#but just agony. agony that gives the word its meaning. like the kind of pain that makes you understand why excruciating exists as a concept

[bulldagger-bait]

Can you elaborate on how experiencing 10/10 pain changed your relationship to pain and how you engage with it? I'm curious about other people's experiences with this.

I would say that its really warped my pain scale. For a long time i would compare all other pain to my 10/10. I nearly broke my ribs once falling off a table (they were quite bruised afterward which hurts just as bad, I've been told), and it was really painful. Hurt to breathe. They gave me morphine. But I would have given it a 3/10 if I was comparing it to my 10/10.

It was only after I learned what the numbers on a pain scale are supposed to represent that I realised I'd been at a 7/10 for years with my chronic pain. I thought because i was able to force myself through school it meant it wasn't that bad.

More than that, I feel like it has made me appreciate pain. I feel like i have an intimate relationship with it, and I know my body on a deeper level almost. When I was in 10/10, I felt like there was no time. It felt like it would never end, and I didn't remember what it felt like to not have it. Pain so intense that there was nothing else in the world except my experience of it.

It feels weird to say, but I'd say it was close to a religious experience? In that hippy dippy way that you get a greater perspective on life and yourself, but like, not in a good way? Like it was awful and legitimately terrifying and there's nothing in the world that would ever make me want to feel that again. Legitimately traumatising. I would have nightmares and flashbacks to experiencing it, and i became terrified at the thought of any injury to my spine -- to the point where I became fearful of leaving the house.

But when i try think back to those moments of being in pain, it's hard to even conceive of it. I can't remember what it felt like. It's like when the audio input is too loud and it blows out the speakers and all you get is garbled static. It's just blank. Nothing but the feeling of noise.

For me, it felt like a bad trip as well, with the way that there was no time. It legitimately felt infinite to me. Like the way that when you do a 30sec wall sit, it's the longest 30sec of your life. Well, that. I know I was only in 10/10 pain for half an hour before I got given something that knocked it down to 9/10 (which was still awful, but .... It wasn't *that*) -- but to me it could have been seconds or years, I could not have told you. I felt suspended in my agony. I felt both inside and separated from my body. I felt dissociated, grounded, and as if i was daydreaming all at once. Like, the experience defies explanations. I never feel like i can get it into words.

After that. I don't know. I was just different. I mean, I couldn't even explain it in any way that did it justice. To say it was "bad" was just incomplete.

But i knew my body better after that. I had become so connected to it after that pain. Didn't really help that ive been in chronic pain since my 10/10, but. Yeah. Im very aware of my body after that.

It's also worth mentioning that to me, the gulf between 9 and 10, feels less like a one number jump, and more like 100x worse. 10/10 just feels like it's designed to psychologically break you. It's your brain deciding to give you the most intense and ruinous experience it can conceive of. It's your danger sense turned up as high as it can physically go.

[smuttysabina]

Born To Be A Slut

(Male Reader x Shin Yuna x Hwang Yeji, 5k words) Tags: Romantic sex, Dating an Idol, Lovey dovey stuff, Adorable cuddling, Teasing, Lesbian sex, Some cuckolding, vaginal sex- hey what was that last part?, Oh, well if EVERYONE is cucking each other isn't that just a polyamorous relationship?, Yeah so group sex, Anal sex, Deepthroating, Cum eating, Threesome, Oral sex of all kinds, forceful sex (I mean, Yeji is involved, what did you expect?), Rampant sluttery, And smatterings of mutual understanding, Oh and fat sloppy creampies.

It was a particular agony to be a personal trainer for idols. The more mundane aspects of it certainly held painful tensions, sculpting the taut, supple flesh of gorgeous girls into ever more enticing shapes would be a temptation in and of itself. But the methodology of idol training requires a rather hands-on approach, which makes the sexual pressures nigh unbearable. Normally this stress would be easily resolved by the idol in question, in fact many "trainers" were on hand for precisely such an occasion; since the ladies themselves were hardly immune to the arousing effects as well. Unfortunately for the true professionals however, they were far too expensive to be used as fuck-meat and discarded. And so they would suffer from their pent up lusts, morosely watching as others were fucked senseless by the very luscious idols they had been training mere moments before. Of course, the more kindly or salacious girls would surreptitiously assist the poor trainers, briefly allowing them to drain their tensions into them before returning to a strictly professional relationship. Which was what was supposed to have happened to you, but sadly some idols simply enjoy breaking the rules...

You really shouldn't be doing this with Yuna. But it's hard to say no to her when this nubile vixen is staring up at you with such needy eyes. She had been teasing you for months, constantly glaring at you hungrily, wordlessly demanding your attention as well as your love. Yuna had put her body through its paces for you, relentlessly showing herself off during training, moving subtly so that your hands strayed where they should not. Which is not to say that she had not been quite verbal about her interest either, her sweetly innocent voice had been encouraging you to take liberties with her the entire time. Yuna's constant attentions had locked you in a sordid spiral, unable to think of anything but being here, yet unwilling to simply leave and end your misery. The easiest thing to do would be to give in, but that would create a whole host of problems, since you knew that you would be unable to resist giving into her demands after falling the first time. Lia had noticed your predicament, and a week ago had sympathetically led you into the bathroom and sucked you to completion; willingly swallowing your painfully bloated load that had festered in your balls for ages. But now...

Yuna presses against you, hot and sweaty from her exercise, her toned body lithe and ready for more intense... exertions. You awkwardly pry the young idol off of you, you're here to help her with her workout, not engage in unwholesome activities. Yuna submits to your entreaties with a sly smile, sighing dramatically as she returns to her stretching routine. A routine that seems to have gained some rather exotic positions since you last ran through them. Yuna presents her body to you from all imaginable angles; arching her back to show off her smooth abs and perky bodice, bowing down and thrusting her tight butt into the air, spreading her legs wide and leaning down to reveal her bulging camel-toe... All the while she watches you like a hunting cat, her poses growing ever less useful and ever more erotic as she slowly whittles down your will to resist. Yuna doesn't even bother averting her gaze from the obvious bulge in her pants. She knows you want her, so what are you waiting for? Give in.

Eager to shatter the final chains of restraint, Yuna flows upright and stalks towards you; hips swaying, chest thrust out with clear seductive intent. You stumble backwards into the wall, sliding down its mirrored surface, trying to find a way to escape, but Yuna will not be denied. She joins you on the floor, crawling the last few feet and between your legs until her face is inches away from yours. Her face is flushed with arousal, her eyes begging you wordlessly for everything you have. Kiss her, caress her, grope her, please her, fuck her, fill her, fill her with your seed, fill her until she is swollen with your love, love her, loveherloveherloveher- With a snarl you savagely kiss Yuna, your tongues wrestling greedily as you pull her body against yours. She moans in ecstasy, her legs wrapping around waist as she gyrates on you, her hands already groping at your crotch. Your hands clench around her petite ass before sliding lower to grip the fabric of her leggings. Fueled by lust, you rip them open at her crotch with brutal strength, exposing her already dripping pussy to the cold air. With mirrored enthusiasm Yuna painfully wrenches your cock out of your pants, before slamming herself onto your rigid manhood with a groan of pleasure. This virile slut had been teasing you for months, ever since you started working with her, and you pay her back for every excruciating second with interest. You jackhammer her tight cunt, pounding into her crotch with such speed that the wet slaps echo noisily throughout the empty room. Yuna blubbers with joy, taking every thrust with salacious enthusiasm, loudly begging you for your hot cum... Unable to resist her encouragements any longer, with a tortured groan you empty yourself into Yuna, making her squeal as she follows suit. Her pussy milks your cock greedily, squeezing out every last drop until your shaft has been fully drained.

Yuna lets out a content purr, her legs locked tight around your waist, her hands idly rubbing up and down your back. She stares deep into your eyes, her own wet with tears of joy, and kisses you possessively, you are hers now, got it? You belong only to Yuna...

Yuna howls as she squirms beneath her lover, her lithe body writhing as she takes every last inch of him, her greedy little cunt squeezing tight around his manhood. Her eyes roll back and she spasms as his seed erupts into her, her legs locking tight around his waist so that she receives every last drop of his love. Yuna snarls as he withdraws, but is quickly mollified as he is replaced by another fan whose cock is already dripping with excitement. This one takes her from behind as she slobbers on another member that appears like magic in front of her face. Yes, fill her up! Give her more...

"Oh! Be gentle," Yuna exclaims as you slowly push inside of her pussy, "I'm still so tight baby, so go slow with me..." She simpers as your cock fills her belly, nodding shyly in encouragement while pressing one hand against your chest, the epitome of an innocent lover. Once Yuna had caught you, her continuous seduction had mellowed, well comparatively so, she still teased you endlessly, just more in private now. And now whenever her temptatious stretches filled you with lust, you simply took her in whatever position she so happened to be in; it had gotten to the point that Yuna had joked that she should wear crotchless yoga pants, since you tore hers open so often. She hadn't, of course, she knew full well that nothing was more exciting than the anticipation that led up to the act itself, and kept her puffy lower lips shrouded to fire your imagination... Yuna moans sweetly as her legs bounce on your shoulders, you are so deep inside of her that a bulge forms in her belly from where your cock is buried in her, "Please, you're stretching me out, I'm not used to taking-"

"MORE! Give me more!" Yuna screeches as twin cocks piston her gushing cunt, her pussy slobbering fluids all over the pair of them as they plow her. The pink of her insides are clearly visible as her hole fails to grip them tightly enough, the slut too busy orgasming to even consider clenching down on their dicks. It's still not enough to fully satisfy her though, and soon another meaty cock is cramming itself into her already gaping cunt. Yuna wails with pleasure as her pussy is stretched out by three pounding dicks, gleefully scrabbling at the floor as her guts get brutally rearranged...

Your member noses curiously up Yuna's soaking slit before prodding gently against her anus, causing her to squeal in protest, "Wait! I want to save that for a special occasion! I'll need time to prep too you know!" She looks back at you and pouts, her ass still raised high in the air while her chest is pressed fully against the ground in a perfect arch. Yuna smiles affectionately as you lower your ambitions and push into the now-familiar warmth of her pussy, its wet folds welcoming you inside lovingly. You had been seeing Yuna for a couple months now, meeting with her in a disused practice room to provide a thin veneer of deniability; ostensibly she was growing stiff and required some extra assistance in working out the kinks. You certainly had been helping her stretch out, though the main area you focused on was her crotch and core. For her part, Yuna remained adorably endearing, lavishing you with attention whenever possible, even if it was mostly sensual in nature; her love language was undoubtedly sex. But still, you sensed she was holding back somewhat, contrary to the rumours about her, Yuna was delightfully wholesome and submissive once you got her clothes off; she was aggressive while teasing, but once your cock was inside of her she was like putty in your hands... You shudder with pleasure as your seed pours into Yuna as you hold her perky butt tight against you, causing her to gasp with delight, "I feel so warm inside..."

Semen spews out of Yuna's gaping asshole like a fountain as her guts empty themselves in a torrent of foul liquid after getting mercilessly pummeled by a gargantuan cock. The whore wails in distress as all the creamy love her fans had filled her with gushes out of her, as she desperately tries to squeeze shut her blown out asshole. Yuna's frantic bawling eventually draws Yeji's attention, who sighs in annoyance before assigning yet more meat to pump Yuna full again. Soon the slut is once more spasming in delight as her butt gets refilled once more, her filthy cunt drooling from the stimulation of having her ass violated by countless cocks...

Several weeks later, you and Yuna had secreted yourselves once more in the unused studio, going through actual stretches for once, as Yuna had strained her leg the other day while dancing. Though things had certainly started to hint at a more intimate sort of physical therapy, when the door suddenly slams open; and in saunters Yeji. Wearing naught but a towel, and crowned with the same, Itzy's leader appears fresh out of the shower, and more than a little amused to see you, "So this is where you've been hiding then," she smiles evilly, "don't think I haven't noticed you running off all the time, Yuna." Yuna sits upright from where she had been touching her toes and rolls her eyes in exasperation, "Well yeah, where else would I go to do some physical therapy in private?" Yeji sighs and stalks closer, as Yuna scoots between you and her protectively, glaring up defiantly at her senior, and Yeji meets her gaze with ease, "Yuna, tell me the truth, is this your new lover? It's been months since I found your last one, or have you finally grown up?" Yuna's pretty face twists petulantly, "No, he's just helping me do therapy, I've been a good girl, I promise!" Yuna's posture shifts from rebellious to submissive, affecting sadness at Yeji's lack of trust in her. It seemed all for sure, but even you felt a little moved by her performance, and it seemed Yeji did as well as her lips part slightly, "Oh, you promise?" her voice suddenly reduced to a husky whisper, the tension between the two felt like a familiar one, as Yeji stands directly in front of Yuna, so engrossed in her junior that she ignores you entirely; or you are merely beneath her notice, "So have you been a good girl Yuna?" she breathes. Yuna tilts her head forward and gives Yeji her best puppy-dog eyes, her face the very definition of purity, it was hard to refuse Yuna when she looked like that. Yeji twitches. Yuna lays it on like butter, "I promise I have not been a naughty girl, Yeji..." She flutters her eyelashes, smiling sweetly up at her leader, adorably shifting slightly from side to side as she maintains constant eye contact. Yeji's face flushes, as her lips draw back revealing clenched teeth, until with a snarl of pure lust she grabs Yeji's head and shoves it into her crotch.

"You lying slut," Yeji hisses as she forces Yuna's mouth against her cunt, "you filthy little whore, you've fallen in love again, haven't you?" Yuna lets out a whine of protest, even as she gorges upon Yeji's pussy, doing her best to try and pull away but unable to match her senior's strength. Yeji's towel falls to the ground from the violence of their sex, revealing her well-toned body and perky breasts; if she had any shame at being nude in front of a male coworker while forcing her junior to eat her out, she did not show it. Instead she groans brazenly as Yuna pleasures her, that nimble tongue and soft lips you knew so well now put to good use stimulating Yeji's hairy pussy; she crouches slightly as she pushes back against Yuna's head, hand gripping her hair tightly. And as much as she seems to struggle, Yuna still satisfies Yeji skillfully enough that soon she is shuddering as she approaches climax, "Oh fuck, eat it, eat it," Yeji moans loudly, even as Yuna squeaks in distress, which only seems to excite Yeji even further until she cannot hold on even longer, "Oh fuck, Yuna!" Yeji eyes roll back and she screams as her cunt squirts all over Yuna's mouth, forcing her to gulp down her fluids even as she struggles for breath, until Yeji stops quivering and regains her composure. Exhaling slowly, she releases her grip upon Yuna and allows her to collapse onto the ground like a piece of trash, where she coughs pitifully. Finally, Yeji acknowledges your presence, glancing at you with a sneer that conveys all too well her relish in cuckolding you, "Now then, strip."

