#Watching them cry and moan about their deformities

[fivepebblerhehe]

The child

[batsforbadones]

In your opinion, which dbd killers are most likely to spare a survivor in exchange for sexual favors?

i- love this ask, hello? Okay, so I've gotten it down to about five of them that I really think would be willing to let you out in return for funny funny time, and I also include WHAT they would let you go for and just--- agah. These aren't in order... At least I don't think they are. Just-Just read. - THE CLOWN. Kenneth would definitely let you go in return for basically anything. Flash your tits? door. Show him your cock? Hatch. Bend over, give him a little show? He's a performer, he can't help it. I don't write for the clown, but this man will let you go for ANYTHING.

-THE TRAPPER. Evan Macmillan is not happy with the entity and will do anything to piss it off. He's a pretty basic and primal dude, so basic penetration against a gen will definitely earn your tight little ass the hatch at the end. Have you seen that haircut? His cock is fat, and he wants to pound you into submission with it. Less hooks if you let him cum inside you. Minor breeding kink with Trapper but that's for another day.

-THE BLIGHT. Similarly to Trapper, he hates the entity. He's less entertained on fucking you, and more on watching you get fucked. If you and another survivor want to give him a show- He's aware of his deformities and it makes it really hard for him to- get it up without being stressed. He's happy to cuck. Watching you get fucked by Felix specifically, gets him off the most. Felix reminds him of himself. Watching Felix's cock just- grind into your sloppy little hole- He pleases you so well. He'd please you so well if he didn't- look like this.

-THE TRICKSTER. THIS. Ji-Woon is... So willing to get his dick wet. He fucks that pretty little hole- SO well. He loves hearing you moan and cry. He will fuck you right at the exit gate. He's the exact opposite of Tabolt. He wants to cuck others. He loves watching your teammates face twist in fear when you cum on his cock. It's so insulting because he's so fucking good at it that you don't even WANT to leave. He's making you feel so- so good that you completely forget to leave the match, and you're already cumming as he's getting ripped out of you, the entity impaling you. He cums watching your back get twisted. -THE LEGION (Frank, Julie, and Joey). I think everyone except Susie would let you go in turn for some sexual reprieve. Frank is just.... Frank. He'd be VERY willing to let you go for head. Frank fucking LOVES head. There's just something so pleasant to Frank about the sound of you gagging on him. Joey would probably let you go for a quick handy. He's not very picky. He just likes being touched. If you called him a good boy, he'd probably come a bit quicker. He definitely has a BIG praise kink, for sure. - And Julie will let you go if you eat her out. She loves being tongue fucked and Frank can't stand eating pussy so she's quick to grind her cunt on your face like her own personal little toy.

[quirklessthot]

Nomu-Sitting

request: This is kinda kinky... but the reader has been desperately horny for a while but Shigaraki has been too busy, so the reader takes matters into her own hands and has a nomu screw her. Shigaraki walks in about half way through and ends up taking a seat to enjoy the show. (Feel free to ignore this, I won't be offended! But like, thank you so much if you do ♡!)

👁👄👁 

i changed up some things, instead dabi asks reader to look after the nomu he’s supposed to be watching since he has better things to do

warnings: 18+, monster-fucking, dub-con/non-con, voyeurism, degradation, cheating (?)

He… it… the nomu stares at you, unblinking. Well, you’re not sure if it’s staring at you. The tiny black pinpricks of its irises seem to almost go in separate directions. It definitely took notice when you had entered the room, if its low growl and sniffing at the air were any indication – but had no other reaction once you were standing a few feet in front of it. You tilt your head to the side to test your theory and to your childish delight it copies the action, huffing out a breath at your laugh.

With broad shoulders and biceps bigger than your head, the hulking behemoth makes an imposing figure. Even hunched over the way it is, the difference in height between you two isn’t easy to ignore. Dabi’s words of warning ring in the back of your mind: ‘Whatever you do, don’t get too close to it. Not grabbing distance, anyway.’

But the docile giant in front of you is nowhere near as scary as it was made out to seem.

You take a step forward and tentatively reach out a hand to pet the side of its face, just shy of its chin. It responds with a pleased rumble that vibrates up your arm, and cranes its neck to get closer.

What was Dabi even worried about, you wonder, smiling to yourself. The nomu is almost like a puppy. A massive, deformed puppy with the strength to crush a truck with its bare hands but… it’s cute, in its own way - exposed brain matter and all.

The sense of security you tricked yourself into is immediately shattered when you feel a hand grip your waist – so massive in size it easily dwarfs you. Trying not to panic, you attempt to take a step back. “Alright big guy, I think that’s enough for now,” you say, voice light.

You pray it can’t smell fear.

Of course, it doesn’t listen and instead pulls you closer with way too much ease, pressing you right up against its bare chest. Its body is almost uncomfortably warm and you’re not sure if it’s the radiating heat or the threat of harm that has you sweating.

You’re openly trembling now, biting your lip to keep your whimpers in. You don’t want to scare or upset it with any sudden noises; the nomu is strong enough to squish your head like a grape and you’d prefer to stay alive.

This is fine, you desperately try to convince yourself. It’s just curious. It’s not going to hurt you.

…right?

You can’t hold back the whimper when the nomu presses its beaklike mouth against your neck, tongue slithering out to lave against your neck. The muscle is big, slimy with saliva that quickly coats your neck and jaw, dripping thickly to drench the collar of your shirt. You shudder.

Too preoccupied with trying to not dry heave at the feeling of monster spit all over you, you fail to realize the reason it grabbed you. Pulling you a bit closer, it brazenly begins humping you, the movements of its hips becoming progressively more frantic and aggressive. You’re shocked into stillness by the heavy weight of its hard cock rubbing up against your stomach. Even through the layers of clothing, you can tell that it’s much bigger than anything you’ve ever taken.  This is so fucked… a distant voice in your head echoes.

You nearly jump out of your skin when it suddenly lets out a guttural growl, clearly becoming frustrated with the lack of proper stimulation.

“Shh… It’s ok,” you say, voice lowered into what you hope is a soothing tone.

You try to pry yourself away but the nomu responds with a snarl, grip tightening to the point of pain. You wince and immediately give up on moving. It’s obvious that you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.

Despite your reservations, your eyes find themselves shifting towards the tent in the monster’s pants. You gulp, looking around the empty room guiltily. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t just a little curious…

Shaky hands reach down to unbutton the monster’s pants, a feat considering what little space there is between you two. The movement of its hips drag the khakis down until they fall into a heap at its feet. What is revealed has your eyes going wide and your jaw slackening in shock. The veiny column of flesh is massive – almost as thick as your wrist and topped with a large, bulbous head steadily leaking sticky precum that is smeared against your hip with every thrust.

Almost without even thinking, you grab ahold of its dick and begin stroking. The generous amount of precum makes the slide easy, almost slippery. This placates the beast for a short time – enough to at least let you out of its vice-like hold – but soon it’s made clear that your hand is not enough.

Without much preamble, you’re lifted off your feet and turned around, now facing the gray walls of the nomu’s containment room. You let out a surprised squeak and cast a nervous glance downwards to see the head of its dick peeking out between the plushness of your thighs. 

It ruts into the warmth of your clasped thighs for a while before angling upwards, immediately becoming annoyed with yet another barrier- this time it’s your clothing in its way. Large hands begin groping at your pants before tearing into them as if they were made of paper. The flimsy material of your underwear doesn’t stand a chance against the hulking behemoth and they soon join your shorts on the floor in tattered shreds.

You cry out. “Wai- wait, no! Stop! Stop, let me just--”

Your words are cut off when the nomu rears its hips back before pushing forward. The first few thrusts miss their mark, bumping up against your sensitive clit instead, but on the fourth attempt the head of it’s cock catches on the rim of your entrance and that alone has your breath catching and your mind going blank. The feeling of it pushing in soon snaps you out of your daze and you begin struggling anew. You reach a desperate hand behind you but pushing against the monster’s chest felt like pushing against a solid brick wall – utterly pointless.

Even with you struggling and flailing limbs, it manages to work its cockhead past the ring of twitching muscle, and you feel like you’re being split in half with just the tip in.

It’s too much. It’s too much and you need to get away.

But the nomu keeps going, forcing inch after agonizing inch into your tight, (barely) wet heat.

You let out a broken gasp when it bottoms out, cunt clenching down hard on the too-large intrusion and body going slack in its hold. Even with the unnaturally copious amounts of precum it’s producing, the stretch is uncomfortable.

The head of its cock is shoved up against the mouth of your cervix with every push and you’re not sure whether you love or hate it, but it’s definitely a feeling you won’t be forgetting anytime soon. It’s hard to ignore how good the mindless fucking is starting to feel and after two consecutive orgasms, you’re wet enough that the slide of its dick is much easier. Wet slaps echo off the walls of the large, barren room. And for a while it’s the only sound, overlaid by the monster’s grunts and pants and your own high-pitched whining and moans, until the door is opened.

The grating of heavy metal against concrete brings you out of your haze, raspy, like the voice of the person opening the door.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for you? I had to ask Dabi if he knew where you were sulking. Are you done being a bi—”

Shigaraki stops mid-sentence, eyes wide. The lewd scene playing out before him robs the words right out of his mouth. It’s not every day you see your half-naked girlfriend getting fucked silly by a nomu, after all.

He stares.

You stare right back, mortification quickly overpowering your arousal.

This interruption goes completely ignored by the nomu, who continues to rut into you from behind.

“Tomura! I can— ah!” You try to come up with an excuse but at that exact moment the nomu gives a particularly rough thrust that has you seeing stars, powerless to keep your eyes from rolling in your head.

Shigaraki curses under his breath, unable to tear his eyes away. He should be angry. Furious, that not only would you fuck someone else but a mindless nomu of all things. The thought alone should have his blood boiling. But the blissed-out look on your face as you’re handled as nothing more than a fucktoy by a creature twice your size has his blood instead rushing to his cock.

Without a word, Shigaraki closes and locks the door behind him, before advancing towards you, face dark and unreadable. He grasps your face in one hand, pinky lifted, squishing your cheeks, and jerking your head up so that you’re forced to look him directly in the eyes.

“You filthy fucking whore,” he laughs, chapped lips spread in a mean grin. “That desperate to be fucked you couldn’t even wait?”

The harsh words have your eyes watering, tears just on the edge of falling, but they do nothing to dampen your arousal.

You moan in reply, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. “T-tomura…”

Shigaraki sneers, letting go of you to reach down and pull out his own half-hard dick, giving his palm a long lick, and begins to stroke himself. “Be careful what you wish for, huh?” he grunts, giving the head a squeeze. “Now look at you. Stuffed with so much cock you don’t even know what to do with all of it.”

He continues to berate you as he jerks himself off, taking delight in your embarrassment.

It’s a relief when the nomu finally cums with a roar, holding your ass right up against its stilled hips. The huge cock twitches and pulses inside of you, unloading what feels like gallons of hot cum right into your womb. You groan out a few unintelligible noises, brain turned to mush, as one last orgasm is pulled from you, thankfully much weaker than the previous ones. You’re so out of it you don’t even notice when Shigaraki steps closer, hand on his dick speeding up until he’s groaning and painting your face with his cum.

Panting heavily, you wearily glance up at Shigaraki, a plea to not share a word of what just happened to anyone already on your tongue. He doesn’t say anything as he tucks himself back into his pants but just by the look in his eyes and the barely concealed smirk, you can tell you’re never going to hear the end of this.

[thesightstoshowyou]

Re: milestone event, maybe a continuation of your Tommy fic where one night the reader wakes up all hot thinking of him and finally seeks him out in the middle of the night to take care of it seeing as unfortunately he has yet to bust into the room to take them? Your fic for Tommy and Jason are my FAV just *mwah* fantastic I didn't realize I was into Tommy until you

I like the way you think anon ;)

Sweet Dreams

Thomas Hewitt x F Reader (NSFW)

Part 3

Read Part 2 here

Summary: You wake in the night burning with need. You seek Tommy out, earn his trust, and he repays you in kind. RIP to other guys but Thomas Hewitt is different.

Warnings: FLUFF holy shit, so much fluff, oral, praise kink, squirting, creampie

             Hands, thick, strong hands caress your thighs, spreading you open as you cling to burly shoulders, sweat spilling from your brow until you taste salt on your lips—

             Your eyes pop open. Moonlight spills through the curtains, the only light illuminating your dark room. It’s starting to feel less like a prison cell with every day that passes, but this thought does not bring you comfort. Very little comforts you here, in this house, in this rotting town. Only one thing, one person, prevents you from actively trying to escape….

             You’d dreamt of him again. You grind your thighs together, trying to relieve the deep ache these excruciatingly vivid dreams bring. You have no idea how late it is, or how early. A sigh rushes past your lips. There’s no way anyone is up at this hour and you’re locked in your room until morning. God, you long to go to him.

             The stomp of heavy footfalls coming down the hall reaches your ears. You’d recognize those steps anywhere. Thomas….

             Ripping the covers off your sweaty form, you leap from the bed and cross the room in a flash. Gently, you knock on the door, not wishing to wake anyone else.

             “Tommy?” You ask quietly, praying he hears you. The footsteps abruptly pause just outside your door. You hold your breath as you hear rustling. The lock clicks.

             You step out of the way, letting the door swing open. Thomas fills your doorway, hair still damp from a shower, wearing nothing but a pair of slacks. And the damn mask, of course. It looks as though he’d just thrown it on so he could open your door, one of the straps half-clasped. He’s watching you closely, furrow in his brow, most likely worried something is wrong.

             “Hi,” you whisper with a small smile, “I’m okay. Just wanted to see you.” Thomas glances shyly away at your words and you take the opportunity to drag your gaze over his brawny shoulders, shoulders you’d just been dreaming about digging your nails into. You flush at the memory, suddenly nervous to ask for what you want.

             Instead you close the distance between you, hesitantly reaching up to run your fingers along the slit in Thomas’ mask, brushing the digits over his lips. He tenses, hands coming up to settle timidly on your hips Do you dare…?

             “Tommy,” you whisper, meeting his anxious stare. This is such a sensitive topic. How do you broach the subject without upsetting him? You swallow, “Tommy, I want to kiss you…without this.” You lay your hand against his cheek, thumb stroking the leather of his mask.

             As you’d guessed, his eyes widen and he immediately steps away from you, shaking his head and turning to leave. Anxiously, you bite your lip, slipping your hand into his to keep him from fleeing.

             “Tommy, you have no idea how bad I want you right now. All the time, actually,” you say quickly with a breathy laugh, “How bad I want all of you.” Thomas meets your gaze over his shoulder and you can see he’s frowning again, like he can’t believe you. Your heart breaks, chest constricting painfully.

             You move to him again, pushing up on your tip toes to press your lips to his shoulder before moving to his neck. Deeply, you inhale the sharp scent of his soap as you nuzzle your nose just under his ear. Your hands roam across his chest, fingers tracing all the scars littering his torso. Thomas shudders, arms wrapping around you and pulling you tight against him. He clings to you like a lifeline, just like he had that first day in the cellar.

             “You’re not gonna scare me away. I need you, Tommy, so, so bad. I love the way you make me feel. You…you don’t have to show me right now, but I hope that, someday, you will.”

             Thomas moves to cup your cheeks, cradling your face in his huge palms. He searches your expression, your eyes, looking for a lie, for any hint of teasing. You meet his gaze, willing him to feel your sincerity. Blue eyes drop to your lips and he frowns again. You can see him thinking, weighing the pros and cons.

             He must not find what he’s looking for because you see his eyes soften. Tommy lets out a tremulous breath and you give him a small, reassuring smile. Slowly, so slowly, as though his hands weigh a thousand pounds each, he reaches up to unbuckle the strap of his mask. You grip his shoulders to quiet his trembling.

             Finally, Thomas lowers the mask from his face. You are hyper-aware of your expression, knowing Tommy will miss nothing. You keep your face passive, blank as you examine the missing nose, the lesions and scar tissue along the side of his mouth, his cheek. You wonder what caused it; a deformity? A disease?

             Truthfully, you’d expected much worse. You’d been imagining the potential horrors under that mask from day one. It’s anticlimactic, really.

             Thomas isn’t looking at you. He’s so tense, shoulders bunched under your hands, his eyes fixed on a spot past your left shoulder. You tip your head to the side, cupping his cheek and gently forcing him to meet your gaze. You smile warmly, bringing your other hand up to trace his bottom lip with your thumb.

             “Can I kiss you now, Tommy?” you whisper. Thomas blinks, astonished. He lets out another huge breath and you realize he’d been holding it this hold time. You nod, assuring him you mean the truth, and pop up on your toes again to meet him halfway.

             Shaking, Thomas wraps his arms around you again and presses his lips to yours. You sigh into his mouth, glad to have the barrier gone. You sigh becomes a squeak and a giggle when Tommy lifts you off your feet. You wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his hips, clinging to him like he does you. The mask lays at his feet, forgotten.

             “Take me to your room?” you murmur, brushing his hair out of the way to kiss the shell of his ear. You don’t have to ask twice. Tommy carries you down the hall, moving as silently as he can so as not to alert anyone else in the house.

             Once safely inside his room, dark but for the moonlight bathing the room in soft light, Thomas gently sets you on the edge of his bed, hurrying across the room to close the door before promptly returning to you. You spread your thighs so he can kneel between them and you pull him flush against you, peppering his bare face with kisses, ending at his lips so you can slip your tongue in his mouth.

             He’s clumsy at first, but Tommy once again proves to be a fast learner, lips and tongue matching your earnest movements. You break away to catch your breath, grinning wide. Biting your lip, you tug your shirt over your head, slowly, so you can make a show of it.

           Reverently, Thomas smooths the palms of his hands up your abdomen, cupping your breasts and timidly leaning in to capture a nipple with his lips. He gives the hardening flesh an experimental suck and you release a hushed moan, fingers tangling in his hair to encourage him.

             He moves to the other side, repeating the action until you buck your hips into him, a whispered, “Oh fuck,” spilling from your parted lips. Eagerly, Thomas eases your shorts off your hips, tossing them away and scooping up handfuls of your ass to pull you to the very edge of the bed. He wastes no time before burying his face between your parted thighs.

             You must clap your hand over your mouth to stifle the surprised moan when Tommy drags his tongue through your folds. He remembers what you like from your teaching session that first day in the cellar. Shockingly fast, he finds your clit and teases it with his tongue. He sucks, licks with the tip and then the flat of his tongue, experiments with different techniques until he finds the ones that makes you squeal behind your hand.

             You cum like that, hand in his hair, Thomas’ fingers digging into your hips while you buck into his mouth. You shudder, legs quivering, toes tingling, cunt dripping onto the floor. Dazedly, you wonder how long he’d been waiting to do that, as enthusiastic as he was.

             “Oh my god, Tommy,” you gasp, sitting up and pulling him into another heated kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue, swallow his needy whine. Hastily, you urge him to stand, popping the button on his pants and shoving them off his hips.

             You scoot back on the bed, pulling him by the hand at the same time until he’s hovering over you. You’re worried you’re going to burn up, your skin ablaze everywhere he touches you. He lifts your hips off the mattress and begins the measured process of pushing his maddeningly thick cock past your soaked folds.

             Your hand returns to your mouth and you wrap your legs around his waist, arching your back when Thomas stuffs you completely full of him. You twitch, free hand fisting in the sheets when he rolls his hips, the incredible stretch now more addictive than painful. You meet his gaze as much as you can in the dark, nodding your head to urge him on.

             “Yes, Tommy, please, so g-good, oh god, just like that,” you whisper, quickly biting down on your lip to stifle a cry when Thomas’ grip tightens and he bucks his hips forward. The hand in the sheets flies to the headboard to keep you from sliding up the mattress as Tommy starts pummeling your insides, using his grip on your waist to pull you into each thrust.

             It’s so hard not to scream, not to wake everyone else in the house when every nerve in your body is alight with sensation, pleasure coiling so intensely in your gut you wonder if you’ll burst. Tommy groans at the feeling of your slippery muscles fluttering around him and that is enough to send you plummeting into ecstasy.

             You come undone, unravelling at the seams, back arching, cunt gushing around the cock that fills it so completely. You bite the palm of your hand to quiet the euphoric shriek that erupts from your throat. Thomas emits a strangled moan as his hips stutter before slamming forward, hilting himself as he fills you to the brim.

             Tommy lowers you back to the mattress before tipping forward, hands braced on either side of your head. You crane your neck, bringing your lips to his, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down so he rests between your trembling thighs. You chuckle quietly when he sets his forehead against yours, his panting breaths washing over your sweat slicked face.

             “You’re getting too good at that,” you murmur, giggling when he huffs out a laugh. Thomas rolls to the side, pulling you to his chest and resting his chin on top of your head. Gradually, his breathing slows, the deep, rhythmic inhales and exhales lulling you, making your eyelids droop.

             It’s easy to fall asleep in Tommy’s arms. You’ve never felt more secure. You let your eyes fall shut and, before long, you join him in sleep.

