#crying so hard and retching

[pastellmochi]

HES HEEEERE 🫶🫶🫶🫶‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

[freshbakedbreadstick]

The Physicalities of Grief - Season 2 Arcane Viktor x F!Reader

Season 2 Arcane Viktor x F!Reader

Summary (SPOILERS): It's hard to grieve someone when their not really gone.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of the content. HEAVY SPOILERS OF SEASON 2 ACT 1 OF ARCANE!! BE WARNED! Reader is described as having a vagina and uses she/her pronouns. Reader’s backstory is kept vague but is mentioned to be from Zaun (the Undercity), worked with Jayce and Viktor, and was childhood friends with Viktor. Mentions of masturbation, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, heavy grief, angst (not a breadstick fanfic if there isn’t angst), bad coping with grief and emotions, grief horniness LMAO, spoilers, brief fear that someone broke into your place, slightly improper use of his powers (not really use tho more like hinting at it), brief mention of vomiting but not in detail (!!), this is basically shameless PWLP (porn with little plot) that i'm using to cope ok? 

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: Unfortunately i am using Arcane Season 2 as a form of escapism bc i am not ok (context , i live in the US and i am a woman of color , , , , enough said ) anyways i am a Viktor stan and i love him SO SO SO much anyways AS PROMISE HERE IT IS ! LMAO i can't wait for act 2 to come out ! ! ! ! ENJOY ! (awhhh doesnt he look so normal in season 1 ?)

It feels like all you have ever known was this feeling.

This feeling of… swelling and crashing waves of anger and sadness. Of overwhelming crying screams, of bubbling tears that blind you, of aching emptiness that makes your joints feel sore and body retch after every meal.

Mel had to remind you that you were grieving, but you could see the way Jayce looked at her, shaking his head softly when she spoke. 

“He isn’t dead,” he would whisper once Mel would leave, but you could only weakly utter “Then why does it feel like he is?”

He never knew what to say to that, just stepping back, face falling. 

It was ridiculous at this point, the way he looked at you with… almost pity. You were sick of it. Everytime he came to you, updating you on the latest findings while you laid in bed, pathetically. Feeling like a waste as he went from spending hours in the lab, working beside his friend’s body encased in who knows what, to desperately fighting you to get you to eat something, anything.  

You felt like a burden, like a waste of a mind and body that was once so ambitious and passionate, moving around the lab to help with whatever you could get your hands on.

“I’m useless,” you would whisper to yourself in the cover of dark, chest empty and eyes red and dry. 

But his words… his words hurt the most. 

“Please eat something, anything!” He cried, trying to ever so gently pin your arms down as he lifted a small cup of soup to your face. 

“No Jayce, no! Stop it!” You cried, barely able to flail against him. 

“I need you to eat something, please! You can't keep going on like this!” His voice cracked. 

You pushed his hands away, successfully hitting the cup and making it clatter and crash to the floor. 

Both of you flinched, pausing mid movement to hear the sound of the porcelain shattering into millions of pieces. 

Stillness for a few seconds. Peace from him for a few seconds. 

Until his voice brought you back. 

“...Viktor would've wanted you to eat… to keep going…” 

It made your eyes burn, chest tightening, throat closing. It made your heart race, limbs suddenly energized for the first time in days, feeling ready to run marathons. 

Did Viktor feel this way the first time he touched the hexcore?

You shoved him away with surprising strength, making Jayce yell and fall to the ground, his arm moving up to shield himself. 

Leaping from bed, you yanked the sheets around yourself, heavy and dark fabric covering the weakness of your flesh from sight. 

“You have no idea what he would've wanted!” Your throat burned as you screamed, lips twisted into a sneer as you glared at him on the floor.

He couldn't even bear to look at you. Coward.

Paled hands moved to claw at your bedside table, yanking the drawers open. You yanked things out, throwing them to find it. Where is it?

Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?

Then you felt it. Soft beneath your fingertips, the embroidered ‘V' he asked you to add onto it scratching your skin ever so slightly. It made you pause, mind rushing and mouth rushing even faster.

“Better yet, you knew what he wanted and still went against him!” Your voice quivered as you yelled at Jayce.

Jayce gasped softly, head jerking back. 

“W-what friend you are,” You stuttered, tears rushing back into your eyes and making your voice sound watery. You felt stupid. 

Jayce’s breath hitched, his mouth opened to respond but you were too quick. You grasped the red fabric into your hands and rushed off, snatching your shoes on before you ran out the door with a choked sob, Jayce yelling out your name as you did so. 

Your body ached as you ran, running into corners and slamming into walls you didn’t sense as you rounded hallways. Your body feverish, only shivered when you stepped out into the chill of the quiet darkness of the supposed city of progress.

Your lungs ached as you ran, panting and gasping between cries. You ran and ran, stumbling and nearly collapsing as you made your descent.

Down, down, down… to the city you knew too well. 

Back home. 

You tucked the blanket closer as you rounded corners with ease, effortless as you hopped over piles of trash and twisted into darkened alleys, avoiding the sounds of twisted laughs and growls. 

You nearly ran into the door of your little old home, scratching at your neck to yank the necklace into the light of the partially broken street lamps. A trembling hand shoved the key into the lock, tugging yourself to press your cheek against the cold door with a hiss. 

It was hard to tell what you were doing in the darkness of the studio, staggering as you closed the door and moved around, getting bruises as you ran into old furniture and beat up tables. You cried out, howling in pain as you made your way toward your bed, hidden in the back of the room. 

One hand reached out, feeling the end of the furniture with heavy pants, eyes wide and barely able to make it out. But it was there, sturdy and reliable, the scent of comfort, of home, reaching your nose as you collapsed onto it, bursting out in wails.

The bed creaked as your body shook, the utter power of your lament echoing in the darkness of the room, red fabric clutched to your chest. 

You could smell him, smell the mixture of coffee, toast, and the unmistakable scent of the lab. 

You cried louder, rattling the windows with each sound as you held the fabric he used to tie his tie, nose buried into it. But it did nothing to muffle you, nothing to withhold the sounds of your cries. 

It felt like days passed before you passed out, falling unconscious without a second thought. 

But when you finally woke, it was dark again. 

Body aching, you sat up in with a heaved breath, wincing at the pain that echoed throughout your being. It was hardly bearable, making you sigh as you realized that you finally did it, you pushed yourself too much and rendered yourself alone, sleeping the day away.

You felt like a ghost skirting around your home, blanket clutched around your form and hand clutching the red fabric to your chest with paled knuckles. Feet made soft sounds as you stomped, using all your strength to collapse onto the sink, holding onto the ledge as you stretched, one hand opening the tap and lips greedily sucking in the water that came down.

You knew that you would probably regret this later, Zaun’s tap water was not meant to be drunk without extra precautions made to ensure it was clean. Afterall, this wasn’t Piltover, where you could drink fresh water from the tap without worry. 

You remembered the way your mother would have to boil it over the fire as a child, wincing as you drank the warm water after running circles around your childhood best friend, who would laugh and watch with a sad glint in his eyes as you did so. All you wanted was fresh, cold water after sweating, throat scratchy and knees scraped with a wonder only a child could possess. 

It made you want to cry again, as your familiar scratchy throat was soothed by the cool water, if only temporarily. 

Your hand barely had the strength to push the faucet shut, slipping onto your knees soon after. 

The fabric pressed against your nose, darkening under the tears that slipped and hit it on its way down your cheeks. Burnt toast… coffee… metal. Burnt toast, coffee, metal. Burnt toast, coffee, metal, Jayce. Burnt toast, coffee, metal, Jayce, you. 

You crawled back into bed, grunting and groaning as your limbs screamed, desperate for you to stop and give up. ‘Forget it, you're alone now’ they said, desperate for a break. 

“Just… let me get to the bed… please,” you heard your gravely voice whisper out, begging yourself.

“...I’ll quit once I get to bed… please…”

‘Fine,’ you told yourself. 

Crumpled there on the sheets, you encased yourself with the blanket like a body laid to rest among the flowers, eyes closed and breathing getting slower. You could hear chatter from just beyond the walls, the sound of people chattering before rushing off, the occasional argument either followed by commotion or silence. It soothed you like a lullaby, as it soothed all children of the undercity. 

But as a fight breaks out nearby, harsh voices echoing the sounds of punches, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried desperately to think of something else. 

Like the day he convinced you to go with him to Piltover.

“Come with me,” he whispered, hand extended out to you, amber eyes glinting with hope for what this opportunity would bring.

“Oh Viktor,” you whispered aloud, voice breaking just like in the memory.

“Please,” he said, brows creasing. 

“But will I fit in? Will they accept me?” you murmured, holding your own hand, looking between his hand to his eyes.

“They accept me,” he breathed.

“That’s because you are a scientist.”

He scoffed, “Do not reduce yourself to utility, regardless of where you come from, you deserve to live amongst them.”

“But they will stare at me like… like I'm trash.”

“Nothing we aren’t used to already… besides… I need you there.”

Your breath hitched.

“You do?” you whispered to yourself, hand clutched to the fabric rising to press it against your nose again. 

Eyelids softened as you thought of the way he smiled, chuckling softly at your bewildered face, smooth voice like melody that made goosebumps spread across your skin as he said, “Of course I need you…”

You didn’t even realize your free hand had inched its way down your torso until your fingertips hit the waistband of your bottoms, making you freeze up, eyes snapping open to stare into the inky darkness.

You panted, chest rising and falling. 

“No…” you whispered, “N-no, no I… I can't.”

“Of course you can,” his voice echoed in your brain, smooth as a ray of sunlight, “Whatever it is you're worried about, I'll help you.”

Finally, your hand fell into his. He pulled you close, so close, that his eyes flickering onto yours felt like it had replaced the sun and the moon, “Come with me.”

Trembling, your hand pushed under the waistband and under your undergarments, fingers tracing over your mound before dipping down to the unabashed wetness of your core. 

You gasped, chest tightening. 

“No,” you whispered into the fabric. 

Burnt toast, coffee, metal.

Your fingers glided down, hips rising and legs spreading, skin so so hot under your touch. With a smooth swipe, the wetness gathered itself on your fingertip, moving to ever so gently press against your throbbing clit.

It made you whine, voice muffled by the fabric held tight against your hand. 

“No please…” you whispered once more, your resolve slipping as you thought of those amber eyes and how they glistened when he spoke about his work.

“C-can’t…” you just couldn’t bear it.

This was your childhood friend you were imagining, your friend who cared so deeply about you that he was willing to take you with him when he got a new opportunity in Piltover. Your friend who sacrificed his health for the sake of finding new tech to help people like you, who weren’t given a fair chance in the undercity. Your friend whose gaze would transfix on you as he explained what he was doing, voice tinged with an eagerness that made him whine when he thought your mind was straying from his words. 

“Darling, are you listening to me?” he would say as you played with some geared models he set out for you to see.

“Yes Viktor, I swear!” 

He would always chuckle and nod, either continuing to explain or instead staying silent, moving to stand behind you.

Your knees and mouth fell open, eyes fluttering shut.

Burnt toast, coffee, metal.

Heavy pants filled the silence of the room. 

You could almost feel the way his hand would slide over yours as you played with the model, long nimble fingers gliding over your skin. 

You would gasp, hand stilling until he began to move it, guiding it with his own.“Here, let me show you… This is how you use it,” he would murmur, warm breath hitting your skin. It was so hard to suppress the shiver he gave you, no longer able to focus on the way he would turn the model the other way, guiding your fingers to press against a gear, turning it in a slow circle to get it working.

Your breathing hitched, hand moving in the way he showed you how. 

His hand would speed up, moving away to let you try it. The gears then began to move on their own, prompting you to move your own hand away, watching the model with an excited smile.

The swelling pleasure in your belly grew, making the smooth movements of your hand become erratic, unable to keep a steady pace. 

“V-Viktor,” you breathed, hips bucking into the air. 

You could imagine it, the way he spoke so smoothly to you, an air of calm to it as if he was speaking to a frightened animal, “Yes, my darling?”

“L-like this?” you croaked, fingers dipping to press against your sopping hole, feeling it drool onto your fingers. 

“Yes, exactly like that… you're doing so good…”

Your breaths grew more and more ragged, shivering as you chased your climax. It was so close, making your head fall back onto the sheets, fabric clutched to your nose, using it to run it up and down your body.

Burnt toast, coffee, metal.

“S-so… close…” you whispered. 

Then you heard it.

A whisper.

You stilled, eyes snapping open and wide in terror. 

You didn’t breathe, you didn’t move. 

‘Go to her’, it whispered once more, a feminine voice you couldn’t make out, too low for you to distinguish.

But you could hear staggered steps, moving. 

You knew you were hidden from view, allowing you an advantage, but this person was moving toward you, slowly but steadily.

You were frozen in place.

Did they come to rob you? Had you even locked your front door when you came in?

But you had no time to think, you were sitting here unarmed and vulnerable. 

Gathering yourself, you sat up in bed, careful to avoid making noise as you peaked above the furniture that hid you, seeing a cloaked figure moving in the dark. You saw nothing, just them staggering. They didn’t seem to be here to steal, brushing past your things without a second glance. 

You prayed to anyone who could hear you that it was just some weary soul needing to rest.

But right before you looked away, you saw it. 

You saw the glow.

A faint blue-purple glow of footsteps that led toward you. 

You swallowed, curling back and into yourself as your eyes trailed the faint humming glow of these footsteps, the way they led right to the foot of your bed. 

The cloaked and hooded figure approached, moving around what hid you to stand at the edge of your bed, looking right at you. 

Then you smelled it. 

Burnt toast, coffee, metal, and… something… more.