You hesitate, knowing full well that company policy protected you from the idols' sexual demands, but unsure where your protracted tryst with Yuna left you on the scale of things. Were you still a professional trainer, or were you just an intern now, to be used and abused at will? Yeji cocks her head, "I said strip, or else I'll do it for you, meat." Yuna squawks in protest at this, but Yeji just laughs mockingly, "What? I thought he wasn't your lover, so why do you care so much?" While Yuna scrambles her brain for a response, Yeji returns her attention to you and menacingly raises an eyebrow, indicating you should get on with it. She eyes your nude form with the mild disinterest of a lady whose body count was in the thousands, before shrugging slightly and lazily stalking forwards. Her slow advance halts though when Yuna scrambles in front of her, arms outstretched, still bravely defiant, "You can't have him, he is mine!" Yuna snarls fiercely, you are unable to see Yuna's expression, but it must have been serious as Yeji blinks in surprise, "No, he is fuck-meat, he exists to be drained and discarded." "No," Yuna spits, "I love him, and he is mine!" Yeji groans in irritation, "How many times... Yuna darling, if you really loved him, would you have fucked literally hundreds of fans while he was yours?" You knew obviously, but you still feel a pit open in your stomach, before Yuna replies, "Those don't count! Those were just dicks, he is different! He is special!" she turns her head and gives you a reassuring smile before returning to staring down her leader; and the knots in your belly disappear, she did love you! Yeji rolls her eyes, and glance past Yuna to give you an exasperated look, before sighing wearily, "If he really loved you Yuna, would he be hard for me right now?" Yuna sniffs haughtily, contemptuously not even bothering to check to see if it was true (it was), Yeji continue as if by rote, "So if I were to fuck him right now, he would not stay hard at all, and would not enjoy himself?" Yuna nods confidently, "Of course not! But you would be able to force him to cum anyways!" Yeji smiles wanly, "See? If he can't stop himself from breeding whatever hole is wrapped around his cock, what makes yours so special? For all you know he's been plowing Chaery and Lia as well." "What, no!" Yuna stammers, "He's been giving all of his love to me! Plus he's a professional, so he's off limits!" "And what if I made him love me, would he just be fuck-meat then?" Yeji smiles slyly. Yuna laughs at that, "There is NO way you could do that, his love belongs only to me!" Yeji merely smirks, "Well let's find out then, shall we?" she looks at you, "On the ground meat, time to get fucked..."

You shiver slightly as you lay down, nervous about the ordeal to come, but Yuna gives you several kisses for support before pulling back and giving several more for your cock; as if claiming it for herself once more. Then Yeji arrives, "Oh good, you're getting it ready for me," as she grabs your cock and points it up, before slamming Yuna's head into it. Yuna's arms flail as she chokes on your meat, but Yeji simply leans forward, applying her body weight on her juniors head to keep her occupied. Giving you a faint smile, she murmurs in your ear, "Sorry, but this is going to be rough. Her lovers rarely last this long, so I'm going to have to make this... memorable," her smile becomes genuine for a moment, "enjoy this, because I will." Yeji pats your cheek before returning her attentions to Yuna, whose face is growing steadily redder by the moment as spit pools around the base of your shaft. She eases up enough for Yuna's head to jerk up, allowing her to gulp down what air she can with your cock still occupying her mouth, before Yeji forces her down again, "Didn't I say to get him ready for me? Fuck, you suck at this," she starts to piston her junior's head up and down your cock, uncaring of the massive mess she was making as Yuna slobbers and gasps desperately for air. You meanwhile are too busy groaning with pleasure to worry much about your lover, her wet tongue and throat driving your cock wild; you even start to thrust a little in time with Yeji's rhythm. At some indeterminable point Yeji grows tired of her sport, and hauls Yuna's drooling face off of your meat before depositing her nearby. She gives you a ravenous glare, "Time to fuck..."

With languid grace Yeji orients herself above your slippery member, holding position just low enough that her coarse folds kissed your tip. She gently sways her hips, running your cockhead through her moist, hairy slit, smirking as you shudder from the stimulation; she can tell how badly you want it. Yeji licks her lips as your hips begin to unconsciously hike upwards, your body desperate to breed her, no matter the implications, "You see Yuna," Yeji purrs to the prostrate form of her junior who was only now raising herself up onto her elbows, still hacking as she recovers from having her throat used like a fleshlight, "just a little teasing and now he is mindlessly desperate for me already. And this is why men are all worthless fuck-meat." Yuna whines despondently at this, but fixes you with a stare that wordlessly conveys her confidence in you; she nods in encouragement, she knows your love will not waver even if you are balls deep inside of Yeji. Speaking of which, Yeji finally decides to put you out of your misery, and with a feral groan slowly slides your length inside of herself until her folds kiss your crotch. She pauses her for a few moments, savoring the feeling of being filled, allowing you to feel the differences between hers and Yuna's insides; then with a crooked smile she rides you. Her pace is ferocious, almost feral, fucking you as if she were an animal in heat, her sopping cunt massaging your cock ceaselessly. Unlike the smooth tightness of Yuna, Yeji's cunt was practically drooling with fluids, roughly dragging against your shaft as she bounces atop you. After several minutes of this voracious sex, you can feel your balls already pulsating needily, and no matter how hard you tried to hold on for your beloved, you knew you were going to breed Yeji. Or not. Pausing on the precipice of your climax, Yeji waits until the moment has passed, before slowly starting again, hungrily she leans forward, her dark nipples rigid, and growls, "Say you love me." You refuse, and so she continues.

What feels like hours pass by, but it must have surely been far less, as Yeji continues to pry at your determination, urging you to give in. And oh how you want to, your balls throb in agony from being denied so many times, and your brain feels melted from being edged for so long by this cruel sexual goddess. All the while Yeji smugly provides a running commentary for Yuna, who is out of your view by this point, and no doubt worried sick about you. But even the thought of your dearest Yuna could only sustain you for so long, and like the experienced slut she was, Yeji could tell without you even needing to say anything. So when she runs her hands up your sweaty chest, and clasps your cheeks, she knows exactly how you will answer before she even asks, "Do you love me?" Despairing, you moan an affirmative, feeling absolutely wretched for betraying Yuna, but unable to resist your body's demands that you impregnate the woman atop you. Yeji smirks, her body similarly coated with sweat, her breasts heaving from her protracted exertions, her legs bulging with muscles, and lets out a little laugh, "No, you don't," Before finishing you off with a furious burst of riding that has your head spinning as your balls empty themselves into Yeji's fertile cunt. Who groans with delight as her pussy is filled, her narrow eyes widening slightly as the sheer quantity of semen pouring inside of her surprises even her. She slowly grinds on you as your cock finishes leaking its load into Yeji, "Fuck," she murmurs, "That was a lot, I'm almost impressed," she turns around and calls behind her, "Yuna dear, time to clean up! Oh stop masturbating and get over here already!"

You frown up at Yeji in confusion, masturbation, what was she talking about? Yeji grins mirthlessly down at you, "What, didn't you notice? The entire time you were doing your best to hold on for her, your supposed lover was busy finger-blasting herself silly like the perverted little cuck she is. That's right, she was enjoying your suffering, she was aroused by watching you getting taken by another girl. Pitiful, isn't it?" With that Yeji smoothly unmounts you, uncaring of the slick of semen leaking from her cunt down her glistening thighs; she was about to get cleaned off anyways. Then she drags the now completely naked Yuna towards you, who blushes shyly as she approaches, stammering awkwardly in embarrassment, "Honey! You're okay! You um, held on for so long! I'm so proud of you!" she gives you a sickly sweet smile, as if trying to distract you from the fact that her legs were absolutely drenched with fluids. The look of jealousy that flashes across her face is genuine though, as she smells the stench of another girl slathering your nethers. With a determined expression, she gets to work sucking and licking the evidence of your copulation off of you; cleaning you so enthusiastically that your member improbably starts to rise to the occasion once more. But Yuna's chore is not yet finished, after all, your delicious load belongs to her, so she takes her due.

Yeji groans as Yuna devours her sloppy cunt once more, the slut's lithe tongue scooping out its creamy contents before undulating it back down its length and into her throat. Yuna's ass is raised high in the air as she works, the tempting sweep of her hips put on full display, showing exactly why she was so often taken in this position. Your interest does not go unnoticed, even as her pussy is getting emptied, Yeji beckons you closer, leaning forward slightly so that she can spread her junior's cheeks, "Ready again? Good, now fuck her ass this time," Yuna lets out a surprised noise at this pronouncement, but Yeji uses a hand to keep her on task by holding her head in place, "Oh and don't worry about lube, she likes it rough. So, are you going to fuck her or not?" You hesitate, Yuna had said that she had wanted to save anal for a special occasion, but she had not helped you while Yeji was ravishing you, and instead had been aroused by your suffering... Your tip prods at her entrance, causing Yuna to quiver slightly until you grasp her wide hips to hold her in place as you force yourself into her asshole. You push inside of her vigorously, expecting to have to press through the cramped confines of her unused rear; instead, you slam yourself inside of Yuna's guts to the hilt. A muffled squeal emanates from Yeji's crotch, as Yuna's entire body jolts in surprise, and a gush of squirt splatters against your balls. The tight hole which you had been aching to fuck for so long, was loose from overuse, stretched out from countless cocks that had been plowing it while you had patiently waited. So you jackhammer Yuna's worthless asshole, now beyond caring about her discomfort as you relentless fuck her guts, causing Yeji to coo in delight, "See I told you she was a slut, make her pay for cucking you..." And oh how you do, you treat her asshole like a cheap fleshlight, uncaring of the pain you might be causing; though judging by the sporadic sprays of squirt that hit your thighs in balls, the whore was enjoying it. And you were too, though her anus was no longer the snug hole it used to be, her coils still had enough strength to massage your shaft as it slams past them. Your balls start to clench upwards once more, your thrusts deepen and grow in force, Yeji notes this and urges you on, "Do it, claim her fucking asshole, fill this bitch's guts with your cum," groaning loudly, you comply, spurting your seed deep inside of Yuna's innards while she spasms with ecstasy from having her ass bred.

Still shuddering, you pull out of Yuna's ass, and are unsurprised when it closes immediately after you leave, sealing your semen inside of her. Panting, she looks up at Yeji for approval, her face flushed with arousal, her face smeared with Yeji's cunt juices. Yeji pats her cheek affectionately, "Fuck, you were born to be a slut, Yuna," the girl in question giggles shyly, before glancing back at you apologetically, "I'm sorry dear, I guess it wasn't love after all, I'm just a slut after all..." Yuna continues to breath heavily, and whines, "I need mooore," she pouts, "does nobody love me enough to give some?" Yeji lets out a knowing sigh, "I'm sure some of the interns are absolutely bursting with love for you Yuna, why don't you go ask them?" Yuna brightens noticeably at this, and beaming happily scampers up onto her feet and races out of the room, not even bothering to spare you a parting glance. And thus ended your relationship, if it could be called that, with Yuna. Yeji gives you a sympathetic look as the pair of you sit on the wooden floor, both uncaring of the fact that you are seated in a puddle of sexual fluids. Yeji clears her throat, "We're going to have to let you go, but don't worry, we know a few other companies with openings so you shouldn't have any troubles finding work. IVE in particular seem to be needing good physical trainers, those lazy brats," she gives you a level stare, "But first, fuck-meat, I am going to use you until I am satisfied. After all," she smiles cruelly, "I don't have to worry about being down a professional trainer any more..." Her smug boasting is cut off however as you jump up and shove your cock into her face, forcing her to clean the stinking ass-juices off of your cock as her eyes narrow dangerously. Once you are erect once more, you push her back onto the ground, where she growls huskily, "Feisty, I think I'm going to enjoy this more than I expected," Yeji smoothly assumes the position, sticking her butt up into the air and giving you a meaningful glance,

"Well pick a hole already, and don't worry, I won't let you stop until I'm satisfied. Now show me how you fuck an actual woman, and not some mincing slut..."

[ciwzing]

❏ 「 Feverish Kiss 」

◟੭ ❝ can i kiss you? ❞

⎙ wc: 959

✉️ fluff, sick reader, not proofread!

Your head painfully aches, it hurts so much that every beat of your heart matches with the throb of pain on your head. The itch and hoarseness in your throat that even swallowing your own saliva is made with caution because it hurts. The clog and stuffiness on your nose annoys you beyond compare, it was frustrating that breathing feels like a chore instead. You felt tears prickling at the corner of your eyes, you can't even fall asleep to at least subside the agony you find yourself in.

"Oi, don't go sleeping on me when you haven't eaten anything yet" The gruffly voice make your eyes open slowly, you huffed wanting to reason you were merely resting your eyes but it seems like you didn't need to say those words when he can already pick out what you wanted to say base on his flat expression. "Sit up, I prepared you a meal" He said and shuffled around the room to place the bed tray on top of your bed, careful with his movement to not spill any food. "Don' wanna" you grumbled, not finding any type of appetite to eat anything at your state when the only thing you desired was sleep.

"Well too bad cuz' you're gonna eat whether you like it or not" He retorts before sitting in the foot of your bed with his arms crossed looking at you expectantly to start eating your meal. "What?" you frowned at him, bringing the blanket closer to your face to cover your red runny nose and lips.

"What do you mean 'what', Eat." He ordered and raised his eyebrow at you, gesturing the good with his eyes, your frown drowning deeper, shaking your head no. "I go on about my day to prepare this meal just for you and you refuse to eat" He said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose shaking his head side to side at your stubbornness. "This is why you're not getting better, why do you refuse to eat huh?"

"Craving for a specific food? Tell me, I'll cook it for you"

"I just don't wanna eat" you said in a meek voice almost hiding under the blanket but he already had a tight grip on the fabric so you won't be able to pull it near you. "Why did the archons give me such a stubborn lover" He said, sweeping his hair back while looking up, to seem like he's talking to a god from the sky above. You pout at his statement while he only gives you a raise of his eyebrow and a mischievous grin. "What? do you want me to spoon feed you instead" He teased, your face heats up at his statement before ducking under the blankets to hide your flushed state.

He merely chuckled at your cute antics and continue to remove the table ray out of your bed to not cause a mess before pulling the blanket down. You tried to pull it back up but with your current state you couldn't even reach the cloth out of his grasp, successfully revealing your face and its glory. He stared at you in awe, amazed at how you still manage to look so pretty even when you're sick. Hair sticking out in every direction from not being brushed since morning, your red nose that scrunches because of his teasing, your eyes that's glossed and dazed, and finally your cheeks that's red because of him and not because of your fever. His grip on the blanket loosened as he buried his face on your flushed and warm neck.

You tried to turn your head to look at his expression but he held you still but the redness of his ears and hitch breaths can make you determine what kind of expression he has on his face currently. "Can I kiss you?" He asked after a few seconds of silence, you tilt your head to the side, bewildered that he was the same man who just teased you not even minutes ago. "You might get sick as well, Kuni" Your voice was hoarse due to the fever but he still found it soothing, his body melting further with your own.

Your warmth kept him from pulling away from instead his hold on you tightened. "I don't get sick" He reasoned "Kiss me" He said almost desperately, you chuckled throwing your head from laughter before you pulled his face away from your neck, your warm hands holding his face before bringing him close to yours. He closed the gap between you to meet your lips sharing a kiss that he had been craving for.

His head spinning, he felt dizzy, it might be because you're infecting him with your fever but he knows better, it's all because of the simple kiss you both shared. You pulled away first to take a closer look at his face, his eyes still closed chasing for more of your lips making you smile giddly. Biting your bottom lip to stop yourself from letting out a giggle. Once his eyes open to meet your own, his face immediately flushes, his first instinct is to hide and stuff his face between your face and shoulder.