[cloudycrystalkpop]

SMOKY | Purgatory Within

Blind! Prince! Mingi x [unstated skin deformity] fem! Reader

words: almost 2k 

warnings: abuse trauma, smut, death

au: crown royal au | moodboard

series masterlist: SMOKY

~

you became more and more concerned for your husband’s behavior as time went on. the young man who had once been so careful and gentle, now stood with a silent rage behind his empty eyes.

however, after you confronted him about his possessive behavior, you watched him break down at your feet.

“p-please... please don’t leave me...” his large frame was once again curled in on himself, shoulders shaking as he kneeled on the floor, hands fisted in your robe. his head was hung low as he begged you at your feet.

“Mingi, what has been going on with you?” you insisted, refusing to touch the man as he tried to bury his face in your lap.

“I can't- I can't let the Duke take you! or your whore of a knight! Please my queen please, take me instead, take everything I have!” the man let out a broken sob as you sighed at his words.

“enough.” you growled, grabbing a hand full of his hair and lifting his head. he yelped in shock, neck exposed to you as his Adams apple bobbed in fear.

“you are to be a king Mingi. you are a grown man, and I am your wife. you are not a little boy to be crying at the feet of his mother.” you pushed the man off your lap and stood. “and you will be a fool of a king if you let such foolish insecurity cloud your judgment!”

Mingi hid his head low, covering his face with his arms.

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry! p-please don't-” his normally deep voice cracked in terror. you stopped, anger at he man before you evaporated.

“Mingi...mingi I'm not going to hit you.” you spoke softly, gently falling to your knees on the floor. his body shook, arms still held to protect his face. “I hope you know, I would never do that.” your voice was sorrowful as you reached out a hand to his head.

he flinched when you touched his hair, but as you began to run your fingers through it, his muscles slowly relaxed. dropping his arms from his face you could finally see the puffiness around his eyes, the cloudiness of the dark pigment stared blankly back at you.

“...do you promise?” he hiccuped, turning his head to try and find the direction of your voice. you cupped the man’s cheeks, pulling his head to face yours. his eyes fluttered shut as he rested his head in your hands.

“oh my darling boy, who did this to you?”

~

Mingi found a small kitten in the garden. a runt, tiny thing. you had thought the bundle of orange fur was some nobles lost purse left out in the rain. he named her Daisy, saying her fur smelled of the flowers when she curled up in his big hands.

You rarely saw the man without her, the small kitten often purching on Mingi's large shoulders.

Your husband still held ribbons of his possessive behavior, however he began to distance himself from you. You rarely saw him now other then in passing on when the pair of you went to sleep at night. He also began neglecting pleasing you, but you assumed he was simply not interested as both of you often went to sleep without any contact.

Now you found yourself facing a different delema. You had always been a woman with a high sex drive, its one of the reasons you had chosen Seonghwa as a concort. However your poor knight had been frightened quite badly by yourself and your husband, and you knew he wouldnt return to you unless you seeked him out.

But you had also made Mingi a promis. One that was getting increasingly hard for you to keep.

"My lady, is everything alright? You seem lost in thought... If there is any responsibilities weighing heavy on you i am more then happy to help however i can!" the young Duke's voice was as sweet as ever.

You sighed, looking over to Yeosang, a man you had been trying not to look at for to long. His hair lay in soft curls around his face, lightened by the many years spent outside in the sunlight. Likewise his skin was warm in hue, tanner then the rest of your court.

You had heard some of the other ladies snickering about him. Yeosang surely didnt live up to some of the standards for desired beauty the royals had. A strange thought flashed in your mind. Is that why Mingi was chosen to be your husband over Yeosang? Mingi's frame was large, an incredibly masculine figure just looking at him, with dark hair and skin untouched by the sun.

Little Yeosang however, had small and dainty hands, with long thin fingers, his features were softer then Mingi's, even his skin looked soft to the touch. And the many years spent as a playmate for his sisters left him with an unthreatening demeanor.

Indeed it wasnt hard for you to imagine him, flowers in his hair, sat on a blanket in the valley, perhaps painting or writing for his own amusement. You shoved away such thoughts as you saw a line of concern crease in his brow.

"My lady..."

"I am sorry Yeosang. Truthfully ive been feeling a bit... Forgotten about in these last weeks. And its left me feeling distracted." you answered him.

"Forgotten... Ah, by your husband?" perceptive as always. You sighed, gase dropping to your tea once more, before nodding.

"Have you tried speaking to him? He has a shy nature, im sure-"

"Hes trying to help." you held up a hand to stop him. "He did not trust me, and hes trying to offer me space to show he does." you clarified.

"... I see." Yeosang chewed on his lip in thought. His lips were a pretty blush color, not as round as Mingi's but plump, they looked soft... Very soft.

You cursed yourself in your own head. His fingers, his lips, youd be lying to deny they hadnt crossed your mind when you bathed. Your hands wandering your own body, head leaned back and eyes closed. Imagining it was Yeosang's long fingers in place of your own as you gasped in pleasure.

You shooed away the maid who came to offer you more tea, informing her it wouldnt be needed. Lust was a vice that would only cause you harm as Mingi's wife. And yet, something stirred in your gut.

"Yeosang, will you come walk with me?" the Duke nodded quickly, standing to his feet to follow you deeping into the gardens.

~

Your husband would be furious. And yet, such a worry seemed to melt away as you let yourself become lost in his touch.

"My lady please, you must be quiet. Or else we shall scandalize some poor stable boy." Yeosang's voice purred in your ear, pressing soft kisses to your neck after speaking.

You bite your tongue as Yeosang let another finger slip inside you. You were right, his fingers were deliciously long, able to reach places within you your own faltered. His hand snaked up your skirts and inside your undergarments, the heel of his hand pressed against your clit, his wrist not forgetting such an important part as he rubbed it gently.

You could almost see stars as he began sucking on your neck, a third finger sliding within you.

"... I promised you, anything you ever needed, i will provide. If its council, wisdom, or even such sinful favors... I am at your service. Always." Yeosang's voice was honey on your skin. You pulled one of your hands up from where they were fisted in his jacket, tugging gently on his hair. He pulled away from your neck, eyes now staring into your own. A look of pride took his features, seeing the state of pleasure you were in at his hands.

Tugging his hair again, you let a small whine fall from your lips. He chuckled, increasing the pace of his hand, and before a moan could fall from your lips, he covered them with his own.

~

That night, cheeks finally faded with the glow of what yourself and the Duke had snuck away to do, you crossed paths with a guard.

“your highness! just who I was looking for~” dread pooled in your gut as you saw Hongjoong, cheerful grin on display, with a small kitten in his arms. Daisy shook like a leaf, eyes slit to spite the darkness of the hallway.

you opened your arms and Hongjoong placed the small cat in your hands. Daisy immediately pressed herself as far from Hongjoong as she could, a small hiss let out in his direction.

“how rude. if it wasn't for me she would have been stuck at the top of a lamp. ungrateful feline.” he huffed. you began to gently stroke the cat’s fur, in hopes of calming her down.

“an animal as small as this knows when it is in the jaws of a predator.” you stated. Hongjoong smiled, and your stomach dropped. humans are so stupid. Hongjoong is known as a cheerful and smiley person, but yet the cloud that follows him hides the nature of his grin. a wolf does not offer you a smile, he bares his teeth as a warning.

“and yet your little prince is so blissfully unaware of what he is toying with~” Hongjoong giggled. you simply blinked back at the creature before you. “you know, your fondness for that Duke will upset him. but if you wanted a straightforward solution-”

“I am not a fool like the other idiot humans that reside here.” you growled.

“oh no, absolutely not. but, witch, neither am i.” you narrow your eyes at him.

“I could have you hung for accusing the future queen of witchcraft.” you threatened. Hongjoong lay his head back and let out a hearty laugh.

“that would be a sight! do you really want to see what happened if you try and kill me?” Hongjoong stops himself before he begins laughing again. “actually I believe I know that answer. regardless, my offer still stands. just as our deal already does.”

“deal?” you feel panic rise in your throat.

“why yes, the silent one of course.” Hongjoong grins that same one that appears in your nightmares. the one that pulls his cheeks up and shows just a few to many teeth.

“you don't tell them what I am, and in exchange, I do the same.”

~

you awoke the next morning, without Mingi. his side of the bed was cold, and even Daisy had gone missing. you thought little of it as you rose to begin your day, however, you were not greeted by one of your handmaidens, but rather, a guard.

“your majesty, I come bearing news.” he swallowed nervously.

“oh? at this hour?” you inquired. you were then greeted by a sorrowful meow, Daisy crawling between the guards legs and hiding under your nightgown.

“your husband, Prince Mingi, was found dead in a poll of his own blood last night.”

~

who killed the king?

suspects : Yeosang | Seonghwa | Hongjoong

[infinitegalahad]

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO (SNEAK PEAK)

Summary: Eugene was always there to let you that you were beautiful.

Warnings: PLEASE!! READ!!! Trigger warnings for eating disorder, insecurity, and lots of angst. But there is going be lots of fluff and some self care from your’s truly!

A/N: it’s time for self coping, my fitness. my eating disorder has been horrible lately and what better what to come then maladaptive daydreaming? not me writing a self insert for my bulimia and eugene roe comforting me because my ex-therapist told me to eat more (which totally solves all my problems)? ha! never. enjoy the little snippet! :D 

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world @easy-company-tradition @liebgotttme @50svibes @ricksmorty @pennyllanne @capsparkyspeirs

Your stomach growled and twisted as you hunched over the toilet, tears spilling from your eyes as you forcefully threw up the mass amount of food you had just eaten. Every bite felt like you were eating copious amounts of a forbidden fruit. It was your favourite, and you used to love eating (y/f/f) all the time-but now, you would barely keep it down.

Soon after eating, the guilt began to overtake your body. It was hard to ignore it as the warm feeling in your throat began to rise. It felt tingly and you had only one remedy on how to make it better-running to the bathroom and sticking a finger down your throat: watching everything come out as deformed and clunky.

Saliva dropped from your noses as you began to wipe it as tears streamed down your flushed face. The pain wasn’t ending, and you knew another round was set to come.

When you're a little girl, you didn’t think much of your body or how you looked. Little girls, or no child for the matter should have had to worry about what they looked like. But as you got older, the social norms and your body began to change. Other girls around you were thin, while you felt indifferent. You were made fun of not looking “thin”, which triggered a whole set of emotions. And so you took comfort in food, since it was the only thing that never judged you.

And yet food would soon become your enemy. You learned how to befriend, and also stab it in the back. Your relationship with food has formed into a minute where you could tolerate them, and then the other you had to get it out of your system. After eating meals, it became a habit for you to do so. Some days, you could tolerate being around it. Others, you would barely see if for days-if not weeks.

Your thoughts were overtaken by a large gulp in your throat, which resulted in the food you had binged coming out. Tears came from your eyes as you cried. What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you just be normal and pretty? Why was life so unfair to you?

You are so lost in your own thoughts that you didn’t notice the bathroom door creak open and footsteps slowly approach your hunched figure. The pattern of the footsteps was already too familiar to you. Goosebumps went up your spine as you refused to look at him, embarrassed and guilted. Eugene was the last person you wanted to discover your monstrosity.

“Hey…” You managed to say, attempting to sound put together, which was the total opposite of what you currently where.

Eugene sunk down to your level and placed a hand on your back, rubbing small circles. Tears began to form at your eyes as you looked down, feeling it come again. Eugene grabbed your hair as you threw up, letting out a pained moan.

“I’m here, you’re okay,” Eugene cooed, letting you finish up. His soft accent was reassuring to you, but your heart rate increased. “Did it happen again?”

“Nothing is happening. I’m fine.” You lied, but knew that it was a shit lie and that Eugene was smart enough to see. He was your boyfriend and knew you better than anybody else did in the world-besides you.

“You’re not fine. Don’t lie to me, cher.”

You slowly move your head up to look at him. Eugene looks tired, and so do you. Your eyes are puffy from crying, cheeks red, lips quivering, goosebumps all over your skin, heavy breathing- a total mess. A pig is what you would refer to yourself as. The outfit you had worn today was too tight forming and showed off the parts of your body that you wanted the world not to see. You looked like a ugly rat in your eyes, the vision of a disfigured body clouding your vision.

Instead of using your words, you break down once again. Eugene is there to watch you, pulling you into him as you sob uncontrollably. You act like a child to its mother, clasping into Eugene for dear life as you stain his white shirt with tears. He doesn’t mind this since he loves you, and you know that. But how could he, someone so beautiful on the inside and out, be with someone like you-a slob? Eugene didn’t see you as any of the things you would describe yourself as, and you still couldn’t understand why he has chosen to stick around for four years (and counting).

“I’m sorry,” Is all you could cough through your tears. Eugene is running his hands up and down back, his fingers occasionally getting tangled in your hair as he straightens it out. He pulls you from his chest as he cups your face, tenderly pushing your loose hair behind your shoulders to get a better view of your pretty face.

Eugene caresses your cheeks, getting a feel of your soft (y/s/c). “No need to be. Jus’ wanna make sure your ok.”

“I’m not. I…” Letting out a frustrated sigh, the waterworks come back into play. Eugene, being the angel he is, stays quiet as his thumbs wipe the tears away. Gathering your words, you continue on, “I never have been. Look at me, I can’t control it. I don’t know what to do. I-“

“Hey, hey, hey. Your heart’s racin’, settle down.” Eugene reassured in a calming voice not to shut you up, but to calm you. Your skin is shaky and sweaty and your heart is banging against your ribcage. Eugene feels the guilt tug at his heart-he hates to see you in such a distressed state. “Let me help you. Here,”

Eugene slides his arms under your armpits and gently helps your up. Leading you to the living room, he places you on the couch as he runs to the kitchen to grab you a glass of water. He drops it out and pats you on the head before running back to the kitchen. You don’t want to drink, but Eugene would have a hissy fit if you didn’t. Reluctantly, you take a sip and swish it in your mouth before slowly gulping it.

Eugene returns a minute later with a cup of tea in his hand. He places in on the counter, putting a coaster under. Looking down, you can smell the sweetness. It’s your favourite; an orange spice with a dab of honey.

“Drink up ‘dat wata’ before you drink the tea. You’ll fell more refreshed after, and the tea will help with the dryness in your throat,” Eugene explained. He admired you as he placed a hand on your shoulder, rubbing circles into them. As you drank your water, you forced a smile and put your hand on top of yours.

“Angé, I’m worried ‘bout you,” Eugene confessed, “You look sad, and when you’re sad-I’m sad.”

“Genie, please,” Is all you could mutter to say. “I can take care of myself. I’ve been dealing with this all my life. It’ll go away in a few hours, and I’ll be all smiles again. I promise.”

Eugene still feels guilty. He’s been around sister’s, older and younger to know what your problem is. The vomiting, the excuses, the insecurity, everything was adding up. What had saddened Eugene is that it was a lifelong issue, and it had gone untreated, and had progressively gotten worse.

“I don’t need you to force yourself to be happy. I want to help you ‘cause I love you, ma douce beauté.”

“But-“

Eugene placed a sweet kiss into your hair, “No. You stay ‘ere, docter’s orders. I’ll be right back.”

“Eugene-“

As he began to walk away, he turned around with a smile and pointed fingers. “What did I say?”

You put a finger down in defeat as you laid back, sipping on your tea. Hearing his footsteps fade into the bathroom and the water running, the tension from your shoulders disappeared as the sweet honey in the tea eased the frustration in your body. Doctor's orders, after all.

[nephilimsss]

sanctity. hvitserk lothbrok

PAIRING ➨ hvitserk lothbrok x freyja

GENRE ➨ smut, historical fiction, fantasy.

SUMMARY ➨ the goddess of war, freyja, is put onto kattegat to aid the lothbroks during their future raids. both the seer and aslaug have seen her coming, and the queen welcomes her with open arms. catching the eye of hvitserk lothbrok, she treats him as no one has done before; as an equal, instead of a dog.

WARNINGS ➨ unprotected sex, body worship, oral sex (male and female receiving), soft!hvitty.

WORD COUNT ➨ 3,080

SELENE NOTE ➨ this was a spur of the moment fic, so there might be some misinformation, though i tried to do as much research as i could on freyja!  in this fic, freyja is blonde and blue eyed. according to the myths, she is described as having “long flowing blond hair, blue eyes and a gorgeous figure which she doesn't mind flaunting, as she often appears naked to her worshipers.” i also imagined her face claim to be emilia clarke as daenerys targaryen, but much taller. this is what she wears in this fic: https://pin.it/2IOXKvF the braids in viking culture reference is from this q&a, and, as the answerer stated, it is an idea. it isn’t a proven fact, though i will pretend that it is for this one fic.

MASTERLIST

standing tall in front of the kneeling crowd, her falcon feather cloak covered freyja’s shoulders from the cold winds of kattegat, her saphire eyes looking down upon aslaug. she’s known the queen since the mortal was a young girl; only she, freyja, can give certain humans the gift of being a volva, and it was she who granted aslaug to have her four sons. aslaug was one of her most loyal worshippers, silently praying to her every night to let her see the things others couldn’t, to allow her to worship her as the goddess deemed fit.

“i’ve longed to lay my own eyes upon you,” aslaug’s head moves up to view the goddess, tears in her eyes as she takes in the form of the woman she worshipped since she was a young girl. 

“i know,” freyja wipes a tear that trekked its way down her cheek, “my child. i’ve listened to all your prayers and granted those in which i was given permission to grant. i’ve received all of your sacrifices. i thank you for them.” she kneels, feet tucked under her, and takes aslaug’s face into her hands. “if you want to continue to worship me, my favorites are cowslips and oranges.” she places a soft kiss on the edge of aslaug’s strawberry blond hair, keeping her cheeks warm with her hands. 

she stands, her hands moving down the queen’s body to clasp her hands, “come, let’s celebrate.” 

freyja towers over everyone, silver hair swaying in small ringlets past her hips, right hand holding onto’s aslaug’s left as she leads her to the great hall. with every step she took, the opal beads of her necklace twinkled with every step, the gold fastenings glinting softly in the pale light of winter. “stand and join us,” she looks at the crowd over her left shoulder, smiling brightly at everyone who began to stand. seeing an old man struggle to get up, she grabs onto his wrinkled hand, keeping a steady grip on it as she used some of her strength to easily lift him to his feet. “thank you, goddess freyja,” he bows his head. the sons of ragnar keep up with their mother, hearts beating rapidly as their eyes took in the sight of freyja, the goddess their mother worshipped with her very being. they remembered the tales aslaug told them as children, remembered how she told them to pray to her for successful raids and battles, remembered when she used to sing songs in praise of her. 

a few paces away from the great hall, the goddess stops, turning around to face the four boys with a small smile. “you must be the sons of aslaug,” she eyes them with a proud glint in her eyes. 

“we are,” ubbe nods.

“i remembered when your mother prayed for you all,” she notes, seeing ivar slither along the ground, his upper body holding him up to let him see her. “and you must be ivar lothbrok,” she releases the mother’s hand, stepping up towards the crippled man, pulling up her skirts as she kneeled to let him view her with ease. “your mother specially prayed for you,” she caresses his face, feeling the side whiskers he had grown out. “she sang praises when you survived your first year,” her voice lowered to a whisper, only addressing him as the rest of kattegat eyed them nervously. 

despite his inner efforts, ivar smiled, the once curious gaze he wore melting into one of pure happiness until he notices her eyes looking back to his legs, taking in his deformity. “i can carry you to the great hall, if you’d like,” she whispers. “that way you don’t dirty your clothes more than you already have.” his face falling back to that of anger, he motioned for her to do so as she pleased, already wanting to give his arms a break. another warm smile from freyja, she stands up, picking him up in her arms and placing him on her back. his arms wrap around her, cheeks tickled by the feathers of her cloak, his body crying in relief from the pain he had been feeling. 

aslaug’s heart brightened, seeing her goddess treat her son as an equal instead of something to be thrown around and joked about as people have during his younger years. “come along,” she waves the others forward, “i believe this calls for a feast!” 

people cheer as they rush towards the great hall, stomachs grumbling for food, mead, and whatever else they’d be able to receive during the night. 

music played, loud chatter filled the halls, and goats bleated as they walked along tables and through parted legs. raising a chalice of mead to her lips, freyja watches the feast commence, turning a knife between her fingers. the second eldest son of aslaug kept giving her glances, licking his lips once in a while as he took in the shape of her body. 

being the goddess of fertility amongst many other things, her body was the perfect image of a woman’s who’d had gone through multiple pregnancies. his pants felt tighter around his lap, taking in the beauty of the goddess before him. 

“you keep staring at her as if you’d like to jump her,” ubbe tells him, mouth still full with chicken.

“i do not want to jump her, brother,” he turns to his second plate of food.