Your breath hitched as a bony hand reached up and out, moving toward your face.

You flinched, squeezing your eyes shut as it moved. You didn't see the way it hesitated, pausing right before the warmth of your cheek.

“My darling…” They whispered, voice rumbling in a way that made your eyes snap open and body instantly and unconsciously sag, “Am i that scary?” 

You gasped, shaking as you made out the iridescent eyes that traced over your sunken cheeks and eyes with dark bags underneath. 

“Oh my darling…” he murmured, fingertips finally pressing against your cheeks. 

He was cold, but somehow warmth thrummed through him like… machinery. 

His thumb traced underneath your eye, gently, “Have you been suffering because… of me?” 

You said nothing, pinned to the spot underneath his gaze. 

You tried to say something, but nothing came out. Your mouth only opened and closed, silence emitting from it instead. 

His gaze swept over you, making a shiver go down your spine as you sat there. His gaze stilled, eyes widening ever so slightly as he followed your hands. He paused and, after a beat of silence, he spoke up.

“Here… let me show you.” 

Burnt toast, coffee, metal, and something indescribable. 

The hand cupping your cheeks trailed down to your jaw, tilting it upward to look at him as he shifted to sit in front of you, the overwhelming scent of Him invading your senses.

His other hand moved, gently wrapping itself around your wrist, feeling the warmth of your skin underneath his own. He then slid in, over and down underneath the waistband of your clothes and to your soaked fingers.

You could only stare into the pools of opal that peered into your soul.

A gasp wormed its way out of your mouth as his fingers pressed against you, index tracing around your throbbing clit to your clenching hole. He moved in circles, teasing you by pressing his longest finger just against your entrance before pulling back, moving to press a tiny bit deeper with every movement.

You felt yourself instantly relax, unable to help yourself as the familiar face of Viktor stared at you, eyes softening as he saw the panic melt away. 

“V-Viktor i…” you breathed, “You… d-” 

“I'm supposed to be dead… I know…” he whispered. 

His finger pressed in, making you groan softly as it moved against your warm walls, carefully pressing to find that spongy bit inside of you. He was always so calculated, even now as his gaze focused on your face, tracking every miniscule movement like the way your pupils dilated when you saw him, the way your breathing picked up when his thumb brushed against your clit, and the way your lips parted when his fingers curled. 

“But I'm here now, my darling… you don't have to worry anymore… I just want you to come back with me.”

His voice made your eyes struggle to keep open, soft moans filling the once empty room. You were drunk off him, drunk off the way his fingers moved so deliciously deliberate, stimulating you in multiple ways and making you melt. 

“Viktor…?” you sighed, barely registering what he said. 

“Yes?” Viktor whispered, leaning to press his forehead against your own. 

It sent a shockwave of pleasure through your body, tingling with a purple glow over your skin. 

“I…” gasping for air was all you could do, the overwhelming sensation flowing through your veins as his thumb pressed against your clit, fingers curling in and out of you. You were so close again.

“More?” He murmured, voice soft. 

Your eyes could barely hold his gaze, “N-need you…” 

“Like I always needed you?” 

You moaned out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you shook, the pleasure reaching its peak. 

“Cum for me… come with me.” he murmured, lips brushing against your own. 

He swallowed your moans as you cried out his name, body shaking. His hand on your jaw held you in place, continuing to move his fingers in you and on your clit, your hand wrapped around his wrist as he did so, the other still clutched onto his red tie. 

Pure, white, hot, pleasure stole your vision and voice, making you see visions of a future where you and your people would never have to suffer anymore, not with someone like Viktor to lead them. 

As you came down, body heaving and shaking, he carefully moved his hand off your core before wrapping your weak body with his lapis blue cloak, pressing you against him. Your head lolled, slotting against his neck, smelling the scent of burnt toast, coffee, metal, and something… something otherworldly. 

“Come with me.” He whispered, “I need you.”

“I will.” You whispered, this time not hesitating. 

[hahaifolded]

141 x POC!GN Intelligence Operative - Debrief 2 Author's Notes: This was super hard to write and not gonna lie maybe hard to read for some of yall so like please be careful. Probably safe after the lines Warnings: MDNI, Racism, Angst

Ghost was staring daggers at the back of the rookie’s head. How fucking dare he go after you? And in front of Ghost’s face? His stomach twists every time he thinks of Nikto’s question. Everyone is afraid of him… but not this rookie. Why?

He’ll find out soon enough. After Price is done gutting scolding the boy, Ghost will have turn. And so will Johnny and Kyle. Johnny was in the back of Price’s office with Ghost while Kyle was on his way.

“So, want to tell me what happened during training?” Price sneers. He sat forward in his chair, eyes burning with hatred.

Ghost nearly lunges at the rookie when the rookie just snorts in response. Ghost could tell that Price’s patience was withering by the second.

“I’d advise you to answer the question if you don’t want to be on toilet duty for the next month,” Price warns.

The rookie slouches in his chair and lets out an exasperated breath. “I know you’re doing this as a formality but you can drop the act. We’re on the same page.” Ghost cocks his head. What is this rookie on about?

“And what page is that?” Price thankfully asks for the whole room. The rookie leans towards Price.

“That this whole diversity initiative is just complete bullshit,” he admits like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Price’s eyes widen as the rookie keeps going and going on his whole anti-diversity spiel. Ghost’s and Soap’s body lock up.

Price clears his throat and asks, “and where did you get idea?”

“It’s pretty obvious. I mean none of you guys speak to them unless absolutely necessary. You never invite them to lunch or even the bar after missions. It’s clear none of you like them. I’ll admit I didn’t realize it until Lieutenant Ghost gave me a heads up.” Ghost feels his teammates’ eyes on him as soon as the rookie said his name.

Still looking at Ghost, Price asks what clue. And with glee, the rookie lets the three know how Ghost ripped your “dumb” gift in front of him and some other rookies while putting you in your place. Ghost feels his entire face go hot as he remembers the moment.

“And thank god he did because if I’m honest with you Captain, if I had to respect another one of them, I’d probably transferred by now and I know I’m not the only one,” the rookie jokes. While the rookie laughs, the 141 boys stay silent. None of them could believe what they were hearing. They didn’t realize how their actions looked like from the inside out.

Ghost felt his stomach churn. Fuck— is that why you asked him to accompany you with the rookies. Because— fuck. You turned to him for protection when actuality, he was the fucking reason you needed it.

Before this retched conversation could even continue, Kyle walks in. The rookie lets out a wicked laugh and quips, “Don’t worry Captain. Me and the boys will get rid of this one.” Kyle freezes, confused by the statement. Ghost’s entire body goes hot. He rushes towards the rookie and throws him to the floor. This ends now.

— — —

Ghost takes a deep breath before gently knocking at your office door. It’s time to make amends. And if amends can’t be made, he can at least be punished by your hand. He waits with bated breath as quick steps near the door.

“That was fa—,” you immediately stop. You straighten up your posture and roughly rub your eyes.

“Are you crying?” Ghost barks. He didn’t mean for it to come out so accusatory. Yes, he’s mad but not at you, never at you. Ghost takes a large step into your office and quickly closes the door.

Your jaw tightens at his sudden entry. You stop rubbing your eyes and stare straight in his eyes. “Might come as a surprise for you but we’re not all complete monst—.”

Ghost gently grasps your face in both hands and takes a sharp breath. “Please. Anyone but you.” Ghost knows he’s overstepping but he has to hold you at least once before you completely slip from his fingers. While wearing gloves, he gently rubs his thumbs over your cheeks and stares in your eyes with every ounce of admiration he has for you

You still. Your eyes widen in confusion. “Lieutenant, what’s going on?” Your gaze shift from his eyes to his hands on your face. They keep bouncing back and forth until they finally pause to his right hand as you catch Ghost’s skin peeking out between his pointer and middle finger.

“They’ll never bother you again, I promise,” he whispers. He knew you recognized the gloves. He knew you were reliving that moment in your head.

“Ghost?” you whisper. You look up at him, eyes shining with so many emotions. Anger, disbelief, betrayal… hope.

There’s still hope. Maybe Ghost can turn this around. Maybe Ghost can be the man you deserve. Maybe Ghost can be yours—

— your office door slams open, revealing a towering Nikto at the door frame. You immediately pull yourself out of Ghost’s grasp and lean against your desk. Ghost turns around and faces Nikto head on. The two giants stand still, facing one another, almost waiting for the other one to strike.

“Lieutenant, surprised to see you here,” Nikto states. He walks through the door and glides past Ghost. He makes his way to you and eagerly takes your side. Without a single care in the world, Nikto caresses your face and you immediately lean into his touch.

Ghost just stares on as the weight of his actions fell on him. Instead of protecting you, he threw you in the wolves. He pushed you away and pushed you in the arms of another monst— man.

“Lieutenant,” That breaks Ghost out of his trance. Nikto, with your head still in his hands, stares at Ghost and asks if he needed anything.

You.

Word Count: I’ll get to it

More Thoughts - Next Thought

[dollwrites]

𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐭 — 𝐭𝐨𝐣𝐢 𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐨

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!reader, facefucking, deepthroat, it gets sloppy, toji’s mean, degradation, noncon, failed tap outs, suggested age gap, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ i caved and finally wrote my first toji fic i know i’ve been teasing for a while. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

“What are you crying for, huh?” Toji’s vice on your hair was a tight fist, creating a makeshift ponytail so he could see your tears on your face. “You wanted to learn, didn’t you, girlie?” you could hear the amusement in his voice. the arrogance of knowing he was too much for you. too big. too rough. but uncaring. “Now you’re gonna boo-hoo about it?”

the best you could manage was a gargling whimper, your lips stretched wide around the thickness of his mighty cock. if your eyes crossed, you could see the shine from your spit and lipgloss smeared along the surface of his skin, giving each rigid vein a highlight. if you watched his inches disappear into your mouth, you got dizzy. the way he dribbled your head on his groin had your head spinning. back and forth, up and down, hard and fast.

“Just take it and stop whining so much, little bitch.”

Toji Fushiguro didn’t do soft and sweet.

you knew that, but you’d hoped he’d take a little more care than this.

you could feel the bones in his knuckles bat against the back of your head when he pushed you down hard, forcing the majority of him into your mouth, the girthy, reddened head threatening to push its way right down your throat, and when he yanked on your hair to pull you back, your scalp stung. you couldn’t help but whine and choke— he wasn’t giving you any choice. you’d forgotten how to stay calm and breathe through your nose, and instead twitched and squirmed.

“Fucking hell,” he grunted, and took a moment to exert his power on you, pushing you down until you kissed his broad base, the musky coarse hair tickling your nostrils and scraping against your plushy cheeks, “can’t even take a cock without being a drama queen. Stop moving around so damn much, let me get in that tight, little throat.” he held you there, trying to force his way in, but you couldn’t stop yourself from freaking out the second you felt him start to invade. bunching your shoulders, you push yourself up from where you were sitting on your calf muscles, both hands fleeing to pat and shove at his muscular thighs in a gagging attempt to tell him to stop. you felt the need to retch, and the sensation of having your air supply limited so drastically so quickly, and every alarm in your head went off to get off of him.

“What?” he barked, breathing ragged. “Want me to stop already? Can’t take it?”

you nod and Toji laughs.

“That’s too damn bad.”

for as much as you fought, Toji was stronger, and with a frustrated snarl, he grabbed your head with both hands, instead. gripping either side, he walked you backwards, mouth full of cock, until he pushed the back of your head against the opposing wall. his stance wide, heavy feet planted against either of your legs, he pinned your back to the wall. “Gettin’ real tired of your crybaby ass. Gonna have to teach you my way.”

his way was cruel, and you came to understand that as he jackhammered into your drooling, squealing mouth at a brutal pace, his heavy balls smacking against your chin. you can feel how the skin wants to stick to the gluey saliva dribbling from your sore mouth. your nails bite at his thighs, leaving angry, red scores, but he doesn’t ease up. he refuses to let you breath for even a moment, his large, hot palms clamped over your ears.

it was only after he’d battered the back of your throat and started to slip inside with each, merciless thrust, that you started to cluck, loud and helpless, squinting your eyes. even through the blur of your tears and the wincing, you could still make out his incredibly imposing, powerful figure casting a formidable shadow over you as he power fucked your throat.

maybe it was the subtle yet consistent bumping of your head against the wall, or the overwhelming scent and taste of his arousal enveloping you, overloading your senses, but you started to realize you weren’t struggling nearly as much. your hands, that had been desperate to claw your way to freedom, had ceased, your wrists going limp, as you slumped back against the wall to simply take him until he was done.

“That’s it, those are the sounds I like to hear, that feels fucking good,” he moans, baring his teeth. “Not much fight left in you now, is there? Still want me to be nice, still wanna stop?” for a moment, and much to your surprise, Toji withdrew his cock, allowing it to pop free from your abused, swollen lips. air flooded your lungs and you croaked on it, pushing globs of spit and precum out of the well to drip down your chin and stain your chest. your eyes widen, and you suck in every gulp of oxygen that you could, but you didn’t want to move, just in case he slammed your head into the wall again. weakly, uncertainly, your glassy eyes flicker up to the older man, and you give a defeated shake of your head. “That’s what I thought. You’re getting the hang of it.” he chuckled, hoarsely, running his calloused fingertips over your sticky, messy cheek before giving you a few, solid slaps of encouragement. or, perhaps, praise. you couldn��t tell. you didn’t care. you mewl and try to shy away from it, but he grasps your face hard in one hand and drags you back to look at him. “Now, sit pretty and be a good throat whore. This time, I’m not stopping until I shoot a load into your belly.”

