#fic: so savage with red desperation | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dollwrites · 2 years ago

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𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲 — 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐮𝐧

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ this is a dark fic! smut ( minors dni ), fem!marleyan!reader, noncon ( and eventual dubcon ), virgin!reiner, gagging, size kink, noncon oral sex ( f! ), lots of manhandling, overstimulation ( him ), noncon creampie and dubcon breeding mention, tension between marleyan & eldian obviously, spoilers for late s3 / early s4, all characters featured are 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ originally posted on 01.01.2023. do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. thanks for reading < 3

𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 ∣ unholy by hey violet

he was watching you again.

it seemed like he always was. quietly ogling from the corner. you knew, of course, and every now and then, you would cut him a glare that seemed to burn right through him. the furrow in your brows brought forth the memory of a soreness in his jaw, that he discreetly reached up to rub with the back of his hand— the sensation of your fist making direct contact with it wrenched to the forefront of his mind. you’d decked him, hard enough to dislocate it, because you’d woken up to find one hand inching up under your shirt. he hadn’t been able to control the urge to touch you any longer, and although his fingers had not made it far above your belly button, he’d paid for their misdeeds severely: first the punch from you, and then a savage beating dealt from the hands of your peers— Marleyan soldiers.

but maybe he was lucky.

had he been any other Eldian, anyone of lower ranking, he would’ve been beaten to death for touching you. but did that stop him from wanting you so bad it tortured him? did that stop him from thinking about you late at night, from gripping the sheets of his bed so tight in one hand and himself in the other, whispering your name under his breath and trying his best to imagine it was you wrapped around his hard and desperate cock instead of his fist?

not even for a second.

“Going home,” Zeke announced his presence as he approached, the cherry of a cigarette burning and a dull, gray trail of smoke following him, “are you excited?”

“Yeah.” a pathetic excuse for a reply, actually, but Zeke hadn’t seemed to expect any less. he didn’t bother following Reiner’s eyeline, he already knew where it would lead, and that you were on the end of it. Reiner hadn’t even looked away when Zeke approached, so the War Chief was aware he was deep in his hapless abyss of desire for you.

Zeke sucks on the cigarette, and the end singes furious red as he draws in a deep breath and contemplates the silence between them.

but Reiner wasn’t. he was lost in his thoughts of you. the shape of your body, how effortlessly enticing you were just sitting there with your comrades. that damned unreadable expression you always wore— and that fiery hatred in your eyes when he caught them. did you loathe the weight of his gaze so much? did you feel every ounce of lust he poured into it, tracing each curve of your figure, wishing he could kiss every inch of you? you never held his gaze long, just enough to grimace in disapproval, stare down your nose at him.

it should’ve turned him off completely.

it didn’t.

because Reiner was convinced that, if he could just get you alone, if he could just get his hands on you, he could make you like him. he could rip away that hatred, and replace it with affection.

or, maybe it was just wishful thinking, and he didn’t care to talk himself out of the lie he fed himself because his time was running out and he needed to feel you ( even just once ) before he passed his Titan down.

as if fate was winking her eye at him, you said farewell to your peers and got up from your seat, disappearing behind a closed door. it wasn’t to go to the bunker, he knew that. behind that door was a small room where you spent most of your time— a broad desk in the middle of the room and maps spread out. you were in charge of reading them, marking attack points, rendezvous, and escape points.

and, more often than not, you were alone in there.

Reiner’s hands clenched into fists, and the muscles in his jaw tightened.

Zeke glanced at him, eyebrow quirked, and murmured, “What if I ordered you against it?” Reiner didn’t have to tell Zeke what he planned to do, it was painfully obvious already.

“I would tell you to have me punished for insubordination after we reach home.” Reiner didn’t mince words or intentions, and pushed himself off the wall. this was, quite possibly, the only opportunity he’d have to catch you alone, as he watched the other Marleyans filtering towards their bunks, leaving your little office completely unguarded.

Zeke pondered his response.

Reiner seemed decided already, and he knew that he couldn’t be swayed. so, the chief sighs. “Then, I’ll order you not to get caught this time.” Zeke said, instead. he knew he shouldn’t allow Reiner out of his sight, and especially not to disappear behind that door, but Reiner also wasn’t a child anymore. he wasn’t so easy to control. “I need my Vice Chief alive.”

Reiner blinked, expecting more resistance, but when it wasn’t pressed, he didn’t look at Zeke. he nodded, and crept off, slinking through the shadowy corners until he reached the door.