You finally burst a series of chuckles, throwing your head back, you felt him prompt his chin on your chest as he watched you glow while you laugh, tears now present at the corner of your eyes but not at frustration this time. "Aren't I supposed to be the one being doted on?" You teased after calming down from the bunch of serotonin he had given you. His ears painted itself red before hiding himself again on your neck. "Shut up.,,"

"Kiss me again"

✉️ send an ask if you wanna be added to my general taglist<3

[factorialsotherfandoms]

XCOM au again. A second part/sequel to this - Missa being rescued and recovering, in 100-200-300-400-500 words. It's not exactly a happy ending, but... he's safe, and he's with people he cares about, and he learns Roier isn't dead (which means I need to adjust the timeline on the spiderbit fic but shhh), so... Maybe it'll be okay.

(He's a good month or two off being able to snipe again. This is like... I guess 3/4 years pre-Felps rescue? iiiiish? Which gives them time to settle in and stuff. They have the airship at this point, but it's not quite working yet, and its only once its working that Philza is seriously asked to help out lead things, until then it's just being bugged with questions every so often. What becomes Aypierre's lab is where he's being looked after/ Pac e Mike are probably disappearing a few months later, just after it's finished. Aypierre is actually rescued after they're gone, iirc. Stuff happened which meant Roier had to leave Cellbit alone with the Feds, and he's not happy about that either. Spreen looms over the narrative, but he isn't here. Stuff and things and thoughts and timelines are stupid just enjoy.)

Someone is calling Missa's name. He is cold, and he is hurting, but there is something warm against his cheek, and someone is calling his name.

They are gentle but urgent, worried but kind. The warmth on his cheek is there, then it is gone, and then he is being lifted from the cold, concrete floor. There is warmth on his cheek.

"It's okay now, king, I've got you."

He tries to call out, but his lips will not move. He tries to look, but his eyes will not open.

He tries to hold on, but he slips away again.

---

Everything hurts. Every limb aches, and every organ screams in pain. There is yelling, and chaos, and hands heavy on his body. A needle slips under his skin, pushing something into his veins.

Missa cannot help it - he whines.

Hands brush through his hair, a little too fast and too frantic to be soothing.

"You're okay, you're okay, you'll be fine," someone says. "Just stay with us, Missa, we've got you."

That voice is familiar. A different voice asks something in English, too fast for Missa's slurring brain to make out. The someone replies in the same, and then a third voice joins in.

If he strains he can hear two more voices, one distorted like it comes over a radio.

And, oh, the ground is moving.

The voices sound… Grim.

It takes more effort than it should, but he cracks open his eyes - just a little, just a fraction.

Missa's two eyes meet six.

Six black eyes.

Roier.

… He is dead, then, and Roier is here to collect his soul. Because Missa saw Roier die, so if he is here, holding his head…

"Stay with me, idiot."

Roier is crying.

Missa wants to obey.

His eyes slip shut anyway.

---

A beeping draws Missa back to consciousness. The pain is dulled, now, but he can still tell that it is there. There are points of sharpness under his skin, his throat is dry, and his stomach finds itself in agony.

There is a gentle pressure against his eyelid, rubbing back and forth, and now that he listens he can hear two people talking in… Some language he does not speak.

One of them is holding his hand.

He does his best to hold back, if only for instinct and politeness and the vague knowledge that, whoever this is, they must have something to do with the fact he is on a bed, not in a cell.

There's a gasp, and the thumb brushing his eyelid is withdrawn. Seconds later, a hand cups his head instead.

"Oi Missa," a voice says - English, but uncertain with it. "Can you, um, open your eyes?"

He tries, and it hurts, so he tries to escape. There is a little talking, the language swapping again, and the sound of someone leaving. The two voices continue, one the familiar and the other annoyed.

"You're doing really well," the first voice switches back, probably addressing him again. "Just a little more?"

Opening his eyes is the most difficult challenge that Missa has attempted in his life, and yet it is somehow one he wins. He finds himself in a room with two men, both in lab coats. The one touching his face is sat on the bed, and grins at him. The other, hair obnoxiously pink, gives a smaller smile as he sits down.

"Can Mike ask some questions? We want to check you're okay."

Missa is… not entirely sure which of them asked, but nods anyway; he complies and, once their tests are over, he sleeps.

---

Missa comes to with someone holding his hand. It's much easier to open his eyes, this time. When he looks, he sees Philza, sat at his side and reading a very battered looking book.

Unsure what else to do, Missa watches on, enchanted.

It's a few minutes before Philza notices him staring.

"Hey Missa," he closes the book. "How're you feeling?"

Missa… has no idea how to answer that.

"Thirsty," he settles on, in the end.

Philza laughs a little, but helps him up. Once Missa is safely resting on the pillows, he pours some water into a glass, and holds it as Missa drinks.

When it is empty he sets the cup aside, and rests his hand on Missa's cheek instead. Too tired to resist temptation, Missa presses his face into the warmth.

There's a chuckle, and the other hand comes to rest on his shoulder. "Glad to have you back, king - you scared us for a bit there."

"Sorry," Missa whispers.

"None of that," Philza replies. "You're all good, mate. You're so fucking good."

It's hard to believe. Missa is still tired, though, so he does not argue. At least he is with Philza - at least he is here, with somebody he knows. His brother will never let him back, so… At least he is not alone.

He is alive, and not alone, and it's more than he could ever have hoped for, to be bought back to… Wait.

"Where are we?"

Philza freezes a second, then laughs, and says "it's a moving camp. When you were taken, I got in contact with Fit, and he spoke to the guys he's running with these days - the Order, they call themselves - and here the fuck we are."

"We're not-"

"I'm so sorry," Philza's face twists. "You know how it is. Here they keep alive by moving. They don't need the secrets, so…"

And so Missa's stupidity means Philza has been ripped away from his home. He freezes, tries to pull away, and-

Philza catches his hands.

"I chose this," Philza tells him, voice stern. "Missa, this was my fucking choice, okay? I could have let Fit go himself, but I wanted to find you. Just breath. It's not your fucking fault."

Is he so predictable?

Missa guesses so, when he bursts into tears.

Philza folds him into his arms, and holds him close as he cries himself to sleep.

---

Every time he sleeps, it becomes easier for Missa to wake. He is still too tired, exhausted down to his core, but with broken bones he should likely rest regardless. Philza comes more often than not, and still Missa struggles to understand why he came - the man had everything, and yet he abandoned it all just to save Missa. It makes no sense. Missa is grateful for the rescue, and to not be alone, but it makes no sense.

Even Fit comes by, once or twice. His brother's other ex is a cautious man but still tells him it is good to see him again. Missa thinks he actually came for the doctors - not doctors at all, but engineers with a medical textbook, and it is still more than his home ever had - but the man still says hello. Friendly, but cautious.

Sometimes, Missa thinks he sees something in the corners, in the shadows, or the ceiling.

Sometimes, he thinks that something looks like the ghost of a long dead friend.

One night he wakes, and sees it in the shadows. He pretends to sleep as he watches it come down, slowly scuttling down the wall and to his bedside. He keeps his eyes lidded as familiar fingers press into his neck, taking his pulse.

They are cold, but not as cold as they should be.

The figure stays there a bit, breath shaky. Once it steadies it withdraws its hand, and makes to leave.

Missa reaches out, and traps the spider in the web.

It freezes.

"Roier?" Missa asks, wishing the hope did not linger on his tongue.

"Missa," a voice he knows replies. "Go back to sleep."

"Are you a ghost?"

"No, no I'm not a ghost. It's fine. Rest."

"A dream?"

"Missa."

"I watched you die."

Finally Roier does something. He peels Missa's fingers away.

Still he hesitates to leave.

"I'm just as dead as you," Roier replies.

"It was a trick?"

"No. I just survived."

And Missa does not know how someone would survive such injuries, but he will take what he can get. Injured and half-asleep is perhaps the worst times for such conversations, but he is not sure he will ever see Roier again if he fails.

"They saved you too?"

"No then," he replies. "I met them later."

"I'm sorry," Missa says, haunted by everything that came before. "I… I'm sorry. I was there, and… And I'm sorry."

Roier turns, and finally looks at him

"And now we're both here," Roier frowns, but holds eye contact. "It's fine. Go back to sleep."

"Roier!"

"Later. We can talk about it later," he says, breaking eye contact finally. "You're… You're hurt, Missa, hurt badly. Please, just… just rest."

Roier is afraid.

Missa hesitates, and relents, and curls back up as best he can.

"Good night, Missa."

"Good night, Roier."

Roier tucks the blanket around him, and vanishes back into the night.

They don't talk about it in the morning; it's long years before they do.

[the-graves-family]

Aegri Somnia: Sick Man's Dream

09-02-2024

It’s cold.

Aaron hasn’t been home in days.

No footsteps, no slamming doors, no yelling, no hitting. Nothing. The house is still, as if it’s holding its breath, frozen in time waiting for its master’s return. 

Each minute crawls by, painfully slow. Ace has no way to tell the time, except for the darkness that falls at dusk, and the light that breaks through at dawn. His brother will surely be upset when he returns: the chores haven’t been done. He can expect vicious words and strikes when Aaron returns. The thought only brings misery, condenses in his chest and leaves him feeling desolate.

He’s not sure if the persistent cough that has plagued him for weeks is gone, or if he’s just too weak to cough anymore. It had certainly felt like he’d broken something for a while. Pain is a familiar feeling, a constant companion for the last decade or so. He’s not sure if it’s a good or bad thing. On one hand, he’s not too bothered by everything that seems to be going wrong with his body now. On the other hand, it could be really serious, and he wouldn’t know. What’s one more ache in the midst of hundreds?

A few hours ago, he’d been in the most pain he’d ever felt besides the accident that had cost him his limbs. Writhing on the bed and gasping for air, begging for help. Now, he feels almost nothing.

Except for the cold. The cold is really starting to bother him.

Ace’s lungs haven’t been the same since the bomb. Makes sense, he’s missing half of one. But he can’t remember ever breathing so shallowly. It feels like no oxygen is getting into his blood, but he can’t even muster up the energy to panic. Every sensation feels foggy and distant.

Memories flicker to the forefront of his mind without his permission, faraway blurs of color and sound. Voices, faces, things that seemingly hold no meaning anymore.

Ace thinks of Adrian.

He’d like a hug from his brother, right about now. Adrian gives the bestest, warmest hugs. He can’t remember the last time he’d gotten one, and it makes him irrationally sad. He’s so cold. Why can’t his big brother come and help him?

Why isn’t anyone helping him…?

Another memory, and it’s the faces of two women he can’t recognize anymore. They feel important, so important, but their names are lost to him. Ace can’t remember where he knew them from, but it feels like he should never have forgotten them. Like an unconscious betrayal. He wonders how long ago they met. It must have been a long time, for everything to have faded away, surely. He remembers a small room, remembers rowdy meals, waiting patiently for something important to happen—

Ace feels incredibly alone for a moment, before a full-body shiver brings him back to the present by reminding him that his whole being aches dully. Cold.

It’s dark outside, and the light in the hallway has been flickering on and off for a while. Ace doesn’t know why he left the door to his room open: he usually closes it to avoid Aaron.

He’s not completely sure why he wants to avoid Aaron.

His twin, his other half. Why does the mere thought of him make Ace’s heart race, cold sweat run down his back? It makes the cotton-like confusion swirling in his head even worse. A lot of things aren’t making sense, and he doesn’t know how to fix it.

Ace is good at fixing things. Used to be, at least.

The face of a dark-skinned man flashes behind his eyes, and he has to curl up and whimper from the sheer agony of knowing he should recognize him. It feels so important, like everything will fall into place if he just remembers. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling. The man feels familiar, and kind. Warm, big hands. Wonderful hugs. He thinks about walks in the park, and dinners with candles on the table. A lot of people asking him questions and talking to him in a language he's barely started to understand. Awkward but heartwarming, because it means they care.

He’s so confused.

Why is he even thinking of people who aren’t family?

Family is everything, Father had always told him that. He has to be a good brother, and a good son, and everything will be alright. Adam’s sure that if he is good and dutiful, all these feelings and all this suffering will just be washed away by caring hands. Make him warm again.

He wonders where Father is. Even when he was very busy with his cases, he’d always find the time to visit his sons if they were sick. Adam feels very sick.

The more he stares at the white sheet on the bed, unable to even lift his head, the more he’s sure he’s never had white sheets in their room. Uncle always likes to use the colorful ones. Every shade of blue he could find, because Uncle says that white sheets remind him of hospitals.

Hospitals… something about hospitals…

Memories of his childhood room are tainted by smoke and burning plastic, blood pouring out of him unimpeded. No, nothing happened at the cabin. Right? No fires.

Adam’s scared. He doesn’t like being scared.

Aaron always makes him feel better when he’s scared. His twin is never scared, and he always says he’ll beat the crap out of anything that scares Adam. It makes him feel really safe. Even if they’re not supposed to use words like that. That’s just the way Aaron is, always breaking the rules.

The light outside his room flickers once more, and he’s sure he hears footsteps in the hallway.

Aaron’s home.

It’s getting really hard to keep his eyes open, but Adam still finds it in him to smile,  despite the racing heart, despite the chills down his spine. His twin’s home. Everything’s going to be okay. He wants to sit up, to greet his brother properly, but for some reason, his body doesn’t seem very keen on listening to him anymore. He’s trying his best, but all he can manage is some weak twitching. His limbs are numb, like something’s pinching all his nerves at once.

The more time Aaron takes from the door to his room, the harder it is to keep smiling. Why is he taking so long?

Darkness blurs the edges of his vision and he struggles to keep his eyes open. It's hard to see, hard to stay awake. He's tired. Nothing even hurts anymore.

Adam tries to sit up again, but the wave of nausea and exhaustion that overcomes him keeps him planted firmly on the bed. He doesn’t understand. He'd been fine just… yesterday? He can't—

He's very tired, and so very cold. Maybe he should rest for a little bit. Close his eyes for a few minutes before Aaron comes to him.

A shape in the doorway, gray and indistinct, makes him blink. Is he finally not alone anymore?

“...Aaron?”

But Adam is tired, so tired. 

He closes his eyes.

The house becomes empty.

[squidproquoclarice]

“Ser Cullen, are you well?” He realized Josephine had stayed behind also, and blushed, hoping she hadn’t watched him standing there struggling with his own thoughts and doubts and confusion for too long. He couldn’t afford to be seen like that.

“A slight headache,” he replied. Which wasn’t a lie. Though once again it had felt like the inside of his skull was something like a blacksmith’s anvil earlier today.

“You should rest,” she said, gathering her papers and clutching them to her chest.

“If there were more hours in the day, Lady Josephine, I would.”