[diejager]

reader who still tries to get her mom to know whats happening to her, what they're doing to her, but her mom refuses to notice. reader getting so sad about this and konig/horangi seeing a chance of make her feel even more helpless. könig who smirk when he sees reader crying again because her mom doesn't even want to listen that her husband is being weird with her daughter :( horangi cooing in fake sympathy while he brutally fucks her that her mom will never listen to her, that konig is much more important to her mom than her. anyway i think they are sooooo sick and twisted every opportunity they have to make her feel bad and helpless they will take advantage of! she cant ever escape them >:)

Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, STEPCEST, age gap, spanking, dracryphilia, spitroast, creampie, unprotected sex, PinV, rough sex, degradation, condensation, tell me if I misse any.

Every attempt to bring to light their obsession and disgusting acts are met with roughness punishment, their jarringly, cruel chuckles and the mercilessness of their rough hands. König did most of the punishing with Horangi as his accomplice, holding your feet down on your bed while you were laid over König’s lap, his wide and hot palm soothing your naked ass. He was your stepfather, it was only natural that he did the reprimanding, scolding his baby for causing trouble for him and his friend.

He always smoothed the skin before landing a hit, your ass jostling with every hit that had you jerking and hissing, before he smoothed it over again. Spanking you was his go-to punishment when you acted out, pain was a better deterrent than pleasure and bribes were, you reacted to it more strongly than a good and hard fucking. He’d land one hard and two gentler ones on your left cheek, caressing it tenderly before doing the same to your right one, it was a rinse and repeat act. They cooed and laughed at you, scolding you with condescending tones that would - hopefully - put you in your place. You cried, sobs that rendered them unable to stop themselves from slipping a finger in while you were being spanked, your cheeks tear-strained and your ass swollen and bruised.

You probably wouldn’t be able to sit without hissing for the next few days while the bruises subsided and the pain would linger for a longer period because they were so rough with you, picking you up and making you ride them until they came. Your body hurt and you were tired, your legs numbed and walls milking them dry, labia swollen and cervix battered by your stepdad’s thick and veiny cock with his unusually large girth from tip to base.

It didn’t help that your tears and sobs only excited them, their taunts and insults burning your skin as much as the flush of your cheeks burned you with shame. It proved as an incentive to plough into you harder as your depressive murmurs and your feelings of helplessness, their hips driving harshly into you with greater enthusiasm, loud and wet slaps echoing in the empty house.

“Don’t cry, 애인,” Horangi smiled, a mock of sympathy in his eyes, glazed over with sadistic glee, “I know, but you’ll choke.” [sweetheart.]

He pushed his cock deeper, your nose tickled by his dirty pubes, wet with slick and drool, smelling musky with a smell of sex and sweat. You retched loudly when König pushed you harshly into Horangi, the tip of his cut cock tapping the back of your throat where it laid heavily on the fla tof your tongue. He gripped your hair, fingers digging into your scalp to hold you still while König bucked into you, pounding Horangi’s cum out of your cunt from he sides, his cock so thick that it took all the space. You gagged, squirming wildly under them with fresh tears down your face, you couldn’t breathe with him down your throat, his length stopping you from taking in much-needed air into your dazed mind.

“Fuck, just a bit more,” Horangi groaned, throwing his head back as he came down your throat, gushing from the tip of his leaky cock. “You look so pretty crying.”

You chocked around him, throat closing to swallow down the cum that trickled down to prevent yourself from drowning in his salty and tangy cream. A part of it exploded out, your cheeks swelling until it couldn’t take anymore, white cream dripping down your spread lips and chin, drawing a filthy line on your body and onto your couch. You were cross-eyed, back arched and body limp between them, using the armrest and your stepdad’s grip as your support stay on your knees, legs quacking with every rough thrust from him, punching what little air was left in your chest.

“Scheiße, the prettiest,” König heaved loudly, pressing his sweaty chest to you back, head over your shoulder while he whispered filthy things he wanted to do to you when you were crying and sad that you mother couldn’t see the darkness in them or how awful their treated you. He rutted into you with ferocity, teeth grinding, pushed onward with Horangi’s encouraging words, his convoluted thoughts for a future with you between them, “Unser hübscher Schatzi.” [Shit, the prettiest. Our pretty darling.]

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @kaelysia @notspiders @velvetsoulweaver @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake

[mountainofgoats]

There’s the rifle. Disassembled and scattered in pieces.

Her feet stutter to a halt.

And next to it, a splatter of red. Next to that, Maddie’s lifeless corpse.

The rifle, in pieces.

The red.

Maddie’s corpse.

Ambessa’s corpse not far beyond. Still and red.

The rifle. In pieces.

Two corpses.

A knife, coated in red so thoroughly she can’t tell what color it’s supposed to be. A broken spear, the blade also painted red. All scattered amongst splashes on the stone.

The red. Splattered. It’s fucking everywhere. The more she looks, the more there is. Like staring at the night sky and watching stars multiply the longer you look.

It’s everywhere. Red scattered amongst steel and stone and corpses.

And she’s suddenly staggering to her knees next to the dismantled rifle. She sees her hand reaching out to grab it, clutch it, cradle it, but she can’t feel it. Her hand is numb. She is numb. Numb and muffled.

She holds the broken rifle. Counts the splatters of red.

There are two corpses. Two red-painted blades. And a rifle in pieces.

She quakes. Doesn’t realize it’s someone shaking her until her head lolls to the side and finds Ekko kneeling next to her with his hands on her shoulders.

His mouth is moving. His eyes are too. Taking in the rifle in her hands, the red splashed on the stone, the corpse in front of them and the corpse beyond them. He looks, then shakes her again. Says something again.

She looks from Ekko’s eyes to the rifle in her lap.

“It’s Cait’s.”

Her own voice feels like it echoes through her head. It echoes, and then everything coalesces in a roar of sound like a rising hurricane.

Screams.

Crows.

Crumbling stone.

The fluttering of the banners surrounding them.

Voices all over. Calling names. Yelling orders. Crying in agony.

Ekko’s voice saying “Your girl? This is hers?”

“It’s Cait’s.” She jerks her head up again. Stares at him. Clutches the rifle. “This is Cait’s.”

Ekko glances at the rifle, then scans the stone around them.

She watches him. Watches the dawning in his face as he sees all the red scattered like stars between the two corpses.

Watches the pity in his eyes when he looks back at her.

“Vi.” He slides his hand to the back of her neck and squeezes.

Her gut twists, curdles, and she retches right there on the stone. Nothing comes up, but she hunches and coughs while the one remaining shriveled piece of her ruined heart shudders. Convulses.

Gives up.

How long had she laid there in that tower, screaming for her sister and father, while the woman she loved needed her? How long had Cait been fighting- because of course she’d fought, her gun’s in pieces and there’s red splashed everywhere- while Vi had been fucking useless in that damned tower?

How had she failed- failed so miserably- after trying so damn hard?

She’d waited too long, chosen wrong again, and now Cait’s- She’s- Like everyone else-

She curls around Cait’s rifle and pukes again. Nothing but bile and spit comes up, mixing with the tears and the red she unknowingly crashed into when her knees gave out at the sight of two corpses.

Only two corpses. Only two corpses.

Her head shoots up. “She’s not here.” That shriveled piece surges back to life like air on an ember. It catches, and suddenly she’s a snarling, half-starved feral thing let out of a trap.

She jerks away from Ekko’s hand. Her feet scrabble against the stone when she hauls herself up, takes one wobbly step, and realizes she has absolutely no idea where to even start looking.

The starving thing in her chest howls.

She howls with it.

“Caitlyn!” She scans the stone, but all she can see is red. Red and steel and corpses.

But not Cait’s corpse. Not Cait’s.

“Caitlyn!” It’s a wail now, and it’s agony ripping out of her throat.

She’d screamed herself raw in that tower. Screaming for her sister and her father. For everyone who’s gone now.

Jinx Vander Cait Mylo Claggor Isha Jinx Vander Cait Jinx Vander-

“Caitlyn!”

Blood. She’d fought. There was blood. She’s hurt. Where would she go if she’s hurt?

A memory of chem tanks and a glowing hammer slices through the haze of red. A conversation outside a tent with a red cross on it.

Medical. She’ll be where the medical people are. They’ll help her. They have to help her.

Vi forces her eyes away from the red on the stone. Tries to find a different red, a red cross, a patch or a banner or something, anything-

“Vi! Over here!”

Ekko had moved a few paces away from her without her realizing, down the stairs and out towards the road that’s littered with bodies and pulverized stone. He’s waving at her, eyes down the street. “Think I see someone! Come on!”

It’s takes too many steps to find her footing, to not just crumple to the stone in a heap of useless terror. She takes that terror and wrangles it, strangles it, shoves it down and forces her legs to move. To run.

Ekko takes off, unslinging his board from his back. He tosses it with smooth precision, hops on it without breaking stride. He hovers as he reaches his hand out and back to Vi.

She takes it and leaps. He doesn’t even wait for her feet to land before the board revs and shoots forward. He steadies her as she staggers, but he doesn’t slow, and she loves him so fiercely she wants to scream with it.

They shoot down the street, over the mass of bodies, red and blue alike, and she can see what he saw now. Red and white banners strung outside the same building she remembers carrying Cait to so long ago. After the council chambers exploded in blue against a blood red sky. When Cait was looking screaming crying for her mother.

The fucking hospital. Of fucking course.

There are swarms of people outside the doors and strewn along the steps leading up to them. Some are bloody, most are crying or screaming. Some just wander, aimless and lost. All of them are in the way.

“Move!” Vi bellows with every ounce of violence she has left in her soul. Heads snap up, see the two of them barreling in, and everyone scatters like bugs on a picnic blanket.

Ekko doesn’t slow, just banks sharply before they hit the door. Vi leaps off the board and lands already running, stumbling and bouncing off the doorframe as she bolts inside.

Her momentum almost has her careening headfirst into a nurses station. She bumps shoulders with too many people, stumbling through them and into them, desperately trying to stay upright on wobbly knees. No one pays her any mind. It’s like she’s not even there.

There’s too many people, too much squeaking of gurney wheels on the floor and voices rising and people crying and-

“Caitlyn!” She’s howling again, wailing like she’s fucking dying. The thing in her chest thrashes and shrieks as she looks, looks and doesn’t see midnight blue. There are beds lined against the walls, all are occupied, most splattered with red, people in white shouting and hands hovering over bloody wounds, but she can’t see-

“Caitlyn!” She shoves through the writhing crowd, down a random hallway. Lowers her shoulder and pushes when her path isn’t clear. “Caitlyn!”

What if she’s too late, she wasted so much time in the tower, wasted time in the pits, wasted time her whole damned life-

“Vi?”

She staggers and looks to her left, down a hall she hadn’t seen for how clogged her way has been. Theres someone in white making her way toward her, someone familiar, gold flecks across her dark cheeks and surprised green eyes and-

“Mel!” Her knees buckle, but that feral thing in her chest hauls her forward, screaming and howling. She shoves her way in Mel’s direction. “Mel, have you seen Cait?”

Mel is squirming through the swarm of moving bodies, eyes locked on Vi. Her face contorts.

Vi’s stomach drops. “Where is she?” She reaches out, seizes Mel by her white robe, and drags her close. “Where is she?”

Mel lays a hand on Vi’s chest over the armor she’s still wearing. “I can show you, but Vi-“

“Is she alive?” Mel has to grab her shoulder strap and heft her up when her knees dip out for a split second. “Please, is she-“

“She’s alive,” Mel says fervently. Her eyes bore into Vi’s soul. “She’s alive, Vi.”

Vi’s knees hit the floor. The feral thing strains and shrieks, tries to yank her back up by sheer force of will, but she can’t. Can’t rise under the relief crushing her, a tsunami over a wildfire. She rests her head against the tile and lets it have its way with her.

Cait’s alive. She’s alive.

She’s not too late yet. She chose wrong, but maybe- maybe this time-

“Vi, you have to get up. Your arm- you’re hurt, you need to see-“

“Need to see her,” she croaks into the floor. She can’t even muster the strength to raise her head against the flood. She presses her head into the floor, chest tight. “Cait. Need to see- where- I have to-“

“Alright, we will. I’ll take you, alright?” Her voice is far away. “Just- just catch your breath-“

She wants to spit that she trying, but she’s drowning and can’t get a word out.

Mel grabs her shoulder strap and hauls her up, to her knees. She holds her there and pierces her with those golden-flecked eyes. “Vi,” she says. Not unkindly, but hard as stone. “You have to breathe. You’re almost there, just take a breath.”

Vi clutches at the arm holding her up. She uses it to drag her feet under her, pulls until she’s upright and everything sways-

“Let’s go,” she rasps.

“I really think-“

“Mel,” Vi snarls. It comes out a whimper.

Mel appraises her for an eternal split second- the starving feral thing roars- then pulls Vi’s arm around her shoulders and steps down the way she’d come.

“They’re still working on her,” Mel says as she guides Vi through the mess of people. “She lost a lot of blood.”

All that scattered red. How much of it had been- there’d been so much of it-

“She fought like hell,” Mel says fiercely. “She still is.”

She’s pulling Vi toward a door as she speaks , and through it-

“I heard her, please, let me-“

And oh, that’s her voice. Weak and wispy, but it’s her.

The feral thing in Vi’s chest yowls and strains.

Vi yanks away from Mel, has to grab the doorframe to keep from pitching through it and landing in a heap. “Cait?” she gasps.

There are three occupied beds in the room she falls into. Two people in white uniforms hover over one to the left of the door, one on each side. The woman in white on the far side of the bed is kneeling by the bedside with a needle and thread, gloved hands splattered with red. The other stands by the head of the bed and turns just as Vi tumbles through the door.