“fuck her then?” ubbe laughs. “she is also the goddess of sex, you know. she might be willing, and great at it at that. go to her. she’s watching you too.” hvitserk faces her, seeing the blonde turn away to face his mother once again. “why don’t you go over there?” ubbe pours more mead into his cup, knocking his brother with his elbow. 

“she’s a goddess, ubbe,” hvitserk seethes through his teeth, stabbing a honeyed carrot with his fork, eyebrows furrowing. 

“so?” his brother raises an eyebrow. “she’s a woman still. does she not breathe? does her heart not beat? does she not feel the emotions us humans feel?” hvitserk stops chewing, contemplating his brother’s words. it is true, what he was saying, but he would feel an immense amount of shame if she turned him away. everyone would laugh at him as he walked back to his table with his tail between his legs. 

“she leaving,” ubbe nods to her. 

throwing his fork onto the plate, hvitserk hurries from his chair, feet carrying him to where he saw you go. a few people stared at him as he left, though they were too drunk to notice freyja was gone also. he saw her sitting on the docks, face titled up to the sky. 

“i see you’ve decided to join me, prince hvitserk,” her voice broke the quietness of the night outside, the moon shining down on her, giving her a celestial glow. he stood above her, looking down upon her face. he didn’t know how to respond; being around her made his tongue feel like lead in his mouth. “sit with me,” she pats the empty spot next to her, smiling at him once again. moving his cloak so he won’t sit on it, he sits down next to her, feet sitting on top of water below, small waves lapping against the sides of the logs that held up the dock. “how is your first night in kattegat?” he clears his throat, eyes taking in her face.

her top lip was a little fuller than her bottom lip, her eyes were a little bagged, her cheeks had a pink tint to them. she was very beautiful, hvitserk noted, listening to her answer his question. “it’s been very nice,” she plays with the hem of her dress, “your mother has been very attentive.” she chuckles, filling the air with the magical twinkle of bells. 

“i would expect her to be like that around people she trusts,” he laughs.

they talked for a while, hvitserk having gone back inside for a second to bring back mead and chalices for them to drink from. “can. . .” hvitserk stutters a bit, “can i do something?”

freyja nods, turning to face him, saphire eyes twinkling in the light of the moon. placing his warm hand on her cheek, he leans in, placing his lips on hers, feeling her respond quickly, her own hand grasping at the fur of his cloak, bringing him closer to her. she moans lightly, pulling away from him, her breath kissing his lips lightly. 

“fuck.”

keeping her body against his, hvitserk’s hand travels alongside the soft curves of freyja’s body, the warmth of the hearth in his cabin made the earth stifling hot. the arousal they both felt making their senses heighten to every touch, every kiss, every whisper of breath and caress of their hair. freyja pulls the laces of his tunic, pulling away from him, her hands traveling under the fabric, her dexterous fingers tugging it above his head. throwing it over her shoulder, freyja immediately pulled him closer to her, lips once again finding his in the orange light of the fire.

hvitserk’s hand pressed flat against the top of her back, pressing her against him, loving the way her body responded to his touches. “hm,” he pulls away from her addictive lips, his hand moving away from her hip, turning the small figuring of odin so he wouldn’t face them anymore. a small laugh tears itself from her lips before she pushes him to the bed, straddling his hips, feeling his hands settle on the curve between her derriere and thighs. her lips land on the junction where his neck and shoulder meet, feeling the stubble along his jaw prick against her cheek. licking his jugular, she hears his moan, his neck arching back to give her more access to his skin. freyja’s hand travels down his body, the softness of the hair he grew on his chest, the gentle feel of his skin under her fingertips, the airy moans let out against her ear as she continued to kiss, lap, and suck on the pale skin of his neck. 

slipping her fingers under the fabric of his trousers, she grasps his shaft, hot and heavy in her hand. she caresses it, going from the base, where a tuft of hair covered the pallid skin, to the tip, where wetness gathered and made it glisten in whatever little light it received. the more she touched, the faster she went, and the more frequent his moans became. 

he grabbed onto the braided hair on the back of her head, pulling her from her spot on his neck, stained with a dark purple bruise, to his lips, wanting to taste her own once more. his free hand grabs on to the laces of her dress, managing to untie them (though with some difficulty), freyja feeling her breasts be liberated from the confines of the blue and white dress she wore on that day, sitting up on hvitserk’s lap to allow him to slip it down her body, skin gleaming softly in the candle light. she was so perfect, so beautiful, that hvitserk couldn’t help but stare, his hands wandering along her body, feeling the curve of her hips, the fullness of her breast, the softness of her nipples. “is it true that you sometimes come to your worshippers naked?” he asks, voice delicate in the stifling cabin air.

“sometimes,” she bends down, lips touching the shell of his ear, “if they’re lucky enough.” she takes the helix between her teeth, biting it softly before pulling away, hands pushing down on hvitserk’s body to help her stand up, the dress falling to the ground, her body coming into full view. stepping out from the heap of fabric, her toes stepping on the back of her boots as she tugged them off, her hands tugging his trousers down his strong legs, his member coming up to slap against the soft skin of his stomach. wrapping her hand around the base, she kneels on the ground, feet tucked under her body, her lips coming in contact with the tip of his penis. she presses a kiss, pulling away as a small string of his precum sticking to her bottom lip, a small smile tugging at the corners. 

licking at it, she breaks the connection before she comes back to his cock, taking in as much as she could in one go. hvitserk gasps, his head falling back on the bed, one of his hand coming up to wrap around the back of her head, not to control her or to push her down further, but to feel closer. her hair had so many braids, complicated and intricate, divine and beautiful. his mother had told him how braids in their culture showed social status, and seeing freyja’s hair, he wondered how many braids odin wore as the all-father. 

“gods,” he jerked his hips when he felt her take him in so far, the tip of her nose pressed against his pubic bone.

he felt her release a giggle around him, sending small shockwaves through his body, his spine curving back, his head tilting so the ends of his hair flitted against his waist. she felt so good around him, taking in as much as she could, fitting his entirety into her mouth. his thighs began to shake periodically, his spine stiffening as his peak came closer and closer, his moans becoming louder, the grip on her hair becoming harder. 

“fuck, freyja,” he releases in her mouth, holding her head to his pubic bone, making her take all of his cum. swallowing around him, she lets out a whine, loving the taste of sweet yet saltiness of him, one hand grabbing onto his shaking thigh. 

she pulls away, kissing her way up his torso, her hands cradling his neck, straightening as she feels hvitserk sit up. 

her hands pull at his braid, his own holding onto the curve of her hips, wrapping around the small of her back. their lips connect, tongues embracing midway, hvitserk tasting his own seed, and, in a way, finds it bewitching, tasting it on a goddess’s own tongue. how had he gotten this lucky? how had he gotten lucky enough to have freyja in his bed, giving him the utmost pleasure he’s ever felt? no matter how many women he’s bedded, there was a major gap between the simple releases he received from the women and the soul crushing orgasm he received from freyja. if he had gotten that much pleasure from her lips, he wondered how her cunt compared. 

his hands wandered from her back to her thighs, using the strength in his body to pull her up, feeling the wetness of her lower lips settle on his cock, her clit hitting perfectly against his tip. whatever wetness she had released slowly travelled down his stiffness. her hand grabbed onto him, moving his cock so it would rub against her slit, teasing her hole as she took his tongue in her mouth, sucking on it like she did his member. 

she frees his tongue, raising her hips enough to take him into her warm cavern. hvitserk’s arms pull her tightly against his body, gasping in her ear when he felt the warmth of her wetness enclosing around him, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other crossing over the middle of her back and the hand holding onto her hair. 

she begins moving, rolling her hips up so only his tip remained inside her, then back down so her clit rested against the wiry hair. her hips quicken, the sounds of their moans and skin slapping against each other filled the air, hvitserk’s eyebrows furrowing deeply as his mouth fell open. “freyja,” he moans, “it’s like your pussy was made by the. . .” he stops short, a laugh tearing out his lips, freyja slowing down as they both chuckle at his slight mistake. 

“i thank you, hvitserk,” she starts the same rhyhmic roll of her hips, lips pressing against the shell of his ear. “you’re the first one to make me feel this way.” this gives a boost to his confidence, gaining enough strength in him to flip them over, freyja’s bac landing on the furs with a huff. 

his hips snap against hers, hands holding her legs up against her chest, giving him better access. “hvitserk,” his name leaves her as a small scream, hands travelling up to grip at the pillows above her bed. 

he could feel her walls flutter against him, alerting him of her incoming orgasm. he reaches down, the tips of his fingers pressing against her clit, rubbing it in time with the snap of his hips. “oh fu -” she tries to form a sentence, but the pleasure that wracked through her body left her unable to do so. “you feel so. . . so. . . g -” her orgasm hit her, her legs shaking uncontrollably as she gushed around him, leaving a thick white cream at the base of his cock. the way her walls constricted around him left him weak, jerking his hips against her, holding him in place as he released inside him.

he shouldn’t have came inside her, he knew this just like he knew that freyja is also the goddess of fertility as much as she is the goddess of sex, but he couldn’t help it. she felt so good around him, she gripped him tightly, almost as she wanted him to cum inside her and give her more children. letting go of her legs, they spread for him, hvitserk falling towards her chest, his head landing against her breasts. he presses kisses on her sweaty skin, keeping himself inside of her, keeping her plugged so none of his sperm came out. 

“fuck, you’re like a kitten of frey. . .” 

“- ja.”

he chuckles against her stomach before going back to pressing those small kisses on her skin. “i want. . .” he muttered, his cock slowly moving out of her, “i need more. please, i need more.” he’s begging her, craving her once again, small tears trekking their way down his cheeks and falling upon freyja’s skin. he’s crying for her to fuck him again and freyja’s heart softens just a little.

 “tomorrow, hvitserk,” she pulls him back up to her, making him look into her azure eyes. “rest. i’ll be here for you in the morning.” he nods, almost childish, in a way, and slumps against her body. 

[icollectyoursins]

Werewolf!Mista x Fem!Reader NSFW

Fandomhell97 on AO3 said: “Oh god I need more werewolf Mista content 😳 I don't know if you do requests but maybe something with Mista turning and their s/o finding out? Or him first turning? Maybe ended with smut?”

This was kind of cheesy, but it’s a werewolf turning in front of their S/O and it’s Mista. It’s gotta be a little cheesy! And some light angst. Though, what’s a werewolf story with out a little angst?

Mista had gotten distracted in the days leading up to the full moon and suddenly realizes this as he’s walking you home. It’s going to take everything in him to stay in control. Unless someone starts tempting him to live on the wild side...

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: Wolf transformation, slight body horror, licking, biting, reader being turned on by things that shouldn’t technically be turning them on, claws, vaginal sex, female orgasm, creampie, knots.

Word Count: 1964

     Guido’s eyes flicked up to the clouded sky again. He was nervous about something, but you weren’t quite sure what. Maybe he was just protective. You were walking down a long, dark, creepy forest path, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to think that someone could jump out at the two of you, but you felt safe with him. There was no way he’d let anyone hurt you. Regardless, he kept looking around, hand squeezing yours out of worry. Was he afraid of the dark? You chuckled at the thought.

     “Eh? What’s so funny?” He looked at you quizzically, head cocked to the side. You chuckled again. 

     “Nothing, you just seem a little on edge,” you tease, playfully poking his side with your elbow. His face contorts into confusion, perking up one eyebrow. “I was just thinking that maybe you’re afraid of the dark?”

     Mista’s eyes grow wide and he suddenly starts laughing, tossing his head back. “Ha! That is funny!” He wipes a tear from his eye, grinning like a fool. His whole body seems to relax now, thankfully. You both let out a sigh of relief, enjoying the walk home a little bit more.

     But it doesn’t take long for him to remember what tonight is. He should tell you. You deserved to know what’s been on his mind and-

     There’s a change in the wind that tells him it’s close. Damn it. He regretfully lets go of your hand, stopping in his tracks. You look back at him, wondering what’s gotten into him today. His hand starts to rub at the back of his neck as he looks to the ground, avoiding eye contact.

     “Ah, (Y/N). I don’t wanna do this, but um-” the wind picks up again. He can feel his hair standing on end now. God, of all the days! “-I can’t walk you home. I’ve uh... gotta go.”

     “Mista! You said-”

     “Yeah, I know what I said, but I’ve-AH!” Suddenly he’s hunched over, groaning in pain. “Run.” He says, falling to the ground. “Leave! Get out of here!”

     You’re confused and concerned, rushing to his side, holding his face in your hands. You call out his name, but it falls on deaf ears. Was he hurt? Well, obviously, he’s hunched over and almost in tears. He looks up to you, eyes glazed over and wet. His mouth opens to say something.

     That’s when the clouds start to part revealing the light of the full moon. It shines directly on Mista’s face, almost blinding him. He looks up, angry and desperate all at the same time. He starts crying out again, voice cracking the more painful his transformation got. 

     You call his name again, trying to pull his gaze to you. He pushes you away, becoming more animal by the minute. You fall back onto your hands, scrambling to the other side of the path. 

     You watch in shock as his hands deform and stretch while his feet do the same, forming into something not quite human. Fingernails turn into claws that dig into the dirt as thick, dark brown fur starts shooting from his pores. His teeth grow longer as his face elongates into a snout that curls into a snarl. Usually sweet, deep brown eyes turn dark; dangerous, but there’s still something in him that’s your Guido and he’s scared. 

     The transformation continues until he’s ripped through nearly all his clothes, leaving his shoes and hat in tatters. Mista slumps to the ground, exhausted.  You wait a few seconds, still in shock at what you just saw. You had heard stories of shit like this, but you never believed them. Though, now you were starting to piece together bits of his behaviour. There was always one week where he would say he was busy with work or something like that. Did that have something to do with this?

     God, of course, it did! He turned into a literal wolf-man in front of your eyes.

     “Oh my god! Mista!?” You suddenly sprang into action, rushing to his side. You start shaking him gently, tossing aside his ruined hat and looking at his face. He groans as you brush over his fur, checking for any blood or scratches. His tongue slips out, licking over his jowls lazily like a sleeping dog would. “Mista? Are you okay?” You say again softly, stroking the soft fur on his ears. 

     He moans again, eyes slowly opening. They flick over to you, deciding whether or not you’re dangerous. He gets up slowly, aching from the shift. You watch him stretching and shake before he leans into your neck, smelling you. You’re taken aback, falling onto your hands as he gets closer. That’s when you notice how much bigger he’s gotten. You could tell he was almost a foot taller and he was still crouching down.

     His breath tickled your neck one last time before licking the nape, making you shiver. He continued to lick, becoming more purposeful with his strokes which eventually lead to gentle nibbles that made you weak. You didn’t want to admit it, but this new feeling had your head fogging up in every way it shouldn’t be. A warmth started swelling in your core, building with every pass of his tongue. One particularly hard bite on your shoulder made you cry out.

     It was in that moment that Mista regained some control over his wolf-self, leaping back immediately, staring at the still-developing red mark. Shit, he hadn’t meant to hurt you, you just smelled so good and tasted so good; he couldn’t help himself. He whined as you reached out to him.

     “No, no, it’s okay!” Fuck, how did you say this politely? “I was enjoying it.” Your cheeks burned hot. Did you really just say that? 

     He cocked his head, blinking with large eyes. Bravely, he came forward again, sniffing and then licking the same spot. You didn’t hold back this time, letting out a light gasp, knowing it would encourage him to go further. 

     Quickly, he makes his way down to your chest, using his clawed fingers to carefully pull the buttons open on your shirt. It was sort of sweet watching him be so gentle, afraid he would rip your top. Eventually, he gets it off and starts nuzzling into you, inhaling your scent even more. It drove him wild.

     He continued to lick and sniff down to your clothed sex. A growl rumbled through his body. Suddenly he was moving again, this time picking you up and carrying you into the deeper parts of the woods, away from anyone who may pass by. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding him close. His body seemed to radiate heat, drawing you in. Corse fur tickled your exposed chest as he walked.

     Finally, he set you down in a safe part of the woods, paws/hands sliding up your sides while his snout dove into your neck again. You weren’t entirely sure what to do with kissing him (he technically didn’t have lips), so you left pecks along his cheeks, burring your face into his neck. 

     Taking a step back, you began undressing yourself properly, sliding your shirt off your arms and taking off your bottoms. You relished in the way he stared at you, practically drooling. Mista pulled you back into him, pawing your breasts with thick, coarse pads. His tongue licked your cheek lovingly, making you chuckle.

     You then pulled away, holding his hand while you walked towards a large tree, slowly making your way onto your back. He followed, climbing over top of you. With a coy smile, you rolled over onto your stomach, bumping your behind into his crotch. 

     A long, wet tongue dragged up your shoulder blade as Mista’s claws dug into your sides. He jerked your ass into his pelvis again, though, this time it shocked you. You gasped as you felt something growing against you. As his length slipped out of it’s sheath he kept grinding into you, making you more wet. You could hear him softly grunt in your ear, clearly looking forward to whatever came next.

     Finally, his cock emerged fully, slipping against your slick folds. It felt so thick. not long, but thick. It made you excited knowing that you would soon be stretched out by it. Your only hope was that he had enough control in him to let you get used to-

     Without any warning, the tapered tip found your entrance and he thrust in quickly. You cried out as tears threatened to fall out the corners of your eyes. The wolf noticed, nuzzling your cheek as well as licking away your tears. 

     “It’s okay,” you panted out, “just be ~ah gentle.” He started to move, dragging through your tight walls in a deliciously painful way. You mewled underneath him, unable to keep yourself quiet with the combined feeling of his warmth above you and his cock working you open.

     Guido growled above you, placing his hands on either side of you then doubling down, pulling out completely, then thrusting in again. You jolted under him, trying to find a grip on something. You found a large root in front of you worked best, bracing your arms on it. He licked the nape of your neck again, teeth grazing the skin, making you shiver. 

     You brought a hand up, burying it in his fur. He continued to pound into you until the pain went away, being taken over completely by pleasure. You moaned out his name freely, encouraging him to go faster. He lifted your ass higher then wrapped his arms around you, finally able to reach the deepest part of you, threatening to bruise your core.

     Now you were practically screaming under him, barely coherent enough to form a sentence. His breath felt hot against your cheek as he panted. You felt something begin to swell at the base of his cock. It couldn’t get bigger, could it?

     It did. Oh god, it did. His knot gradually inflated as he got closer to his release. It rubbed against your already abused hole, threatening to push itself in. The added feeling sent you hurling into your orgasm, moaning out his name. He growls in your ear as your walls convulse around him and he keeps moving, drawing it out until you go cross-eyed.

     His swell continued to tease and rub against you to an almost painful extent.

     “M-Mista,” you groaned out, panting heavily. “Gentle, please. Slowly.” He groaned in your ear, a little disappointed, but he tried. He slowed down his thrusts so he was basically rubbing against you. The knot teased your clit as he ground against you. He licked your shoulder, whining as he slowly pushed the bulb into you. 

     You cried more as your entrance was stretched to a near impossibly amount. It was a slow process full of a pleasing pain until he was finally bottomed out in you. You swore you had to be drooling. You were completely collapsed beneath him, the knot being the only thing keeping your ass upright in what felt like a vacuum seal. 

     The two of you panted while he lapped at the sweat on your back, rubbing his cheek on yours. Mista held you close, making sure you were okay before moving again in shallow thrusts until the tightness of your walls gripping him sent him tumbling over into his orgasm. He groaned into your ear as his seed spilled into you, dirtying your insides. 

     Patiently, you waited for his knot to deflate, giving each other sweet kisses in the meantime.

     “Guido, you have a lot of explaining to do,” you chuckle out sleepily. He whines in response, lazily licking his chops while his head rested on yours. “Oh, and you’re for sure walking me home after this.”

[real-fanta-sea]

Still taking kiss requests? 11 trikey would be cool with an od scare

wow it’s been a month? oops... anyway! Here comes your fic!

"mmmm hello handsome!!"

Usually, when the trailer door was kicked open, and Trevor stomped in, it wasn't at 2 in the afternoon, and Michael didn't stand by the sink in an embarrassingly pink apron, washing dishes. And it also didn't involve two giant plastic bags being tossed towards the kitchen while Trevor snickered and clapped his hands.

"oh my, how did you know I love it when you dress up like a french maid Mikey?"

Michael somehow found it incredibly hard to come up with a coherent answer, because T danced trough the room to slap his ass, snake his arms around him and lay a loud kiss on his neck. Instead of words, he just stabbed him with his signature 'I'll kill you' glare and fidgeted a little to shake Trevor off. It was hot inside the trailer already, and M didn't need another guy sweating into his tank top. To his surprise, the pressure T put on his back was gone in an instant, and when he turned around to find out why, he saw Trevor sitting on the table, drinking beer and checking him out with a predatory grin.

"Trevor I told you not to do that. People might see."

"Isn't it cute how afraid you are to be seen when the whole town hears you moan at night?"