She fidgeted for a moment, and then the words she obviously wanted to say burst forth, an expression of ashamed agony in her eyes. “I simply can’t understand why the Herald would be so reluctant to tell us something so vital as the fact her parents were killed until I asked directly about messaging them.” Her voice held a tremulous edge for a moment. Nothing like wounded pride or anger, something more like sorrow or fear. He didn’t know her well enough yet to say for certain. “She let me talk about your family and mine, not even knowing my sympathies were due, which must have been making the wound all the worse–”

Some part of him suddenly ached for her. To be that innocent still–he felt as though he could barely remember it. The fact she had come out of the viper pit of Orlais with that sort of capability for kindness and consideration also made him reassess her a bit. “It makes perfect sense, Lady Josephine, when you consider her perspective. We captured her, chained her, imprisoned and interrogated her. Dragged her up a mountain into a battle still planning to try her as an assassin. Then when we knew she wasn’t one, we still obliged her to stay by telling her that her Mark is indispensable, and to leave our protection would be certain death. We forced the mantle of Andraste’s Herald upon her, in part because it suits our purposes. We’re sending her out upon our errands even now to try to recruit people for us.”

She listened, a look of sharp intent and curiosity on her features, and nodded, gesturing for him to go on.

“You’re assuming that because we freed her and that because our intentions are good that she must trust us. But when you’re a prisoner, the one bit of power you possess is in how you make your captors work for whatever you feel you can hope to withhold. Whether that’s your cooperation in their demands, or the vulnerability of your information, your concession of being in pain, or anything else.” He remembered that all too well. Knowing in the end the blood mages, the demons, or both would either break or kill him, as they had everyone else, but swearing grimly that he would give them nothing freely, make them work for every inch of it along the way. “Lady Clerra may be amiable because she sees the purpose in what we ask her to do. But don’t mistake that as her trusting us. Just because we’ve made the chain longer doesn’t mean she forgets its existence.” Nor should she, truthfully. He had made the mistake himself with Meredith of trusting seeming kindness and valuing his potential capabilities.

[charliechaotic]

hii this is smth for me but i hope anyone would like- I have zero clue how to write batfam or gotham stuff, so please dear gods give me advice if possible <3 (my only reference is tumblr writing prompts, reaction videos, and the Dark Matter fic lmao- this is uh. basically the concept is my oc ending up in Gotham- So far thats all this is gonna be, but I hope you enjoy <:):

When Wren awakes, it is in pain. Agony agony agony agoNY AGONY AGONY-

It feels like he's drowning. Burning? Both? His memory feels so fuzzy. Where is he? ..What happened?

Everything goes dark again.

When Wren awakes again, he finds himself laying on a rooftop, staring up at the night sky- cast over with a deep pollution unfamiliar to him. It was a rare night in Relsia to not be able to see the stars.

He is quick to sit up, coughing up nothing but his own breath, tears welling in his eyes as he takes back in the memory of the feeling.

That color. So vivid in his mind, surrounding him- it matched that of his eyes, should he not have had the flakes of gold in them. It unsettles him to think about.

His body aches as he pushes himself up, hugging his well worn hoodie close- when had it gotten so torn up? It looked like he'd been in some big fight while wearing it, but he cant quite pull the memory up. He tries to keep himself steady, shortening his staff to use as a support. He has to work out where he is, despite the pain gnawing at him. Had he used his power too much? It felt like he'd been torn apart and pit together a million times.

He brushes his hair back with his hands, fixing his glasses on his face. "Id almost kill to see Merc right now."

He finds himself speaking aloud, discomforted by the silence around him. Maybe he could get himself to the Northeast end of the city and stop by. He had promised to stop by sometime soon. He made no promises he wouldn't be in incredible pain. If he could make it that far across the city, anyway. He manages to get himself to about two rooftops away from his starting point before the aching starts to bring him down. He needs to rest, unfortunately. Maybe he can find somewhere alright in the streets below- he can't seem to recognize the area. It looks worse than the worst part of Relsia he's seen in his life. He studies the streets below, trying to work out a normal way to climb down and get a look around- maybe he could sneak a ride on a bus or something. He's willing to risk getting attacked on one today. He sways ever slightly as he thinks, before a voice startles him out of it.

"Hey, buddy. Could you step away from the edge for me?"

He flinches at the sound, immediately turning his gaze to the voice, glaring with distrust at the source- making eye contact with a man around his height, but with a lot more muscle. He appears to be wearing a costume- some kind of 'super suit' probably. His outfit is mostly black, he exception being the streaks of blue- one being centered on his chest. If he were able to think any clearer, he'd say it looked like the way you add birds in the background of paintings in fourth grade. He'd find it a little amusing if he couldn't hear his heart pounding in his chest, still glaring.

The man raises his arms a bit, giving a reassuring smile.

"Hey, its okay. My name is Nightwing. Are you alright?"

Wren feels the mans gaze flick between his hair and eyes, taking a slight step back- further towards the ledge.

"Your name means nothing. I dont know who you are."

His voice comes out in a sharper tone than he intends, his words distorted in a way that almost sounds like a glitchy phone call, on top of the buzz of a voice modulator. He seems a bit surprised by his own voice, a hand reaching up to his throat out of confusion.

uhhhh thats the end lmao- i genuinely Just wrote this so uhm. hope someone sees it? and enjoys? <:) you can probably see some obvious inspiration from Dark Matter, which I completely accept drbrh- I really liked the concept! though how Wren got in the pit water is VERY different heheh

[immoralimmortals]

Assigning the Akatsuki movies that tend to really disturb people, because they are a disturbing bunch.

A word of caution: the films mentioned are very intense, some of which closer to endurance tests than narratives. These pairings are not recommendations to see these movies. If you seek any out, research the content. I am not adding individual content warnings for the films themselves since I'm only pairing them with characters (you are free to inquire for those or for spoilers if you want to know more)

General content warning for the post itself for unsavory mentions of various kinds of violence.

Pain: Come and See

Lauded by some as the only war film that is not accidentally pro-war or pro-military propaganda. It is a story about children, children who are vessels of the narrative to, as the title says, show you the horrors and agony of warfare on the human spirit.

Konan: Martyrs

A French extreme horror film that breaks your heart as you watch women's spirits get broken. It is painfully empathetic and gut punches you over and over. It relies on you caring about the characters for its impact and it succeeds. What is the great worth of having suffered?

(Despite having a very spiritual aspect l, it is too heartfelt of a film to give Hidan, though considered)

Obito: Perfect Blue

Twisty, turny story about identities and lies. Plays with the idea of innocence and self control like how a cat plays with a butterfly with a broken wing. It's a beautiful movie but it's also going to make you really unhappy.

Zetsu: Beyond the Black Rainbow

This is a slow, methodical film about invasiveness and brainwashing. The color pallet is stark, contrasted mostly by bright whites and dark shades, with the occasional blood red thrown in to throw you off. Some of the imagery is very unnatural-seeming and nightmarish. This is the sort of movie you'd like to put on if you want to do the opposite of whatever meditation would be.

Hidan: Mai-chan's Daily Life

If you know this movie/manga at all, my reasoning is what it says on the tin. Girl gets dismembered and killed over and over as an immortal. She kind of likes it? It's a really nasty one that jumps to being so over the top and silly. I haven't seen this one and have no deeper thoughts on it.

...I guess if I really want to keep with the theme of movies I've actually seen, I'd then go with The Devils, which is based on a real life event. It's about the interplay between religion, sexuality, and political freedom, and it gets really, really violent and makes me go

Kakuzu: The Night of the Hunter

This one is actually just legitimately a very good movie that happens to hurt you deep in your soul. Two kids of the Great Depression are confided to by their dad before his execution that he stole several thousand dollars from a bank. A priest he meets in prison tracks down the children, worms his way into the love of not only their widowed mother but of the community, and tries to convince them to give the money to him as God intended.

This is a very influential film from the 1950s that while not often recognized by name, has been cited as inspiration for some of the most notable filmmakers in recent time. It is less traditionally disturbing and more that you are made to walk alongside these children as they enter a money-hungry nightmare.

Deidara: Tetsuo the Iron Man

This film is an art piece. I don't mean that in a way which denotes that it is pleasant but in a way where I appreciate and recognize every choice was very, very purposeful. This is a movie with such industrial, inhuman sound design. It is loud and visceral and made to make you feel like you got in a car accident. It's also deeply homoerotic??? So bonus points! Also has some genuinely incredible visual effects. I am sick to my stomach.

Sasori: Audition

I love this movie. Ohhhh it hurts me. It makes me sick. I'm never watching it again. The premise is a man lies about the purpose of an audition, which is not a movie role but to select a potential wife. It doesn't strike him as possible that an actress might catch onto his script that plays out.

The ending scene. This is why it's for Sasori. Such a sweet smile and soothing voice while dismembering someone with piano wire.

Kisame: Ichi the Killer

I'm setting aside the very, very overt sexual text of this movie to focus on what it's trying to say about the enjoyment of violence. It is a bizarrely lighthearted film about two opposites. As YouTuber NyxFears (May Leitz) has put it:

Guy 1: This is a party, I love killing people! Yay! :D

Guy 2: I'm terrified, I hate that I'm violent! Why are we doing this!

It is an incredibly fun yakuza film that also makes you frown really hard at some bits as it becomes really morally questionable.

Itachi: The Handmaiden

Another genuinely excellent movie where the point of it is to throw your soul into a rock tumbler so you can experience the full spectrum of human emotion! It is not only gorgeously made and pleasing to the eye, but it also relies upon your attachment to the regality and poise a character holds, which I think is a similar feeling I give to Itachi when I think about him. It is a cathartic tale that makes you believe love is real by making you, as the audience, suffer to get there as the characters do.

[riahlynn101]

"Let Go (I'll See you Again)."

Trigger warnings: Blood, gore, and major character death.

Summary: Written for Dad for One December day 31: All For You | Coronation

--

31. All For You | Coronation

“You have to keep going ninth! Stopping isn’t an option!” The second yells at him.

Izuku wheezes, vision going blurry for a moment. But it’s only a moment, so he chooses to keep fighting. 

“O-kay.” 

Shigaraki-and it is Shigaraki, not the All for One parasite-taunts him. It should annoy Izuku, but all he can feel is relief that all the work he’s done (that the other heroes have done) hasn’t been for naught. 

“Do you really think you can win!?” Shigaraki stretches his arms open, as if telling Izuku to just try and come at him. His lips twitch into a smile, the same one he gave Izuku back at the mall nearly a year ago today. 

Izuku wants so badly to collapse. His body hurts - and it always hurts, but this pain is deeper than the normal aches and pains of hero training or the new but still expected joint pain. It’s a mixture of bone-deep weariness (the kind that comes with working with the pros in a vain effort to prevent his loved ones from being hurt or worse) and a burning, fiery pain radiating from his lungs outwards. 

His legs feel like jelly. There’s spittle and spots of blood dirtying his face. Each inhale is a struggle and every exhale is pure agony. 

In short, he can imagine he looks every bit a “Deku” as his hero name suggests. 

Wiping his mouth with the back of his fist, Izuku gives a forced, toothy grin back at Shigaraki. “Who said anything about winning?”

Shigaraki cocks his head. He opens his mouth to retort. Izuku never gives him the chance. 

The second is always-always-urging him to find any and all openings. Anything to beat Shigaraki, and by proxy, All for One. 

The split second of confusion is enough for Izuku to shoot forward, aiming for his chest. Summoning all his remaining strength, calling upon his predecessors to help him.

The hit lands. Of that, Izuku is certain. 

He hears the squelching of Shigaraki’s inwards being rearranged and the sickening crunching sound of ribs breaking. Hot, sticky blood coats his fist and arm. His arm bone strains with the pressure of so much power, reminding him of his first fight with Muscular, but doesn’t break. 

The hit does little more than stun Shigaraki. He narrows his wine-red eyes and uses one of his many (stolen) quirks to send Izuku flying backwards. 

He lands on his back, not ten feet from where Kacchan lay. Best Jeanist looks at him but then quickly resumes trying to revive his mentee. 

Izuku gasps for air, but his lungs refuse to help him. 

Seven of eight of his predecessors stand above him. 

“I…” He coughs; he tries to lift his arm to cover his mouth. It- he can’t move. 

Oh, Kami, he can’t move!  

Tears prick the corners of his eyes. “I…I can’t move.” His voice trembles. 

“Come on, Ninth, you have to…” The second continues to hound him, but his face is decidedly kinder and there’s less bite to his words. 

All the surrounding sounds, including the pleas of Nana and the Second, start to become garbled. It reminds him of going for a swim and dunking his head under the water. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he says. And he means it, because by being so weak he’s doomed his loved ones, all of Japan, and perhaps the entire world. He sullied the line of One for All with all its heroes who died with the hope that, one day, their deaths would mean something. 

But he can’t go on.

But he has to.

Right?

His vision tunnels, darkening. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, giving in to the urge to close his eyes. “I-”

-x-x-x-

They say all parents have a sort of intuition when it comes to their children. 

All for One would call it bullshit, but he himself has a wide array of quirks whose sole purpose is to monitor the well being of his son. Quirks he picked up way too late to use on Yoichi but years before Izuku was born. 

All of them go unexpectedly quiet. 

They aren’t supposed to be quiet. 

The only way they would stop working is if….

No! He refuses to believe it. Everything-

Everything has been for his family. He can’t lose another family member. 

The young, burnt-out, hero with such a versatile feather quirk, is spouting off his hero nonsense in an obvious attempt to distract him. 

All for One brushes passed him, taking off into the sky. Not for the first time he’s grateful that he “found” air walk when he did. 

U.A. shouldn’t be too far from here.

-x-x-x-

It’s hard to put into words, but somehow the heroes designated to protect the grounds just outside U.A are in even worse shape than the other ones. 

All for One lands, taking in all the carnage. Despite his imposing presence and notoriety, no one looks at him. Either that or no one’s noticed him yet. 

Heroes, young and old, lay strewn about. Their blood pools into small puddles, dirtying the ground.

He’s not squeamish in the least, but the way All for One’s too-old heart pounds in his chest and his eyes grow wide with every passing moment he can’t find his son, you wouldn’t know it. 

His eyes land on the Bakugos’ brat, Katsuki, first. Well, less on him and more the tips of his blond, spiky hair, because his body is hidden behind the one hero with the quirk that wouldn’t have paired well with Tomura’s deposition. There’s even more blood. A lot more. 

Further away, alone but no less injured, is his-

he fights the urge to vomit. On trembling legs, he stumbles over to his son, Izuku.

“Sensei!” Tomura calls, bitterness clear as day in his voice. 

Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay-

“It took me a while,” Tomura continues, not coming any closer, “but I think I finally figured it out.”

All for One can’t bring himself to look away from his son's slack face. In his peripheral vision he can see Yoichi watching him. 

His hands hover over his son. There’s no telling what adding another quirk could do in his son’s current state. 

Behind him, Tomura clicks his tongue. “The one and only thing- the only person you ever cared about is,” he stops to laugh at him. “Is that little hero right there. Little Midoriya Izuku. The hero, Deku.”

The heroes gasp, the ones that have retained consciousness and aren’t busy saving their comrades lives. 

All for One grits his teeth together. 

Turning, just slightly to address the Shimura pest. 

“How bright you are,” he praises, voice monotone. “You’ve grown.” At least he isn’t lying when he says that. Tomura truly has grown in all the ways that matter since he’s met him. 

“I have.”

“What a pity you won’t grow anymore.”

“What-”

A snap of his fingers and a pull of his quirk (because it’s still his quirk no matter how long it’s been inside the Shimura brat) is all it takes to silence Tomura, forever. There’s a loud bang, like a whole showcase of fireworks going off all at once. 

Somewhere behind him, Nana openly sobs. She calls him every name in the book.