She shoves him sideways just as she hears a tearful “Vi?” from the bed.

Her knees give out again just as she reaches the bedside. She all but falls into it. But she doesn’t feel the impact.

Oh. Oh no. Oh Cait.

There’s so much red.

It’s all over her face, her beautiful face is littered with cuts. A bruise blossoms over her cheek, cuts over her forehead, under her chin, along her jaw, streaks of red smudged down her neck-

And her eye- her left eye is-

Cait seizes her hand. Vi drags her eyes to Cait’s, and there’s blue. So much blue. She’s looking at Vi like she’s the literal moon and sun, tears gathering in her eye, and that feral thing in Vi’s chest finally- finally- curls and settles with a bone-deep sigh.

Vi reaches out and runs her hand over Cait’s forehead, smoothing back sweaty hair. Her other hand clutches Cait’s. “Hey, cupcake,” she whispers.

Cait sobs her name and pulls at Vi’s hand, pulls until it’s resting against her chest and Vi is nearly lying on her. “I thought- I thought you were-“

“Shhh,” Vi murmurs. She strokes over Cait’s head, smooths back her hair over and over. “I’m here, I’m right here.”

Someone rests their hand on Vi’s shoulder and she flinches. “Miss, I have to-“

“Work around me,” Vi snarls.

“The Commander has lost a significant amount of blood-“

“I’m not fucking moving.”

“She should have a transfusion-“

“So give it to her!”

The woman on the other side of the bed speaks up as she- oh god- drags a needle through Cait’s gut, closing up a deep gash by her right hip. “Spoke with the blood bank. They’re low.”

The feral thing stirs. Hisses.

“So give her mine!” She keeps a stranglehold on Cait’s trembling hand as she twists around to look at the squirrelly chucklefuck she’d shoved. “I’m right here, give her mine! But I’m not fucking leaving!”

“Vi,” Cait rasps. Her fingers clench weakly around Vi’s.

Vi turns back to her, strokes her hand over her hair again as softly as her own shaking will allow. “Right here, Cait.”

Cait’s eye is on her. Tears streak down her cheek, cut through the dirt and blood. “Don’t go,” she whimpers. “Please, please don’t go-“

Vi falls forward, dragged there like her heart is trying to climb out of her chest and into Cait’s. She presses her forehead to Cait’s. “I won’t,” she croaks. “Not going anywhere you aren’t, okay? Promise.”

Cait squeezes her hand, but it’s so weak. Barely a twitch of her hand. Her one eyelid keeps drooping, and every time she drags it open again she’s staring at Vi with an exhausted uncertainty. Like she can’t comprehend what she’s seeing.

“Whatever she needs,” Vi says. Sounds like begging. “Take it from me. I don’t care how much-“

“You might not be a match-“ Squirrelly starts.

“It’s an easy test,” the woman says when Vi opens her mouth furiously. “Takes just a drop. We can do it here.”

“And if it doesn’t match?” Vi says.

“Check mine as well.” That’s Mel’s voice, back behind Squirrelly. “Even if I can’t match the Commander, I’d like to donate if I can.”

Squirrelly is madly writing shit down in a notepad as Mel speaks. “We can test you both,” he says. “Either way, you’ll be needed for-“

“Whatever,” Vi snaps. “Just do it. Do something.”

Squirrelly nods frantically and bolts from the room.

“She’s got an IV of fluids already,” the woman with the needle says. She doesn’t look away from where she’s stitching Cait up. “That’ll help keep her blood pressure up until a match is found.”

It’s her tone, calm and measured, that keeps the nausea curling in Vi’s throat at bay. “How long?” she asks.

“Hm?”

“How long can the IV keep her… help her?”

“Hard to say,” the woman says. She pulls another stitch through and Cait whimpers. “Not forever, obviously. Her blood’ll turn to juice if we give her too much.” The nausea leaps again. “But I don’t think it’ll take long to find a match. If you two don’t work, her father probably will.”

Oh shit. Her dad.

Vi presses her forehead to their joined hands, eyes cataloging the mess of red on Cait’s face. “Someone should go get him,” Vi mumbles. “Just- make sure he’s okay.”

“He was in the bunker when things got started,” Mel says. “And they didn’t breach it. He’s more than likely alright.”

Vi readjusts until she’s sitting on the floor by Cait’s head. She rests her chin on the thin mattress, eyes on Cait. Always on Cait. And Cait’s eye on her, however bleary.

“Someone should go get him anyway,” she says. “He’ll… he should be here.”

“I’ll get someone on it,” Mel says. Footsteps move toward the door.

“Thank you, Mel,” Vi blurts. “For…” Being here when I wasn’t. For taking care of her when I didn’t. For offering your own blood for her. “For everything.”

Mel’s footsteps stutter and pause. The silence hangs for a moment, and Vi remembers belatedly that Ambessa was Mel’s mother. It’s a blunted realization, but she just can’t muster the fortitude to feel the cut it should be.

Not when Cait’s looking at her like she barely knows what’s happening, and her eye is a mess of swollen flesh and blood, and her hand shakes so much in her own.

Not after her sister- not when Jinx was-

“It didn’t have to be like this,” Mel says. For the first time, Vi hears a tremble in her voice. She glances over her shoulder, but Mel’s already out the door.

Vi swivels back to Cait. “What can I do?” she asks the medic by Cait’s hip. She runs her fingers through Cait’s hair again, a compulsion.

“Talk to her,” the medic says simply. She clips the thread off and starts rummaging in her bag, produces a bandage. “She most likely has a concussion, so she shouldn’t sleep right now.” She presses the bandage to the closed wound, and Vi grips Cait’s hand when she flinches.

Vi’s heart squeezes. She drags her face across her shoulder, scrapes the tears out of her eyes.

“I’ll see where we are with blood typing,” the medic says as she stands, stuffing materials back into her bag. “In the meantime, just keep her awake.” She strides out, and quite suddenly they’re alone.

Or, as alone as they can be with two other people moaning in pain in the other two beds.

“Vi,” Cait whimpers.

Vi bends close again, runs her thumb over Cait’s forehead. “Hey, hey I’m here.”

Cait’s eye roams over Vi’s face, bleary and exhausted. “You’re… you’re hurt…”

Vi swallows the lump in her throat. Runs her fingers through Cait’s hair. “I’m okay,” she says. “Just some scratches.”

Cait frowns. Grips her hand tighter. “Liar.”

Vi huffs a chuckle. Sounds too close to a dry sob. “Let’s get you taken care of first, okay? We’ll worry about me later.”

Cait blinks at her long and slow. She shivers. “Always worry about you,” she whispers.

Vi presses her hand to her forehead, feeling useless. “Are you cold?”

Cait shivers again and winces. “A bit.”

Vi’s already scrabbling at the buckles of her armor. She manages to get her shoulder straps undone, but her arm is so stiff she can barely maneuver it out of the chest plate.

“Vi, you need… a doctor,” Cait breathes as Vi squirms free of the metal and lets it clank to the ground.

“I need to get you warm,” Vi retorts. She climbs into the barely-there space at Cait’s side, carefully maneuvering around the line snaking out of her elbow. She winces as she slides her arm under Cait’s neck, presses in close to her. “Shit, you’re freezing.”

“Shock,” Cait whispers. She nudges weakly under Vi’s chin while Vi braids their legs together. “At least… the start of it.”

Vi carefully rests her free arm on Cait’s chest. Cait reclaims her hand and tucks it under her chin, breathing a shaky but deep sigh as she settles. Vi scoots as close as she can get, curls her arm to cradle Cait’s head to her neck, wishing wildly that she could somehow envelope her entirely. Body, soul, everything. Just to keep her warm.

Keep her talking. Keep her awake.

“What happened?” Vi asks. “I saw- I saw your gun and-“ A completely wild thought occurs to her. “Ah shit, I left your gun.”

Cait snuffles a giggle into Vi’s neck. “Guns not… high on the list of… priorities right now.”

Her voice is thin. Wispy. Just a breath against Vi’s neck where she’s tucked her face.

Keep her talking. Keep her awake. Keep her alive.

Vi squeezes her. “Got a list, huh? What’s number one, then?”

Cait hums. She shivers. “I… just be here… with you.” She squeezes Vi’s hand.

Vi’s heart clenches. “Yeah. Me too, cupcake.” She presses a kiss to Cait’s hair.

Cait hums again. “Glad… you’re here,” she murmurs. A sleepy, breathy sound.

Vi squeezes her again. “You gotta stay awake, Cait,” she says. “Doc said you hit your head, you can’t sleep yet.”

“Not sleeping,” Cait mutters, petulant and stubborn. “Just… dozing.”

Vi rubs her fingers a little frantically, scratches lightly at her scalp. “Dozing is next to sleeping. Hey, you remember that nap we took when we first met?”

She can practically feel Cait’s frown against her neck. “Don’t think getting… knocked out is… a nap.”

“No no, not that time. After your-“ she nearly chokes- “your mom caught us sneaking in.”

There’s a brief pause and Vi nearly shrieks Cait’s name, but there’s a puff of breath against her neck as Cait chuckles. “What… about it?”

“Best sleep I ever had,” Vi rambles. “Shit, I didn’t even know beds that big existed, let alone that I’d sleep in one.”

“You had… your boots on it,” Cait breathes. “Got mud… everywhere.”

“Worth it,” Vi says, grinning. “Like I said, best sleep I ever got.”

Cait hums, nestles a bit closer to Vi’s neck. She breathes out a long sigh. “I’m… really tired, Vi.”

Vi’s stomach drops out. She curls tighter around Cait, clutching her hand. “I know,” she rasps. “But you- the doc said you can’t sleep yet. Just hang in there for a bit more, okay?”

“Want my dad,” Cait whispers.

Tears are leaking out of Vi’s eyes into Cait’s hair. “Mel’s sending someone for him, Cait. He’s gonna be here soon. But you-“ her breath hitches around cold terror. “You’re gonna be fine. You have to be fine. You-“

Jinx Vander Mylo Claggor Isha Jinx Vander Mylo Claggor Isha Jinx-

“My sister died.” The words gouge fissures in her soul as they go. “She- for me, she died to protect me. And my dad, he-“

That dead eyed, empty stare… If she’d just moved, accepted he was gone a long time ago-

She clutches Cait’s hand to her chest, buries her face in sweat-damp hair, holds her. “I can’t- I can’t take it, I won’t survive it Cait-“

Cait lets go of Vi’s hand and reaches upward, along her neck, along her cheek, and up into her hair. Her trembling fingers card through it, soft and soothing.

“I’m here,” she murmurs. When Vi sobs into her hair, she moves back to her cheek. She soothes away the tears with tender strokes of her fingers. “I’m here.”

Vi wonders agonizingly for how long that will be true.

[meiluu]

Leon S. Kennedy NSFW Drabble

Leon / Reader(Afab) cw: SMUT 18+ MDNI, A LITTLE BIT DARK(he infects you with the plagas)!!, Plagas! Leon.

Tears rolled down your flushed cheeks, dark love bites mar your neck leading a bruising trail down to your thighs. A blend of bites and scratches accompanied with all too familiar hand prints

You didn't know what had come over him, ever since Leon had gotten back from his most recent mission he has been acting different. At first you had suspected that the classified mission had been rougher on him and Leon was just having a hard time with the aftermath. Comforting him seemed to help that, but over time his mannerisms began to change. He was so much more possessive of you, protective to an extreme. And now you've come to the devastating conclusion that something was wrong- something had happened to Leon while on his mission and he had brought it home.

You had gone out with a couple of your friends to one of the small local bars around where you work, hoping to catch up with them. But about an hour in as you were getting up to get some more drinks, a man had started to hit on you. You had tried to politely decline his requests and advances, but he just wouldn't take no for an answer. Then he was being thrown down to the ground, chair tumbling down with him. Leon, at first, relief had filled your body at the familiar sight but your heart dropped into your stomach when you got a look at his face. Rage didn't even begin to cover the emotion that plagued his face- he looked like he was going to kill the man. But that wasn't even the worst part, Leon's beautiful sky blue eyes where now a bloody red and you could see the faint outlines of black veins beneath his skin. Thinking as quickly and clearly as you could you had nearly dragged Leon out of the bar, hastily apologizing to your friends for leaving so soon. Afraid of what would happen if you didn’t get Leon out there.

The moment the door to your shared home slammed behind you, you've been in Leon's tight embrace. Time has completely slipped from you, mind blurry with pleasure and fear.

Leon had you on your stomach, hands caging your body in, as your hands tightly held onto the sheets trying to keep yourself steady with Leon's harsh thrusts. Your cunt stretched around his cock, his cum dribbling out of you making a mess on the sheets. Teeth latching onto skin where your shoulder and neck meet, a cry of pain mixes in with your moans. Leon had broken the skin, sharp canines digging into you as he lapped his tongue on the open wound. Harsh mumbles continued to tumble from Leon’s lips, a mix between ‘mine’ , ‘I love you’s. In your peripheral vision you can see the onyx veins beneath his skin. Part of you feared for what Leon was, but that only lasted for a moment before ecstasy took control. With another particularly mean thrust a moan falls from your bruised lips, then you feel the familiar touch of Leon’s hand against your throat. Pulling you up into his chest, there you are able to look down at your self. Black veins had started to spread down your chest from where Leon had just bit you. A sob retches it’s way out of you, Leon halting his thrust at the sound. Seeing what you were upset about he is quick to comfort you. “No baby, don’t be sad- this is a good thing. You’ll be just like me now.”

[steveshairychest]

After defeating vecna for a second time, Steve decides he's had enough of Hawkins and all things supernatural.