Michael frowned and turned around to fish another dirty plate from the sink and scoff in disgust. When did he sign up to be a housewife? Behind his back, Trevor let out a mighty burp and threw the empty bottle across the whole room right to the open mouth of their new trash bin. When it broke with a satisfying crunch, he cheered and whooped like a teenager with his arms flying all around. It occurred to Michael he was, in fact, the only adult in the house capable of being a caretaker.

"What are you so happy about?"

Trevor opened up another beer and snickered.

"You won't believe it, Mikey. I was on the business trip as usual,"

"Uhuh..." Michael rinsed a plate, turned around and while drying it with a cloth, tuned out the sound and just watched Trevor spill beer while flapping his arms around and overact facial expressions as if he was a kid in a drama class.

"...and when I caressed him gently with my fists a couple of times, he agreed to give me a couple of packs for free!"

Still rubbing the plate, Michael just raised one curious eyebrow "Did you kill him?"

Trevor shifted and pointed the bottle to him so fast a couple of drops splashed out "What kind of animal do you take me for? Of course, I didn't kill him, but I sure took his marshmallows!"

"Wait a second, so those... things are full of marshmallows? What the fuck are we going to do with 100 bags of that crap???"

Trevor tapped his head with his index finger to articulate how stupid Michael just sounded to him. "What else do you want to do with food than eat it, Mikey?"

Michael just shot one dead glare to him and shook his head slowly.

"But I like how you're thinking; we could masturbate with them!"

"Trevor, that's disgusting..."

"Noooo try it! They are incredibly soft!"

"Stop it."

"And so runny when you heat them up! And if you are a good boy, I'd fill them with a very special cream for you..."

"T..."

"Michael, I love you, but you are one big fucking buzzkill, you know that?" Trevor slid down the table, finished the bottle and put it back into the crate. Stretching like a cat, he crossed the space between them and casually leaned against the counter next to Michael and tugged him into a half hug, leaving hand lower on his hip than Michael would have liked. He tried his best to look mad and sulking, glaring up into Trevor's grinning face.

"Aww look at those pretty lips pouting! Why don't we put them into good use..." Trevor leaned closer, and Michael slightly shivered when he felt T's hot breath full of beer and Redwoods on his lips. "...and have a challenge!"

"What?" Michael was utterly baffled. He was so damn ready for a forbidden daytime kiss, but all he could do at the moment was blink a couple of times and see Trevor pull away and laugh.

"Challenge, cupcake! To see how many of these bad boys you can fit into that pretty cockpit of yours."

"Trevor, you know I hate it when you call any part of my body a cockpit!"

"But you are not against stuffing it with marshmallows, are you?"

Michael threw the cloth he was holding to the full sink and immediately regretted the splash because the water would get behind the counter and he simply hated fixing that shit. He turned his frowned gaze to Trevor, who watched him with raised eyebrows and waited for round two of winding him up. There was no use going against Trevor who was determined to annoy him till M would give in. He might as well get it over with sooner than later.

"You know what? Fine. Let's fucking do this." Michael pointed an accusing finger and pushed it as close to Trevor's face as he could to see him cross-eyed and grin wider. "But just because you have a killer whale mouth doesn't mean you'll win!"

Michael stomped to the couch, threw his apron over the closest armrest and continued to the bathroom at the same pace, because why not taking advantage and getting his storage empty before the game begins? Judging by the sounds coming from the kitchen, Trevor decided to do the same, but in the sink right next to the washed dishes. Fucking A.

A lot of rustling and swearing later, Michael decided it was safe to return from his porcelain throne and fall back on the couch, scrutinizing Trevor's grin with suspicion and still wiping water off his hands. Trevor returned his gaze with lively flames in eyes and patted the open bag sitting on his lap.

"Ok Mikey, you start."

Michael's unimpressed gaze did not affect Trevor, determined to see his cheeks stuffed. Without a word, Michael reached into the open bag, snatched one marshmallow from the top and put it in his mouth. He almost let his angry act slip when he saw pink tip of Trevor's tongue wet his lips and then lick around the white foam as it disappeared in his mouth. Alright, he can do better than his boyfriend, can't he? The second marshmallow stuck to the inside of his cheek. And then third, fourth, fifth, tenth...

"yoo cunt fat in any mour, Miki? Yoo r a pushi!"

Michael felt a few drops of sweat roll down his temple - and instinctively frowned and balled his hands in fists. He knew he must have looked ridiculous with all the white foam sticking out his mouth, but for love of God, Michael couldn't let Trevor win, not with that smug expression he sported and with the bag almost empty, which meant just a couple of candies away from victory.

"jooosh ya waat, ya kanaaanian fek"

Fuck, his jaw hurt so fucking bad from keeping it forcibly open. It was precisely that kind of pain that woke him up in the night covered in a cold sweat after his brain gave him a dream about blowing a huge cock. Unpleasant and persistent. Michael exhaled through his nose, and while keeping eye contact with grinning Trevor, he slowly craned one hand into the almost empty bag.

Oh fuck!

Nothing could prepare Michael for the feeling of the soft, hot skin under his fingers and the impossibly wide shit-eating grin Trevor put on. It wasn't like Michael wouldn't expect T to cheat, or come up with a different kind of prank. Still, this oddly familiar thing hardening under his fingers literally took his breath away - and Michael shot up from the couch, wheezing, progressively getting more and more red as he stumbled against scarce furniture.

"Bwahahahaha, you should have seen your face, Mikey - I've never seen you more wide-eyed than now! One would think you're used to the feeling of my dick in your hand by now, baby, but thank you!"

Trevor let the rest of the laugh resonate and mix with the wheezing and choking.

"Mike? You can stop, I got it, you hate it... are you ok?"

In answer, Michael's eyes bulged out, and his face tinted blue.

"That's not funny, sugar..."

Trevor's face grew the most serious Michael had ever seen it when he quickly rounded him, hugged him from behind and pushed against Michael's ribs a couple of times with force M was sure was enough to finish him. Instead of crushing into his ribcage, the last blow loosened something within, and he just watched the cursed candy fly through the thick air and roll under the couch in a ball of saliva and dirt.

For a second, Michael could barely do anything else but take deep breaths and hang onto Trevor's arms that held him steady cautiously. However, he never was a man to put rage off, and with one quick movement, he turned around and slapped Trevor across his frightened face.

"YOU FUCKING PRICK, WHY DID YOU DO THAT!!!"

"Mikey, it was just a prank, I didn't want to kill you!"

"REALLY? REALLY? YOU'VE WANTED TO KILL ME SINCE THE FIRST TIME YOU SAW ME YOU ANIMAL!"

Not even the visible hurt and a couple of tears on Trevor's face didn't stop him from going on with his rant. He paced towards the door as fast as possible and turned around to point a finger to T one more time.

"This is the last time I put up with your shenanigans, Trevor. I'm done with you; we're over, you hear me? OVER!"

"Michael! Wait!"

"FUCK YOU!"

Michael stomped out of the trailer and right into the unforgiving Sandy Shores sun, swiftly passing a bunch of half-dissolved marshmallows, and turned around in the middle of the road to gaze back at Trevor one last time.

"MIKEY!"

"TOO LATE, T! DO YOU THINK I'LL WAIT HERE FOR ANOTHER MURDER ATTEMPT? THAT I'LL KEEP SCRUBBING YOUR DIRTY DISHES AND WASHING YOUR DISGUSTING CLOTHES WHILE WAITING FOR YET ANOTHER KNIFE IN BETWEEN MY RIBS? NO! SO LONG, LOVE, AND FU..."

Whatever it was Michael wanted to say, it was completely drowned in the sound of screeching brakes and sighs of metal being deformed in an impact. Before the world switched off and he slowly slipped into comforting darkness, Michael heard a blood-chilling cry and the same voice calling his name, a voice he painfully needed to hear and hold onto like a lifeline.

*****************

Rhythmic Beeping. So loud. Droplets of fluid. Impossibly loud. And why is this light so damn white?

Michael had to blink a couple of times before his eyes decided to focus and adjust to the brightness in the room. He had no idea what the hell has happened to him, every part of his body switched on to let him know he was in a fucking lot of pain that was somehow numbed by whatever they put into the fluid dropping steadily into his IV. As a result, every muscle in his body vibrated in a very uncomfortable, subtle way, and it occurred to him it felt like that one time when they lived above a night club - a constant, low and very intruse mumble.

Moving his head around was near impossible - there was something around his neck, keeping it still. With a minor spike of anxiety, he decided to check whether his toes and fingers even respond. Good, he could feel the sheets rubbing against his moving feet, gentle creases in the bedsheet under one of his hands and... someone else's fingers under the other?

The hand twitched as if in sleep, and tightened its grip on his own. Somewhere near his bed, a familiar sleepy grunt echoed, and Michael's memory filled his vision with many pictures of lazy mornings in a small trailer bed, where the same sensation mixed with dust dancing in scarce sunrays and unexplainable peace.

"Michael..."

"T... Trevor..."

A rustle later, Michael could finally see the familiar face hover over him and block out most of the light. He looked 30 years older than he did last time Michael saw him, with his eyes red and weighted with huge dark bags. His hair was greasy again, and his stubble coloured salt and pepper from worry. Suddenly, Michael's eyes closed under the rediscovered sensation of Trevor's palm gently caressing his cheek.

"Mikey? Are you awake?"

Michael opened his eyes again to look into Trevor's, and tears he saw gathering in them were breaking his heart.

"Trevor..."

The sudden extra weight on Michael's body as Trevor jumped onto the bed and straddled him made him wince in pain.

"Oh my God, I was so afraid you'd..."

Trevor bit his lip and tried to stop the tears by taking a shaky breath. Then, as gentle as he could ever be, he leaned in and took Michael's head in both hands, and brushed his thumbs over his cheeks in tiny circles - a movement which Michael found oddly satisfying. Just as he closed his eyes and eased into the feeling again, familiar lips gently touched his forehead and stayed for longer than ever as if Trevor tried to channel everything he wasn't able to say trough the kiss.

"I almost lost you, Mikey..."

Trevor could not hold his tears in anymore, and just let them fall down onto Michael's face as he gently pressed his forehead against the very place his lips left a moment before.

"Please don't leave me, I can't... I can't live without you!"

"I'm so sorry I hurt you, love, can you forgive me?"

Michael wasn't sure Trevor heard or understood what he said - instead of answering, Trevor just collapsed sideways and squeezed him tight, sobbing into the white sheets. With all the strength left within him, Michael pulled him into a soft hug, and let his hand resting on Trevor's shoulder.

"T?"

"M?"

"Look, I... I'm sorry it had to end this way... I overreacted and got you worried sick, that's the last thing I'd ever want."

"No, I admit, it was stupid to put my dick in the bag. I apologize, Mikey... Are you still leaving me, though?"

Michael's grip on him tightened, seeking the heat and well-known frame against him.

"... No. I said stupid things in the heat of the moment, and now I regret I did. I don't want to hurt you."

"Are you coming back home with me?"

"I am, baby - as soon as I can. I love you, T, and I'm too tired to fight it..."

Trevor's head slowly rose from this shoulder, and he could see both surprise and relief on his face. He would give anything to keep that childlike expression on for longer. His own mouth curved into a slight, but warm smile.

"Let's seal the deal with the kiss, shall we?"

Trevor slowly climbed back upon him, and this time, Michael could feel a familiar kick of lust under his belly as T's ass grazed over the sensitive area. Trevor has never been this gentle with him before, and when he closed his eyes as their lips met, all he could think of was the first time he saw him standing by a lone plane and the way it felt to fall in love at first sight with him.

"Mmmm.... Mikey, careful with that, one more poke on my ass and I'll have to ride you right here."

"Shut up,"

There was no malice in Michael's voice for just a joy of having the old horny Trevor back along with the over-the-edge suggestive banter. The grin over the flushed face above him told him Trevor was more than glad he was back to his old self too.

"And put those pretty lips to work, sugar!"

T just snickered, planted the last brief kiss on his lips and disappeared under the whirlwind of sheets.

[crowleyellestair]

Silence For Happiness - Geralt

AN/// Sorry for the wait, work and life has been eating away at me. This week should be a large fic dump though, so expect content!!! Thank you for that fact, as I wasn’t aware. This actually make my heart flutter reading that, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart : ) I hope you like it. I tried to make it more playful at the end

For the wonderful @theichabbieclub​

Making baby sounds as an adult woman was weird. It had to be believable, to an extent, and she had to make it seem like it was coming from the bundle in her arms. Truthfully, there was a child size log with a bomb resting in her elbow, swaddled like a child, though their target wouldn’t know the difference. Y/n’s eyes darted from tree to tree while trying to look inconspicuous, shushing the log while bouncing it somewhat. She could hear the snapping of twigs and rustling bushes, though her head stayed forward. There would be no back up until the thing was in the open, though she had yet to receive the signal that Jaskier and Geralt had made it. Y/n scolded herself, reminding herself that she was a warrior, and she traveled with the White Wolf. She could handle anything by herself, and since there was no real child to take care of, she would be fine. There was a plop behind her, alerting her to the thing stalking close. It was go time.

Y/n lit a match against her leather belt, lighting the fuse. Keeping the bundle wrapped, she quickly kneeled, placing it on the ground. She swiftly started to walk away, only looking back one the thing stopped walking after a few paces, its claws picking up the blanket. Y/n sprinted a few more steps away as the bomb went off, flinging her cape up to shield herself from any stray silver shrapnel. The twisted entity in front of her shrieked, from both pain and the realization that the child was fake. When there was no witcher jumping into the small valley, she knew she was on her own. Y/n quickly charged the beast, silver saber drawn. The creature’s long nails swung, but wasn’t fast enough for Y/n to miss a parry. The warrior was reduced to only defensive measures as the beast was relentless. Soon enough, when Y/n had landed enough blows, the creature made a death throw, going all in. It charged the warrior, grabbing her by the vest, talon like hands digging into her shoulders. Her back hit a tree, and the creature pulled back, bringing her along. Again and again the beast slammed the woman into the tree, starts filling her vision, air fleeing from her body. With every strike against the bough, she could feel her spin rattle, and pain shoot through her ribs. After a handful of strikes, she finally noticed the large piece of shrapnel sticking from the deformed woman’s collar bone, and her hand shot out to push it in. The creature dropped her, and she rolled to her sword, swinging at the thing’s legs. She swiftly cut her down, taking of the thing’s head once and for all. Cuts throughout her vest and shoulders were the only visible injuries, though the internal damage was immense.

Jaskier burst through the bushes, lute raised, but his crazed eyes found her sitting, trying to catch her breath next to the headless creature. He dropped it, Geralt bursting through the bushes next, holding a similar swaddle. Her rows raised, trying to take her mind off the pain, silently questioning the bundle in her lover’s arms and the brown, red spread over her best friend’s figure.

“Animals. Dead animals everywhere. I took this part of the contract thinking I’d come out clean for once-.” Geralt’s scoff cut him off, though his tone was soft, and she recognized it as the tone he uses with her wrapped in one another’s arms.

“You didn’t have a choice.” Jaskier swaggered over to the beast’s body, poking it with his foot before holding out a hand to her. She declined, but motioned to the water skin on his hip, trying to take the attention off of how quickly she denied his help. If she was going to get up, it would be on her own time. She could barley breath as ribs were definitely broken, but she would take inventory in a moment. Though, all thoughts of that ended once the bard’s thumb jabbed backwards in the air towards the slowly moving Geralt.

“We found the kid alive and well. A happy ending for all. Do you think we will be named the kid’s Godly parents?”  Y/n’s eyes never left the witcher, her heart speeding up once more, and drowning out Jaskier’s voice. Wide amber eyes were entranced, staring in wonderment down to the bundle in his arms. His entire upper body was stiff, and he was walking as he would when sneaking up to a monster with heightened hearing. A small hand poked out, trying to grab at the lose white hair that swung invitingly over the child’s face. His brows furrowed upwards, looking almost frightened at the outstretched hand. The pain she felt ebbed away at the sight, nothing existing except the love of her life holding the child.

Much ran through her mind in that moment, many things consisting of the future she wished to spend with the witcher. She knew a kid wasn’t in the cards, but somehow, she would try to convince him to collect his child surprise. There didn’t need to be a cottage, stable job, thriving garden or lazy Saturdays to make Y/n happy. She simply needed Geralt in her future to make her future complete, and his happiness was hers. The glow of reigned excitement was familiar to her, often seeing it in her witcher’s eyes when he looked upon her in public. Y/n tried to be as much as she could for the man, though she was aware she couldn’t be or bring everything. But she would try her damndest.

She was taken out of the frequently repeated vows to bring the witcher light and contentment by the brunette plopping down next to her, and bumping his shoulder into hers. Pain flooded the forefront of her mind, and a gasp came tumbling from her lips. Worry painted Jaskier, and Geralt made for her, but stopped when he heard the child in his arms gurgle. Worried eyes flew over her form, and she steeled her looks to present a smile.

“Claws in the shoulder ‘s all.” He gave an unconvinced nod, but looked back down at the child. She slowly got to her feet, giving the same smile to the bard and began down the path where they had decided to leave Roach. Jaskier continued to hover, making the baby giggle, and Geralt was truly perplexed. Y/n wasn’t going to do anything to ruin the time the witcher had with the small child in his arms, so continued to keep her mouth shut about her ribs and back. Once the trio had gotten to the mare, Geralt had a bashful smile gracing his features. Y/n couldn’t help but truly smile in return, until it turned sour at the witcher’s offer.

“Get on Roach.” Usually Geralt would offer her the horse when she was far worse for wear than he, though she didn’t think it was the best idea. Offering it to Jaskier instead would seem to suspicious, let alone the fact that she had never declined the offer before. The only smooth way to keep her off of the horse would be to ask to carry the baby, though she would never do that when he looked so enchanted. Giving a curt nod, she pulled herself onto the mare, her forehead resting on her neck for a moment to regain her strength. Roach gave a worried snort in response to her tense rider, but luckily, neither of the boys noticed. The trio had made their way back into town, Jaskier singing of the spooky lair filled with animal corpses, Y/n keeping in sobs with every step Roach took, and Geralt wishing every happiness to the babe in his arms.

Hearing the bard’s voice, the mother they had met earlier flew out of the house, almost tripping over herself to get to them. She almost bulldozed the White Wolf, her arms wrapping around the baby. Geralt had a hint of sadness in his eyes, though a ghost of a smile was present seeing the baby smile, grabbing onto his mother’s thumb and shoving it into his mouth. The husband rushed out due to hearing his wife cry. A smile broke across his face as he jogged to them, tears streaking his own face. Mariene, the wife, smiled. Her hand reached up to the witcher, cupping his pale cheek. Y/n smile once more, Jaskier playing triumphant background music as the rest of the village left their tasks to surround them. The woman slowly slid down the horse, watching from beside the bard and mare how praise finally rained onto the wolf. Her hand went to hold her ribs, pushing.

“Thank you! Thank you!” Mariene cried. The thanks fell from her lips like a prayer, the witcher shocked. He shook his head and pointed to Y/n, Mariene pointing praise to the warrior as well. The husband, Bernerd, shook Geralt’s hand as Mariene hugged the lights out of Y/n, quite literally. She tried to say something, but the stars flooded her vision. Luckily, Mariene moved to Jaskier, but the bard’s worried gaze flew to Geralt as he called to him. The witcher quickly caught the fainting woman, all joy taken by fear. He was quick to her side, his amber eyes pleading with the bard silently to keep the village attention. They didn’t need a scene, the town loosing too many people to the creature already. He swooped Y/n into a bridal hold, but she started to moan in pain by the hold on her ribs and spine. She tried to arch away, but she couldn’t breath either, not being able to walk.

The woman continued to blink in and out of consciousness, the witcher’s worried voice keeping her earthed. His own pained expression silenced her, her lips sealing so all noises were casted into pained grunts.

“Stay with me, Y/n. Only a few more steps.” Despite her trying to do many things, among them apologizing for ruining his rare moment of joy, she couldn’t stay awake.

//

Jaskier’s voice flew throughout the inn, the melody he sung slipping through the floorboards into their room. Practically the entire village was there, despite everything. The couple had paid in full for the return of their child, the Alderman paying for the trophy of the creature, the innkeeper clearing their tab and the village’s heart once they heard of the whole tale. Y/n had been out cold for a day, and the town wished on every star for her health after finding that she was the one who fought the thing. The couple had brought the child around earlier in the morning for Geralt to see, wanting to see if Y/n had awoken yet. The witcher sat beside her since the healer left, never moving from his chair. His pale hands gently rubbed ointment into Y/n’s stomach as she awoke that night.

Seeing her eyes open to meet his made his mind finally relax. The entire day was spent scolding himself for not seeing the signs. He knew everything about Y/n, trying his hardest to make her happy in anyway he could. The White Wolf never really took to conversations, so he expressed himself by listening, observing and doing. He trusted Y/n to take care of herself, but that didn’t mean that slip ups never happened. Maybe if he noticed sooner. If he had stuck to their routine, checking over her like every other contract, he could have noticed, and they wouldn’t be in this situation. Jaskier had pulled up a chair, sitting and watching next to him the night prior. The bard had also refused to leave or sleep, only getting a wink of rest when he passed out from exhaustion. That too Geralt burdened. The bard took to mending Y/n’s main vest, the claws had punctured holes into it. He had also found water and a sponge for Geralt to wash her shoulders. Jaskier also tried to convince Geralt that it wasn’t just his fault, the bard not noticing or asking either, but the witcher refused.