Reiner slipped inside, but made no real efforts to hide his arrival, staring at your back. you were standing at the desk, both hands on the maps, and you don’t say anything to the intruder. his eyes don’t leave you, hand drifting to the push the lock on the door into place.

“The war’s over.” he mutters, and he watches your shoulders stiffen. you hadn’t expected it to be him, it seems. “You can stop staring at those maps.”

you don’t look back at him, and he uses the opportunity of stealth to reach up and grasp his armband, his marker as an Eldian, and snatch it from his bicep as he approached.

“As long as Eldians exist, there will be other wars.” you spit in return, but your eyes widen only slightly when you hear how close his footsteps have gotten. your heart skips a beat, and you stare at your own fist on the table. “Get out of here.”

“No.”

a lump forms in your throat— he was right behind you. when he whispered it, his breath shifted the hair that rested against your ear, and the heat from his breath sent a shiver up your spine. did he… did he say ‘no’? to a direct order from a Marleyan?

“I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.” he added, and you felt the sturdiness of his body against your back; his head dips low, so he can breathe your scent in deep.

your fist flew back towards him as you started to turn to face off with him, but he must’ve been ready for it, because he caught your arm at the wrist and bent it up behind your back until you cry out, “Son of a —!”

your expletive is muffled, and you gag on the taste of cotton. for a moment, you can’t tell what he’s shoved in your mouth, until he cinches it in a tight knot behind your head, pressing his weight on you, and you realize it’s his armband. rage fills your stifled obscenities as you writhe, desperate to get free, and stomp your feet, hoping to catch his toes under your boots. “I didn’t want to do it like this,” he growled in your ear, bringing his knees up into the back of yours, bending you over the tabletop with a rough shove. one, massive fist secures both of your wrists together at the small of your back, “but, I’m almost outta time. And I can’t wait on you to come around, anymore.” the more you wiggle, the harder he squeezes your arms, and you bite down hard on the gag. you were no match for his strength, and you knew that, but your pride wouldn’t be easily broken.

you kicked and flailed as wildly as you could, blindly, screaming slurred and incoherent about all the gruesome, bloody ways you would make him pay for this if he didn’t get off of you, but even that didn’t stop him.

his free hand grasped your belt and the hem of your trousers at once, jerking them down your thighs. leather screamed until it pools with your pants at your ankles, restricting them, and Reiner sucks in a breath behind you. “I really wanted to take my time with you,” he husks, placing his powerful palm on your ass and digging his fingers in, groping rough handfuls. you bite down to push a moan back into your throat, brows furrowed. both of your fists uncurl, and you hook your digits into the waistband of your panties, instead, in a vain attempt to keep him from tearing them off of you. it doesn’t matter; Reiner’s calloused fingers seemed to rip right through the cotton and shred them until they sagged in threads against your thighs. and then, he lets out a low, awed moan, squatting down to stare at your core, inches from it.

“Do you know how many times I’ve dreamt of this? Imagined how sweet your pussy must taste?” you shook your head, gurgling in defiance— demanding he not even dare, but it was too late. your fingers push at his forehead, hoping to pry him away, but his mouth was already sealing against your netherlips, suckling on them. you pushed your tongue against the gag to keep yourself from moaning; you couldn’t admit to him how good it felt, especially when his tongue slipped between his lips and flicked your clit to life. the throbbing nerve swells against his tastebuds and he snorts like a beast in rut, lapping at you. his mouth then travels over one ass cheek, sinking his teeth in deep, sucking on the skin to leave his signature on you. you squeak, clenching your legs together, but it hid nothing from his devious mouth. “I’ve never felt a cunt tremble in my mouth before, soak my tongue…” he admitted, panting already as he gets to his feet, “how does it feel having the first and last pussy I’ll ever kiss?” and, then you felt the firmness of a solid cock through the trousers he was working down against your thighs, his mouth finding the back of your neck. “The first and last pussy I’ll ever fuck?”

you squirm underneath his weight, muffled screams of protest hoping to reach outside the door dying in the room you’re trapped in, and before long he grabs hold of the base of his massive cock at its thick base, worming it between your folds until they stretch and slot around the swollen head. you could tell his hands were shaking, his breath ragged and excited against your neck. “You’re wet,” he breathes in awe, and you shake your head, crying out the word ‘no!’ as loud as you could, but it was ultimately a lie. you were dripping, coating the tip of his cock as he rubbed it back and forth against your sex. “Wet enough to take me right now.” the way he said it, with his voice uneven, you knew it wouldn’t matter if you hadn’t been.

