adam, still clutching his sword, still ready to behead whoever his blade could reach or Eden, your Eden, the gentle protector who hadn’t looked at you once since his arrival. You just wanted someone to say it wasn’t true. You just needed someone to say it wasn’t true. “I’m not. I’m alive. I’m not de—”

“I’m in love,” Eden said, his voice soft. As if he hadn’t heard you at all. “Why does everyone act as if that’s so monstrous?”

You didn’t want to hear Adam’s response. You didn’t want to hear anything, not from him, not from Eden, and certainly not from your own frenzied thoughts, racing and only growing louder as you ran, sprinting, stumbling through the forest in any direction your legs would carry you. A crooked sob racked over your chest, and reflexively, you moved to brush away the tears blurring your vision, but you couldn’t feel yourself when you should’ve, it wasn’t flesh that met your cheek. Your eyes darted to your hand, a sneer already playing at your lips for whatever mud or decaying foliage had plastered itself against your skin, but…

But, you found a small trail of crystals, instead, silvery-glass that coated your palm, rows of jagged edges that hadn’t been there before, that shouldn’t have been there, where your blood had stained your skin only minutes ago. Or, where you thought your blood should’ve stained your skin. You hadn’t looked.

You hadn’t looked.

You froze dead in your tracks.

Slowly, our raised a hand to your face, to the cut carved into it, to what should’ve been a bloody, bloody wound. Something jagged met your fingertips, but you ignored the slight sting. It didn’t hurt. Not as much as it should’ve. Not as much as you wanted it to.

By the time you pulled away, your hand was covered with it. Thick, cool, forming webs between your fingers as you spread them apart. Dark. A kind of dark you’d only seen once.

As black as a starless sky.

[scarofthewind]

I’m going to do it. I’m requesting Bughuul. I have a specific idea to go along with him though. I could see him wanting to make a sex tape with his s/o. Of course there would be smut but what’s a sex tape without it? At least there would be no cause for concern about the tape getting leaked, because we known damn well he filmed the whole thing with a Super 8 camera. It’s sounds sexy in my head but I think you could bring this to life really well.

-if it doesn’t inspire you I get it :)

request: This came to mind and I must request it. How about a slasher who wears a suit *cough, Bughuul, cough* takes off his tie and uses it to restrain the reader for some rough sex? Plus, I don’t think you’ve done this with him before but spanking would be rly hot and have the reader bent over his knee. Ovaries exploded

A/N: You just posted this request too and I thought it would be hot to combine them so I hope you don’t mind and I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: NSFW, sex tape, bondage, spanking, dom/sub, blowjob, face-fucking

word count: 1.8k Tip Jar (every bit helps)

“I think it’s working now,” you say aloud as you fixate the camera on an easel in the corner of the room. It was pointing at the bed which was neatly made and ready to be wrinkled in no time; the Super 8 camera had a fresh roll of film so that you could take as long as you wanted with your lover who stood off to the side with his arms crossed over his chest, watching you prop the object up. “Okay, it’s rolling,” your words made Bughuul reach up and loosen his tie, your eyes following the way his fingers gripped the collar of the satin material, tugging it down and taking it off with ease. 

“Come here,” he said, his voice deep yet smooth like a fine wine. You had already played this moment out in your head for days and now that you were finally here, it felt like all your senses were heightened. You stepped towards him, the camera filming from it’s corner, and stopped when you stood directly in front of him. It was quiet for a moment and a shiver ran through you; you had already undressed and wore your undergarments to save time and camera footage.

“I’m going to ask you again; are you okay with this?” His voice echoed in your head for a moment but you nodded without hesitation, your need for him much greater than the fear of what bruising you’d have tomorrow. “I need to hear you say it,” he said and you consented with a simple, ‘yes Sir’, a low hum residing in his chest at your name for him. “Turn around for me.”

You did as you were told, a soft gasp leaving your lips when you felt his fingertips ghost over the back of your neck, sliding down your shoulders and arms until he reached your wrists. Large hands brought them behind your back where the cool feeling of his satin tie made its way around them, binding them tightly together. Once he gave them a tug to make sure you couldn’t pull them apart, Bughuul released your arms and made his way towards the bed, sitting on the edge of it and waiting. You knew what to do. 

Padding over to him, he helped you lay across his lap, your rear raised perfectly for his hands to grope the flesh there. “You’re going to count for me; only fifteen for tonight,” he told you and you obliged, tilting your face towards the camera and hoping it would make for a great show. The only problem with Bughuul spanking you, is the fact that you always forget how much it hurts. The second his hand came down on your bare flesh, you let out a yell, your wrists struggling against the tie. 

“O-One,” you practically hissed in pain as his hand kneaded the sore spot on your rear, massaging the pain into your muscle before bringing his hand back and doing it again. 

Bughuul found it amusing to watch you squirm, your bound hands reaching towards his abdomen and gripping the shirt he was wearing as leverage. With gentle fingers, he worked on rubbing your cunt through your panties which already had a dark spot showing. He hummed at the soft moan you let out when his index finger traced over your clothed slit and circled around your clit. You wanted to open your mouth and beg for him to touch you but you knew better than that; it would only earn you twice as much spankings and he wouldn’t touch you for the rest of the night in the places you needed him.