Geralt would do anything for Y/n, and he put things like checkups in order to keep her healthy. He couldn’t give her things most people want, and nowhere close to what she deserved. But he tried, and this didn’t help show it. He felt as though he failed her, and failed himself. Y/n was his world, and he couldn’t take care of it. If he couldn’t take care of it, he certainly didn’t deserve it.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” He watched as she slowly blinked, taking in her surroundings. Her eyes flew down to her chest, finding her abdomen and shoulders dusted with ink black, blues and yellows with bruises. She sighed, barely trying to sit up before pain shot through her spine and she settled back down.

“I could have said something.”

“I should have noticed.” She sighed again, her hand landing and stilling one of his that continued its butterfly touches as it rubs in the ointment.

“I would have remained silent again.” His face steeled, leaning in closer as his brows furrowed.

“Why? You were harmed, and I could have helped.” She smiled, eyes closing.

“You looked so happy with that baby. I… I know we can’t have a lot, but you deserve the world. A little joy with the expense of some bruising is worth it.” His hand flipped, snatching hers within his, squeezing.

“You are my world. I should be giving you that joy.” She grunted in annoyance, though her eyes were bright as she opened them again.

“You being happy makes me happy.” He grumbled, clearly defused, but something still bugged him as he went back to rubbing.

“Still, I’m sorry for not asking earlier-.”

“Geralt.”

[queenxxxsupreme]

Ah I see you’re taking requests 👀 imagine being doused with a lust potion and the only way to save her is for Geralt to have her all night long. Smutty but angsty cuz Geralt feels guilty for having to do it when she’s out of her mind? Especially because he has been pining for her secretly maybe?

A/N: I changed a few minor things up and made it super angst because I can’t help myself. Also tbh I’m new to smut and I don’t know how this is so please give me feedback :) I really hope this is angsty enough

Warnings: smut duh, lust curse, praise kink if you squint, hair pulling, cunnilingus, tell me if I forgot anything because my memory is shit

***

You could hear Geralt and Jaskier just outside of the door to your room. You sat on the edge of the bed, your elbows on your knees and your hands over your face, rocking steadily back and forth. 

The burning in your lower abdomen was driving you insane. Your entirety tingled, begging for attention. You could feel the wetness pooling in your panties, threatening to soak through at any second. You needed to be touched, you needed to be fucked.

Hearing Geralt’s deep voice shout at Jaskier made you moan softly. Your brows drew together as you pushed your thighs together even more in a fruitless attempt to control yourself. Just hearing the witcher made your cunt flood with lust and desire. When the hell would this torture end?

It had been four hours since you three ran into a witch in town who had been putting curses on civilians. The curses varied from hideous deformities to more extreme, more lethal things. One of the poor souls to have crossed the witch died from spontaneous combustion. Another died of gorging herself on food.

You had been lucky enough to be cursed with some sort of lust spell. Geralt could sense it, he could smell it. The spell infected your blood, making you smell sweet and delicious. But it took you a while to feel the effects of the curse. You were fine at first, just a little unsteady on your feet. You and the two men you traveled with returned to the inn you were staying at just in time for the curse hit you like a brick wall.

Out of no where, your throat became dry and your fingers and thighs trembled with anticipation. For what, you weren’t sure. Your mind was too clouded, swarming with a white hot desire.

Right now, Geralt and Jaskier were out in the hallway trying to figure out what to do with you. They couldn’t just leave you in your room alone. The curse would kill you. If not tonight, then eventually. The witch always made sure of it.

Geralt wasn’t too keen on going into your room to babysit you. He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d be walking into, but he didn’t want to risk anything. He didn’t want to ruin the strong friendship between you two.

Jaskier knew it wouldn’t be a good idea for him to be the one in charge of making sure you didn’t die or do something stupid. You were an attractive woman and his self control wasn’t the best. He was a lover, a people pleaser. The second you’d start whining or begging him to do anything, he’d cave in and potentially kill you or himself–or both–all because of the damned curse.

You stood to your feet and paced across the room. Your hand cupped your sensitive breast through the thin silk material of your nightgown. You needed to feel something. You were desperate. You’d do anything to get release. You growled in frustration and put your hand by your side. Fuck witches. Fuck magic. Fuck all of them.

The door opened and Geralt stepped in. His scent hit your nose almost instantly and vertigo claimed your balance. You braced yourself against the wooden dresser, your head turning to look at the witcher.

“How do you feel?”

Like I’m on fucking fire and you’re the water. Put me the fuck out, you bastard.

“Fine.” You gritted through clenched teeth, tearing your hungry gaze away from him. Your thoughts weren’t yours, but in a sense they were. You had felt something for the witcher since you met him. He’d saved your life and ever since, you’d hopelessly fallen for him.

You closed your eyes tightly. You rubbed your thighs together again. This time you tried to get some sort of pressure on your throbbing sex. You needed release or you feared your body would explode.

“Leave.” Instead of the word coming out strong and stern, it was a soft plea.

“I can’t do that, Y/N.” He shook his head.

“I-I don’t want you to see me like this.” You brought your hand up to cover your mouth as you nearly moaned at the sound of his voice.

If his voice could do that to you, just imagine what his massive cock could–

“Please, Ger-Geralt.”

“I am here for you, Y/N, to ensure that you don’t hurt yourself.”

You shook your head. Your entirety trembled, vibrating as you struggled to control yourself. Your body wanted to move, to dash across the room and throw yourself on the monstrous man with the intoxicating scent, a delicious mixture of man and earth. But you had just enough control to stay where you were.

“Did you find that fucking witch?” Your voice shook just as bad as your body.

“Yes. In order…. In order to break the curse, you’ll need to bed someone.” He muttered out, clearly a little embarrassed.

Hot tears burned your vision. They were tears of need, a need so violent that you weren’t sure what to do.

“I’m not going to fuck some bastard just because the curse is making me feel like this.”

You were pretty sure you just lied through your teeth. Should the intensity of the curse get any strong, you knew you’d go downstairs to the tavern and find someone to release you from the curse.

“You-You can’t stay.” You whispered, stiffly shaking your head. “If-If you stay…. I can’t promise that I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

Geralt furrowed his brows together and locked his jaw. If you didn’t bed with someone, you were going to die. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of you as more than a friend. You were extraordinary. Your were tough and aggressive when needed. You’d easily scare any man who dared to approach you with ill-intentions. However when you looked at him, your gaze softened and twinkled.

But he also admired your physique, the way your nightgown hugged your curves, how your hardened nipples stuck out through the thin silk of your gown. He loved the way your ass moved when you walked away from him. You shook your hips a little more than necessary when he was watching you.

“Fuck, Geralt.” The whine left your lips without your permission. You were going mad. You pushed yourself away from the dress and crossed the room. He stayed in his spot, amber eyes watching you carefully. You only stopped when you stood toe to toe with the witcher. Your hands came up to his chest but just before you could feel him up, his large hands wrapped around your wrists. You moaned at the feeling of skin to skin contact. The desperation you felt would’ve made you sick had you not been under the curse.

Your pained eyes met his and your brows furrowed together.

“Please, Geralt. Please.” You were breathless just from being this close to him. “If-If you-If you don’t, I will die.”

A growl rested in the back of his throat at the thought of you dying. But he restrained himself from doing what you asked of him. It didn’t feel right to bed you, not while you were under this spell. Surely you didn’t feel anything towards except the primal need to fuck.

“I can’t do that to you, Y/N.”

“Yes you can!” You leaned into his chest, your eyes closing tightly as you tried to breathe correctly. “You-You do it with wenches all the damn time! Why am I any different?”

“Because you are my friend and you aren’t in control of yourself right now. It would be taking advantage of you.” Geralt was almost proud of himself for how much self-control he managed to have. The room was thick with arousal, your arousal and desire.

“You aren’t taking advantage of me if I want this! I-I’ve wanted this for ages, Geralt. I’ve wanted you to fuck me like dirty little whore.”

His breath hitched. You ducked your head down so that you could reach his hand that was latched to your wrist. You nipped at his fingers and moaned at the taste.

“You aren’t in the right state of mind, Y/N.”

“The hell I am!” You jerked against his iron grip but you would’ve had better luck pushing a brick wall than getting him to release you. “Ask Jaskier! The damned bard knows exactly how I feel about you. He knows that I long to be the one you take to bed, the one you hold while you sleep.”

His silence did nothing to help your situation. You let out a pained cry as a surge of what felt like electricity courses through you. Your knees buckled and you would have fallen had Geralt not grabbed you. He steadied you on your feet, his hands releasing your wrists.

“You want this?”

“Yes! Fuck, yes, Geralt.” You placed your hand on the front of his trousers where his semi hard cock was. He inhaled sharply at your sudden actions. “I need you to fuck me hard, witcher.”

Geralt tore your hand away from him and in the same instant he pushed you back on to the bed. You giggled triumphantly. You rubbed your thighs together and bit you bottom lip, watching as he practically tore his tunic shirt off.

He climbed on to the bed to hover over you. One of his hands propped himself up next to your head while the other held your face so he could kiss you deeply, sensually. You almost cried at the delicious feeling of his lips on yours. It was euphoric, heavenly. Your hand came up to tangle in his white hair, tugging softly to urge him to do more.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way.” He pulled away just enough to whisper those words against your lips.

“Don’t be sorry. You’re saving my life.” Your lips left his to leave kisses along his scratchy jaw. The burn between your legs had subsided when he first kissed you, but now it was slowly returning.

He took his hand away from your face so he could use the pad of his index finger to trail a line from your lips down your neck and finally to your breasts. The nightgown you wore had a low cut neck so he was able to push the neckline down and underneath the curve of your breasts. The cold air hitting your nipples made your back arch off the bed. Your hand found his bicep, squeezing him tightly.

“Please, Geralt.”

“Patience, dove.” He breathed into your ear and then began to kiss down the side of your neck. He found your pulse just beneath your jaw and teasingly nipped at the sensitive skin. You jolted, lips parting with a moan.

The fire between your thighs grew but the rest of your body was content with his attention on your breasts. His teeth bit at your sensitive skin. The material to your nightgown was being pulled up to reveal your drenched panties.

“Geralt, fuck.” Your fingers fisted the linens. “Fuck, I-I can’t wait.”

“I just need to make sure you’re ready for me, dove.” He took ahold of the waistband of your panties and easily ripped the thin material. You gasped at the tingling sensation it left behind.

His mouth continued its gentle assault on your tit, teeth dragging across your nipple. His hand between your legs tentatively dipped into your soaking core. You cried out as he stuck his thick index into you. Your hips bucked for more, begging him to do more. He sat back on his knees next to you. His hand withdrew from your heat. He grabbed your legs behind the bend of your knees and turned you on the bed so that he was between your parted legs. One of his hands pinned your hips to the mattress while his opposite went back to your cunt. The rough pad of his fingertips against your clit made you jump, but he kept you in place.

“Fuck, dove. You’re soaked.” He breathes out. Liquid amber eyes gazed at your core with hunger.

“All for you, Geralt.” You whined pitifully.

“Good girl.” He smirked devilishly. He worked his index in and out of you, enjoying the way you’d mewl or whine because it wasn’t enough. He added another finger. His opposite hand came down so that his thumb could rub your clit. His massive hand still held your hips down as he rubbed lazy circles into the most sensitive part of you. Your knees bent just slightly and your legs spread wide, urging him to take her.

Your head fell to the side, your fingers tightening even more around the linens. The heat in your stomach was intense, growing the more he worked you with his thick rough fingers. Your orgasm was coming and Geralt could see that. His fingers suddenly left your cunt and you whimpered at the loss. Your heart hammered in your chest as you tried to get yourself to relax. You could feel your heart against your rib cage, begging to be freed.

Geralt hooked his hands beneath your knees and pushed them closer to your chest, revealing your entirety to him. Had you not been so clouded by desire and need, you’d be a little embarrassed at how carnal his gaze was as he admires your pretty, slick folds.

His eyes flickered up to meet yours as he lowered himself to be level with your cunt. He hummed deep from within his chest, almost like he was purring with content. He licked a hot stripe up your slit. His eyes shut as your taste envelopes him.

One of your hands left the linens to tangle in his hair. Just as he sucked sharply on your swollen clit, you tugged at his white hair. He moaned deeply, the vibrations from the moan could be felt on your heat as he continued his delicious assault on your cunt. He kept you in place on the bed, refraining you from bucking up against him no matter how hard you tried.

One of his hands left its position on the back of your knee so that he could slide two fingers into your soaking cunt. You whined, your fingers curling tighter around his hair. He moved quick, his thick digits filling the emptiness inside while his lips and tongue worked on your clit.

You were blindsided by you orgasm, your toes curling and your back arching off the bed. Your eyes closed tightly and you bit your bottom lip. As wave after wave of pleasure coursed through you, his actions became softer, working you through your climax. Your body trembled, muscles convulsing as you moaned his name.

He pulled away and smirked just a little, watching your chest rise and fall with every heavy breath. Your eyes slowly opened and you met his gaze.

“Good girl.”

The praise sent a new wave of tingling sensations through your body. The burning in your abdomen returned, causing you to whine softly. He worked to undo his trousers and push them down just enough to free his massive cock. You moaned, your mouth watering at the sight. You sat up, using one hand to hold yourself that way while your opposite reached out to take his thick length. You didn’t even get a chance to touch his beautifully hard member before Geralt’s fingers wrapped around yours, tugging your hand away from him.

“Not now.”

“But I want to, Geralt.” You pleaded. You desperately wanted to taste him, to feel his heavy length on your tongue.

“Next time.” He murmured gently, bringing his hand up to cup your face. His thumb brushed across your flushed cheek, admiring the pink tinge that came from your orgasm.

You turned your head to take his thumb between your teeth, sucking and moaning softly. He grunted at the action and didn’t dare to move his hand. His opposite hand came up to wrap around his girth. He pumped himself a couple times, then tapped the swollen head of his cock against your opening. You jolted each time, your oversensitive cunt leaking even more for him.

He pulled his thumb from your mouth, brushing the wet pad over your lips. You me lips fell open in a whiny moan as he pushed the head of his length into your cunt. The burning in your abdomen was briefly replaced with a stinging pain that came with being stretched open by his huge cock. Your brows furrowed together and tears pricked your vision. Your eyes closed. Geralt put one hand on your thigh, holding your leg to his hip. His other hand held the side of your neck. He dipped his head down to put his lips beside your ear, whispering softly in encouragement. He moved gently in and out of you, working more of his length into you little by little.

“You’re such a good girl for me, dove. Taking me in your tight cunt.”

“Fuck.” You cursed through gritted teeth as his pelvis met yours. He was sheathed fully inside of you, your walls fluttering and pulsating around him. He breathed heavily through his nose, pressing his lips to your damp forehead. Your hand came up to hold his bicep, fingers curling into the muscular flesh. The pain was subsiding but your legs were tingling from the stillness. “Move.”

He pulled out all the way and carefully pushed back in. This happened a few more times before you laid back on the bed and brought your hand down to your cunt. Before you got a chance to rub your needy clit, he knocked your hand out of the way. His thumb brushed tight circles against you.

“Harder.” You begged, your hand still holding his opposite bicep. “Please.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice was shaky. It was taking every ounce of self control he had not to fuck you like he desired.

“Please, Geralt!” You cried out, bucking your hips against him. He grunted, his hand leaving your cunt to hold your hips own. “Fuck me like the whore I am. Please.”

“You’ll tell me if I hurt you?”

“Fuck! Yes! Yes, I will!”

Geralt was conflicted. He didn’t want to hurt you, especially with your mind being hazy from the curse. But you wanted this, and admittedly he did too.

He took your hands and pulled you into his lap, his cock still buried deep inside you. His thick arms wrapped around you, encasing you in his sweaty, protective hold. You took the chance to kiss his jaw, moaning at the tingling of his scruff against your sensitive lips.

He began to thrust up into you, his fingers digging into your thigh and your hip. The dirty squelching sound of his cock pushing back into your soaked cunt filled the room. You bit his bottom lip, urging him to kiss you.

His tongue slipped into your mouth and you gladly took it, enjoying the taste of him. His grip on your skin was sure to leave bruises as he held you where he wanted you, thrusting in and out at a rapid pace.

Suddenly, you were falling backwards on to the bad, a little yelp of surprise escaped your lips followed by a breathy moan as his thick cock slipped from your folds. He hooked one arm underneath your knee and moved so that he was laying over you. He held you open, exposing you to him as he lined himself up to your dripping cunt.

In one swift push, he sheathed himself inside of you. He swallowed your moans as he latched his lips to yours. You’re almost there, on the verge of coming undone beneath the witcher. Your nails claw at his skin, leaving red, angry raised lines.

“Come on, dove. Be a good girl for me. Cum for me.” He panted out against your lips. Your head falls back, bearing your neck to him as you moan and allow the orgasm to wash over you. Your body trembled and twitched in his arms. His teeth bit at your pulse as he worked you through the orgasm, chasing his own in the process.

You chanted his name like a quiet prayer, holding him cas close as possible. With one final thrust, he spilled his load deep inside you. You whined at the feeling of his hot cum in your tight cunt. You squeezed and milked everything he had to offer, savoring the feeling.

He buried his face in your neck, his breath hot and tingly on your skin. Your finger loosen on his back and your body slowly untenses. His softening cock slipped from you, causing a little whine to escape your lips. You could feel the mixture of your juices and his cum dripping from your used cunt.

He rolled off of you and on to his side. His eyes stuck to you, watching the way you tried to even your breathing.

“How do you feel?” His voice was quiet and husky.

“Better.” A lazy, dazed smile crossed your lips. You turned your head to look at him. The cloudiness was gone. You could think straight. “Thank you.”

He gave you a half hearted smile, one that made your stomach twist. It wasn’t real.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized quietly, looking back to the ceiling.

“You did nothing wrong.” He gently shook his head.

“I-I practically made you do that.” Your voice broke down to a feeble whisper. You turned your head away from him. Your chest tightened with an unfamiliar pain. You feared you were going to lose him because of this. “I’m-I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t make me do a damn thing.”

When you didn’t look at him, he put his hand on your cheek and made you look at him.

“My only regret is that you regret this.”

You shook your head, brows furrowing together. Your gaze met his amber eyes.

“I-I don’t regret this. I mean-I don’t regret doing it with you. I just wish it was under different circumstances.“ You turned over on your side to face him. You brought your hand up to cradle his stubbled jaw. You admired the dark and graying stubble, the way it softly burned your skin. “I’ve fancied you for as long as I’ve known you.”

He grumbled deep within his chest, a sound of disagreement.

“You think I’m lying to you?” You quirked a brow up. When he said nothing, you leaned over to softly kiss his lips. This one was different than the previous ones you shared with the witcher. This was gentle and lazy. You were no longer chasing an orgasm. You were just there. “I was honest earlier when I said you could ask Jaskier of my feelings towards you.” You placed your head on his chest. “I just wish our first time had been more romantic.”

His hand came to rest on your lower back, his thumb tracing circles into your warm skin.

“Romance is overrated.” He assured you, leaning down to kiss the top of your head.

Taglist: @riviawitch3r​ @rosyghosty​ @itsallyouhavegotinsideyourhead​ @lalalalemonade11​ @tshuuls​ @jennylovelyheart​ @queen-sands​

p.s. if I didn’t tag you and you want to be added to the NSFW Witcher taglist I’ve got, let me know. On the same note if you don’t want to be added to the NSFW Witcher taglist let me know. When some of you said you wanted to be added to a taglist you either said both or said taglists so I just want to make sure that I’ve everyone where they are suppose to be :)

[drawing079]

Exception On Line 129

Chapter 6: Ephialtes Interlude

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

A Human AU SCP-079 x SCP-682 Fanfic

Warnings: Violence, Alcoholism, Brain damage/trauma, Police brutality, Sexual content

Description: Zero is a reclusive computer science major, floating by in college with the help of vodka by his side. His only human interaction seems to be from his distant father, who abandoned him as a child but now is trying to make a bit of effort to be back in his life. And after a failed virus he sends to a Cray supercomputer gets exposed, he is forced to pay for the consequences of his cyber crimes in more ways than one.

During an unnecessarily violent arrest, he suffers a brain injury and anterograde amnesia, damaging his short-term memory. But during his time detained, he meets a violent man with an infamous short-temper, who takes a surprising interest in him.

(Read it here on Ao3 or continue below)

Exception On Line 129: Ephialtes Interlude

Most people know their body and sleep patterns well enough, that they can predict certain things. Maybe they know what will make them sleepwalk, or give them nightmares. Maybe they know how to wake themselves up from a bad dream, or fall asleep within minutes of deciding it’s time for bed.