After hunting around for a few weeks, he scores himself a quaint little apartment big enough for him and for Robin when she eventually moves in after college. He doesn't sell his parents' house or demolish it like Robin suggests. No, he leaves it to sit and rot. He hopes his parents will come home one day and find it overgrown and falling to pieces, hopes they'll trudge up the steps to find the note that he had nailed to the front door that says, 'Welcome home :)'. Robin insisted on adding the passive-aggressive smiley face.

They move away from Hawkins and don't think about it for years. Sure, Steve still calls their friends who decided to stay there, and he often finds himself missing their company, but he doesn't miss the place itself. Only the people. He's made it very clear to them that he doesn't intend to step a single foot back into Hawkins until he dies. Everyone knows this, especially Robin, who's been informed on multiple drunken occasions that Steve wants to be buried on top of the hill next to Eddie so that he at least knows someone else in the graveyard.

But then he gets a letter in the mail, a simple letter in a white envelope and it haunts him for days.

The letter is from Wayne. His handwriting is rough and messy but familiar; they've been sending each other letters for a few years now. The cigarette ash smudged in some corners makes him smile. Most of the letter is just niceties; asking Steve how he is, what he's been up to, if he's found himself someone. Stuff he's used to. But then the words, 'I can't be alone for it Steve, I can't do it. I need you here. It's been 5 years, and the day still hasn't gotten any easier. I'd like it if you came to visit.' They punch Steve in the gut and leave him aching for days.

It takes him an entire week to call the number on the back of the envelope and confirm with Wayne that he'll be there. Just this once he'll go back to that retched place. For Wayne.

For Eddie.

The drive passes by in a blur, one second he's on the highway, the next he's passing by the Welcome to Hawkins sign and driving along the streets he thought he'd never see again. Wayne told him over the phone that morning to meet him at the cemetery, said that he wanted to get the hard part over and done with so that they could spend the rest of the day catching up and listening to Eddie's tapes. He'd be lying if he said he didn't cry for a solid 10 minutes in the car park, the memories that he had tried so hard to forget rushing back the second he lays eyes on Eddie's grave at the top of the hill.

He still remembers the hollow ache in his chest the day he helped Wayne pick out a spot. He had gone home that afternoon and begged Robin to make it stop, to hold him and tell him that the pain would go away. She had told him what he wanted, she had held him on the kitchen floor and promised he would never have to feel like that again.

She'd lied. That same ache spreads throughout his body as he trudges up the hill to stand before the shabby grave and the tears he thought he had left back in the car come bubbling back up as he stares down at the graffitied headstone. He hasn't seen it since the day he left. He forgot how overwhelming it is to see Eddie's name carved on the headstone.

"I'm sorry I haven't visited." He says through sobs, his vision blurred by tears as he plops down on the soft grass in front of the headstone. "I miss you." The words almost choke him.

There's the sound of footsteps behind him, boots crunching against the leaves and twigs. Wayne must have finally shown up. Steve doesn't turn around, he doesn't want Wayne to see his tears. He's supposed to be here as support. He's supposed to be the one coming up behind Wayne to offer his condolences. He stops beside Steve and sighs softly.

"Hi." Steve says weakly and finally looks up at Wayne - except... it's not Wayne.

"Hi, Steve."

It's Eddie.

[alooseknot]

Satoru and Suguru, but through Megumi’s eyes?

I’ve thought about this a lot lately, let me explain:

“I.

Megumi is 7, and he wakes up from the same nightmare for the third night in a row. He plods along the hallway, his arms wrapped firmly around his middle, and reaches up to turn the knob on Satoru and Suguru’s door.

The darkness of the room seems to seep out into the hall as he takes a few timid steps into the room. He’s noticed immediately, of course, by the two men in the bed.

“What’s wrong?” Satoru asks immediately, his voice slurred with sleep. Megumi can see him looking at him as his eyes adjust to the low light. Of course, Satoru’s eyes don’t need to adjust, so he knew it was him. He also sees Suguru, who had initially startled awake as well, lie back down, almost immediately asleep.

“Can I sleep here?” Megumi asks, whispering.

Satoru pats the bed next to him, scooting over to let Megumi settle in the middle. Megumi crawls into the bed without another word.

Satoru curls on his side, facing him, and stretches an arm out above Megumi’s head. He ruffles a hand through Megumi’s hair, then buries his hand into Suguru’s hair.

Megumi’s eyelids finally grow heavy again in the warm, safe darkness surrounding him, and he falls asleep to the sound of their even breathing.

II.

Megumi is 10, and he hears the front door open and the door to the hallway bathroom slam. He’s sitting in front of the living room TV playing video games, and he turns around to see Satoru hanging up his keys. He smiles softly at Megumi. Suguru must have been the door-slammer, then.

Megumi hears retching from behind the bathroom door. He stands up to go check, to help. Satoru shakes his head no—not unkindly, but definitively. “I know you’re worried, but he’s okay. Just a hard mission. I’m going to go help, okay? Just giving him a second. Everyone needs a second sometimes, yeah?” Satoru fills the electric tea kettle with water and flicks it on.

“If you really want to help, you can fill this mug up with water when the kettle beeps. Not all the way to the top, just most of the way,” Satoru says, taking a mug down from the cabinet and slicing up a chunk of ginger, throwing the slices into the mug.

Then, he walks into the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

Megumi stands by the kettle, taking his post seriously, waiting patiently for it to beep.

III.

Megumi is 15, and he isn’t supposed to be home yet.

He rounds the corner next to his bedroom door when he hears them.

“He loves him, Sugu. And I don’t—I don’t know—I mean, can I save him?” Satoru gasps, clearly crying.

“I know. Breathe. This isn’t your fault, you’re doing what you can. You always do,” Suguru murmurs in response, and Megumi hears the bed creak as he shifts his position.

“Megumi will never forgive me if I have to kill Yuji. Never, Suguru,” Satoru’s sobs are muffled now, likely against Suguru’s chest.

“Satoru, let’s cross that bridge when we get to it. Hell, if we get to it. You don’t know that it’ll ever be relevant,” Suguru’s voice is soothing, softer than Megumi is used to hearing it.

Satoru doesn’t respond, and the next thing Megumi hears is Suguru’s gentle plea : “You have to breathe, Toru, come on, count with me.”

He walks away from the door.

IV.

Megumi is 16, and he isn’t sure what woke him. His phone screen tells him it’s 1:27 a.m. Maybe Satoru finally made it home from his mission.

He ambles out of his bedroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, just to make sure.

He hears hushed voices before he rounds the corner to the living room. Unsure why anyone would be up that isn’t Satoru, who likely wouldn’t be talking to himself, Megumi is suddenly on alert. He slides his back against the wall, peering around the corner to see who’s there.

It’s Suguru.

He exhales.

After seeing Suguru’s face, however, he feels like his sigh of relief may have been premature.

“Do you want to take a shower, maybe?” Suguru murmurs, standing in front of Satoru where he sits on the couch, pulling off his boots. Satoru places the shoes next to the couch and lets his forehead fall against Suguru’s abdomen. Suguru is quick to wrap a hand around his head, threading his fingers through the hair that isn’t matted down under his blindfold.

“I just want to sleep,” Satoru sighs, and Megumi immediately notices how weary he sounds. His clothing is, as usual, clean and untouched, a byproduct of Infinity, but wherever he’d been had clearly taken a toll on him. Suguru massages Satoru’s head at the temples.

“Come on, I’ll turn off the lights and start the water,” Suguru whispers.

Satoru nods, inhaling shakily.

“Hey, I’ve got you,” Suguru breathes, sitting down on his heels to rest his forehead against Satoru’s.

Megumi, suddenly feeling the weight of his intrusion, creeps back to his room as quietly as possible.

V.

Megumi is 17, and he hears Satoru and Suguru arguing in the kitchen. He pulls out a headphone to listen, pausing the music he’d been listening to while doing homework on the living room floor.

“I just don’t feel like it, Satoru. Isn’t that a good enough reason?”

“No, because you never ‘feel like it’ anymore! You’d think I was asking you for a miracle, not to literally just go out for the evening.”

“Well, you never ‘feel like’ doing anything I want to do either. When’s the last time you sat and read a book with me, huh?”

“That’s different, Suguru, I’ve never done that. You know what I’m saying, and you’re purposefully ignoring it.”

Suguru doesn’t reply.

“Things are bad again, aren’t they?”

Suguru still doesn’t reply.

“Please talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk. I just want to sleep. You go out. Invite Shoko; she’ll appreciate it.”

“I want to help you, you asshole. Stop pushing me away.”

“I don’t want your help, Satoru.”

Satoru laughs harshly at this.

“Yeah, well, you sure as fuck need it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you! Are you kidding me? You’re just content to rot, going to work and then coming home and sleeping your life away? Or some other fucking mindless activity? It’s not normal, Suguru. It’s not healthy. And I’m not just going to sit by and watch you do it.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Suguru raises his voice, which catches Megumi off guard. He never yells.

“Nothing about this is normal, Satoru. My life, our lives, me. I’m not normal. Do you think I like this? Feeling fucking hopeless, not having the energy to do anything, fucking sitting on the floor in the shower because it’s too much to stand—“

“—Suguru, listen—“

“—Don’t interrupt me.”

They are silent for a few long moments.

“I’m sorry,” Suguru says, raggedly.

“No, I’m sorry, I said I wanted to help and I’m definitely not helping,” Satoru sighs.

“I—Satoru, I—“ Suguru tries, then stops.

“Things are bad again,” Suguru settles on, his voice breaking.

Megumi doesn’t hear Satoru reply, just the sound of a chair scraping against the floor.

Satoru only speaks when Suguru starts crying.

Whatever Satoru says to him is too soft for Megumi to hear.

[loveinhawkins]

Part 1

Steve had thought he already knew what delirium meant—remembers laughing hysterically in a Russian bunker with little say as to what bullshit came streaming out of his mouth.

But this is different. At least back then, the haze of the drugs made the pain temporarily float away, let him drift off into some form of blissful ignorance.

Now he feels it all. He’s hyperaware, can pinpoint each and every source of agony lancing through him; can even pick out the fact that the cut on his hand still throbs, the tar-like mud of The Upside Down stuck under his fingernails.

Sometime after he had fallen, the bats stopped coming. He doesn’t know why. Maybe they’ve had their fill. Maybe there’s nothing more of him left to take.

Sound comes to him as if filtered through a megaphone, loud and echoing. He hears a series of swears, yelling. Panting. The crash of a bicycle being thrown to the ground.

Eddie.

The words come pouring out, quicker even than the blood leaving him, a desperate chanting.

“Dustin, Dustin, Dustin—”

“He’s okay,” Eddie says. His face comes into view, pale and drawn, slick with sweat. No blood though, Steve thinks. No blood on him. That’s good. “He’s okay, you hear me? I didn’t leave him alone; the girls, they’ve—they’ve got him. Hey. Hey, Harrington, eyes on me. Dustin—he’s gonna be all right, man, I stopped the bleeding.”

“Good,” Steve gets out. I knew you could, I knew you could, you’re fucking incredible. “S’good. Hey, Eddie, he’s—think he’s gonna be really upset, ‘kay?”

“What do you—”

“But he has you,” Steve says. He hates the fact that his voice is slurring. If he can’t speak, how else is Eddie supposed to know that… “He has—you’ll help him, right? You can… play D&D, an’…”

Eddie’s laugh splits through the air. It sounds something like grief.

“Harrington, that’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“No, it’s not,” Steve insists. There’s blood in his mouth, in his throat; he tries to swallow without choking, to talk around it. “It’s—you make him happy, Eddie. Don’t you know? You make him s-so damn happy.”

“Shut up.”

Eddie’s breathing has an odd, thick sound to it, and Steve realises with a distant wonder that he’s crying. Crying over him. What a strange thing…

A series of sharp claps cut through everything; Steve blinks, can’t remember his eyes closing to begin with.

Eddie’s face is suddenly very close. His lips are shaking.

“Wake up. Now you’re gonna fucking listen to me, Steve Harrington. We didn’t go through all of this fucking bullshit, just for it to end here, you understand? I said, do you understand?”

“Are you mad at me?” Steve breathes. A far-off part of him insists that this is such a silly thing to ask, but he can’t help it. Everything hurts, and he has a sudden, awful burst of clarity: that he doesn’t want to die thinking that Eddie hates him. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

Eddie’s face crumples. “No, Steve,” he says haltingly, like he’s trying so hard to keep his voice from breaking. “I’m not mad at you. J-just. Scared.”

And then for a terrible moment, Eddie disappears. Steve tries to turn his head to search for him, but he can’t—

The sound of someone retching.

Oh, Steve thinks. Oh, it’s because of me.

“H-hey. Hey, Eddie, it’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t look.”

He hears Eddie spit harshly.

“Jesus Christ, stop talking, Harrington.”

And then Eddie is right there again, his hands just hovering, not touching.

“Steve,” he whispers, but Steve gets the feeling that he isn’t actually talking to him, not really. “God, I don’t—don’t know what to do.”

“You’re back,” Steve says, almost dream-like, and when Eddie laughs, this time it’s a pretty sound.

“Yeah, I’m back. Like a bad penny.”

“No,” Steve murmurs, feels like he’s floating somewhere—feels perhaps that he shouldn’t be, but he can’t help it. “You’re beautiful.” Eddie’s eyes soften, and that probably should be a nice sight, Steve thinks, except for the fact that, for some reason, Eddie also looks like his heart is breaking.

There’s something soft being wrapped tightly around his hand, and it stings, but that’s okay, because when Steve glances down, he can discern just enough to see that it’s Eddie’s bandana.

And it’s a nice thought, that he can still feel this. Can still feel something of Eddie’s trying to heal him.