Perhaps, if he were a better man. A more noble one, he’d feel an inkling of guilt or regret. But he’s not, and the only regret he’s capable of is not doing more to protect his family. 

All for One, Hisashi, scoots closer, pulling his son onto his lap. His head lulls to the side. All too gently, he cradles Izuku’s head. 

His son lets out a pitiful wheeze. 

Looking upon his son, Hisashi remembers a simpler time. When Izuku could fit into the crook of one of his arms. 

A time when Izuku was a chubby cheeked, giggling baby, with nothing but love and adoration for his mom and dad. 

He hugs his son closer. His heart twists with every reaction he doesn’t receive from Izuku. 

“Please,” he begs, “please. Izuku, baby, wake up.” Grabbing his son by his chin, Hisashi lightly shakes him. “I can’t go back. Your mother can’t…” 

Izuku wheezes in response, grimacing. 

A touch, feather-light and freezing cold, taps him on the shoulder. 

“Brother?” 

Hisashi ignores him, rocking back and forth. 

Yoichi nudges him, trying to get his attention. In any other circumstance, Hisashi would be overjoyed that his brother was so willing to be next to him. But not right now. 

“Brother?” Yoichi asks, a little more urgently. “You need to let go.”

“No, no, no, no.” Hisashi shakes his head, holding on even tighter. He must sound like such a child, but he can’t bring himself to care. Maybe this is his karma. 

It has to be.

“He’s in pain. Izuku is safe with us. With me.”

“No, I refuse. You can’t have him!” He swats at his brother’s ghostly form. “Mine! He’s mine!” 

Another presence, Nana Shimura sounding weirdly happier than he'd expect given the circumstances, joins his brother in pleading with him.

“Nothing is harder than giving up a child-”

“Shut up!” He screams. “You understand nothing.”

“-but you have to. Izuku is hurting. By holding on, you’re hurting him. Please see reason,” Nana begs. 

Tears streaming down his face, Hisashi looks up at the ghostly predecessors of One for All. He catches a glimpse of a smaller figure with short dark hair and gray eyes, they duck behind Nana before he can think too much of it. Forcing a smile, he says, “sometimes you have to hurt the ones you love to keep them safe.”

If he thought Yoichi couldn’t look any more disappointed he’d be wrong. 

“Everything I’ve done in the last couple of decades has been for him. All for him.”

“I’m sorry, big brother, but I wasn’t asking.”

He watches Yoichi reach out. He brushes Izuku’s blood-soaked hair back. The minute his fingers graze his nephew’s forehead, Izuku falls limp. 

“What did you do!?” Securing his son in his arms, he makes a move to stand up. “Izuku, baby? No, no! Wake up! Wake up!” 

His son’s face doesn’t contort in pain or to wheeze out a pathetic breath. 

All his strength leaves him, and Hisashi collapses to his knees. “No,” he rasps. 

“Daddy?” A small voice, familiar and sweet, and a tug on the back of the stupid hero costume he was forced to steal, gets his attention. “Daddy, I’m okay.” 

Laying his son down, Hisashi rounds on the person that dares to mock him. 

“How- Izuku…?”  

In front of him is his son. No older than three or four. He’s wearing an All Might T-shirt, the one he always used to insist on wearing. He has on his infamous clunky, red shoes, the velcro ones that Hisashi bought him for his third birthday. His face is clean of blood and soot, and he looks…. happy.

“I’m okay, daddy,” he insists. “I’ll be okay. I have Uncle Yoichi and Grandma Nana, all the predecessors of One for All, and Tenko.”

And indeed, behind his now much too-small son, are all the predecessors his brother and Shimura included. Next to Izuku is Tenko. The two boys hold hands. All of the previous resentments have obviously not carried over. 

“But baby…baby, what about mommy? Don’t you think she’ll be hurt? What about me? I can’t lose you.” 

Izuku looks down at the ground, eyes oddly serious on such a cute face. But then again, with all the things he’s seen, maybe it’s not so weird. 

“I…tell mommy I love her. But I’ll see her again. Right, Uncle Yoichi?” He glances up at Yoichi.

He crouches down to Izuku’s height “Yes. And hopefully one day your father can join us as well.” The last part of this is directed towards Hisashi. Standing, he holds his hand out. “C’mon it’s time to go.”

“Okay, goodbye, daddy. I love you.”

A flash of light leaves Hisashi temporarily blind. 

By the time he regains his sight. He’s alone with the murmurs of the remaining heroes to keep him company.

He has the upper hand, finally after all these years. But he can’t force himself to stand. Standing would mean leaving the last piece of his son alone. 

What is he going to tell Inko? She’ll be destroyed by their son’s death. And he’ll be in jail, so it’s not like he can comfort her.

As he’s tackled to the ground and restrained, All for One can’t find it within himself to resist.

After all, if it’s not for them, then what’s the point?

[tiyasrocks]

I CAN FEEL YOU

Chapter 1

I Can Hear you

"She needs her mother to hug her, to tell her everything will be okay"

"I'm sorry, Anna." These three words circle inside Princess Elsa's mind in a chaotic loop as she watches, with no small amount of fear and guilt, her parents' horses gallop and disappear at the far end of the courtyard gate, with Anna lying unconscious in her mother's arms.

Elsa doesn't understand how things went so wrong. They were just playing in the ballroom, and Anna was jumping on her snow hills when Elsa slipped. Yes, she slipped on her snow and hit Anna with her powers, and now Anna can very well be dead, which will be solely her fault.

She doesn't remember how long she stands there in her father's study, looking through the window in hopes of seeing her parents bring Anna home, doesn't remember when Gerda ushers her to her bedroom. But she only lets her tears fall when the door of her room closes and her eyes fall on her sister's bed.

Fresh waves of guilt and shame pool inside her like a raging storm, and very soon her knees give out, and Elsa falls on the floor with a painful thud. She clutches her arms tightly around herself and doubles over, as if protecting her torso. Her small frame shakes as a great tremor takes over her, and gut-wrenching sobs tear through her chest.

Her powers are supposed to bring Anna happiness, but this gift, no, this curse, has hurt her sister instead.

Elsa continues to spiral into a mindless panic. Her father has said it was not her fault before he went searching for the trolls, and she knew it was an accident, but she just can't tell her brain to chill out. It is like she is being sucked into the middle of a twister, going tighter and tighter the more she struggles to get outside.

Why does this have to happen? Why can't she just be a normal sister? A normal person? What sin has she committed that God has cursed her with such harmful powers?

"I'm sorry, Anna," Elsa rasps, staring at Anna's bed with an unnerving deadness in her eyes. "I'm so sorry." She covers her face with her small hands, unable to hold the heartbreak and guilt any longer as grief pours out in a flood of uncontrollable tears.

She has hurt her sweet, innocent sister, who has only ever wanted to build a snowman and play with her. What kind of a evil person is she?

No, she’s not an evil person, she’s way worse. She’s a monster.

Oh God, what if Anna doesn’t recover? What if she has done more than hurt her sister? What if... what if she has killed her?

Elsa’s small body wracks with another onslaught of sobs and tears. Vile thoughts taint her mind, screaming at her for being so careless, for hurting her sister, for being a monster.

“Please,” Elsa whispers two or three times in quick succession. “I’m not a monster. I didn’t... I’m sorry, Anna, I swear I didn’t mean it... please, it was an accident.”

An accident that kills.

Her powers roar to life and answer to her agony with an uncontrollable outburst. Ice fractals crackle underneath her and spread through the room like the roots of a carnivorous tree, wanting to swallow everything in its path. Snow cyclones around her, the wind extinguishing the guttering hearth fire and pulling stalactites from the ceiling.

“No,” Elsa moans. “Listen to me,” she commands in vain as ice continues to snap and crackle around her.

She couldn’t even control her powers. What if she hurts someone? Or worse, what if she hurts Anna again?

Elsa squeezes her palms on either side of her head, trying to block her ears with the same strength as if she were breaking a chunk of ice. White spots appear behind her eyes.

What if Anna hates her forever? But she deserves it, doesn’t she? She deserves to be hated? Maybe mama and papa will finally understand that and throw her in the dungeons.

Her vision goes black, and the air becomes harsh to breathe. Elsa feels like she is in an extremely small, cramped box that is squeezing her from all sides. In her head, she can hear Anna blaming her for everything, can hear her parents calling her words as hurtful as ‘dangerous’ and ‘witch.’ Anna glaring at her, the rest of Arendelle wanting her blood.

“No, I know Anna loves me,” Elsa mumbles hoarsely. “Mama and Papa love me.”

Does she really believe her parents will love her after what she did to Anna? That anyone can ever love a monster like her? An evil creature painted in beautiful colors?

“Please stop,” Elsa pleads, eyes scrunched so tightly she can feel herself getting a headache.

Lost in the whirlwind of emotions, she misses how her palms, which are still clasped over her ears, dip into an inhumanely cold temperature. Misses how ice climbs her arms like jagged vines, how her palms glow bright with primal magic.

What will Anna say when she learns what she did to her? What her beloved older sister did to her? Learns that her sister is nothing but a monster?

"I said- STOP!" The castle wall echoes with the screams of the young princess, and her powers explode from her hands like an arctic power keg.

A sharp pain in her head causes Elsa to cry out, and something rips inside her ears. Eyes still blurry, she bites her lips against the agonizing pain and places a shaking hand over her left ear and watches with horror as it comes off bloody.

Elsa suddenly feels very sick and hisses as her ears and head throb with a horrible, horrible pain. Her vision takes a swim. She buries her head into her arms, but a loud bang of a door bursting open causes her to jump and crawl backward, an involuntary whimper escaping her lips.

Suddenly, a hand wrestles her chin up, and two fingers press against her ear, and a hoarse cry escapes her throat as it sends a sharp stab in her head. Someone, a woman, is talking to her, calling her name.

She blinks her eyes at the blurry figure, but the lack of purple clothing and royal jewelry makes her realize it isn't her mother. The realization brings forth another onslaught of tears, and she ceases her efforts to look at the person. It was probably a castle servant - Gerda, perhaps. She doesn't care.

She wants her mother. She needs her mother to hug her, to tell her everything will be okay.

She pushes the person, which does more damage to her than the woman. A hand lays against her shoulder, and Elsa's overtaxed nerves respond with a small blast of frozen fractals.

A few moments later, a second voice joins in - deep and gravelly, filled with concern. The words are muffled, and everything sounds rather fuzzy, as if she is underwater. But she can recognise that familiar voice anywhere, and suddenly Elsa feels a wave of relief wash through her, and she starts crying again, this time in relief.

It is her father, though she still can't see properly, but looking at the figure standing next to her, she can identify that straight confident posture of her father anywhere. She can hear the muffled sounds of medals dangling over her father's chest, his strong footsteps, his concerned voice.

She stretches her hands toward the blurry figure of her father and chokes a broken, "Papa."

He slips behind her, bringing her small frame to rest against his. Elsa lets him support her and hold her up. Gentle hands cup her chin, tilting her head fractionally.

Her father says something to her, something like “You’ll be fine, Elsa”, but she can only hear half of it. Her ears feel like they have been wrung out from the inside.

Her father mutters something more, but she can’t make it out.

She's tired, drifting into a restless doze, relaxing against her father's strong arms.

“Elsa!” A high-pitched voice calls to her, and she summons the last of her strength to lift her head fractionally. Her muddled brain barely recognises the person running towards her and dropping to their knees beside her with a loud thud.

It’s her mother.

Elsa smiles before the world goes dark, and she hears no more.

Note - I started writing this story almost 6 months ago. I've written like 5 chapters and wanted to continue working on it (when I am not being lazy that is).

[savebatsfromscratch]

No.27. Red eyes with stars for the shine

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51159106

Words: 1053

Cws: Crying, a person you love romantically dying, blood, hinted suicidal thoughts, death game

Notes: The inherent homoerotic nature in wishing that you could go back in time to literally give another man your life.   (AU where Etho wins just for writing’s sake.)

Prompt: No. 27: “You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding.” Matches | Scars | “Let me see”

Etho lay back against the pillow, and his white hair spread out unevenly around him, crunching up against the fluff of his coat and tickling his ears like the dead petals of some winter bloom. His mask was down and off his face, but its choking grip felt like just a distant memory on his throat as he stared up at the ceiling.

Cobblestone and spruce wood, it was almost the most basic thing he could think of, but in this awful game, it was home. A cold home, sure, with walls of ice and snow in most parts of the fort, but home nonetheless. Or, at least, it had been.

Now, Bdubs was gone, and those cold cold walls felt colder than ever without the warmth of his love. Etho’s eyes stung as salty tears pricked at the corners of them, but his arms were still frozen at his sides. He couldn’t force himself to wipe away the tears.

He took in a shaky breath as the cloud of bloodlust spurred his emotions on and on. They’d come back from their deaths after the last “game,” but would they this time? Would he ever see Bdubs again? He’d had a chance to save him, why couldn’t he have done it when he’d had the chance? A simple pledge of a life, far simpler even than love, how could he have been so greedy?!

Like it always did in this awful game, the scar on his cheek burned, but the flow of tears made it hurt even more. If Bdubs were still here, he could have made him feel better. Bdubs would have traced along those scars. He would have drawn hearts, stars, and flowers with paint and dye. He’d have kissed his face. He’d have held his hand. He'd have whispered stories and memories into his ears. He’d have wiped the dreadful drip of red life blood.

Touching his scars should have hurt in this game, but it never had when Bdubs had done it. It had only ever been heartwarmingly loving. But now he was gone, and Etho’s agony stabbed through him even more. He curled his claws into his hands and his fangs sparked off the torchlight as his mouth yawned open in a sob.

Now he was in his red life, and that beautifully cared for scar dripped red blood into his pillow once more. 

Bdubs was gone, maybe for good, but if Etho had just been a bit less selfish... If he'd have thought for even a second longer... They could have been together now, cuddling on his half cold bed, even as the rage of bloodlust burned in their eyes.

He regretted sending Bdubs away when he had first turned red. He regretted being so careless with the lives. He regretted not actually telling Bdubs those words, those words that meant I love you. He regretted not giving him his life when he could.

Oh why hadn't he done it?

Etho's scar burned, and his hand finally shot up to claw at his face, digging into the bleeding wound and tearing it open even further in a useless effort to stop the pain. He cried, and cried, and the blood leaked into his coat, his hair, and the pillow, staining the snow white surfaces a gorey red.

There was nothing he could do now but join him, was there. (Etho was so aware of that truth that it wasn't even a question anymore.)

“Oh no,” he moaned, sitting up and burying his face in his hands, “Why, why...”

He didn't want to have those kinds of thoughts, not now, not ever. He knew that, if he were still here, Bdubs would not have wanted him to be thinking that way. He knew that he would have kissed him on the forehead in that adorable dorky way and told him that everything was going to be okay. Just because it was a death game didn't mean they had to follow the rules, right? Just because the awful curse had chosen them once more didn't mean they couldn't save themselves from the ending, right? Bdubs loved him, he cared, he would have made everything better.

But Etho knew he wasn't there. He knew he was never going to be there again. He was gone like an autumn breeze in winter, gone like a falling feather in a hailstorm, gone like the stars in some polluted city sky.

He wasn't coming back.

Etho knew that.

He didn't want to, but he knew that.