Zero never understood people who were really in tune to their sleep like that. Although he was broadly categorized as an insomniac, he learned that he could sometimes invite sleep sooner with a few shots of vodka. Or, it would keep him up later by encouraging him to have another round, but it wasn’t consistent which way the night would swing when he went to pour one out. However, if there was one thing Zero could guarantee about his sleep, it was that he got wet dreams when he was stressed.

Embarrassing, but true. Maybe it was his subconscious way of coping with stress. Makes sense why when he has a bad day nothing takes the edge off more than a night of drinks and going home with a stranger.

But, somehow, tonight’s dream was way more vivid than the usual.

The first part of the dream that really started being memorable was Numin pushing him aggressively up against a wall.

The room was dim and cold, and so was the wall behind him, but Zero’s lips were locked with Numin’s, and their bodies pressed up against each other provided a sweltering heat that kept him warm.

The place was familiar, and the second Zero spared a thought about it he realized they were in his apartment. Or maybe their apartment? It felt like they lived together in this dream.

Broad, strong hands slid over his slender waist, teasing him as they stopped at his hip bones, and with a yearning whine Zero pressed his pelvis forward to invite those wandering hands behind him. With a dark chuckle, Numin pulled his tongue out of Zero’s mouth for a split moment, so he could watch his face as he aggressively grabbed his ass with both hands.

With a delight groan, Zero arched back into his grip, throwing his head back ever-so-slightly to ravish the feeling.

The hands underneath kept a firm cup under his bottom, and in a sudden motion Zero felt himself hoisted up, which he greeted with a short gasp of pleasant surprise. Almost naturally, his legs came up to wrap around Numin’s waist, steadying himself by a needy grasp encircling the larger man’s neck for support. Upon looking up, he saw some of the glint of light barely filtering into the room hit the bright canines of Numin’s devious smirk.

Something about the way his teeth glistened threateningly felt as if Zero couldn’t tell if Numin was going to kiss into his neck or rip out his jugular between his incisors.

And before he could predict which one it would be, the beast rushed forward to devour his prey, and Zero couldn’t help the little noises escaping his throat as he felt those dangerous teeth leave a certainly inhibited bite on the skin between his neck and shoulder.

The idea of wearing a scarf of delicious bruises and hickeys from Numin’s mouth made his hip buck forward, grinding down on the man he was wrapped around. Almost as a reward, he felt himself rub over something firm and prominent, albeit muted from the barriers of fabric between them.

Eager to make his own excitement be known as well, Zero gave a rolling arch of his back, allowing his own erection to rub up against Numin‘s. And almost as if rewarding him, Numin gave a fervent suck of the stolen flesh between his teeth, not ceding until it tinged with a reddish hue. The tangible formation of that hickey made Zero whine needily under his mouth, only encouraging Numin’s ego.

Upon drawing back to admire his own work, he saw Zero’s mouth agape in carnal delight, and pale face flushed into a rouge hue. Heaving, still enraptured by the fresh bruises blessing his neck, Zero licked his bottom lip at him, carefully pushing the ring around it suggestively.

Entertaining him, the larger man tightened his grip around Zero, before pulling his hips down against his own to grind up into them. It earned a desperate cry from the smaller man, but he was in the mood to hear more from him than just incomprehensible noises.

“Say my name.” He commanded, voice husky and laced with an obvious note of his own enrapturement. The way that voice commanded the air sent a wave of goosebumps sailing over Zero’s skin, intoxicated by his deep and velvety tones.

Eager to comply, Zero’s mouth opened on a moan, ready to put his name on his lips-- until, he realized, he didn’t know his name.

A sudden embarrassed panic dropped in his chest, and he hoped it was too dark for the man to make out the obvious perturbation in his face. How could he forget the name of a man like this?

“Zero. My name, say my name.” The voice commanded again, although less commanding and more… monotone, this time. Like the texture of his vocal cords was getting lost in Zero’s fragmented memory.

“I-I don’t know, it doesn’t matter…” huffing, feeling the spike of adrenaline in his blood, he tried to wave it off and continue on with the more sexy details.

Until those details weren’t there anymore. The hands on him stopped feeling hot, or even warm. It was getting too dark to even distinguish anything but a silhouette of the man before him.

What happened to the details?

“What’s my name? What’s my name, Zero?” This time the voice wasn’t just monotone, it was borderline inhuman. Like a bird spitting out sounds that it didn’t understand, mimicking words in pseudo-speech that treaded into the uncanny valley.

Regretting his position against the wall, Zero had no room to distance himself and he meekly unhooked his legs from the strange figure, stumbling a bit on his feet as he squeak back, “I-I’m sorry, I don’t know--”

The place where those hands made contact with him had noticeably lost its warmth; the man’s skin felt like ice, almost as if he had become a corpse. The creature holding onto him wasn’t even human at this point. The noises out its mouth were merging words like one big stream of sound, spitting out gibberish that was only vaguely understandable.

“My name, what’s my name? What’s my name, name, name? Zero, what’s my name? Name? What’s my name?”

Like a horrible interlude, it began just making noisy lip smacks and pops, like the mouth around those words were melting as it spoke, and it needed practice with it to accommodate. It babbled like its tongue was sticking to the roof of its mouth, like it was speaking with a gloopy mouth full of peanut butter. The outline of the figure got fuzzy, alike to the blurry details in a dark black-and-white photo or an out-of-focus polaroid, walking the line between being something to being nothing. Staring at the supposed edge of the silhouette didn’t help either, as it continuously yet slowly distorted beneath the gaze, at a rate slow enough that the perception felt more like vertigo than a sincere deformation of the figure. The growing pit at the bottom of Zero’s stomach twisted in nausea the longer he tried to discern its shape, dread swelling up in his chest and settling in all the wrong places.

He didn’t just forget the name; Zero couldn’t even remember the face of who that creature was supposed to represent, and that failure of his memory reflected back to him through this eldritch simulacrum. Before him was the culmination of every vague and forgotten information lost from the individual it once represented. The silhouette was ever-changing, yet remaining a looming dark mass. The details of color, shape, or likeness had melted into the backdrop of darkness around it, and its only dimensional consistency was its lack thereof.

Worse yet, the simulacrum continued its mockery of speech once it had adjusted to its malformed mouth.

“What is my name. What is my name. What is my name—“

To call it a voice was unfitting, the words lacked any nature in their cords that could lead Zero to believe a living creature was making them. Even trying to imagine it was a creature producing them tinged the presence of metal in Zero’s mouth. The simulacrum, this vile ephialtes invading his consciousness, spoke so uncanny that its words were stuck echoing in his ears, as if the garbled voice was ricocheting inside his own head.

“I don’t know! Just stop, please just stop…” Voice straining against the thick suffocating air, they sounded almost mute compared to the insistent repetition of the simulacrum.

Then, as if the world was pulled out from under him, he felt a sudden drop out of this horrific rendition of reality, snapping back into the real world with such a speed that it felt like conscious whiplash.

Startled, he jumped, and in that moment he recognized the departure out of dreamland and into his body. Even though the sheets around him were light and airy, his skin felt hot and damp, and the first thing he became aware of was his sweat mending his back to the fabric beneath him.

The lights were dimmed. It was the middle of the night according to the plain white clock ticking softly above the door, contesting with his heart rate monitor between being the only noises in the room. Yet, their off-sync tempos almost made it seem as though they were complementary, somehow adding calmness to the room. Or, perhaps anything compared to that nightmare seemed like the epitome of tranquility.

Confused, he checked his hand, and surely enough noticed his IV line was taped back upon the poor vein it has been yanked from one too many times. And next to the IV printed in neat lettering was a name: Numin.

A sigh of relief escaped at the recognition of that name.

He was so certain he had forgotten. Actually, even now, he can’t remember the last interaction he had with Numin. After freeing himself from his medical shackles and shuffling over with a grace that rivals a toddler learning to walk, Zero didn’t remember much besides kissing his roommate.

A sudden color tinged his pale cheeks.

They kissed. That much, Zero is certain of-- even though his memory after said kiss got very butchered afterwards. On top of that, beside the certainty of said kiss existing, he was also positive that it was Numin who had grasped his hospital gown and pulled him down into it.

The color on his face intensified, waxing with every second he spent dwelling on that memory.

They hadn’t just kissed; Numin instigated the kiss.

However, like a dismal cliffhanger at the end of a fantastic season finale, Zero drew a blank on what exactly happened next. Hell, he couldn’t even remember returning to bed and falling asleep. Did they spend the time fondly cuddling and sharing intimate thoughts on hushed, quiet breaths between themselves? Did they continue making out, before not really feeling into it and learning they didn’t have as much of a spark as once thought? Did they just flat out have sex last night?

Anything was on the table at this point, and Zero was prepared to play this scavenger hunt with his own memories. After all, it would be quite embarrassing to wake Numin-- whom Zero could tell was fast asleep from his sporadic snoring across the room-- and ask him what happened. Not only would it be embarrassing on Zero’s part, but what if his lack of recall of a potentially fond and intimate moment was a red flag to Numin that’ll make him recede his interest in a fresh amnesiac?

Sitting up, slow enough in case Numin was a light sleeper, Zero brought his hand up to the faint glow of the heart rate monitor to examine the IV line.

Despite the darkness of the room, the dim monitor light was just enough illumination to realize he didn’t even have the IV line in. Rather, it looked as if the medical tape was just tape back over the vein to hold the line in place, leading Zero to the relieving conclusion that a nurse hadn’t come in and interrupted them. Instead, it appears Zero himself probably taped the line down and planned on pretending to a nurse in the morning that it had fallen out of the vein during the night. After all, he didn’t have the original needle to insert the IV tube, and probably wouldn’t have the best idea on doing it both safely and believably.

Even though it was the plan of a forgotten consciousness, a soft smirk of pride ghosted his lips at the idea of taping the IV line down. Or perhaps, maybe he was just retrospectively grateful his former self even put an effort to hide the freed IV line at all, for Zero could completely see himself having a steamy night with an interesting man and going to bed without a care how conspicuous he appeared the following morning, consequences be damned. Said consequences would without doubt be sharing Numin’s state of handcuffed confinement, although unlike him Zero would sooner break his own wrist before successfully breaking out any cuffs.

Disrupting the line of thought to continue his own self-detective work, Zero carried on.

It only took an exploring hand snaking into his gown to tell that the stickers holding the heart sensors were also inexpertly returned to his chest. So more or less, he was checking all the boxes to at least appear at a glance like he had spent the whole night in his bed.

Now that he had confirmed his former consciousness had already established his alibi, his efforts redirected to figuring out what exactly happened after their kiss. Lucky for him-- although not as lucky for his liver-- Zero has had plenty of experiences deciphering a night he doesn’t remember from all the countless times he’s gotten blackout drunk.

If there was anyone who would probably make a good amnesiac detective, it was Zero. That or every morning-after hangover investigation he had ever done would have all been in vain.

There was a bathroom door in the room, on the far side closer to Numin’s bed. If he could make it there, he could check if maybe he had a hickey or two that’ll allude to what he and Numin was up to a few hours prior.

Zero couldn’t help a little smirk at the thought. After all, maybe Numin finally put those dangerous teeth to use.

Aside from a sly bite of his lip, exciting himself at his own thoughts, he made an effort to try and not let himself get carried away by his suggestive imagination.

Once again, he undid the taping on his hand to detach himself from the IV, and peeled off the sensors from his chest with a bit more care than his haphazard yank earlier. After pushing back the sheets that freely crinkled noisily amidst his stealth, Zero stole another glance up towards Numin, confirming he was still deep in sleep whilst he pushed smoothly off the bed.

Or at least, as smooth as he could over his still unadjusted feet. There were a few patters as he calibrated himself, the balls of his feet meeting the floor and dancing his weight back and forth between the two as if they just weren't landed on the floor quite right, before the muscles of his legs finally all synced together and kept him steady without feeling the need to constantly shift his weight. The sensation of jelly in his legs didn’t go away, but at this point it wouldn’t be a shocker if his head injury was compounding with his lack of coordination. Nevertheless, feet ready to be walking or not, Zero made his way towards the bathroom door as softly as he could to remain quiet.

Embarrassingly enough, the lack of adjustment showed in his gait, as it swayed unsteady and borderline on a stumble at points before evening out as best Zero could manage. Perhaps, what with his lack of an audience it was only embarrassing for himself, but it still brought a sensation of heat to his cheeks that made him that much more cautious to not wake Numin.

But somehow his feet still found it’s way guiding him to the bathroom door, even if he walked with about as much confidence as a newborn deer. There was an auditable sigh of relief upon reaching the door, and completely ignoring the loud creak it made on its hinges, he hurried inside and flicked on the light.

The sudden brightness made him recoil, hands reflexively coming up to shield his unprepared eyes. After a series of squints and blinks, the room became perceivable, albeit a lackluster view what with the bland setup. The walls were a simple powered blue, and the sink and toilet the same porcelain white. Adjacent to the mirror above the sink was an automatic soap dispenser, the kind Zero remembers seeing at shops or restaurants bathrooms, generic for commercial use.

When his eyes laid on his own reflection, he gave a meek whimper at his face.

Adorning one side were the dark blots of bruises, discolored with greenish hues to suggest they were days old, trailing over the cheek of the side the cop had kicked mercilessly, and fading off slightly over his brow. Zero often had bags with his chaotic sleep schedule, but the dark puffiness beneath the eye on the more abused side looked much different than under-eye circles, instead it was more rounded and shiny in appearance. Never having a black eye before in his life, it almost turned his stomach to see one on his own face, even if one so minor in comparison to ones he’s seen on people before.

The gauze around his head was wrapped expertly and tight, with particularly thick padding above that sore spot on his head that wouldn’t stop throbbing. Worst yet, perhaps exacerbated by his recent activity, there was a tinge of bleed-through coloring the thick padding over his head injury, suggesting he had reopened the wound.

Lastly, and probably just as disheartening as the rest of his appearance, he bore no hickeys or bite marks over his neck. But after taking in his own reflection Zero almost doesn’t even blame Numin; he looked so battered and frail that it was no wonder the nurse was surprised he had woken from his coma so soon; it almost looked as if he had no right waking from his coma at all.

A dark, dismal drop sank deep into his hollow chest. He wasn’t in any state that even remotely screamed desirable. And while that was a silly thing to be worrying about at the moment, it was a major clue that things probably didn’t go anywhere exciting last night with Numin.

In all honesty, Zero was surprised he was even interested in him enough to kiss him.

Dejected, and a bit over this whole detective game, he shuffled out of the bathroom pitifully, hunched over and over wishing he hadn’t gotten out of his bed to begin with. Yet, to his even sadder surprise, Numin appeared roused awake upon his exit from the bathroom.

Even though the half-lidded look upon his face suggested the lingering presence of sleep, Numin still offered a single raised brow at Zero, a silent question to what he was up to in the dead of night.

“Ah, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He offered sheepishly, almost phrased like an apology. Compared to only hours before, his demeanor had noticeably repressed, not even offering eye contact as he kept his downcast gaze locked on the powered blue vinyl lining the floor below.

“Doesn’t take much to stir me.” With a casual stretch, Numin replied with a cloudy tone, sleep still overtly overcasting his newfound wakefulness. “Can’t sleep very well? You don’t look rested.”

Offering a half-hearted shrug, Zero shifted to leaned against the closed door of the bathroom, having a bad feeling this wasn’t going to be a short conversation.

“I slept some, just had a bad dream,” with a nod towards the bathroom he came from, he elaborated, “I figured I haven’t seen myself in the mirror since the incident so I got up to check.”

The delivery was shallow, as if meant to hide the deeper disturbance Zero held underneath to seeing his reflection. Enough so that Numin could note it, knitting his brow at the smaller man slouching meekly against the bathroom door, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Don’t like what you see?” Guessing, Numin straightened up, seemingly more alert at the notice of Zero’s perturbation.

Unintentionally confirming, he slouched in even more, wishing the darkness of the room was enough to hide his marred features.

“Nah, I’m absolutely thrilled with the bruised and bloody look.” Zero retorted, voice with a backbone of sarcasm, yet delivery surely missing a few vertebrae.

The corner of Numin’s lips just barely peaked, gauging the jest as a good sign. “You’re in the hospital for a traumatic brain injury and currently being detained for a felony cyber crime. But sure, your swollen eye is definitely your biggest problem right now.”

Reflexively at those words, Zero folded his arms around his chest tight, unintentionally emphasizing his thin, fragile-looking frame.

“I’m not saying it’s my biggest problem. It’s just, I’m not exactly the fighting type, so this look is just…” hissing, as if he was trapped into finishing the sentence now, Zero struggled to pin down the correct adjective,“...it is just unsettling, to me.”

His anxieties were only met by a deep, reverberating chuckle from the larger man, who only seemed amused. “Guess I’m just used to seeing people bruised and bloody.” Numin shrugged before looking up, but upon noticing the red glow of embarrassment adorning Zero’s face, a deep part of him stirred in discomfort.

Before he had even realized, his tone took on a much different tenor as new words suddenly found their way on his tongue, that deep part of him yearning to diminish that disheartened look on Zero.

“The black eye will fade in about a week and a half. And your bruising has already turned green so I’d give it another five days, seven tops.” Huffing out a sigh, feeling that deep part of himself settle, Numin offered another ever-so-slight peak of the corners of his lips before finishing. “You’re fine, Zero.”

Blinking thrice, Zero found himself taken aback.

“Th… thanks. That’s good to hear the worst of it should subside in a week.”

If Zero didn’t know any better, he would have guessed that was Numin’s best efforts at trying to comfort him. At least, it would seem that way in his delivery, but such an assumption would be a bit brash to make with a seemingly heartless individual like him. Or perhaps there was a heart in there, somewhere deep and hidden as to not invite harm, that Numin kept guarded ferociously lest he be taken advantage of.

Zero had to wonder if he was born so abrasive or if it was learned, like a defense mechanism. And he couldn’t lie; he also wondered what was so different in himself that Numin cared not to bare his teeth and intimidate him, like he seems to do to all others who dare interact with him.

Shrugging off the wall, Zero took a few idle steps forward.

“Or at least the worst appearance-wise should clear up, that is. I’m honestly not sure about my memory, though.” On finishing, he was just about at the foot of Numin’s bed, and he extended both hands down on the plastic baseboard to lean in a bit. “If I’m being honest… I can’t even remember what happened between us earlier tonight.”

Although his body language was noticeably less embarrassed, there was an obvious shame in Zero’s expression, and he bit absently at his lower lip as if his lip ring was still present to fidget with.

Numin’s brow peaked up.

“You don’t remember anything?” Stiffening up, Numin tried to ignore that deep part of him festering once more, sitting like a weight at the bottom of his throat. Swallowing didn’t help; it only made the heavy sensation more vivid. “Do you remember my name, Zero?”

He pretended that he didn’t notice Zero’s mouth twitch into a momentarily frown, before his jaw noticeably clenched to keep himself leveled.

“When… When I woke up, I didn’t.” Woefully, he raised his right hand, and gave a tap to the name still penned on the back of it. With what could only be described as a pitiful smile, he assured Numin, “I did remember where to find it, though.”

Releasing a controlled sigh, Numin accepted those words as enough for him.

“But a few hours ago? Nothing?” The inquiry held an awful weight in those words, one that Numin wasn’t bothering to hide.

Clicking his tongue, Zero’s gaze wandered up momentarily, as if testing his own recall.

“I remember what the nurse said, about you attacking your previous roommates. And that you offered a trust-fall exercise to show you weren’t a threat to me.” The pale color of his face reddened slightly, and Numin noticed his gaze was now more purposely avoiding his own as he continued, “I-I went over to your bed, and… w-we…”

“We kissed.” Numin finished for him. An uncharacteristically soft smile graced Numin’s features in response to how bashful Zero had become, knowing well it wasn’t the amnesia that was holding Zero back from completing his sentence.

Rewardingly so, he watched as Zero sighed in relief, as if he had been self-doubting if the memory was even real.

“Y-yes, we kissed. But, after that, I-I’m not all too sure what we did…” trailing off, Zero’s eyes kept low to avoid contact with Numin’s, but his diffidence wasn't about to be coddled and catered to by the other man.

“We didn’t fuck if that’s what you’re asking.” Numin supplemented, albeit delivered with a grin of jest. Part of it was just to take delight in watching Zero’s face immediately flush and redden, but a sliver of it was indeed meant to clarify.

And redden he did, almost instantaneously feeling the heat rush to his cheeks. Yet watching Numin subtly smirk at the rise he got out of him, Zero felt the need to justify himself.

“No, no of course not. After all, it’s not like I woke up sore or bleeding down there or anything--” Cutting himself off, Zero realized his insinuation exposed his typical role in the bedroom, and although it didn’t take a lot of detective work for Numin to figure that one out, Zero still found himself somehow even more embarrassed by the second. Which only served to widen Numin’s already entertained smirk.