“Right, big guy, up and at ‘em.” Eddie’s hand in his, the clack clack clack of the metal rings.

Oh, he’s shaking, Steve thinks.

Then he realises what Eddie’s planning to do.

“Eddie, m’sorry, can’t—can’t walk, jus’—”

“Shut up,” Eddie says again. “I’m gonna carry you.”

“But that’s—s’too much. M’too heavy.”

“No,” Eddie says simply. “C’mon, on three.”

But Eddie’s a liar and moves him on two. That’s all right, Steve thinks. He knows that kind of trick, knows that Eddie’s pulling out all the stops for him.

Doesn’t stop him from screaming, though.

“God,” Eddie whispers, and Steve already knows this isn’t for him to hear, but he can’t shut it out. “Fuck, I think I’m killing you.”

You couldn’t, Steve wants to say. Wants to tell Eddie not to worry. You couldn’t ever hurt me.

But he can’t stop screaming.

“S’too much,” he moans.

“No, come on,” Eddie says. He’s straining, still walking. Not giving up. “Hey, Steve, just a few more steps. We’re almost home.”

Oh, you liar, Steve thinks. Wants to smile. Wants to cry. You beautiful, beautiful liar.

“S’too much,” he says again, and he hopes Eddie gets what he means, this time. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh my god,” Eddie says, and there’s a whine in there that hurts—like Eddie’s crying again. “Steve, don’t—hey, just keep talking to me. Don’t—please.”

Another step. Eddie tugs, pulls him closer and—

Steve gasps, feels a tear, right through the centre of him, through all of him, hears a dreadful scream—

And then nothing at all.

[dragonmuse]

How to be a Dirtbag Fic Writer

I got to do some talking about writing today and I couldn’t stop thinking about it so here are my full thoughts on the matter of being a dirtbag fic writer.

Being the disorganized thoughts of someone two and a half decades into the beautiful mess that is writing fanfic (and a few non-fanfic things too).

What is a dirtbag fic writer? 

 I am talking about someone who is not cleaning up anything. We show up filthy, fresh out of rooting around in the garden of our imaginations. We probably smell a little from work. We will hand you our hard grown fruits, but we have not washed them and we carried them in the bottom upturned parts of our t-shirts. The fruit is a little bruised. It’s not cut up or put in a bowl yet. But we got it in the house! It’s here. Someone can eat it.  

Why dirtbag it? Because the fruit gets in the house. If you’re hemming and hawing, if the idea you want to do seems to be big or you want it perfect and shiny. If you’re imagining a ten thousand step process, so you’re not taking the first step? Dirtbag it. 

How do I dirtbag? 

That’s the best part. You just write. Sit down. One word after the other. No outline, no plan, no destination. No thought of editing. Just word vomit. Every word is a good word. It’a word that wasn’t there before. Grammar sucks? Who cares. Can’t think of the perfect word? Fuck it, put in the simplest version of what you mean. 

Write the idea that you love. The one thing you want to say. Has it been done 3000000 times? WHO CARES human history is long, every idea has been done, probably more than twice. YOU have never written it before. It’s your grubby potato that you clawed out of the ground and guess what someone can still make it into delicious french fries. 

Now here’s the critical part. Write as much as you can squeeze out of your brain. One word in front of the other. 

And then I challenge you this: at most, read it over once and then put it into the world. Just as it is. AND THIS IS IMPORTANT: DO IT WITHOUT APOLOGY OR CAVEAT.  I challenge you, beautiful dirtbag to not pre-emptively apologize. Do not make your work lesser. THAT IS YOUR POTATO! It has eyes and roots and dirt clinging to it because that is what happens.  We are dirtbagging it today. Hell really confused people at do #dirtbagwriter on it.  

Dirtbag writes id, base, lizard brain. Dig in the fertile garden of your imagination. What is the story you tell yourself before you fall asleep? What’s your anxiety this week? Your fantasy? What is going well? What do you wish things looked like? Who is the feral imaginary character you’ve been crafting to take your frustrations and joys out on? 

But, VEE, I wish to have an editor and an outline, use a cool software like scrivener instead of retching up onto a google doc and making it look NICE and PRETTY!

COOL! DO THAT THEN! IF YOU’RE ACTUALLY DOING IT! You should have a process! That’s cool and healthy and necessary for sustainable writing. But if you’re not writing because all of that seems too much? THEN DON’T. 

Did you know fic is free? That we do this from love? From sheer desire? For the love of the game? If you have a process, and the words are flowing, amazing, I love that for you, you don’t need this essay.  If you don’t, let us continue. 

What does dirtbag writing look like? 

It’s messy. It’s a little raw and tatty around the edges sometimes. It’s weird.  It’s someone else’s first draft. Maybe it winds up being your first draft, Idek, that’s your business. 

It’s jokes that make YOU laugh. It’s drama that would make YOU cry if you read it. You are your first commenter. You are your first audience (and possibly continuing pleasure! If you don’t go back and reread your own work sometimes, you might be missing out on one of your favorite authors cause you wrote it for you! Wait until you’re not so close to it. Years sometimes. Then hey, maybe some of this is pretty dang good actually.) 

It has mistakes. 

Dirtbags make mistakes, but dirtbags have published pieces. They have things other people can read out there. 

What if I don’t get good feedback? 

Look, the most likely outcome of any new, untried fic writer (and even established writers trying something new-ish)  is that you get no feedback. That’s real. Silence. It’s eerie, it’s terrible, it sucks. I don’t want to pretend it doesn’t. But nothing is not negative. It’s a big fic-y ocean out there and we are all wee itty-bitty-sometimes-with-titty fishes.  

You should still do it all over again. And again. And again. You get better at writing by writing. You just do. Nothing else replaces it. If your well is dry? Fill it with new things. Go do something new, read a new kind of book, watch a new film,  (libraries have so much good shit, you don’t even have to spend money for so many things if you have a library card), just go for a walk in a new direction. Stimulate yourself. Got a cup of something hot and eavesdrop on conversations. Refill yourself with newness. 

And hey, speaking of, do you leave comments? Because you get what you give. You can build relationships with people by commenting and that builds community and community means places to get feedback in the end. Comments are gold. They are all we are paid in. Tip your writers with ‘extra kudos’ or ‘this made me laugh’. And hey, when you go back for a re-read so you can tell them your favorite part? Ask yourself how they made that favorite part? What do you like about it?  Tone? Metaphor? The structure? Reading teaches us how to write too! 

BUT, okay. Sometimes. Sometimes there is actual bad feedback and people suck. 

You know the best part about being a dirtbag? Unrepentant block, delete, goodbye. You don’t own anyone with a shitty opinion any of your precious time on this earth. You did it for free, you gave them your dirty, but still delicious fruit and they went ‘ew, this is a dirty strawberry, how could you not make a clean tomato?”  Because you didn’t plant fucking tomatoes, did you? Don’t fight, don’t engage. Block. Delete. Goodbye. 

If someone in person, looked you in the eye when you brought them a plate of food to share at a party and they said “Why didn’t you bring me MY favorite? This isn’t cooked well at all.” You would probably write up a Reddit AiTA question about it just to hear five thousand people say they were an asshole.   Fic is no different 

And hey, when you dirtbag it? You know you did. It’s not your most cleaned up perfect version. So who cares what they think? You might make it more shiny and polished next time! You might NOT. 

Ok, but what if I don’t finish it? 

Fuck it, post it anyway. 

What if it’s bad? 

Fuck it, post it anyway. 

What if it doesn’t make sense? 

That’s ART, baby. Fuck it, post it anyway. 

What if what I want to write doesn’t work with current fandom norms? 

Then someone out there probably needs it!  And what the hell is this? The western canon? FUCK IT POST IT ANYWAY* 

*Basic human decency is not a ‘fandom norm’. Don’t be racist, sexist, ableist, fat shaming, classist or shitty about anyone's identity on main, okay? Dirtbag writers are KIND first and foremost. Someone saying you are stepping into shit about their identity is not the same as unsolicited crappy feedback about pairings. In the immortal words of Kurt Vonnegut: "God damn it, you've got to be kind.”

You’re being very flippant about something that’s scary. 

I know. I know I am. I know it can be scary. But no risk, no reward and hell, you aren’t using your goddamn legal name on the internet are you? (please for the love of fuck do not be using your legal name to write fic) You’ve got on a mask. You’re a superhero. With dirt on your cape. 

That niche thing that you think no one cares about? Guaranteed you will find someone else in the world who wants it. Maybe they won’t find it right away. Maybe they will be too shy to comment or even hit a button. But your dirty potato will stick with them. They will make french fries in their head.

You have an audience. But they can’t find you if you have nothing out there. 

Go forth. Make. 

You have some errors in this essay. 

PROBABLY CAUSE I DIRTBAGGED IT.  But I picked this strawberry for you out of my brain, so I hope you run it under some cold water and find the good bits and have a nice snack. Or throw it away. Or use it to plant more strawberries (I know that’s not how strawberries work, metaphors break when stretched).  

#dirtbagwriter 

Go forth and MAKE

[hopefulidiocy]

The End is Near

Prince!Aemond x Female!Reader

Warnings: fighting, battle, death

~

Aemond held your cheeks, tears streaming down your face as he spoke softly towards you; his voice so soothing and gentle as he spoke. Your shoulders shaking, your lungs hurting as you relaxed into his embrace; not feeling at all comforted in the arms of your husband. You cried harder when his arms wrapped around your frame, the way his arms slightly trembled and his heart beating quickly against your chests. Daemon was moving towards the Riverlands on his dragon, it was said he was mad and crazy with his eyes wild with anguish. He was shouting for Aemond, scouting him out amongst the Targaryen’s, ready for a fight and you knew… everyone knew that Aemond had to respond.

There was a different charge this time, the energy shifted when Rhaenyra recaptured Kings Landing… when Helaena went truly mad… when Alicent kept herself locked up. There was something different and you both of you knew that he couldn’t lead the Green side. He just couldn’t. That wasn’t his position. It was Aegon’s, but he was too drunk to care about most things these days.

“We’re going to come out on the other side of this, my love.” He kissed your forehead softly, the wind whipping around your safety fortress. You cried even harder then, resting your forehead on his shoulder.

“Don’t go, Aemond. Just let them take the win, please.” You begged, knowing it wouldn’t happen. He couldn’t let them win anything. He had to get his family back on the right side, or so he thought.

“Baby, we are going to be okay. It’s going to be okay. I have Vhagar, she will kill him for him, all I have to do is ride her. That’s all.” He stroked your hair, tucking it behind your ears, shushing you softly. “Let me go. I will be back before nightfall.” He landed a wet kiss onto your lips, you kissed back with your quivers and sniffed up as you hopelessly watched him sheath his sword and confidently stride out of the room. You watched until he disappeared completely. You threw yourself on your bed that smelled of him, that hint of mint and wine that floated around you, that made your heart hurt even more. You punched your fist against your pillow, your lungs contracting hard and fast as your brain roamed heavily around the death of Aemond. You saw it in your minds eye, you knew this was the end of him and you couldn’t let him go through with it. Just have another few years with him, that’s all you wanted.

You grabbed your sword, your metal armour and basically ran, barefoot out into the bustling air where the wind whipped around your hair, making it enter your lips; annoyed, you tucked it under your shirt and ran towards the Dragon stables, hoping to hear Vhagar was still there with her beautiful roars and cries. You dashed around the corner, slipping on mud and smacking into the hard earth. You groaned, picking yourself up with your elbows, leaning and trying to steady yourself from the dazed being you currently were. Your eyes dragged up towards the bleak stables that were creaking with the wind, you scoured for Vhagar only to realise her chains were undone and she was gone, probably far away from here. Your chest broke into a battle cry, your eyes streaming with tears and it created mud tracks on your cheeks. You held your hand to your forehead, retching and gagging onto the ground you were lying on. Your breath hitching and the air not entering your body, your brain screaming at you to get up! Get up! Get up!

Knees curled up, your toes digging into the ground as you straightened up, wiping the snot away and your tears as you approached Firelight, your beautiful blue dragon. She turned her head towards you, a smile slightly increasing as you stroked her head with a sad gasp.

“Just you and me, girl.” You whispered, pulling the chains from her, taking the saddle in your fists and rising onto her. Normally, you would feel powerful. But now… now you felt weak, vulnerable and just plain wrong. You kicked your heel into her body and she took off into the blistering wind that threatened to knock you off. Throughout the clouds, finding Aemond remained fruitless, you slapped the tears away from your face; it burned as the rain lashed down onto your skin, ripping apart the flesh as you screamed in frustration to find your husband.

Then, as if it was magic, Aemond appeared accompanied by the roar of Vhagar as the clouds disappeared over God’s Eye Lake. You swallowed the prideful scream you were going to make when you realised Daemon was opposite him and that his dragon was going for Vhagar. Both of them fighting with their teeth, claws and fire. Aemond was shouting, his arms high and wild. You sucked in your tears, crouching on the back of Firelight, your eyes narrowed as you made your way towards Daemon. Firelight swooped down onto Daemon, knocking him aside, he screamed with anger and Aemond suddenly stopped in his tracks.

“Y/N?” He shouted over the wind, the rain spitting down on you harshly. “Get out of here!” He was angry at you but you didn’t care, you needed to get him out of here as soon as possible. You flew over to him.

“Get out of here, Aemond. Please just come with me.” You pleaded, gasping for the air as you saw your beautiful husband in front of you. His hand reached over to caress you.

“I love you, Y/N. You know that, right?” You nodded, your bottom lip quivering. “Let me do this.” He pulled the reins and shot towards Daemon whilst he was weak; you whined, your sobs stopping your speech as you watched him continue with the fire battle.