He sat up, numbly swinging his legs over the side of the bed, just as he would have when Bdubs was still here. He stood slowly, and his ankle creaked like he was some old warrior waking up for another battle (which, he supposed, he was.)

He couldn't stay in this house much longer, not when it brought back memories like those that seemed to seep out from his scar, spider webbing across his face from how he had lay on the bed and dripping even into his ear when he stood. Memories and blood, what was the difference anymore. Both potent, both overpowering, both a sign of pain.

Maybe, as he whispered to himself, he didn't want to remember, but he knew that wasn't very likely.

How could he forget that gift that had been life with his love? How could he forget the amazing times they had spent together, even in a cursed land such as this?

Just because their very biology was infested by curses didn't mean they weren't still friends. Just because bloodlust clouded their eyes didn't mean that they had been any less in love with each other.

Etho had been willing to win this game together, never dying, never losing. He'd been willing to win for Bdubs too, some weak sort of apology for failing to help him, he supposed, but now...

Now he knew it wasn't enough.

He needed Bdubs.

He understood what Grian had done at the end of the last game now. He understood the way that awful guilt twisted your mind. Winning for Bdubs wasn't enough. He had to end it.

Etho slammed open the door.

[the-thorn-in-your-veins]

M O H and G for the dirty az hc

Putting this under the cut because it got a bit long.

M- Masochism

"Of course. Love is, after all, an exchange, no? The blessing of agony is ours not only to cherish, but to share."

Varré enjoys receiving pain almost as much as being its cause. Pain and violence are sacred to him, linked in equal parts to his expression of both love and hate.

He loves rough sex. Being bitten, scratched, shoved, choked, etc, all really get him going.

Though anything that involves bloodletting will always be the height of intimacy for him.

He will very rarely just sit back and take the pain, however. If he's being roughed up or bloodied, he wants to reciprocate the gesture and will bitch and moan about how unfair it is if his partner isn't letting him get a turn with the knife.

While he loves pain, he is still afraid of death. He doesn't have many limits, but anything that will straight up kill him crosses the line. Additionally, anything that will permanently hinder his service to Lord Mohg (cutting off fingers, blinding, etc) is a definite No.

Despite this he sometimes fantasizes about Mohg fucking him to death. The part of death that frightens him most is being forgotten, of being nobody. If he died in agonizing ecstasy, providing the one he worships and adores with pleasure, surely then he would never be forgotten. To die like that would love in its truest form to Varré.

O- Outdoor Sex

He will absolutely have sex outside.

Varré is relatively shameless and is not bothered by getting down and dirty in locations that many might find massively unsexy. He doesn't give a shit if there is a dead body nearby or the hypothetical cat is watching or that the tree he's pushed someone up against has poison ivy on it.

That being said, he's not going to have straight up sex with someone right in the middle of a crowded room or even a frequently traveled road. He's not an animal, thank you very much. In an out of the way nook, still close enough to hear, not out of the way enough to eliminate the risk of being stumbled upon however…

A little danger can be a hell of a rush. Shoving his still gloved fingers into his partner's mouth to gag them, hard lips of his mask pressed against their ear so he can whisper filth to them as they go at it just out of view…

He won't ever take his mask off if there is even the slightest risk of being caught.

Voyeurism is also something he's into. Spying on a private moment provides a similar rush.

Observing knowingly (and/or knowingly being observed) also appeals to him. It is a great opportunity to taunt and tease without the risk of vulnerability that comes with allowing himself to truly indulge.

If he knows someone is watching him jack off, he won't stop. He will straight up get off on the fact that someone finds him desirable enough to secretly watch him and the fact that he'll get the opportunity to call them out afterwards and see their shame as he brands them a pervert.

"Oh? And why do you ask? Do you wish me to go over the bleakness of your prospects in further detail? Are you so broken that even the weight of your own inadequacies is enough to excite you?"

H- Humiliation

Varré thrives off getting under someone's skin be it physically or metaphorically.

He's mean. There's no surgarcoating it. Sex with Varré will involve receiving some manner of degradation from him approximately 95% of the time. Even his praise can be insulting.

This is not to say he's incapable of tenderness, of genuine kindness, because that's simply not true. But many times even his kindness is goading, every compliment sharp and biting. He can say that he loves you, fully mean it, and still have the words sting like a nettle. He's a true master of tonal whiplash during intimacy, capable of inspiring both affection and vitriol within a single breath.

Although he is very open about his enjoyment of the physical side of pain, his relationship with emotional pain is markedly more complicated. He will deny getting anything out of being outright degraded. Insults and banter are a big yes, but being straight up treated like scum is not. This is only a half-truth. He actually is into it sexually but it also tears him up emotionally. If it's for the sake of fun and games he can dig it sometimes, and will definitely get off to it, but if a nerve is hit, he might actually cry, and being that emotional in front of others feels like losing. He doesn't want anyone to be able to see how pathetic he really is, to the extent he genuinely cares, so he keeps this incredibly guarded.

When stricken by the rare mood to shed his defensive thorns he becomes so needy and emotional that it will knock you sideways, then in the morning he will go back to being a smug, manipulative asshole like he didn't just bare his entire soul. Infuriating.

Yeah, he's down for that.

G- Group Sex

I can see him enjoying group sex for either casual fun or as part of a poly relationship.

If there are some in the group that he respects less than others he's absolutely going to play favorites though.

Would enthusiastically take part in a ritualistic blood orgy if given the opportunity.

One of his biggest fantasies is the idea of Mohg watching him have sex.

Doubly so if he was responsible for inducting the person (or persons) that Mohg is watching him have sex with.

He knows it would never happen but the idea of Mohg joining in… yeah. 💦💦

[godzexperiment]

*finger guns in oh this is tragic thoughts regarding nix* ~this one is not light in the slightest/pretty fucked up and heavy~

(mostly his like non watered down/main background but sure trickles in other verses etc)

-okay but the weight? of how he has to listen, even if he is actively tuning it out... it'll still tuck away into his brain and him being able to understand his maker's disjointed rants/rambles just means absorbing it all endlessly even if there is no intent for him to soak it up.

-which also the way it affects him for the rest of forever (here is your purpose, you never asked for and will affect you hearby for the rest of forever) remembering cruel words, kind words those last sounds of dying breathes stick forever or the laughter of somebody who can't stand him *the voice of his maker, spoken words of an long gone being*

-imagine your sole purpose being to listen to the entity who created all of creation; constantly critique it and grumble about your siblings yet it makes you so quick to defend even at the cost of your own being+possible erasure out of existence

-the way he was created to be pretty unfeeling more or less; only to be so emotional? especially when his maker has weaponized/tested emotional things on him? 'what would it be like to give an angel intense heartbreak' -nix in agony clawing at the floor just kind of like we didn't need to test this theory this way- so very caring in contrast to his maker's growing apathy

-watch me punish the humans, my angels for mild annoyances and nix just like :( watch me get my ripped out heart handed to me for suggesting maybe we don't go damaging creation in That Way for such minor nothing little things

-getting sent down to handle the "antichrist" mainly as another morbid lesson/an 'well i cant destroy you or i'd be down an punching bag+obligated listener so i'll break your soul another way' and nix just so rebellious hearted but being given the space to fail or succeed (maybe he manages- but then comes the death of some nature and god just yanking him back+erasing it all only leaving pieces of the suffering behind)

-knowing the darker aspects/side, the Wrath and far less of the nature his siblings associate with their maker yet not resenting any of them for it. as he sure knows they've got other issues like having to carry out their orders. go through horrors sometimes entirely avoidable. so it's not like anybody is thriving; just so much hurt and dragging out an abandonment inevitable.

-the way he is like 'yeah no what really haunts me is his apathy; that I might have soaked that and all the other horrors right up' because he sees so much beauty in everything (is it evil to see so much beauty in mortals sustaining the earth when they're gone or not blink at death sometimes etc)

-seeing so much beauty, so much love only for so much horror+damage to exist inside him and still be possible (new pains in actual heartbreak, in possible rejection by siblings or them fighting- in not being mind wiped after loving somebody only to lose their inevitable mortal soul) how wounds on Earth, hurt different than wounds in Heaven etc

-and if gets tossed the 'here creation is yours to look after' the labor of such an weight on him? the way it very much would feel like an punishment some parting 'okay so you care so much- meddle as you wish' *doesnt send him to earth either just thoughtlessly or to put lemon juice in the cut*

how of course nix would willingly do so/promise to regardless (even though he is very much not suited for the task+believes strongly in letting people make their own dumb choices etc so it's all so odd and draining is so many ways)

-perpetually exhausted, forever haunted and scarred in every meaning of the word seeming to collect even more babey boy who could desperately use love+kindness and being cared about would 100% sob hysterically if anybody were to go 'its not all on you' in especially the direct way

[gre7n]

Family

A local Imam said that God created all humans beginning with Adam and Eve and, therefore, all people are brothers and sisters. How do you respond to this view? Do you think it is helpful or good? If so, why? If not, why not?

(paragraph breaks are semi random btw, i had to do it for tumblr formatting and i didnt feel like trying to make them make sense xd)

When considering the question of this viewpoint of Adam and Eve, I think it is useful to break it down into the premise and conclusion. On one hand you have the premise: Adam and Eve are the first humans. This is an extremely bold claim from a scientific standpoint if your only idea was to claim that a man named Adam and a woman named Eve existed and that these events occurred. In terms of how knowledge is sorted in our modern times with thousands of years of experience, there’s simply not enough to give any hint of truth or relevance of these claims, and the discussions end up being based on emotional convictions rather than the hard scientific truth that is required for these very specific claims being made.

That being said, there does appear to be parallels to the overarching concepts of the theory of evolution. It can be said that, indeed, not just every human, but every animal and bacteria and fungi and species known to exist all comes from the same “source”. At some point a soup of primordial molecules started to replicate themselves and started to increase in complexity naturally and became the gateway point for the rest of our current understanding of existence to begin. This is when we reach the conclusion: all people are brothers and sisters. Now, in the literal sense, this appears to be true. But only understanding this idea through scientific and almost nihilistic means reduces the scope and weight of the idea to its most minute points. In functioning families, there is an acknowledgement that everyone is similar in an almost karmic sense that they all seem to exist in similar socioeconomic statuses, cultural interactions, literally born of the same people who transfer their ideals (or lack thereof) down. There is an acknowledgement that even if things aren’t perfect, you all at least understand each other. How could you not? You all endure hardships together, financial, physical, etc. You don’t have to speak a word in the best cases (the truth rests so clearly), but there is no shame in exclaiming out what is wrong either. This knowledge allows those inside the family to be the best suited to actually point out flaws and problems in each other.

But what happens when the bonds in a family break down? When you see the flaws, but have no ways to express what they are to those around you? What happens when those flaws actively make your life a living hell? Tortured physically, mentally, you name it. Kind of awkward to claim that decades of abuse was all for nothing, that at any point someone could choose to stop. At its best family is loving, but when ignored just like every other emotional problem, it leads to limitless pain. Entire philosophical views of the world built on pain and agony at the most personal level. All of these things are painful to talk about on a personal level, especially for those in the middle of said crises (which some last for decades and never end until death, but those problems can be transferred generationally anyway). We never truly escape it. This is the emotional baggage associated with family in our modern world, and especially in America. So, claiming that every person on this earth, every animal, every cell, perhaps even every atom is family means you have to contend with these exact thoughts and your relationship to everything. It's not just a claim but a way to engage with the world. It paints your view of everything. If you aren’t ready to deal with the consequences of being cosmically intertwined with every being we’ve ever known or could potentially even effect in any way through the butterfly effect, there is a great deal of pain that is waiting to be realized by an individual that has been placed upon others by no reason other than true ignorance. And really, what actually separates you and me? My DNA matches 98.8% of a chimpanzee. Imagine how much I share with you.

And how much we let less than 1% difference pollute our perceptions! There is a cosmic exclamation that when I feel pain, others can too. And it's just as real for them as it is for me. Our minds are extremely complex, and in that complexity, we can get wrapped up in stories. Stories of who we are as people, who the first humans were, which religion we follow of the ten options. But ultimately our true identities are so more magnificent than the one person we are. In just the same way you can look up and see that you are a part of the human family, you can look down and see that the billions of cells and bacteria make up the family that is you. They work together and allow something much greater than any one part to live its complex and independent life. Living proof that collectivism and autonomy are not mutually exclusive. Remember, bacteria and cells would eat each other in a completely hostile world. That is until one day a cell took another cell in, and instead of breaking it down, let it live there. It turned out this cell actually was quite good at converting food into energy, so much so that it was more efficient to let it live inside itself and allow it to replicate and exist together. The concept we call family is just the human interpretation of a process that has been going on for billions of years, but ultimately it's the same story. A country is its own organism, its own family. How long until we can exist as one? As one family, as one people. At the end of the day, which religion you follow, which version of history you tell, or what name you call the beauty of truth doesn’t matter. What matters is that you see life for what it is and love indiscriminately. That you look every person in the eye and see every part of yourself that exists inside of them. There is no ignoring the world we live in. Every experience, every thought, it all points here. Stories are what we tell each other to teach valuable lessons. No one is watching Star Wars and thinking “I can’t believe this all actually happened”. You walk away with a feeling that family can overcome even galactic sized evil forces. Why did the story of Luke and Darth Vader resonate so strongly with an entire world? It's just as religious a story as many actual religions tell. So, is it good? The answer is yes, if what is important is kept as the main focus, and if we allow new stories to be told that capture the beauty of the truth in even more detail and simplicity. We should pray for the day that we can join the entire world with one simple story. Easy to tell, easy to feel. But if it hasn’t yet with one story, we can no longer force it to. There will have to be a new story, inspired by those of the past, not throwing them away, but simply understanding them. Taking what worked, throwing away what didn’t. What else do we do with our thousands of years of history other than learn and grow? So long as there are problems, our work is not over. Never will we be able to be complacent in that which we tell ourselves until that day. Will that day ever truly come? Probably not, but at least in the meantime we can make things tangibly better. Better is all we can strive for.

[nowritingonthewall]

P.S. I love you!

Fandom: Moon Knight

Characters: Steven Grant, Marc Spector

Pairing(s): Steven x gn!reader, tiny hint of Marc x gn!reader

Summary: The postcards that Steven received from his ”Mom“ were just a bunch of made-up lies. Or weren’t they? Steven is a sweetheart and Marc deserves all the love in the universe.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse. Please be aware that Steven refers to Marc as “man” because he isn’t aware of the term “alter” (yet).

A/N: Hiya :) This is the very first blurb I have ever written, so any type of feedback would mean the world to me 🥰

“Morning Gus & Gus! How are we doing lads, sleep all right?”

As Steven started his morning routine by sprinkling their favourite fish flakes into their tank, the fish remained emphatically nonchalant.

“Still giving old Steven the silent treatment, are we? Because I couldn’t take you with us to Egypt?”

Chuckling quietly to himself, he kept watching them for a moment before his gaze wandered towards the collection of postcards framing the fishes’ home. While each of them held a special little place in his heart, it wasn’t difficult to spot his favourite one among them.