“For shame, Zero! Give me more credit than that.” Brazen, but still maintaining an atmosphere of jest, Numin continued with a cocky grin, “I would never prepare a partner so half-heartedly that they bleed from being with me. Or hell, even feel sore.”

“I-I didn’t mean to insinuate, I-I’m just used to—“

“Used to tops that don’t know what they’re doing? Come on Zero, you don’t need to put up with that.”

Zero gave a meek shrug, before slouching into himself.

“I know, I-I know… but I’m used to it, it’s not a big deal.” He leaned off the baseboard, and stepped around it to sit at the foot of Numin’s bed before continuing. “Besides, it already comes with the territory that it’s gonna hurt a little bit each time.”

This time Numin scoffed a bit, seemingly a little less entertained and a bit more irritated at whoever convinced Zero that anal sex was doomed to always hurt a bit. Surely a former sex partner, to excuse their own laziness or inexperience; or at least, Numin guessed so.

“I’m telling you, it really doesn’t have to.” The slight irritation in his tone almost immediately waned upon seeing Zero’s worried gaze up at him, and instead Numin found himself forming his next words before a devilish smirk even had time to grow on his lips. “Still don’t believe me? Oh Zero, don’t make me prove it to you.”

Immediately, the lewd suggestion earned a flustered squeak of surprise from the very much embarrassed Zero.

The amount of blood rushing to his face looked enough to cause a faint, what with the bright vermillion glow his naturally pale skin bloomed with. So much, in fact, that Numin almost expected him to swoon— in the quite literal sense of fainting, that is. It wasn’t as if a man as thin and lithe as Zero exactly had so much blood to spare to bring with.

“P-prove what—?” Finally managing to stutter out a line, Zero looked as if he didn’t believe what Numin just suggested. Perhaps in his already sensitive and embarrassed state it wasn’t the right atmosphere to pose such an offer, but Numin couldn’t lie that it was quite cute to watch his sarcastic demeanor wither away into endearing bashfulness.

Numin caught himself thinking that word again. Cute.

It was surprising how much Zero drew that word into his head.

“So coy all of a sudden, hm? Do I need to be more direct?” Leaning in, confined by his shackled wrist from getting too close, his face still managed to be only a foot or two away from Zero’s. In his pause, he noticed that despite his blush, Zero leaned in towards him reciprocally, as if awaiting in bated breath for his continuation, sealing Numin’s confidence in what he planned to say next.

“Do you want to fuck me, Zero?”

Eyes immediately widening, Zero’s mouth parted momentarily as if the words got stuck in his throat. In those bright green irises pooled a storm of different emotions, all too intertwined to differentiate, but each playing a role in the dumbfounded look on his face.

No words. No reply. No nothing.

Numin, still smirking, was almost about to poke fun at his sudden stupor until Zero leaned in fast, crashing his lips onto his own hungerly.

And, pushing back into the kiss once he realized what was happening, Numin heard Zero’s non-verbal response. He heard it in the way Zero’s tongue slipped into his mouth, and in the way his slender hand found hold onto his shoulder. He heard it in the feel of Zero’s back arching slightly towards him, he heard it through the muffled groan released against his lips.

Zero’s whole body was practically screaming one word.

Yes, yes, yes.

[ravenwritesstuff]

Wandering Hearts (29/?)

Fandom: Frozen AU. Set after shipwreck but before coronation day. 17th Century. Pairing: Kristanna (Kristoff/Anna) Rating: M (like if you don’t know why at this point go away) A/N: *ducks and runs*

HOW WORDS CAN KILL YOU

[ part one] [ part two ] [ part three ] [ part four ] [ part five ] [ part six ] [ part  seven ] [ part eight ] [ part nine ] [ part ten ] [ part eleven ] [ part twelve ] [ part   thirteen ] [ part fourteen ] [ part fifteen ] [ part sixteen ] [ part seventeen ] [ part eighteen ] [ part nineteen ] [ part twenty ] [ part twenty-one ] [ part twenty-one ] [ part twenty-two ] [ part twenty-three ] [ part twenty-four ] [ part twenty-five ] [ part twenty-six ] [ part twenty-seven ] [ part twenty-eight ] [ part twenty-nine ] [ part thirty ]

In retrospect it is unclear exactly what she had expected to see. Her mind had seemingly abandoned any hope of reason, sanity, in this inexplicable place but still found a way to expect - well - something. So when she sees him from her perch atop the giant troll’s shoulder she feels her mind jump to places hazed with pain and shock in search for what she is sure she is missing from the tableau. The darkest places in her mind throb. 

He is not as anticipated though she cannot quite draw the picture of what exactly that is. 

Instead he looks much the same as he always has, though worse for wear. 

At the apex of the swirling quartz, a wild unfurling of thick winding moss spills in a circular bed. The lush green, so similar to that she grips in her fingers upon a giant’s shoulder, cushions his prone form. The white of his skin and gold of his hair is stark contrast to the colors around him. At this distance he seems so small, so still. She cannot tell if he breathes. She needs to get closer. She will get closer. 

The trolls have stopped on the ridge as the woman continues forward, but she will not be made to wait. Not when he is so near. Not when he needs her. 

She starts to scramble down the lengths of moss growing like ropes from it's gargantuan host but does not make it far. A jagged crystal hand catches her before she even leaves it's shoulder. Despite her exhaustion and the futility of her efforts, she struggles.

"Wait," the rumbling order is low and firm.

 The troll scoops her into its gasp and holds once more with her arms trapped to her sides, feet dangling a great distance above the ground, head and shoulders popped just above the shining surface of its fist. It is clear this is not a negotiation and she is about to scream in frustration and rage against this treatment when something catches her eye. 

The group of trolls has encircled the ridge of the crater. They had moved swiftly, silently, and she can see more clearly their number - over twenty. Is this all there are? Did more exist somewhere else? How had these massive creatures existed for so long without being known, without her knowing? And if they are as real as they seem then just what else could be? What other mysteries lies behind the veil of this new reality that continues to unfold around her?

Then more important questions press into her consciousness. Questions she is perhaps afraid to ask, but her mind charges forward anyway. 

What exactly is to happen to Bjarg that these creatures see fit to guard this seemingly sacred ground? What event permits that this strange wisp of a woman alone allowed to approach the green epicenter with slow strides? What means it that whatever strange force brought her here did not deposit her in this place alongside Bjarg? 

She has so long denied herself inquiry, so trained her tongue against it, that she swallows them down until only one question remains screaming at the front of her mind. 

Is he all right?

Nothing else matters. 

She squirms in her captors's hand. Rough edges dig through her clothes. 

"Let me go to him." She begs on a gasp. "Please let me go."

The same low rumble replies, "Wait."

She hates that word. She has been waiting her entire life. Each blind shuffle the woman takes, that Anna must watch from her captivity, grates at her already shot nerves. If she was free she would have already been at Bjarg’s side. She would be able to touch him, to see his face clearly. She would be able to settle her mind, her imaginings of impossible things. She would be able to still the most important of the urgent questions swirling inside because she would be sure of him and that was all she needed. 

She squirms again out of the insatiable need to go to him, but the hand does not budge. 

The woman is at the edge of the creeping green now. Her steps measured and deliberate. There is nothing Anna can do to speed her progress and she wonders again at the wisdom of allowing this blind, tongueless, cripple to go forward before the rest of them. At least she does until her foot first touches the moss. 

The moment the woman pressures the soft, squishy surface a pulse rocks through the air. It stuns Anna, but the woman moves forward. The next step sends a second wave of energy and the trolls begin to sway, to hum, as if the force awakens this new purpose. Even her host is caught in whatever thrall this phenomenon has created. She feels it swing side to side with her in its grip. 

But then the real revelation happens.

This woman, strange and foreign and deformed as she is, finally meets Bjarg where he lays. The space and size of them together is small in her vision and she craves details. She will not have them at this distance, but she squints and tries to understand what she sees.

The woman kneels, back to Anna, thought she does not find this to be deficit. What benefit could come from this woman and her eyeless face being presented to her? There will be no tell there. Still her mangled hands run the length of Bjarg’s body. She touches him with an intimacy unknown to Anna and he makes her blood heat at what this woman knows that she doesn’t. 

A low moan comes from the woman’s throat, deep and soulful. The trolls respond. Their cries somehow a harmony to the woman’s. 

Even if the sounds make no sense to her, the trolls accept and revel in them. 

The woman gives a second cry, deeper and louder than the first, and the trolls respond.

This time Anna feels it.

She has not felt the cry of the trolls yet upon this visit, but the reverberation this time shakes her to the core. It is a strange vibration, a deep one, and the very core of her being screams that she has felt it before.

She knows this feeling.

She knows this place.

She doesn’t understand exactly how or exactly why, but she knows that she does and that she is watching something she does not have the slightest chance of understanding

But here she is.

A third cry comes from the woman and this time only the troll that holds her respond. The isolation of the cry startles her, but the reason comes.

“You must go to him,” the stoney creature commands even as he lowers his hand to the ridge beside them. “You must seek out why she cries.”

And then what she wants is hers. 

Her feet are on solid ground. She is allowed to move, unfettered. Yet she hesitates, if even for one moment, before she moves. 

She does not understand what she sees. She does not trust it, but she steps into the scared crater without a second thought because he needs her.

She needs him.

And that is all there is. 

The world that was warm before turns stifling. The heat of the earth rises to sting her eyes and lungs with each breath. Each step sends new aches through her already pained body, as if the weight from the forest had chased her to this spot. The stagnant, thick air squeezes around her until she can hardly shuffle one foot in front of the other. 

Has the woman before her felt this effort? 

If she had - she hadn’t shown it. 

By the time Anna reaches the edge of the moss her breath is sharp and short. 

But she can see his face now. 

It is sallow, his skin taking on an almost gray appearance, and she thinks he is dead. He is dead and that is why she was called. This is why they were brought to this place in different ways, ended in different locations. He, her Bjarg, her rock, is gone. 

She hits her knees just before she can step upon the moss. All of her strength leaves her. There is so much she wanted to say to him. So much she needed to say, but there was no time for that now. 

He never knew her name.

Bile rises in her throat and she thinks she will vomit but the mutilated woman turns her horror of a face in her direction and whimpers.

It is a sound unlike anything she had ever heard uttered by man or beast, something seeking and plain, that it pulls her out of her mourning before she sinks too deep. Her sound is followed by a deep hum of the trolls that surround them and she feels it this time. For all the resonance she had experienced before from them this is the first time that her actual bones rattle within her skin. 

The sound alone seems to rise her to her feet and push her forward. 

She doesn’t understand it.

Hardly has time to. 

Because before she knows it she is standing beside his shoulders, her body alongside where the battered woman kneels at his midsection, and she can barely think beyond the idea that this is all there is. 

This is it.

Just a body.

She is close enough now to see he is not breathing, the rise and fall of his chest non-existent.

He defended her to where his body had given out. 

She brought him to this point: with her foolishness, her curiosity, her inability to leave well-enough alone.

This is her fault.

Through no outward compulsion she slumps to the mossy floor, body crumbling over his as tears come without bidding. Her entire frame is wracked with sobs, the weight of the air around her making each breath a monumental task, and before even a few moments pass she is lightheaded - dizzy.

Her tears let up, body relenting in its fight to stay conscious, but she hardly notices the horrid woman grabbing her left hand in her own mangled claws and drawing it close. Then there is a blade flashing. Anna doesn’t have time to react, to respond, before her scar is sliced open once more. Her blood wells to the surface of her palm, but she doesn’t feel the pain she felt when she was cut before at the binding.  

The blind woman manages the same blade with surprising precision considering her crippled grip as she severs the skin on her own palm before reaching for Bjarg’s. 

It is only then she reaches out - tries to stay the hand that would create more damage to Bjarg’s body, but it is too late. The cut is made and blood, slower and darker than it should be, barely reaches the surface. The woman, though blind, grabs Anna’s left wrist and brings it alongside hers atop the cut in Bjarg’s palm. 

Anna feels the tears come again. 

Why this effort?

Why this pain?

She is close enough now to see his lack of breath, of color. She is close enough now to understand that when he told her monsters were real that he had been sincere. She is close enough now to know she had lost him.

So why this motion? Why this effort? Why this pain?

She attempts to withdraw but the crippled woman’s mangled hand tightens, the strange knobs and knuckles digging into Anna’s skin, and she turns her face with a growl. Anna doesn’t understand, doesn’t know what words to use in this unspeakable grief. 

She is free of Bjarg but it is nothing like she wanted it to be, nothing she anticipated. She does not want to run. She wants to stay. 

For the first time since she left the palace all she wants is to stay. 

But how can she now that he is gone?

How can she when she doesn’t even know where she is, how to escape? 

Tears rise again as she realizes she has not wanted to escape, has not wanted to leave his side, for longer than she even entertained before. She had wanted to be with him, had wanted to stay with him, consequences be damned. 

But that wouldn’t happen now - couldn’t happen. 

They had made their choices and they had led them here.

She opens tear ruined eyes and looks at his face. It is peaceful despite the lack of color, his warm eyes closed like he was sleeping, his lips slightly parted as if he were about to speak, but she will not hear his voice again. He is too far gone. 

What would he have said if she had given him her name?

What if she had told him truly who she was?

Would it have mattered? Would he have flinched, blanched, sent her back? It does not matter now. 

Nothing really does. 

Her vision blurs once more and it is all she can do it keep herself from collapsing again. She does not understand why she needs to be there, why her flesh was laid open against his when he was already gone.

There is a low rumble, so low she almost cannot hear it, but she feels it. Her bones rattle again as they had before and she looks up. On the edges she sees the trolls with their mouths open, feet stomping, and the sound carries - encircles. The air around her seems to swell. The crushing pressure changing to an inexplicable buoyancy that threatens to lift her from the ground and thrust her into an entirely different oblivion. 

The feeling is so deeply foreign, so very strange like all she has encountered up to this point, that her first thought is to panic. Then the grip on her wrist tightens - the disfigured hand clamping down as if she senses each thought and feeling Anna has without word or sight. A profound groan issues from the mysterious woman’s throat and she throws back her head.

Anna knows the sound. 

It is the wail of grief. 

They are grieving. 

This is the end.

[ previous ] [ next ]

[infinitegalahad]

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO

Summary: Eugene was always there to let you that you were beautiful.

Word-Count: 2.3k

Warnings: PLEASE!! READ!!! Trigger warnings for eating disorder, insecurity, and lots of angst. But there is going be lots of fluff and some self care from your’s truly!

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world @easy-company-tradition @liebgotttme @50svibes @ricksmorty @pennyllanne @capsparkyspeirs

Notes: f! reader. uh oh...not not writing a self insert for my bulimia and eugene roe comforting me because my therapist told me to eat more (which totally solves all my problems)? Never! ;DDDD...enjoy!!

Masterlist | Request A Prompt!

Your stomach growled and twisted as you hunched over the toilet, tears spilling from your eyes as you forcefully threw up the mass amount of food you had just eaten. Every bite felt like you were eating copious amounts of a forbidden fruit. It was your favourite, and you used to love eating (y/f/f) all the time-but now, you would barely keep it down.

Soon after eating, the guilt began to overtake your body. It was hard to ignore it as the warm feeling in your throat began to rise. It felt tingly and you had only one remedy on how to make it better-running to the bathroom and sticking a finger down your throat: watching everything come out as deformed and clunky.

Saliva dropped from your noses as you began to wipe it as tears streamed down your flushed face. The pain wasn’t ending, and you knew another round was set to come.

When you're a little girl, you didn’t think much of your body or how you looked. Little girls, or no child for the matter should have had to worry about what they looked like. But as you got older, the social norms and your body began to change. Other girls around you were thin, while you felt indifferent. You were made fun of not looking “thin”, which triggered a whole set of emotions. And so you took comfort in food, since it was the only thing that never judged you.

And yet food would soon become your enemy. You learned how to befriend, and also stab it in the back. Your relationship with food has formed into a minute where you could tolerate them, and then the other you had to get it out of your system. After eating meals, it became a habit for you to do so. Some days, you could tolerate being around it. Others, you would barely see if for days-if not weeks.

Your thoughts were overtaken by a large gulp in your throat, which resulted in the food you had binged coming out. Tears came from your eyes as you cried. What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you just be normal and pretty? Why was life so unfair to you?

You are so lost in your own thoughts that you didn’t notice the bathroom door creak open and footsteps slowly approach your hunched figure. The pattern of the footsteps was already too familiar to you. Goosebumps went up your spine as you refused to look at him, embarrassed and guilted. Eugene was the last person you wanted to discover your monstrosity.

“Hey…” You managed to say, attempting to sound put together, which was the total opposite of what you currently where.

Eugene sunk down to your level and placed a hand on your back, rubbing small circles. Tears began to form at your eyes as you looked down, feeling it come again. Eugene grabbed your hair as you threw up, letting out a pained moan.

“I’m here, you’re okay,” Eugene cooed, letting you finish up. His soft accent was reassuring to you, but your heart rate increased. “Did it happen again?”

“Nothing is happening. I’m fine.” You lied, but knew that it was a shit lie and that Eugene was smart enough to see. He was your boyfriend and knew you better than anybody else did in the world-besides you.

“You’re not fine. Don’t lie to me, cher.”

You slowly move your head up to look at him. Eugene looks tired, and so do you. Your eyes are puffy from crying, cheeks red, lips quivering, goosebumps all over your skin, heavy breathing- a total mess. A pig is what you would refer to yourself as. The outfit you had worn today was too tight forming and showed off the parts of your body that you wanted the world not to see. You looked like a ugly rat in your eyes, the vision of a disfigured body clouding your vision.

Instead of using your words, you break down once again. Eugene is there to watch you, pulling you into him as you sob uncontrollably. You act like a child to its mother, clasping into Eugene for dear life as you stain his white shirt with tears. He doesn’t mind this since he loves you, and you know that. But how could he, someone so beautiful on the inside and out, be with someone like you-a slob? Eugene didn’t see you as any of the things you would describe yourself as, and you still couldn’t understand why he has chosen to stick around for four years (and counting).

“I’m sorry,” Is all you could cough through your tears. Eugene is running his hands up and down back, his fingers occasionally getting tangled in your hair as he straightens it out. He pulls you from his chest as he cups your face, tenderly pushing your loose hair behind your shoulders to get a better view of your pretty face.

Eugene caresses your cheeks, getting a feel of your soft (y/s/c). “No need to be. Jus’ wanna make sure your ok.”

“I’m not. I…” Letting out a frustrated sigh, the waterworks come back into play. Eugene, being the angel he is, stays quiet as his thumbs wipe the tears away. Gathering your words, you continue on, “I never have been. Look at me, I can’t control it. I don’t know what to do. I-“

“Hey, hey, hey. Your heart’s racin’, settle down.” Eugene reassured in a calming voice not to shut you up, but to calm you. Your skin is shaky and sweaty and your heart is banging against your ribcage. Eugene feels the guilt tug at his heart-he hates to see you in such a distressed state. “Let me help you. Here,”

Eugene slides his arms under your armpits and gently helps your up. Leading you to the living room, he places you on the couch as he runs to the kitchen to grab you a glass of water. He drops it out and pats you on the head before running back to the kitchen. You don’t want to drink, but Eugene would have a hissy fit if you didn’t. Reluctantly, you take a sip and swish it in your mouth before slowly gulping it.

Eugene returns a minute later with a cup of tea in his hand. He places in on the counter, putting a coaster under. Looking down, you can smell the sweetness. It’s your favourite; an orange spice with a dab of honey.

“Drink up ‘dat wata’ before you drink the tea. You’ll fell more refreshed after, and the tea will help with the dryness in your throat,” Eugene explained. He admired you as he placed a hand on your shoulder, rubbing circles into them. As you drank your water, you forced a smile and put your hand on top of yours.

“Angé, I’m worried ‘bout you,” Eugene confessed, “You look sad, and when you’re sad-I’m sad.”

“Genie, please,” Is all you could mutter to say. “I can take care of myself. I’ve been dealing with this all my life. It’ll go away in a few hours, and I’ll be all smiles again. I promise.”

Eugene still feels guilty. He’s been around sister’s, older and younger to know what your problem is. The vomiting, the excuses, the insecurity, everything was adding up. What had saddened Eugene is that it was a lifelong issue, and it had gone untreated, and had progressively gotten worse.

“I don’t need you to force yourself to be happy. I want to help you ‘cause I love you, ma douce beauté.”

“But-“

Eugene placed a sweet kiss into your hair, “No. You stay ‘ere, docter’s orders. I’ll be right back.”

“Eugene-“

As he began to walk away, he turned around with a smile and pointed fingers. “What did I say?”

You put a finger down in defeat as you laid back, sipping on your tea. Hearing his footsteps fade into the bathroom and the water running, the tension from your shoulders disappeared as the sweet honey in the tea eased the frustration in your body. Doctor's orders, after all.