You needed to do something, you needed to somehow get in between them, kill Daemon or convince Aemond to come home with you. Crying didn’t help so maybe you had to force him. You pulled the reins back and flew towards the fire, getting in between them, the heat taking you by surprise. You shielded yourself, trying to cover any skin on show from being burnt. Aemlnd growled in frustration as he flew over you, protecting you from Daemon’s fire.

“Please, Aemond! I’m begging you. I’m fucking begging you!” You screamed, tears and snot flooding down your face, curling your fist and hitting it against your metal plated chest. Aemond was too immersed into the fight to hear you, and all sound ceased. Everything stopped. The wind stopped. The rain stopped. Your heart stopped, dropping and falling through the sky as Daemon jumped off his dragon, his knife high above his head as he howled. You watched, silently, all sobs stopping as Daemon crashed onto Aemond, who was unaware due to the fire, and slammed his blade into his eye. Digging it deep into his skull, Aemond went limp… your heart left your body. You entirely left the world as you watched Aemond’s limp body slump onto Vhagar. Finally, you cried out, a horrific, guttural, painful battle cry as Vhagar and Caraxes crashed into each other and fell from their height. You swept down, your body falling apart as you made your beeline towards Daemon, your blood raging and breaking out around you like new arms sprouting from your back. Your eyes darkening and zoning in on the bloodied Daemon who was falling with the dragons, you shrieked at him, ready for him with your sword whilst simultaneously keeping Aemond in your sight. You brought up your sword once you got close enough, swung it round and decapitated Daemon with one swift swing.

“Fuck you!” You screamed, weeping from your gut. You breathed in all the air as you landed Firelight on the nearby bank by the river, where Aemond and Vhagar landed. You hopped off Firelight, dragging your broken body towards the dead body of your husband, still and empty. His soul vanished from his eye, you climbed atop Vhagar, a sob emitting from your throat as you held Aemond in your lap, softly scraping his beautiful hair away from his body. Fat drops of tears fell onto his still face, painting him with a bit of you as you held onto him hard, gripping your fingers into his shoulders and wailing in the sky, your heart split and bashed into tiny pieces and left with the corpse of your husband. You placed kisses, soft and gentle like he always did at nighttime, on his face knowing that he wouldn’t reciprocate any of it. Knowing that he would never kiss your forehead again, knowing he wouldn’t make love to you like the most precious being in the world, knowing he wouldn’t laugh at your silly jokes again. Knowing he would never wake up. You looked at Firelight, she was watching you carefully, her eyes sad and heavy as you sniffed up all of the courage in the world. You softly removed Aemond from your lap, swinging your feet over the side of Vhagar. Opening your arms like an eagle readying for his pray, Firelight knew what was coming and backed up.

“Dracarys!” You said loudly, staring into her eyes, her beautiful eyes and knowing this world would not be worth living without Aemond. Firelight backed up again, almost shaking her head, looking down at the ground. Tears rolled down your face, lips quivering as you yelled.

“Dracarys!” Still, your dragon didn’t move. Your sobs grew harder in your chest, you hiccuped hard as you cried out, anguished and crying.

“Dracarys!” Finally, Firelight opened her jaws, revealing her sharp teeth that glittered in the dim light and hurled fire at you. You relished in the pain, waiting to see Aemond again with his arms wide open like he always did when he saw you.

Dead, Firelight slowly approached your body, inspecting you and howling towards the sky as you slumped against Aemond, both of you back together. Firelight opened her wings and curled them around Vhagar, you and Aemond. Keeping you safe from the rain.

[zoropookie]

WHAT YOU WON'T DO FOR LOVE (WYWDFL) — NINE

YOU couldn't be having a worse halloween night. choose your fate with your fellow readers and see if it gets better!

chapter eight — chapter ten

soulmate!wanderer x gn!reader

What year is it?

When your eyes finally fluttered open...the world around you circumferences into a blob of fading pain. Even though you were met with the strong realization that you were still in the same situation as you were...probably 7 hours ago? This time, in the front seat of the car.

The passengers seat of the car, bathing in a light of the rising sun you'd thought you'd never witness. Cold leather of the interior pressed against your back, your skin throbbed relentlessly still with a tourniquet wrapped around the stab. A dull and distant pain now, a memory that hadn't fully settled but stung like one. The first time in a while you wished you were back home wasn't frequent. This was definitely one of those times.

The car hummed with a soft engine, lower with a sound of rhythmic value. "Huh..." You drawled, a trail of drool that traveled down the car window slowly maneuvered in swishes with every turn. You mentally cursed yourself for falling asleep, heart pounding in your chest again.

Your stomach churned, and it all suddenly made sense.

"Pull over." You said lowly, feeling bile rise up in your throat at the sudden image of the dead body in the trunk rearing its ugly head.

He didn't answer immediately, narrowing his eyes with a frown as he switched his gaze from you to the road. "No time."

"Unless you want chunks of pastries and candy corn all over the dashboard, pull over." Your tone was so dull that he couldn't even tell if it were an emergency or not. Quickly, he pulled over.

Before the car came to a full stop, you spilled out as soon as you tugged on the door handle. You fumbled down to the ground, propping yourself on one arm to leave the wounded one unbothered before spilling onto the pavement with a large cry. You coughed, retching the contents that were in your stomach rise and spill onto the ground. It was a relief you were in a different position, despite the heavy smell of your own vomit clasping your nose violently.

You couldn't muster up any strength to pick your head up from your position, so you laid there still, shuddering at you felt the contents touch you. Your body shook from the strain of your wound, aggressive and continuous vomiting that had you emptied. Pavement beneath you rough and cool, yet uncomfortable with the rocks cutting into your cheek.

You could feel him standing over you, presence looming irritably. But you couldn't even pay him any mind with focusing on your ragged gasps. You heard him sigh, low and exasperated as he too, began wincing once holding onto your body and lifting it. "You're fine," He muttered, despite having no real heat in his voice this time. Just impatience. "Stop fighting."

You wanted to bite his head off, to tell him you'd make an effort to comply when you felt like it, but your body surged sweltered with agony to even measure how capable you were of fighting him. "It hurts." You responded, dazed.

"Then, adapt."

Your vision swam back and forth, trying to make a sense of his mood from your view. But much like a fogged window, you couldn't see anything. His words shot harsh, but the way he lifted you back onto your feet was careful, working his way around the article of clothing that now were filthy in your bodily fluids. You weren't going to hold up much longer, and by the sound of his hissing every now and then, he seemed to be having a hard time himself.

Your legs wobbled beneath you, sagging immediately against the seat of the car, using the center console as support. He stared at you like he wasn't worried about his prey leaving, frustration evident in the tense line in his jaw. You thought he might just knock you back out, and you hope he did. You leaned back against the car, head spinning wildly.

Without saying anything, he walked around to the backseat and opened the door to rummage through the back. He pulled out a bottle of water, his shoulder tensing every now and then. It was the same shoulder that you actually had a stab wound on. He languidly twisted the cap off, flicking it back into the car and leaning closer to your form, holding the bottle closer to your mouth.

"Open." His voice was flat, it telling to you that he obviously saw this as another inconvenience.

Your eyes glazed over, eyes meeting with his in desperation. All you could really find yourself doing is looking at him, sickening weight of his actions plaguing your minds and his eyes cold and unwavering coinciding. His hair fell messily across his forehead, look defined a certain response you couldn't place your finger on. The haphazard way he moved made him seem less calm than before, even if his voice was still demanding.

"You don't have to think about it so hard," he said, this time more impatiently. "Drink, now."

You swallowed, stiffening as you let him watch you closely. This was insane, you thought. How could you even be sitting here right now, okay with him treating you like you were a vegetable? You parted your lips slowly, the cool water trickling into your mouth, the refreshing icy cold soothing the rawness and the roughness of your throat. He was cataloguing your every move, studying your every breath you took, attempting to tear your eyes away from him.

"Why?" The absurdity of his ways made you grit your teeth, your voice barely above a whisper. "You don't gain anything. Why are you doing this?"

He pulled the bottle back once you'd had enough, wiping your face coated in your own sick with a clean wet wipe he reached out from the backseat as well. "You need to stay alive." He said, absentmindedly. "That's all. Just for a while longer."

The cut on his face wasn't as fresh anymore. Your knees were tucked up to your chest in a lame attempt to help your unsettled stomach. Seemingly satisfied, he rounded the car again after shutting the door and got back into the driver's seat. The car after it started up again was filled with nothing but icy silence, you slyly glanced at the man beside you. There was something... off about him.

You didn't know how much time had passed with you feeling out the throbbing soar through half of your body. Too focused on making sure you didn't throw up again, but when you looked out the window again after regaining your sight through tears, the uniformed rows of tall fir trees thinned out. Civilization was close again, and you took a long time processing it.

The dark trunks of said trees blurred past the windows, bending toward the road like they were part of some wide-open fields of grass stretching far. There was no sign of civilization, nor houses or power lines. The car veered off the main road onto a narrow path of gravel, the wheels crunching under the texture. He slowed the car to a stop beside the home, letting the engine idle for a moment.

He sat still for a beat longer, then turned towards you. "You'll be dealt with, then. And I don't want to hear a sound from you. One syllable, go anywhere you're not supposed to, you're going back in the trunk."

"Charming," You scoffed, stomach twisting. You looked up at the house. It was nice, yeah, but you could still feel your pulse quickening in your throat.

taglist ♢ @kinvasions @kazumiku @animeobsessed56 @levianamor @auroratumbles

@mellowberrie @scarawiki @xxxion

[kiddbegins]

Elections • A. Hotchner

A/n: this is self indulgent and heavily politically charged. I need to get how I’m feeling out in one way or another. So. …

There was only one thing you didn’t want to wake up to today. Weeks of going out and spreading the word. Hours of pacing, worry, anxiety, fear, filling you from the tips of your toes to the halo a top your head.

Election Day had never been this difficult. Usually you could see a light at the end of the tunnel but not this time. This time it felt like you were going to wake up drowning if the wrong side won.

Aaron was working. He had to be. You were home alone, everything spotless thanks to the anxious cleaning you did.

He’d been keeping tabs, knowing how much this was getting to you. You’d cried into his arms a few times already so it was no wonder that he was trying to get home to you now.

Because the first thing you and all Americans did the second they woke up was check the polls. 209 - 277.

He won.

Again.

Bile immediately grew in your throat, barely making it to the bathroom before it came out of your mouth. Retching with fear, anger and anxiety.

This meant horrible things. That you, a woman, were going to be the target of negativity for at least the next four years.

Your phone was ringing but it wasn’t audible over the higher pitch in your ear. The news wasn’t on and you were so glad it wasn’t because what exactly would that pull from you?

More tears? Screams?

It felt like hours you’d sat there on the tile floor, eyes starting to burn and thoughts running back and forth.

Leaving was always an option. But maybe not when your husband worked for the government.

Sterilization, except you were 34 and have no biological kids.

Abstaining, the most likely option at the moment but you’d miss the way Aaron held you before, during and after.

You didn’t hear the key in the door downstairs or the footsteps cracking the wood of the steps. The only sign someone was home was the bathroom light flicking on and the LED lights replacing the small bit of natural sunlight to hit your eyes.

“Oh sweetheart…” Aaron’s voice was so soft and warm it immediately brought another strong wave of tears out.

For you, for any possible child you’d have, your friends. Everything.

“I know…” he held you to his chest, knowing… knowing there was little he could do now. That anyone could do.

It took a small while before you got a calm spot. Eyes too tired to create anymore.

“Let’s get you up.” His voice gentle as he flushed the puke that still sat in the toilet and helped you up. Your body was numb.

Both from your emotions and position.

“We’ll figure something out.” He tried to make you feel better but how could he? How? You felt like someone shot you dead without ever pulling an actual trigger.

“You can’t.” Your voice raspy and full of congestion.

“Like hell I can’t. We are going to figure this out. As a couple. As a family, a country. We. Will fix this. And I would burn anything down that tried to get to you.” His voice was so firm, so full of his own fear for you that it made your heart lurch.

“This is just day one of a fight. I have no right to tell you this, but today you mourn, and tomorrow, if you can, you get back out there and you fight as hard as you have to. And i will have your back.”

“We all will.”

“Don’t do that. I am SO angry Aaron. I want to fight NOW.”

You take a breath.

“I want to scream and cry and get into a fight with everyone that voted the way they did. It’s like I have a huge bag of flames in my stomach that I want to spit out at anyone I talk to…”

“Everyone. I’m angry.”

I’m not even gonna promo down here or tag anyone. I’m just so devastated and wish I had this.

[lipglossanon]

Door To Door Cannibals

█▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█ ◈ █▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█

Dark Stepdad!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader (one shot)

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, dark Leon, oral (f & m receiving), dirty talk, pussy spanking, mommy kink, collar, choking, unprotected sex, heavy breeding kink, mean Leon, crying

not proofread cause i just wanted to write a lil something

Title from Door to Door Cannibals by Chevelle

█▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█ ◈ █▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█

“Mmm baby, that’s so good,” Leon’s deep baritone slides over you like a warm blanket. 

You can only reply with a throaty whine as you softly suck on his thick cock, throat clicking as you swallow the excess spit and precum before it spills from your lips. With you kneeling between his thighs, he drops lower in his office chair, stretching his legs out on either side of your body. 

The droning voices of his coworkers continue on his team call, Leon’s mic and video muted for the time being. His broad hand tangles in your hair, rocking your mouth further down on his dick, fat tip kissing the back of your throat and making you gag. He presses there a beat longer, making you cough and retch until he finally pulls his cock free. 