If the large pyramid and the brightly coloured “Greetings from Cairo” on its front hadn’t been enough of a giveaway, the worn edges and creases clearly would have indicated how often he had held the postcard in his hands to read it over and over again. Just like he did now:

“My dearest Steven,

I am sending you the warmest greetings from the land of the pharaohs! Every morning I look out the window of our hotel room and see the Great Pyramid of Giza and every time I do, I think about how much you would love it here, my darling. I am looking forward to the day that we are going to go on an adventure like this together!

Love and hugs, Mom”

Love and hugs…

Letting his fingers trace over the biro indentations, he tried to imagine what it must have felt like for the man who had written these lines for him.

Maybe he had just returned from a mission protecting the travellers of the night, all bloodied and bruised, aching and in pain, writing this postcard instead of tending to his injuries. Painting a picture of a caring mother filled with warmth and kindness and love, while his heart and soul were bleeding from the countless wounds that she had inflicted upon him as she had turned his own life into a living hell.

Maybe he had been sitting on the bare cot in his storage locker, surrounded by nothing but inanimate coldness and relentless emptiness, with nothing to offer even the tiniest bit of relief or distraction from his shame and guilt and pain and loneliness.

Maybe he had written it right in this flat, before carefully smoothing over the sand around their bed and applying a new piece of tape to their door. Always making sure that every little detail was exactly as Steven had left it, always fearing that one day he would make that one final mistake that would make his carefully constructed world for Steven crumble into dust.

Deeply lost in his thoughts, he felt it before he could see or hear anything. A warm and comforting presence, like a soft and reassuring embrace that told him that he was accepted and safe. Like coming home and knowing that you are protected. That you are loved.

Who could have anticipated that Steven would find what he had been longing for all his life in the very same man that had seemed to have been the reason for all of his nightmares only a few weeks ago?

His eyes softened as he smiled at the reflection in the fish tank. “Marc…”

“Hey, Steven!” Even though Marc’s eyes no longer held the heart-wrenching despair and agony finding their way through the cracks of his mask like when he first met him, Steven could sense the guilt and pain slowly creeping back in.

“I can throw them away for you, if you want to,” Marc offered in a small voice.

“Why would we want to throw them away?” Steven’s brow furrowed in mild confusion.

“Well, because they are… they are just a reminder of all the lies I told you to…” his voice trailed off.

“…to make sure that I was able to live a happy, simple, normal life?” Steven finished the sentence.

Marc lowered his gaze for a moment before nodding and simply answering, “Yes.”

“No, Marc, I don’t think they are.” Steven slowly shook his head.

“You see, to me… to me they are a reminder that all my life I’ve had someone standing in my corner, who cared about me and who looked out for me. Who would always protect me, no matter what.

And when all is said and done, it doesn’t matter that this person wasn’t our mother. Or our father. Because you… you have loved me in the same way that they should have. And I think that… I think that, in the end, that’s all that matters.”

Whatever Marc had intended to say was drowned in a half-stifled sob as his eyes began to glisten with tears.

“Hey!” Steven said softly while tenderly laying one hand against the glass of the fish tank.

“Hey… it’s okay, Marc, you don’t have to say anything. Just… just know that I am here for you, too, yeah?”

He was still standing there like that when you wrapped your arms around him from behind to press a gentle good morning kiss to his temple. “Mmmmhm morning, sweetie, what are the Gusses telling you?”

“Mhm? What? Oh… they still refuse to talk to me. And I wasn’t… I wasn’t talking to them just now.”

“Oh...” As realization hit you, you gave him another peck on his cheek. “Good morning, Marc!” Your smile turned into a frown when Steven still seemed rooted to the spot.

“You guys okay?” you asked carefully. 

Finally turning around, he gave you a little smile. “Yeah, I think… I think he just needs a minute!”

Bringing your hand up to his face to caress one of his cheeks you ask, “Anything I can do to help? Or would you rather be alone?”

He hesitated for a moment. “Could you… can you give Marc something from me?”

“Sure?”

“Could you just…” and with that he pulled you into a long and heartfelt hug. Holding you as tight as he had held Marc when he had hugged him for the first time, but instead of conveying desperation and fear, his embrace was filled with gratitude and warmth and comfort and tenderness.

“I think he’ll love that,” you whispered.

Letting go of you just enough to be able to look at you, he gently cupped your face with both hands before placing the softest of kisses on your forehead.

“I think he’ll love that very much!”

[wkemeup]

Play Pretend (II)

summary: In the aftermath of Munich, Bucky struggles to go back to how things were before. But now that he knows how it is to love you, he's not sure he can. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 5.8k warnings: smut (18+), mutual pining idiots a/n: here is the final part! make sure you catch up at part 1 first! gif by @crispychrissy

Bucky couldn’t get the image out of his head for days after the mission in Munich. Pictures of you laying so beautifully beneath him, the slight curve of your lips as a moan slipped past, skin so soft it begged to be touched and soothed and worshiped. He couldn’t let go of how you sounded, how you cried out his name or the gentle whimpers spoken so sweetly against his ear. He couldn’t stop craving you wrapped so tightly around him, your hands caressing down his arms, his back, his shoulders, your unbridged desire to touch every part of him, even the parts he despised.

Memories that found him in his sleep in the early hours of the morning, in the shower when his legs were weak and tired, at the breakfast table when you strolled in wearing a t-shirt down to your thighs and the evident curve of your breasts bare beneath the fabric.

Bucky tried to push the thoughts away. He tried to stop thinking of what happened in that cold, abandoned Hydra base. He tried to bury that longing somewhere deep, somewhere he’d never be bothered by it again. But it always came back in the image of you in that cell.

It plagued him. It taunted him.

He wanted more.

He didn’t know how to admit it. Not to himself, and certainly not to you. So, he did his best to suffocate those feelings, those cravings for something real, but they still found their way to the surface.

They spilled over on movie nights with the team and Bucky would find himself inching closer to you, in the gym when he took just a second longer to lift his weight from your body after a winded match that ended on the surface of the mat, on walks around the compound when he found himself wanting to capture your hand in his own as your fingers brushed by.

Those feelings slipped from his smothering hold on missions when he watched your back far more than his own, when he’d missed an obvious target in an attempt to clear your enemy line and ended up catching three bullets himself. He lost composure whenever you didn’t respond on coms or when you’d stumble back onto the quinjet with an injury you’d been hiding. He dove headfirst into fires and threw his body up as a shield and spent every night in agony wondering if you knew that he’d give his whole life to you if you’d asked.

It made him stupid. It made him reckless. It might actually get him killed.

But it hadn’t started in Munich. No, that was just the catalyst of it all. Bucky had loved you long before that drug infiltrated his system and left the two of you in an impossible position. He’d managed to keep his feelings at bay for years; hiding behind quick witted jokes and friendly banter and a genuine friendship and it had been enough. Honest, it had.

Only, now he knew what it was like to be with you. He caught a taste of what it would be like to make love to you and he didn’t know if he could ever forget and move on. It had been weeks since Munich and it still felt like it happened yesterday.

He had to do something to keep it from consuming him, even if it broke your heart. Even if it broke his, too.

***

“What the hell do you mean you can’t work with Y/n anymore?”

Steve groaned, pinching at the bridge of his nose. It had been a long day of debriefing with about a dozen agents making demands he was unwilling to compromise on. This, separating his best team, was among them.

“It’s just not a good idea, Steve,” Bucky said, arms folded tightly over his chest as he watched Steve pace relentlessly down the conference room.

“That’s ridiculous, Buck.” Steve slumped into the chair beside his friend. “You two are the best insurgent team I have.”

“Just trust me. You’ve seen how I’ve been in the field lately. I can’t keep a straight head around her, okay? Not after—” Bucky clenched his jaw, turning away.

Steve sighed, hanging his head. “You ever gonna tell me what happened in Munich?”

Bucky’s lip was chewed raw; scars over broken wounds, teeth digging into painful cracks. It was a nasty habit he picked up after Munich. He wasn’t used to this kind of nervousness; a deep and unsettling feeling churned to stone in the pit of his stomach.

“Reassign me, Steve,” Bucky asked again, firmer. He could feel Steve’s eyes burning on him, tracing every inch of his face, searching for a tell, but he wouldn’t find one. Bucky was trained better than that. He knew to keep his features cold, stoned, even if his heart was pounding against his chest. He wondered it Steve could hear it, too.

The silence hung heavy in the air.

“Alright,” Steve finally conceded. He shook his head reluctantly. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Bucky sighed a breath of relief, the weight of months filled with a longing he couldn’t tame and painful twist in his heart slipping from him in seconds. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” Steve stood up from his chair, gathered the papers from the desk and made his way to the door. He paused just at the frame, turned around slowly to find Bucky had relaxed a little too much for his liking and added, “you’re going to be the one to tell her.”

“What?” Bucky scrambled out of his chair, nearly losing his footing and all composure as he stood to face Steve.

“You’ve been partners for years,” Steve shot back tensely. “She’s had your back on countless missions, saved your life on more than one occasion, and—come on, Buck— you guys are friends! The two of you spend every day together, even when you’re benched! You don’t want to give me an explanation? Fine. But you sure as hell owe her one.”

Bucky shook his head rapidly, hands clenching at the fraying edges of his t-shirt. “Steve, I—”

“Just talk to her,” Steve said, a heavy disappointment lingering in his voice. His lips parted, as if there were more he wanted to say, but decided against it. He hung his head, pat Bucky firmly on his shoulder, and left.

***

Had he always been able to hear his own heartbeat like this?

It was pounding in his ears, thunderous, deafening, and he swore just about everyone else on the floor could its thumping as he approached your room.

The door was open ajar with a small glimmer of sunlight streaming out into the dimly lit hallway. You were singly quietly to yourself – humming, maybe – as you sat on the edge of your bed, staring down onto your phone. You didn’t seem to notice him at the door. He knocked.

Your head popped up, surprised at the sudden intrusion and your eyes only narrowed upon finding it was Bucky standing below the doorframe. You looked at him for a moment before you turned back to your phone without saying another word.

He deserved that.

“Can I come in?” Bucky asked sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. He was still staring into the room through the small slit in the door.

You shrugged. “Depends. Are you still avoiding me?”

A sharp sting burned in his chest as Bucky tried to unclench his jaw. Truthfully, he had been avoiding you for days now. Ever since he made up his mind to ask for a reassignment. It didn’t matter if Steve shipped him off to Alaska or the Amazons or out into space with the goddamn raccoon; all he knew was that every minute he spent beside you was agony and he needed to get away from it – away from you – before it consumed him whole.

None of that was your fault. You didn’t know why he was suddenly too busy to spar on your usual weekdays or join the team for movie nights. He never told you why he suddenly started pulling away, cutting off all contact as if you hadn’t been friends for years before Munich.

“I’ve got something important to talk to you about,” Bucky replied, clearing his throat.

You sat up, sitting the phone down by your side as you recognized the tone in his voice. Clinical. Mission oriented. Business. He didn’t want it to sound so cold, but he wasn’t sure he could do this if it wasn’t.

Bucky stepped into the room, prying the door open gently with a slow squeak on its hinges as he closed it behind him. He’d been in your room dozens of times before, but somehow, in this moment, it felt like an invasion of privacy, like he wasn’t supposed to be there.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep focus. He took a few steps forward and gingerly sat on the edge of your bed, keeping careful distance as he wrung at his hands in his lap.

“I’m being reassigned.”

You furrowed your brow. He could practically hear your heart skip a beat.

“What? No. They can’t do that!” You shook your head, determined. There were traces of disbelief on your face – anger, too. Your hands gripped tightly into the sheets at your sides. “They can’t just reassign you, Buck. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Y/n, you don’t understand,” he started to say, but you were already on your feet, pacing around the room. It was how you calmed yourself when your thoughts were racing too fast. The stabbing pain in Bucky’s chest only seemed to dig deeper.

“I know the field has been messy lately, but that happens to everyone! They can’t split us up because of a few extra trips to the med bay,” you argued, wearing trenches into the carpet of your bedroom. You stopped abruptly. “Who gave the order? Steve? Tony? I’ll take this up with Fury if I have to, okay? I won’t let them—”

“Y/n, stop. Please.” Bucky hung his head. His right hand was red as his left clasped and tugged at the skin. He couldn’t find the courage to meet your eye but he could tell from the way you stilled that you knew what he was about to say. “It was me. I asked for reassignment.”

It didn’t seem to hurt any less though because your stance still faltered. It was barely noticeable, not to the human eye, but Bucky’s sensed were advanced thanks to his time in Hydra. He saw the way your body weight shifted just slightly, how your breath caught in your chest, the slight flicker of your eyes. Shock. Betrayal. Hurt.

“You said it yourself,” Bucky reasoned, trying to find excuses where there were none, “there’s been too many ER trips lately. I keep getting hurt.”

“Because you insist on using your body as human shield, Buck!” you retorted, arms flung out to the sides. “Just knock that off and we’ll be fine!”

Bucky shook his head, his lips curling ever so slightly though it didn’t touch his eyes. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course, it is!” you argued. You started pacing again. “Don’t be an idiot, Barnes. I’m not losing my partner. Go tell them you were joking or concussed and not thinking straight!”

“I’m not going to do that.” Bucky clenched his jaw. His right hand was starting to lose feeling from how tightly he was gripping it.

Why couldn’t you make this easy on him? You were supposed to be angry with him for ignoring you for the last week. You were angry with him and yet you still fought for him. He couldn’t make sense of it.

The pacing stopped again, though this time it came in slow, like a realization that found its way piece by piece until it melded into a visible image.

“Was it something I did?”

Bucky jumped up to his feet, instinctively wanting to walk towards you but you held your ground. He froze, standing several feet away.

“No,” he said firmly. “God no. You didn’t do anything wrong, Y/n.”

“Then what?” You raised your arms out to the side in question. “We’ve been partners for years, Bucky. I’ve relied on you all that time to have my back, to keep me alive out there, and—and—” you groaned rather loudly, “you’re my best friend! You can’t just up and decide you’re done with me and move on!”

Bucky frowned. “That’s not what this is.”

You shook your head, arms folding tightly over your chest protectively. “Sure feels like it.”

The silence between you was unbearable. Bucky didn’t have a good excuse. You were right to be angry with him. He was abandoning you. He was a coward. He was running away from a painful situation to avoid facing it head on because he was terrified to lose you. Though, as you pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, pulling them away a moment later to find a soft glisten of reflection in their wake, Bucky started to wonder that were already true.

“Oh God,” you exhaled, a heavy realization in your voice as you turned to him. Your shoulders slumped. “This is because of Munich, isn’t it?”

Bucky flinched. He tried not to, but you noticed. A look of absolute devastation crossed your features as your lips parted, sinking down onto your bed.

“I knew things were different after that mission. I mean, how could they not be?” You leaned over against your thighs, letting your hair fall down to shield your face where Bucky could not see. “I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have given in. You couldn’t consent with that shit running through your veins. Not really. So— fuck – I completely understand if you can’t be around me after I—”

“That’s not what happened,” Bucky interjected sharply, shaking himself from the fear coursing through him as he crossed the room to you. He knelt down beside your bed and waited patiently for you to lift your head and let the curtain of hall fall away from your face. “I could have fought it. It hurt like hell, but I would have survived it even if we… if we hadn’t…”

He let his voice trail off, his cheeks turning a slight side of pink. He sighed. “The point... is that I wanted to. I really wanted to. And that’s the problem.”