The sound of the water running in the opposite caused you to look up and see Eugene walking through the door. He came over at sat right beside you with open arms. Gene wasn’t vocal, but he was begging for your consent to hold you and comfort you. Scotting over, you slide into his arms and cuddle into his chest.

“Sorry, I didn’t want you to see that.” You mumbled into his chest, drawing little circles into them.

“No need to,” Eugene responded into your hair, planting a lingering kiss, “I just hate to see you feelin’ like ‘dis. You’re gorgeous-inside and out.”

“Gene-“

“No, ‘sha. You are.”

“But-“

A finger was placed on top your lips, slowly trailing down your chin as it was tilted up to look at Eugene. “You’ve got a great heart, soul, and body, ma petite fleur. Why can’t you see that?”

Growing frustrated, you removed Eugene’s hand and sat up, letting out a sigh. “You see something that I can’t see. I want to see it-but I can’t. I’ve never seen it, and when you say that...it just spins out of control.” Eugene sat next to see you, a hand on your thigh, listening to every word. You continued on, “I’m not trying to sound ungrateful but-you’re amazing for being my boyfriend through all of this. I know it’s not easy but...thank you.”

Eugene was the one who first knew about your eating disorder. When first meeting you, he was starstruck. Not only were you a beautiful person, but a beautiful soul. You were enchanting, and Eugene could listen to you talk for ages. But as time flew on, he became suspicious. Behind your smiles, something was terribly wrong. You would barley touch your food, wear looser clothing, say self deprecating jokes to the point where it seemed serious, and numerous concerning comments and actions. It caused Eugene to worry. He didn’t want to diagnose you officially, but he knew you had an earring disorder. So he did what Eugene knew he did best; comfort and beg you to take of yourself.

Babe Heffron, out of all the people, was the one who walked on you violently puking. He freaked out and ran to Eugene, which caused a whole shit show. From that day on, Eugene could no longer stand around and watch you hurt yourself. He made you get help, whether you liked it or not.

And it was the moment you realized that you were in love with him, and so did he.

Yes, you were getting proper help for your issues, but what was it truly helping? Your eating disorder would have food and bad days-and Eugene was always there. But the more he begged for you to eat, the more you couldn’t. One look at your body and it would trigger those horrid thoughts. You were so hungry, but you could barely eat.

“And The thing is-I’m trying to get better,” You responded as your voice cracked, “I see the therapist, I take the medication, I just…”

Seeing your shakiness, Eugene pulled you close and stroked your hair once again, whispering sweet words into your ear. “ ‘Dat’s all you can do, ‘cherie. I know you’re tryin’, you’re the bravest girl I know. I know I seem a lil’ pushy at times, and I’m sorry,” He paused before continuing, “I just worry bout you, a lot. But I need to know; what can I do that will help you? Beggin’ you to eat ain’t helpin. Montre-moi comment t'aider, ma petite colombe. Je veux enlever toute ta douleur.”

A smile curved on your cheeks as you nuzzled into his cheek, “No judgement?”

Eugene shook his head, eyeing for you to go.

Taking a second to think, you leaned back to look at your Cajun boyfriend with his pale skin and pretty dark hair.

“You’re you, I’m me. This path...is one I go down alone. You can hold my hand, but this path is mine to walk. This is my battle to fight. My recovery will take time and patience. I know I seem ungrateful, but I walk down this road alone. The only person that can fix this is me, and me alone.”

Eugene paid attention to the way your lips moved, seemingly understanding every word. Sure, it wasn't what he wanted. If he has this way, he would grab a magic wand and wish all your problems away, holding you close and protecting you from the evil’s of the world.

But even Eugene knew that the world was cruel, but a beautiful place. He couldn’t protect you from all the bad.

He showed you a subtle smile, “Ok.” He scooted closer to you, grabbing your hand, “On your bad days, can I ask you what you need from me? How can I support you? How can I do anything?”

“Yes, of course you can.” You shook your head. “You know how amazing you are, Eugene?”

“Says the amazing one. You’re so brave. My brave lady.” Eugene planted a kiss on your lips. It was gentle and soft, just like Eugene. He muttered small saying’s through the small gasps of air, such as how beautiful you were.

“Baby, promise me somethin’.”

“Yes, Genie?”

“Don’t lose sight of the importance your love has on every aspect of our life, especially you. Got me?”

“I got you, genie. Always and forever.”

Eugene lead you away from the couch and into your bathroom. Being the gentleman he was, he asked if you wanted any tea or drinks after your bath. The bath had overflown, the water dripping onto the white tiles as the noise of the water splashing into the tub ran. You noticed the candles lit all over the small bathroom and the magnolias he had picked from your garden, lying lazily on the water.

Eugene panicked, but you walked over and planted a quick kiss on your cheek. It was ok, you were okay-he was okay.

You both we’re gonna be okay.

[sloppy-butcher]

Hello! It’s great to see another blog, and I’m so excited to see it grow! For now, tho, please pour me a mug of your finest Hillbilly hcs! I love my baby boi ;w;

bro, I literally have Hillbilly hc’s coming out of my ass. I love Max so so much and I will do anything to make him happy and keep him safe.

I’m going to give some general Hcs for him and then add some fluff or relationship ones as well.

Thank you so much for requesting him and thank you for your support

The Hillbilly (Max Thompson Jr.) HeadCanons

General Headcanons

His name was decided before he was even born. Max Sr. and Evelyn Thompson were very wealthy landowners and therefore needed a worthy heir to inherit their empire. So when Evelyn finally fell pregnant, the two set to work planning every small cogency and detail about their child’s future life. From his gender, what he would do with his life and even to his name, nothing about Max was not already written in stone. What the two could not predict was what Max would look like. They never let anyone see him, lying to their neighbors, friends, and family that the baby had died in childbirth. They were ashamed, disgusted and absolutely repulsed by the sight of the newborn. The flesh of his neck contorting downwards into his shoulder and his face a mass of twisted lumps of skin. They had decided to have a home birth, bringing their legacy into the world by their own hands, a show of total independence and control, so there was no official record of the boy, no legal, outside personal able to protect the baby. It was easier to hide him away, bricking him up in a hole in the basement than to deal with the shame of raising such a beast. What an unworthy, disgusting creature, they would never give over their wealth and name to such a deformed monster.

Evelyn tried breastfeeding Max once but as she watched his mouth latch on her mind screamed and she dropped him before running off and going to scrub her breasts clean from the filth. Throughout it all they never had the guts to kill the child, praying that God would take it back leaving their hands clean from his blood. But he kept crying and they could hear him. Through a cloth or bottle, they would feed him some milk hoping that the little sustenance he received was just enough to keep him quiet until he would eventually stave and die. But he never did and the two never had another child, Evelyn too traumatized by what came out her to ever attempt it again. She didn’t want another to end up looking just as he did. So the Thompsons lived out their lives with their dirty little secret locked up in the basement and growing bigger with each passing day.

Max was scared of the dark, the smallness and the smell of the room drove him to near insanity, but it was all he ever knew. Expect when the big man (his father) would approach him. Light would flood the room and Max would shy away fearful of the man and the brutal hammer he carried. The man would shout and if Max dared to make a move or noise he would be stuck and his food through carelessly over the dirt riddled floor. Sometimes the man would come in with a bucket and douse Max in freezing cold water. Max would shiver and try his best to cling to what little clothing he had for warmth. It was a miserable existence. But one day the big man walked into the room and Max noticed a slight limp to his walk. His head was losing color and the hair around his mouth was a wild, bushy mess. The man put down his hammer for a moment and without thinking Max grabbed it. The man yelled but his voice only seemed to anger Max even more. He raised the hammer high, mirroring the way the man used to hit him, and brought it down hard on the man’s head. There was silence. Breathing hard Max looked into the light and followed the sound of even more noise. He just wanted it to be quiet. As much as he hated that small dark room, the silence it offered him was all he ever took comfort it. He just wanted it to be quiet.

Years later the Adam Family took interest in the Thompson’s land having been abandoned by the owners. However, just like the previous tenants the family was never seen again, their chainsaw stolen and their bodies stuffed into the farm’s large grain silo. They did put up a fight, carving long and deep cuts into Max’s arms and across his face. When the deed was done and the world was quiet again, Max felt tired. There was red stuff all over his body but it was his red stuff, not theirs. He wanted to sleep but something in the darkness called him and promised to make him feel better if he followed. When local authorities finally took notice of the missing people, they investigated the land. And what they found truly disturbed them. In the center of the property was a huge dead tree and scattered all around the base and hung in its branches were the mutilated bodies of hundreds of cows and sheep. They found nothing living on that cursed land.

Relationship Headcanons

Max can’t speak and he barely understands English. It would be incredibly difficult to get through to the boy. The Entity speaks to him on an instinct level, playing Max through his desires and fears not needing to talk using words or concepts. But before you would even try talking to him you would have to gain his trust. Tell him through gestures and patience that he can trust you and allow you to get closer.

You met him by chance, or was it fate? You were searching through the woods, your mind wondering until it noticed the wall of yellow corn stand before you. Without thinking you walked into the maze, engulfed but the silence of it all you were swept away and lost within your mind. He saw you first. You were standing still, hands running up and down the many cornstalks with your eyes closed. You were quiet and small, an oddity to him. Usually, he would attack without think but he felt no urge to. You weren’t running so he wouldn’t give chase. Eventually, you saw him too, a large shadow standing amongst the corn. To say you were scared was an understatement but your feet never moved. Something about him made you stay put, he never moved and never tore his eyes away from you. After a moment you offered him a very soft, “Hey there.” He had never heard such a gentle sound before. And it took him a moment to realize that that sound was directed at him. He raised a shaky hand and pointed awkwardly to his chest. You breathed out a laugh and nodded your head slowly, afraid that sudden movement would trigger him to attack. “Y-yeah. you.” He blinked confused.

You would visit him more often after that and with each encounter, he would take you deeper and deeper into the corn until one day you reached the center. The Thompson House loomed over the field but he leads you away from the building, instead taking you to a large harvester. Max hated the house because it reminded him of the darkroom and he refused to get close to it.

You told him your name, pointing like he did to your chest. His eyes flickered between your hand and your face. You could practically see the gears turning over in his head. It was difficult for him to understand let alone try to mimic you but eventually, with enough patience and time, he did. He said your name through a gargled throat and lips that didn’t seem to work all that well. It barely even sounded English regardless you could have cried with joy when he called you. “Well done.” You praised and clapped your hands lightly. Max saw your face twist into an expression he had never seen before. You were smiling and it was infectious. He saw the light in your eyes and he felt his own face morph to copy yours.

After a while, Max tried telling you his name. He’d point at himself and would moan “MMm”. You would listen attentively, feeling pride well up in your chest. “SSs” he would hiss like a snake. After some guessing, you managed to say his name. Max. He was just trying to remember the name he always heard the shadows under the door say. Yet you were applauding him and encouraging him and for once he felt happy. It was nice. You were nice.

Max is terrified of the dark hence why the Coldwind farm domains are always lit in the haze of yellow light. When the Entity wants to punish Max for a poor job it would remove the moon from his place. The shadows would grow and Max would be consumed with the memories of the damned hole in the wall. So dark. So smelly. He can’t breathe. It hurts so much. You were with him once when he was being punished. He was curled up in a ball, heaving and moaning with building fear and anxiety. You watched him drown in his own mind and you knew you had to move quickly if you wanted to help him. You walked over to him and very gently touched him. He snapped his silver shining eyes to you and, after composing yourself, you offered your smile. “You want to,” you put both your hands together and placed them next to your cheek. “Sleep?” He looked at you and you felt him search you for something. A solution? Comfort? Whatever he wanted you were more than willing to give it all to him.

You sat down next to him and patted your leg. This was the closest you had ever been to the man and it was both a terrifying and thrilling experience. He eyed you warily half expecting some kind of joke or rejection but all you did was wait, your arms open and your expression understanding and warm. He went to you and placed his head on your lap. You lowered your hand and began to lightly run your fingers over his head. He whimpered and clung to you, his hand trekking up your thigh before gripping you as tightly as he could. It was like he was lost at sea and if he were to mistakenly let go of you he would sink and drown. It hurt but you bared it. You shushed him and more forcibly ran your fingers through his coarse hair, letting him know through physical contact that you were with him and that you would stay with him. Suddenly it wasn’t so bad anymore. Max suddenly felt better. If he closed his eyes he could feel you, the hum in your chest and the warmth in your body. You were secure and offered him rest within that shrinking darkness.

[jiracheer]

salutations and greetings, 🍊 nonny here! i saw your request were open and in the spirit of spooky season 👉🏼👈🏼 may i request some fall date headcannons- haunted houses, cliche horror movie nights, pumpkin patch dates, or cold night cuddles for Kuroo, Tsuki, or the Miya twins? (but the horror movie could lead to lewdness if so desired, i am 18 turning 19 in November :) )

these ideas have been stuck in my head and it’s a need & a want 😭 obviously you can ignore if not too specific, or if you have too much already waiting to be wrote! Thank you anyway!! ❤️✨

✨ a/n: Hey babe 🥺!! Sorry this took me so long!!! I AM GRR AT MYSELF!!! I had so many ideas and i kept writing n rewriting. Unfortunately I only wrote for Tsukki and Osamu, I hope that’s okay!!

✨ warnings :: creampie, unprotected sex / nsfw under the cut

🎃 TSUKISHIMA KEI

- As soon as the leaves turned an array of oranges, yellows, and reds, and the air grew to be a bit more bitter, you had suggested the idea of going to one of the local farms out of Miyagi to go pumpkin picking to Tsukishima one evening.

- A week went by and one morning you were woken up by Tsukki. He shook your shoulders gently to get you awake, and when your eyes fluttered open and you looked at your boyfriend with such an intense expression of confusion, he really couldn’t help but laugh at your expression and the small line of drool that formed at the corner of your mouth.

- He told you to get ready and to dress appropriately for the weather outside, and you still were confused, but you just shrugged it off as you assumed he was taking you out for breakfast. 

- Once you were ready you two bid your bearded lizard farewell, simply watching as it licked its eye, and you just took it as him saying goodbye as well, and you two were off. 

- You sat in the front seat with his hand held in yours. You had the habit of running your fingers over his knuckles, and every so often you would kiss the back of his hand. It always made him look over at you with flushed cheeks, still not used to all the affection you gave him, but he would always squeeze your hand to let you know that he loves it and you.

- “Where are we going?”

- “You’ll see.”

- His answer was so cryptic you couldn’t help but nervous laugh

- “You’re not gonna like, kill me. Right?”

- Silence

- “RIGHT?”

- You’re silently freaking out and eventually he starts laughing. You let go of his hand to punch his arm, yelling at him for scaring you, and you go back to holding his hand. 

- You do end up falling asleep at some point since you were still pretty tired. Tsukki’s eyes would flick over to you every so often, smiling softly as it was now his turn to kiss the back of your hand and let his lips linger on your skin for a moment.

- You wake up before you arrive and you’re like a kid at a candy store when you see where you are; the pumpkin patch.

- The second your feet meet the ground, you’re already going feral. You’re holding onto his arm as you two walk with other people towards the tractor that would give you a hay ride out to the patch, and you’re practically shaking with excitement.. And from the cold.

 - Tsukki holds you close to his side with his hands rubbing your arms, pressing tender kisses to your temple every so often, but you don’t seem to notice as you seem to hyperfocus on the farm.

- “Tsukki...”

- “Mhm?”

- “I wanna live on a farm :(”

- He snorts at your words and you lean against him, letting your head fall on his shoulder as you look up at him with puppy eyes. “I’m not joking!! Do you know how much fun it would be if we lived on a farm?”

- The blond rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but think about it. A farm, huh...? He could already hear the rooster crow at the crack of dawn, and see a cow or two simply lazing around at the pasture. 

- He could picture you sitting on the porch with a warm cup of coffee, an open spot besides you for him to join you, and then out of nowhere.

- He sees a child.

- His face turns a bright red and he clears his throat, waving away his thoughts. Okay Tsukki, calm down-

- “Come on Kei!” You’re already taking his hand and leading him off the tractor, dragging him around the uneven patch.

- You both look at a multitude of pumpkins. You pick up a few and admire them, and you seem to take an interest in the white pumpkins, and he likes to enjoy the more classic orange ones.

- There’s a small white pumpkin that catches your eye and as you go to pick it up, you turn to show Tsukishima and your foot gets caught on a vine.

- You screech as you stumble forward and the pumpkin falls, breaking apart as soon as it hits the ground.

- “...”

- “...”

- You two ran so far away from that spot and went to check out another part of the patch.

- Eventually, you two settle with a big phat orange pumpkin that’s a bit deformed. Tsukki called it ugly, but you said, and I quote, “He is very gorgeous to me.”

- You decide to name him Eugene and you decide he knows how to do his taxes, unlike Bokuto, and Tsukki laughs.

- The two of you reach the main log house at the entrance and you enter, enjoying the warm air as you get drinks and a few snacks, and you two find yourself back outside.

- “You know..” Tsukishima looks down at his drink, almost too nervous to meet your eyes. He shuffles in his seat and sits closer to you, taking your open hand in his as his knees bump into yours.

- Tilting your head, you urge him to continue as you bite into your apple fritter.

- He rubs your ring finger and you almost choke. Your eyes widen and your heart begins to beat rapidly. Oh my God... Was he going to propose to you? You feel yourself begin to sweat as he slowly pulls back, hand going into his pocket-

- “Eugene is an ugly ass name.”

- “I cannot stand you sometimes.”

👻 MIYA OSAMU

- Osamu decided that on October 31ST that the both of you would be watching scary movies, whether you liked it or not.

- You never really took him to be the kind of guy to like horror movies. You assumed he was more into films like Fantastic Mr. Fox, etc.

- He really does like Fantastic Mr. Fox tho.

- When you arrive to his place you greet him happily and with snacks, opening a black bag to reveal candies and baked sweets you had taken the time to make that day.

- Osamu was so happy to see the treats. He gave you a small smile and thanked you with a kiss to your forehead. You blushed at the affection and eventually pulled him to his room to get started on watching the movies.

- You two built a pillow fort and made sure to be careful with his TV, once y’all were settled in you put in the first movie and get started.

- Osamu laid against his headboard with his hair brushing against the blanket above, legs stretched out and an arm around your waist. You laid your head on his chest with one leg thrown over his and resting in between his legs.

- Every so often you’d jump because of a jump scare, or even scream and hide your face, and Osamu would laugh softly at your reactions and rub your back with a kiss to the top of your head.

- You two would talk about what you’d do if you were in a horror movie, which was a poor choice, because Osamu was roasting your ass.

- “I would NOT die 20 minutes into the movie!!!”

- “Y/N.... You push ‘pull’ doors.”

- “.... OKAY BUT-“

- You pause the movie real quick to take an online quiz and as it turns out, you would die and Osamu would survive.

- “Okay Shaggy kin, you win this time.”

- “As I always do, Scooby Doo kin.”

- “STOP.”

- You’re a bit mad when the movie starts again, and you bitterly lay there as Osamu tries to hide his amusement at your pouting.

- He calls your name softly and you look up at him, brows furrowed and lip out. He chuckles and leans down to catch your lips in a kiss, and you feel like you’re walking on clouds.

- As the kiss progresses, you feel yourself losing yourself in it and you shift so that you’re sitting on his thigh now.

- His tongue is in your mouth and you can taste all the sweets he just had, and you moan is the next thing to be consumed as he holds the back of your head.

- You grind your hips against his thigh, starting to pant when your clit brushes against his flexing thigh. Pulling away you gasp, holding onto his shoulders as he peppers kisses down your jaw and neck.

- Osamu puts his hands on your ass, pulling at them to get you closer and to eventually put you on his lap.

- It seems like time flashed right before your eyes because suddenly you’re naked and bouncing on Osamu’a dick.

- Moans come out of your mouth as Osamu hides his face in your neck, leaving you love bites as you work yourself on him. You’re lightly scratching at his back, closing your eyes as you feel his fat cock brush against your cervix

- “That’s it, bunny. Shit- That’s it, babygirl.”

- He brings your left breast into his mouth, the other was slowly being teased with his fingernail tracing a circle around your nipple.

- You whine and beg for him to continue touching you, and thankfully, he does.

- He works at your breasts until finally he shifts so that he can gently pin you down below him, bringing your legs and hooking them over his arms, you arch your back as he hits places he’s never hit before.

- “Yes Osamu... R-Righ there- Oh. Oh right there please-“

- You’re almost driven to tears as he picks up the pace, pounding into you as you cry out his name as your orgasm comes crashing in.

- Osamu’s cold steely gaze comes to rest at where the two of you are connected, and he lets out a guttural moan at the sign of a white ring around his dick.

- With a few final and sloppy strokes, the grey-fading-to-black cook pushes himself forward to cum into you. He grunts as he buries his face into your neck once again, whispering how much he adores you as you cling to him.

- You both lay there up until a bloodcurdling scream comes from the TV, making you both jump and nearly break his dick with you abruptly sitting up.