So you stayed quiet and counted for him while he used one hand to lay harsh slaps on your behind while his other hand slowly peeled your panties to the side, exposing your glistening pussy to his eyes. “Keep counting,” he reminded you when you stopped, your teeth digging into the sheets below your head in order to muffle the cries of pain. With one finger, he drug the tip of it through your lips, parting them and collecting your juices on it; nothing but a string of your essence connecting the two when he pulled his hand back. 

Bughuul never let his fingers enter your anticipating hole, but only rubbed against it instead, the friction against your clit making you cry out in pleasure every time his knuckle bumped the bundle of nerves. When he finally reached fifteen, the spanking stopped and he massaged your cheeks gently, soothing the burning pain that coursed through your backside. However, the gentleness was shortcoming before he was ordering you around with no time to delay. 

“Go get the camera, my love,” he said with a heavy tone as he helped you stand. He untied your wrists for a moment and you obliged, returning with it in your hands before you set it down on the bed. “On your knees.” You felt yourself sink to the ground, one of his legs on either side of your face while he bent around you and tied your wrists back into place, tighter this time. You watched as he unbuckled his pants and tugged them down with his boxers until they were at his feet, his cock upright and harder than you thought possible. 

As soon as his hands grabbed the camera and pointed it down at you, it clicked in your head as to what he was expecting and you once again obliged, leaning forward and taking the tip of his cock into your mouth. “That’s it, take it deeper, just like that,” he groaned, watching you swallow his cock, his hips rocking against your mouth for a second before he stood up, his length going deeper into your throat and causing your eyes to water at the pressure. “Let me see those pretty eyes, (Y/N),” he snapped and you looked up at the camera, making sure to give a good show as you swirled your tongue around the tip of his cock. 

You felt your eyes widen when one of his hands entangled its fingers in your hair, using it as leverage before he slowly started to buck his hips against your face, occasionally moving your head along his shaft as well. “Good fucking girl,” he grunted, his member twitching in your throat as you moaned around him. Tears fell from your eyes but you forced yourself to stare up at the camera, knowing damn well you looked absolutely fucked out at this point. Bughuul let you be his personal cock-sleeve for what felt like forever; your juices were dripping on the ground by the time he pulled you off his cock and moved you over to the bed. 

He could care less about the camera at this point as he slams in on the nightstand, the lamp propping it up as it kept rolling. “I can’t stand not being inside you any longer,” he growled as he flipping you on your stomach, raising your ass to meet his front as he moved your panties to the side, pressing the tip of his cock against your sopping pussy before thrusting in without warning. 

“Fuck!” You shouted into the pillows at the stretch of his cock barreling inside you. You could feel the tip of it hit the deepest parts of you and it sent you into a moaning mess as he aimed for that spot over and over again. 

The sounds of grunting and moaning as well as skin slapping against skin was all you could hear and the warm breath of your lover moved down your back as his grip on your hips tightened. “Bughuul, please, ah- please let me touch you,” you whined, your bound hands starting to numb from how tight he’d tied them. 

The deity watched as you tried to untie the satin bindings and he let out a dark chuckle before grabbing your wrists and untying them. Within a second, you moved to flip over, dragging him with you and ending up where you were on top of him. Peering down at him you worked the buttons of his shirt until you slid it off him, moving down to kiss the bare skin around his chest before letting him grab your head and press the area where his mouth would be, against yours. 

You still didn’t know how it was possible for a man with no mouth to kiss better than a man with one, but you didn’t want to ponder on the thought at this point. Sitting up, you reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, letting it fall down your arms before you threw it off to the side. Like magnets, Bughuul’s rough hands cupped your breasts, his chest rising and falling as you started to move on his cock. “It’s so deep,” you whined, feeling the tip of his cock hit your cervix, the air almost being knocked out of your lungs. 

Bughuul took notice in the way your thighs shook from the repeating action of bouncing on his cock and he sat up, feeling your legs encircle his waist before he towered over you and put you on your back. He let his face be buried in your neck, inhaling your scent as he fucked into you like a madman. “Your so warm,” he groaned, the contrast against his cool skin made him nearly shiver. He moved to sit up a bit, watching the way your cunt took his cock and left a ring of white around the base. “That’s so dirty,” he hissed, feeling your walls clamp around his shaft while he thought about the fact that you were creaming on his cock. 

Reaching towards your clit, Bughuul pressed his thumb against it, rolling it around at a quick pace and watching your face contort into pleasure, your hands gripping the sheets below you. “That’s it pretty girl, come for me,” Bughuul let out a low groan as he felt your walls suck him deeper as you came, pulsating around his member and tightening enough for him to shoot his load into you. He rocked into your messy pussy a few more times, riding out the orgasms before he braced himself over you. 

“Jesus Christ,” you panted, your thighs trembling from the force of the orgasm. Bughuul chuckled in a sickly-sweet tone and grabbed your jaw, fingers biting into the skin there. 

“He’s got nothing to do with this. My name better be the only thing coming out of those pretty lips this time, understand?” You felt the air around you go cold and you looked towards the camera to see that there was plenty of film left and a shiver went up your spine. 

“This time?” You knew you weren’t going anywhere for the next few hours.