You narrowed your eyes, confused.

Was he really going to tell you? Wasn’t this what he had been trying to avoid? Throwing away years of friendship to confess deeper feelings he was all but sure you’d never reciprocate?

But there was something about the way you were looking at him. With tears glistening in your eyes and a grief he couldn’t quite place nestled into the lines on your forehead, Bucky began to wonder if walking away would give him any relief at all. He wasn’t sure he could ever leave this room again if you were left blaming yourself for his crimes.

Bucky slowly placed his right hand on your knee, rubbing his thumb gently along the dimple. Your eyes followed his movements, watching curiously until he found the courage to speak.

“We’ve been partners for a while,” he started, clearing his voice when it came out shaken. You nodded. “I feel like sometimes I know what you’re thinking just by looking at you and when we’re out in the field, even in the middle of chaos, it’s like you can tell what I’m doing before I actually figure it out myself. We’re really good together. Out there. It’s hard to find that these days.”

You didn’t say anything and for that, he was grateful. He needed to get this out before he shut down completely.

“I think we only got that good because we’re… uhm… we’re close, you know?” Bucky took a deep breath, releasing his grip on your knee when he realized he’d started to squeeze it a little too hard. Your hand was sitting on your thigh, but you’d inched it closer to his, enough so the tips of your fingers overlapped onto his.

“We’re friends.” Bucky paused at the term, deciding it wasn’t strong enough. “It’s more than that though. I trust you with things I wouldn’t even tell Steve. You were the first person I felt like I could be myself around. Not the Bucky that Steve remembers or the one Hydra manipulated. This one. Whatever that means.”

Your whole hand covered his now, as much as it would allow. He glanced up to find your fingers curling under his, a slight squeeze to tell him you were still listening. He exhaled another breath and the pressure in his chest felt a little lighter.

“What happened in Munich didn’t awaken anything or… or open my eyes to something I didn’t know was there,” Bucky continued, his eyes trained on your legs, unable to find the courage to face you. “I’ve known how I felt about you for a long time. I was okay with it. I learned to live with it and manage it because being your friend and being your partner was too important to lose. But…”

He felt your hands squeeze his again.

“But after Munich… I don’t know how to go back. I don’t think I can.” Bucky didn’t dare to meet your eye. He could feel the words slipping past his lips before he had a chance to pull them back in. A waterfall of confessions he couldn’t hope to control. “It’s why I’ve been so reckless in the field, why I keep ending up in the med wing. I can’t shove it down anymore and it punctures me right through the goddamn heart when I see you surrounded by armed agents or when there’s a weapon aimed at you and my instinct is to run towards you. Screw what happens to me.

“I know you’re good at your job,” Bucky stressed, shaking his head. “I know you can handle yourself and you don’t need me to protect you but… but I want to. I want to keep you safe and hold your hand when you’re getting stitches and curl up beside you at night just so I can remind myself you’re real when the nightmares get the better of me. I want… I want more than I should.”

He could hear the skip in your heartbeat, how it gradually picked up in pace the longer he spoke. Your breathing was shorter, too. Shallower. Bucky was certain it was all confirmation of the story he’d been telling himself for years.

“This… How I feel… It’s not good for us. As friends. As partners. I’m trying to do us a favor and just remove myself from the equation.”

Bucky still had yet to meet your eye. He’d turned to examining every detail he could find on the fabric of your sleep shorts, in the sheets you sat upon, in the divots and dimples and blemishes on your thighs. He wasn’t sure he’d have the resolve to leave if he looked at your face.

Several beats of silence passed by and Bucky wondered how it was possible you hadn’t lashed out at him yet. He expected you to be angry for driving a wedge between you with something as reckless as love and affection. He expected you to turn your shoulder, reject him for everything he was, because it was one thing to befriend the Winter Soldier, another entirely to love him.

Bucky slowly rose back to his feet, letting his hand slip away from your knee and your gentle hold on him fell away. He mistook your silence for acceptance, maybe even agreement. He cleared his throat, starting to back up towards the door.

“So, um,” Bucky said nervously, trying to fill the silence in his escape, “that’s why. I hope you can forgive me some day for all of this. I’ll, uh, I’ll go.”

Bucky barely had his hand on the knob when he heard the soft squeak of your mattress springs as you rose to your feet.

“You’re wrong.”

The sound of your voice startled him, enough to get him to look back at you before he could stop himself. Your hands were clenched at your sides, eyes red with tears, bottom lip chewed raw.

“Y/n, I—”

“You’re wrong,” you said again, almost angry and somehow that was a relief. It would make it easier for him to leave if you were angry, but you had different plans. “You’re wrong if you think you’re doing me some kind of favor by leaving.”

Tears were on your cheeks now and Bucky’s stomach lurched. This wasn’t what he wanted. This was agony.

He took a step closer to you. “You have to trust me, it’s not a good idea for us to—”

“You’re wrong,” you continued, cutting him off again as you rubbed at the tears under your eyes. “You’re wrong to assume that I don’t feel the exact fucking way about you and—and if you leave, Bucky, I swear to God it will kill me.”

Bucky froze. His heart stopped beating completely, might have plunged down through his stomach, broken through the floorboards and buried itself into molten lava and dirt, because of all the things he was expecting you to say, that was not one of them.

“Don’t do this,” you implored, voice a little broken, barely above a whisper. “Please don’t go.”

Bucky was at a loss. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t prepared for this. He never even considered you might beg him to stay, that you might feel for him in the way he felt for you. It never once crossed his mind. It felt like a dream.

“I miss you.” Your voice was so small and still, it nearly tore him straight in half. “I miss how we used to be. I miss seeing you smile and your stupid jokes at the most inappropriate times in the field.” You laughed to yourself, under your breath, and even through the tears it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. But you sighed, the smile falling away. “I miss you when you’re not here. All the time. So much it hurts. I feel like I’m going out of my mind when I’m not with you. You’re my best friend, but I… I also… I miss Munich.”

Bucky’s eyes widened and you only caught a glimpse of him for a second before your face was in your hands, trying to shield yourself from him.

“I know it’s wrong,” you murmured, muffled by your palms. “I know it’s not right to miss a moment when you were in pain and made to feel something you didn’t ask for, but… I think about it a lot and... how much I want more.”

Stunned silence. Throat dry. Heart pounding.

“What are you saying?” Bucky finally found the courage to ask.

You lifted your head, finally meeting his eye and there was a relief there as you looked up at him. Your shoulders eased. A soft smile returned to your lips and it nearly melted him completely.

“The same thing you are, I think.”

He swallowed. “Oh.”

Bucky watched, near frozen, as you crossed the room, bare feet padding softly over the carpet until you were only inches from him. The space between you closing as your hands slid up his arms, resting against his shoulders, cupping at the sides of his face, just observing, just feeling. There was no venom in his veins and yet, Bucky felt electrified under your touch. His heart stammered in his chest as your fingers wove at the strands of hair at the base of his neck.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you told him and he wondered for a moment if he stopped breathing entirely. "No Hydra chemicals. No foreign influence. Just us, okay? You and me.”

Bucky nodded, a little stunned.

Slowly, you inched up closer to him, your eyes drawing closed until you were a breath from his lips. Just barely grazing upon his own, waiting, and Bucky let his hands slid up against your back, tugging you closed against him, and captured your lips in his own.

It was different than the first time in Munich, less rushed, less desperate, but instead filled with a longing that had spanned years between you, coated in affection and heartache and need for one another beyond anything a serum in a lab could fabricate.

Your hands wove into his hair, his arms pressing you firm against his chest, and it was like you were holding onto him for dear life. Your feet began to carry the two of you backwards, dragging Bucky towards the bed, and you yelped as your knees caught on the edge of the mattress, sending the two of you spiraling onto the bed.

“You alright?” Bucky laughed, brushing away the hair in your eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows caged around your shoulders; most of his weight laying upon you in the sweetest comfort of pressure.

“I'm perfect,” you replied, bright smiles and joy radiating from every pore. It was contagious.

“We can stop here, if you want,” Bucky offered sincerely. He was riding a high he never thought he’d ever experience and anything you’d be willing to share with him was a gift within itself. He’d kiss you for hours if you’d let him.

“And if I don’t want to stop?” you questioned, staring up at him with a hunger in your eyes. Your fingers trailed down his t-shirt, dancing around the hem of the fabric at his hips. “If I wanted to keep going... If I wanted you...?”

“I’m yours, sweetheart.”

A simple answer. A true one. He’d never been more certain of anything in his life.

Bucky knelt back, tugged on the fabric of his shirt between his shoulder blades and pulled it over his head. You watching him as he tossed it to the corner of the room before he settled back down against you. Your hands ran along the lines of his muscles, over the scars and imperfections, and for once, Bucky didn’t shy away from the hands of a woman. It didn’t feel like a twist to his gut, he didn’t hold his breath. No – instead, it felt renewing, healing almost.

His hands slid under the waist of your shirt, inching it higher as he rand his touch along the curves of your sides, until you leaned up for him to help remove the fabric. It joined his shirt at the edge of the room.

Perfect and bare. Stunning in your nakedness. A privilege he never thought he’d be granted.

“You want to take a picture or...?” you teased him, noticing how long he’d been staring at you.

Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “Don’t temp me. Besides, I’m hoping I won’t need a picture to see you like this again.”

“Definitely not,” you confirmed, tugging him down to meet your lips again.

It was laced in smiled and laughter and ages of holding back from one another all rolled into one. A freedom of taking your time, of enjoying one another, and learning to memorize your bodies. Bucky would have wondered if he were dreaming if not for the way you wrapped your legs around his waist, grinding against his hardening cock – no dream could produce a feeling like that.

With his lips on your neck, Bucky played with the hem of your shorts, waiting until you lifted your hips just enough to give him the access to slid them down your legs, removing the last remaining fabric along with it.

Bucky kissed his way down your body, mapping a trail from your neck, to the hills of your breasts, to your ribs, to the comfort of cushion at your stomach, to the crevices at your legs and inner thighs. He paused for a moment, setting his cheek against your thigh as he drew his fingers between your lips, separating them to give access to the sweetest parts of you.

You flinched a little as he touched your clit, a gasp emitting from your lips as your hands curled into the sheets. Bucky grinned, encouraged by your reaction as he began to circle the pads of his fingers at your entrance. Listening for the subtle changes in your breath, the moans the slipped past, and the curl of your fingers, Bucky leaned in and wrapped his lips around your clit.

“F-fuck, Bucky,” you whined, hands snaking into his hair and gripping tight against his scalp.

He smiled at the feeling, at the way you cried his name, and he pressed his slicked fingers inside of you. Perhaps it was the haze of the foreign chemicals the last time he had you under him like this, but he didn’t remember you being so vocal, so sensitive to his touch. It was a rush and he had to keep himself from rutted up against the mattress as added a third finger, curling them just enough and massaging at the walls as they squeezed tight around him.

Tongue lapping at the wetness, sucking around the sensitive bud of nerves, fingers perfectly drawing out the high as it built at your core, it only took moments before you crashed. You cried out his name, legs wrestling against him in the sensitivity as he drew out the feeling as long as he could, moving slower and slower until you stilled under him.

“Fuck,” you exhaled, a laugh entranced in your voice.

Bucky grinned, pleased with himself as he crawled his way back up the bed to meet your lips. He didn’t bother to wipe the remnants of your high from his mouth and you didn’t seem to mind as you kissed him, certainly tasting yourself upon his lips, and it only made him want you more.

“You’re turn,” you smirked, trying to slide out from under him as you licked your lips, but Bucky held you down.

“Next time, okay?” he countered and you sunk back into the mattress with a pout on your lips. “I don’t think I can last if you get your mouth on me.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” you teased, running your fingers down his stomach until he began to shiver.

“Yes,” he chuckled, swatting your hands away playfully. He winked. “I’m gonna die if I don’t have you right now.”

“Jesus, Buck, don’t even joke,” you laughed, hiding your face in your hands.

“Hey, someone's gotta,” Bucky grinned as he tugged down his pants, kicking them off to land amongst the rest of the discarded clothing. “If it got me here, I’ll happily make light of a fucked up Hydra breeding experiment.”

“Would you have told me if it hadn’t happened?” you asked, voice a little softer, peering out from behind your hands.

Bucky stilled, his grin falling into something gentler and he shrugged. “Don’t know if I ever would have had the courage. I never thought we’d be here. Never could have imagined you’d feel the same way.” He leaned down to press a kiss to your shoulder. “Would you have said anything?”

“I don’t think I really knew until you threatened to walk away,” you admitted.

“Well,” Bucky sighed, pressing a trail of kissed along your collarbone as he settled between your legs, his length pressing against your thigh, “good thing I’m not going anywhere.”

“Better not,” you murmured against his lips as you drew his mouth to yours.

Then, as he felt the hitch of your breath against his lips, he sank into you. Stretching walls and guiding your legs to wrap at his waist to offer an angle that left your jaw slacked. Your eyes fluttered closed, lips parted, and Bucky felt a rush unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Even through the smoke filled haze of that serum in Munich, he’d never felt an ounce of the relief as he did in this moment. To be completely and entirely yours.

He felt you squeeze at his shoulders, urging him to move, and slowly, he rocked his hips against you. Slow and steady. Needy. Until your nails dug into his spine and Bucky couldn’t prolong the tender build up any longer.

Chasing and chasing; higher and higher. Bucky could tell you were close from how tight your walls were clenched around him. It took near everything he had not to come on the spot, but he held on, waiting, watching as your lips parted, as the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard slipped past, and you cried out his name.

“Oh fuck—fuck—Bucky, don’t stop.” Your breath was hot against his cheek. “I’m so close. I’m—ah—”

A hitch in your breath and your whole body seemed to fall slack. It only spurred him on. Hips snapped, fingers rubbing quick circles at your clit, until you were whining and shaking under him, until he was satisfied with the blissful look on your face and he let himself go.

He spilled into you, rutting his hips in a few final, lazy thrusts as he sank into the crook of your neck, panting. Dizzy and content, riding a high that extended beyond his body, Bucky hummed into your collarbone as he felt your nails draw patterns along his back in gentle sweeps. It tingled on his skin, send shivers along his spine, and he never wanted it to stop.

“Hey, Y/n?”

You paused, just for a moment, before you resumed tracing the lines on his back, over muscles and scars alike. “Yes, Bucky?”

He could hear the teasing in your voice, the light-hearted laugh, the warmth that made him fall in love with you and his heart clenched. He wrapped his arms under your shoulders, the full weight of his body still pressing you down to the mattress, still buried inside of you.

“Promise me this is real.” An embarrassment crept up as he said it, though the drawing on his back didn’t skip a beat. “You and me. I’m not dreaming or stuck in my head. This is real, right?”

Your hands slid up along his shoulders to his neck, and then to the sides of his face as you guided him off your chest to meet your eye; more beautiful than he’d ever seen you, with a glimmer of sweat and an afterglow radiating in the smile lifting your cheeks.

“This is real, honey,” you told him, leaning in to kiss him sweetly on the lips.

“Okay. Okay, good.” Bucky grinned, cheeks flushed in heat. He settled back against your chest, resting his cheek to your heart as you resumed drawing the lazy patterns on his back.

Perfectly content.

Warm. Safe.

Home.

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