You gasp in a deep breath, thick strands of saliva linking your mouth to his cock with tears dripping from your eyes as he slaps his dick against your lips. 

“You can do better than that,” he murmurs, eyes dark and empty as he watches you heave, “my girl’s gotta learn how to suck dick, gonna have to train that virgin throat how to keep daddy’s big cock nice and warm.”

“Uh huh,” you nod in agreement, collar jingling with your movement, “sorry to choke, daddy.”

He grins lecherously, “Don’t apologize for choking on my cock, baby. Choke as much as you want, just make sure to suck me off so I can creampie that cute little throat.”

You moan and lick at his balls, sucking and mouthing across the squishy sac as he parts his thighs as far as he can sitting down. It’s a struggle to suck both balls into your mouth, drool dripping freely down your chin as your jaw aches. With a huff, you have to give up and slowly suckle each of his balls in your eager mouth.

“Keep my balls warm with that wet mouth while daddy joins in this call,” he rubs a thumb across your cheekbone, “make any noise and I’m going to spank your ass til you can’t sit down. Got it, slut?”

Whimpering, you nod, fingers ghosting across your hard, achy nipples. You drop your mouth open and go back to sucking and mouthing at the warm skin of his sac. One of his big hands rests on top of your hair as you hear him click the mouse and begin to talk with his coworkers. 

Your cunt clenches around nothing, feeling wet and empty as you softly suck on his balls, loving the weight of them filling your mouth. Letting the noise of conversation fall into the background, you kitten lick his heavy sac until it’s coated in spit and dripping down onto the chair. Your head is totally empty except for squishing his balls against your lips, nuzzling into the wet skin as you lick him all over. 

His hand shoves you away making you whine low in your throat, face covered in drool. 

“Get up here,” he growls, eyes dark in his face.

You shakily climb into his lap, legs and feet tingling as the blood flows back through them. 

“Am I in trouble, daddy?” you whisper, eyes downcast. 

“No,” he laughs meanly, “just wanted to show my friends what pretty little thing I had tucked away.”

Hot embarrassment makes your skin crawl even as slick oozes from your pussy. 

His fingers loop through the ring on your tag and pull you in close with a sneer, “Babygirl, do you really think I’d let those worthless men ever set their eyes on you?”

His hands grab your ass and squeeze your cheeks so hard you squeal. 

“Think I’d let anyone get to see this mommy’s pretty little pussy?” he slaps your ass hard.

“N-no, sir,” you whimper, tears slipping from your eyes, “I’m only daddy’s pretty mommy.”

“That’s right, such a smart girl,” he croons, the praise making you grind your leaking pussy on his thigh.

“Go get on the bed, gonna show that slutty mommy pussy a thing or two.”

You stagger out of his office, legs feeling as skittish as a foal’s, and make your way into the master bedroom. Your mom left on another business trip last night; Leon woke you up to share the news by licking into your cunt until you groggily came to, orgasm cresting as soon as you locked eyes with your stepdad. He slipped his fat cock inside your pulsing walls and let you keep his dick warm all night—sloppily making out and rubbing your clit so your pussy stayed wet and tight around his cock. 

It’s late afternoon now as you clamber onto the clean sheets smelling of Leon’s cologne. Shivering, you bury your face in his pillow as you rub your clit. 

“Honey,” his chiding voice is like a bucket of water, making you quickly move your hand away and turn to face him. 

“‘M sorry,” you mumble, “want daddy so much.”

He grins, eyes dark and wicked, “Mommy’s so needy, huh? Don’t worry, that juicy cunt’s about to get what she needs.”

You settle back against the pillows, thighs falling open to Leon’s hungry gaze as he walks over to his dresser. He quickly finds what he’s looking for in one of the drawers and comes over to the bed. Your hips roll, seeking friction at seeing Leon completely dressed with you only wearing your collar, making you drip all over the sheets. 

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, hands skating up your thighs. 

You whimper when you see the small padded lavender paddle in his hand, purposefully spreading your legs wider. 

Leon chuckles, “Mommy likes this doesn’t she?”

You nod dizzily, collar jingling noisily, “Please, daddy, spank my pussy.”

“We’ll get there, but first I need to taste mommy’s hot cunt,” his fingers circle your clit before lightly smacking your mound making you jump with a moan. 

He makes sure you’re propped against the pillows at the headboard, grabbing your thighs and pressing them outward until your muscles twinge. He lays down between your legs, lips ghosting across the skin of your inner thighs making you mewl.

Leon lightly kisses each side of your thighs, soft barely there touches that make you squirm against the bed. He chuckles, now adding a little tongue to the kisses which has you whining, hands gripping onto the sheets. 

“Such a good little mommy,” he murmurs into your skin, scraping his teeth against the meat of your thigh.

You hiccup a gasp, pussy walls clenching as his mouth moves closer and closer to your drippy cunt. His tongue licks the crease of your leg before swapping over to the other side to do the same thing. You’re sighing and moaning as he licks across your pussy, tongue gliding up over your slick coated lips but completely ignoring your hot little clit. 

Rolling your hips down, Leon only laughs at you and pulls his mouth away. 

“Let me kiss her, babygirl. She’s been so lonely without daddy’s mouth,” he kisses the hood of your clit, “mmm, she’s such a wet, needy little mommy cunt.”

You whine, hips sinking back down onto the bed so Leon will mouth and kiss across your pussy. His tongue flicks over your clit making your thighs spasm; he repeats it over and over, his hot tongue a brand on your sensitive bud, until you're fighting to keep seated on the bed.

Suddenly, he pulls away and brings the paddle down onto your swollen clit. 

“Daddy!” you squeal, spine arching up off of the bed. 

He laughs condescendingly at you and spanks your clit again.

“You said you wanted it, practically begged for it,” he clicks his tongue and brings the paddle down over your mound. 

He pins your hips down with one hand as he rain slaps across your aching bundle of nerves and pussy lips. Groaning, he even lets his hand drop and spank across your hole, clear strings of slick sticking to the padded leather. 

“You make it very hard for me not to fuck this pretty pussy,” he growls, spanking your pudgy clit over and over until you’re writhing underneath him. 

“Please, daddy, need you, feel so empty,” you cry out, tears slipping down your cheeks. 

He drops the paddle down on the bed, quickly unbuttoning and unzipping his slacks. Pulling his swollen cock out, he slaps it down across your engorged clit. 

“I’ll give it to you, sweetheart,” he smirks, lining his tip up with your hole and pressing in, “gotta make you a pretty mommy, right? Can’t do that unless I’m breeding this juicy fucking cunt.”

You choke on a moan as he bottoms out too fast, tip knocking against your cervix so roughly it makes you want to scream. He wraps a palm around your neck right underneath where your collar lies as he pulls out and thrusts back in, just as fast and deep. 

“There we go,” he chuckles, “love how tight you get when I choke you out.”

Tears run down your temples as he tightens his hold on your throat, cutting off your air in increments making you feel fuzzy and lightheaded. Your arms lay limp by your head as your body jostles with each powerful thrust of his hips. 

“So tight,” he groans, fat tip battering against your cervix as he fucks you harder, “s’like you don’t want me pulling out, always trying to suck daddy’s cock back into your needy cunt.”

Your mouth moves but no sound escapes making him laugh.

“Dumb little slut, getting dicked so good you can’t even say anything,” he grins wickedly, squeezing your throat even tighter, “isn’t that right?”

You nod as best you can and he eases some of the pressure on your throat. The spots in your vision disappear as you breathe in thin little gasps of air. 

He grinds down harshly, tip practically kissing your womb as his pelvis rocks against your sensitive clit making your walls rhythmically pulse around his cock.

“After this you’re gonna sit on daddy’s lap while he finishes up some work, then I’m gonna fuck you over my desk,” his smug face blurs through your tears as he rails into your pussy, grinding all along the spongy spot in your cunt that has you clenching hard. 

“What do you say little mommy,” he lets go of your throat to grab your waist, pulling you down on his cock as his dick pistons into your drippy cunt, “keep my cock all snug in that tight little pussy. I’ll even tighten that pretty collar so your throat feels snug too.”

“Want it, daddy,” you slur, drool slipping from your lips as he jackhammers into your pussy, “want to be so good for you.”

“Then you better squeeze me tight so I can cream this sweet cunt, gotta practice on making you a mommy,” he rumbles low in his throat. 

You feel limp as a rag doll while Leon fucks you onto his cock, fingers slipping down your body to tease your fat clit. 

“Be a good mommy for me and clench on my dick,” he murmurs, voice dark and heated, “know you want it, baby.”

His fingers drum across your sensitive bud, cock plunging into your squelching pussy making the tight coil in your lower belly snap. Leon leans down and sinks his teeth into your neck as you cum, pussy fluttering and milking his throbbing dick, a low whining moan slipping past your lips. He humps into your clenching pussy until he knocks his fat tip into your cervix one last time, hot sticky cum spurting from his cock, stuffing your cunt full. 

He pulls his dick out, stroking the head to spill a few more ropes of cum across your swollen mound and clit. Slapping his cock against your messy pussy, he pulls away. 

“I’m gonna go clean up but I want you in my office by the time I get there,” his serious tone makes you nod immediately. 

“Yes, daddy,” your cunt twinges as he laughs. 

“Good girl.”

[deeppenguinstudent]

Raven elodie would be absolutely brutally sad in my imagination I fear.

Like imagine, when Jean gets marked, elodie is brought along tetsuji, and she's made to play under Jean like how jean did to Thea (so the media runs wild since riko and Kevin were considered half brothers and Jean and elodie full siblings are playing on court together in the future.)

She's trained under a senior dealer, but Edgar Allen doesn't let her stay in evermore because of her age. Anyways, once she finally reaches the line up or she essentially just joins Edgar, she resides in evermore. [The age thing does not make sense, but omg, please bear with me]. She's trained to be a dealer.

Feel like she would hate every Raven, Kevin included. Her body hurts, and her legs scream, but she doesn't care. As long as her brother is next to her. But one day, riko makes the backliners hold her down and watch what he does to Jean when she gets extra mouthy. She looks to Kevin at the side and watches him stand there with his eyes to the ground.

Why weren't they helping him? Her brother is gasping for air as the cloth hits his face, her brother is biting his lip as riko carves into his skin over and over. She watches Kevin try to pick up the pieces but she shoves him away and asks him to get the fuck away.

Her brother, the brother that used to hold her close when the children didn't want to play with her and tell her that the only friend she ever needed was him since the rest were all losers for not befriending her. Her brother, who always stood in front of her, once their father's whip struck and shielded her, was once again protecting her from monsters; abnormal people that only wanted to hurt.

She slowly cleans him up, and she retches as he teaches her how to stitch up his open wounds. They sleep together in the same bed that day, Jean crying because he doesn't want this life for her and elodie sobbing because she can't bear to watch people torment her brother any longer.

So she gets better. Zane and Grayson have been eyeing her since she came to evermore, mainly because she is probably going to be the next perfect court member, and they are angry. She allows the nasty scowls and the jibes from Grayson directed to Jean but steps in between when it gets gangrene. It's stupid she knows because both of them are 19 and look much more powerful than her undeveloped 15 year old self but she stares him down.

When kevin leaves, everything goes for worse. Rikos moods are temperamental, and none of the Ravens dare question the king. Elodie works until her body drops from exhaustion each and every night; she doesn't need to try this hard, she knows, but every mistake she makes, Jean will be punished for it and she couldn't afford that.

Riko even compliments her for once in practice as she manages to guard the defence better than grayson and he jokes and says she might be able to play beside her brother in perfect court and be a backliner instead of a dealer. This leaves grayson more furious than ever. Zane also stares at them with a sense of vexation.

She doesn't get it, really. She doesn't get it until Colleen whispers something soft into her ears, telling her to hurry up. She doesn't get it until she's pounding on the door of their shared room begging to be let in when she hears her brothers pained cries and pleas. She finally gets it when she sees Grayson with a blissed out expression and his zipper down as he whispers to her to get her whore brother cleaned up.

She slams the door behind her and places a chair in front of it. There, on the ground, she sees Jean. His eyes are dead, and no light is in them as he stares blankly at the wall. His thighs are dirtied with blood and cum and elodie feels like puking. His neck has numerous bitemarks, and his hips were bruised, and she systematically carries him to the bathroom and runs the water.

The water changes from clear to red as he soaks himself, and he looks her into the eyes, his cheeks stained with tears and mouth bitten red.

"You should have left with Kevin."

Elodie recalls the amount of punishment they both endured and her heart sobs with the implication that he thought she would leave him here to die under the hands of these monsters. She tries to smile but everything has been knocked of her, she can't see a future - she doesn't even know whether she'll be able to keep that last ember of desire to keep going burning until tomorrow.

But she has Jean and Jean has her. Nobody would understand him as well as she and vice versa. She would rebuild her brother piece by piece and give him pieces of her that have been carved out by Riko, snatched by the Ravens and willingly given to Kevin by Jean.

I like to imagine that Elodie is more outspoken, a dangerous piece on the board that's cunningly smart. She works around situations, and she knows how to trip up her teammates to be the best. She knows what it takes, and her determination is her strong point. While Jean was a survivor, elodie would be an analyser. She knows how to get under people's skin, she puts on a mask to be liked by the Ravens, and there's undoubtedly sure she would do anything to protect her brother.

So when she sees Andrew holding Jean's hand in a vice grip, she pushes him hard, under the hoax of oh, I'm sorry I had to get my shoe. When she sees Kevin again, she stares him down cold and doesn't let Jean reply to him opting to speak to him instead.

I have so many ideas for Raven elodie but I think it mainly stemmed from the audio, she's my sister and she's no bitch but I am tbh