he wasn’t giving you a choice, and any preparation was better than none at all.

your palms press flat against his clothed abdomen and you squeal in fervent protest when he jabs his way inside of you— it’s none too gentle and his size is enough to have you coming out of your skin. your walls flutter and scramble to stretch wide enough to allow for the intruder’s rough entry.

it isn’t long before Reiner, grunting and groaning, has fallen into a brutal, greedy rhythm.

crying out, drool soaking the armband digging into the corners of your mouth, you push with your hands, blindly, as hard as you can, to try and push him out, and you squirm atop the table, hoping to wriggle free, but once he’s fully nestled inside, Reiner takes your wrists in each hand. your hands ball into fists again as he uses your arms like levers, pulling your body back to meet the mighty snapping of his hips. each thrust fills you entirely, hard and fast. he’s not saving any energy, or trying to make the sensation last— deprivation has clearly sank into him, and he couldn’t control himself.

“So— so tight,” he moans, nuzzling into your neck, “so warm.. so… fucking… good!” your vice tightens around him when he hits your limit, and his hips stutter; Reiner elicits a broken, gurgling moan that churns your stomach, “Oh, fuck, right there? That’s— that’s what I want— tighten up—!“ shifting with all of his weight bearing down on you, his palms pin your arms to the table, and he pounds that same, sensitive spot relentlessly. his brutality encourages your body to clamp down harder around him, shudder and spasm. you scream and beg him to slow down, but your resolve is weakening, and the screaming is starting to shift into moaning.

no, you didn’t want this.

you didn’t like it.

was he simply breaking your body into submission, and in turn, your mind?

“Close,” he stammered through grinding teeth, “so fucking close.”

for a moment, you mewled; the prominent vein massaging a delicate knot of nerves inside you as he plows against your hips. your eyelids fluttered, and you didn’t hear his warning. his rhythm didn’t change; it remained as cruel as one could be, battering your insides, but that nerve bundle was screaming each time he rammed it. your toes curled in your boots, and you moaned out loud.

and that was when Reiner lost it.

you hadn’t had time to react before he buried himself as deep as he could go, pumping you full of warmth, and you snap out of the pleasure trance too late to utter a disdainful but weak, “Shtp…“ amongst his huffing and puffing. your feet stomp against the floor, but sluggish.

your thighs quaked. your head was spinning. your stomach was tied up in knots. and your walls were trembling and sore from being stretched and abused. but Reiner was still rock hard inside of you. he’d cum, but he was still solid and bulging his shape against your belly.

“I need more.” Reiner grunted, and before you knew it, you were being flipped over. he did it with so much ease that you must’ve weighed nothing at all to the brute, and somehow managed to keep his cock deep inside of you. the breath is knocked from your lungs when your back makes contact with the desk, and your head rolls to one side, as if admitting your defeat. you didn’t want to look at him— you knew if you took one look at his red cheeks, or saw the sparkling sweat against his temple, or even caught a glimpse at his eyes, pupils blown out until they’re all black, you would want him. “Fucking you once was never going to be enough.” his hips were already rocking again, finding a deep, hard rhythm, and his own release frosts his length and dribbles out from your core when he retracts, then squelches when he drills his way back inside. both of his hands flee to his own body first, making short work of the buttons on his shirt before he peels it off of himself, and it flutters to puddle at his feet.

when his hands found you again, he started by pushing your legs open and down against the table, but when he saw that you weren’t going to fight him, he released them, and you kept them spread for him to violate you however he wanted. “Good… Good girl…” he panted, one hand reaching up to grab your face and turn it back to him. this time, you did make eye contact, and you moaned through the gag when you saw the pleasure you were giving him on his face, “Take it, just take it for me.” his fist wraps around the armband and he yanks it down, leaving you sputtering and puffing. “You want it, now, don’t you?”

for a moment, you just glare at him, or try to, but your eyes are becoming harder and harder to keep open. Reiner caresses your cheek, possibly tracing the irritation caused by how tight he’d tied the gag, but the gentleness of his touch was a startling juxtaposition to just how fervently he fucked into you. he was staring into your eyes, too, combatting the ferocity you tried to pour with pure adoration, the kind that must’ve even diluted his mind.

you didn’t answer, and he didn’t seem to care either way, because his hand travels south over your heaving breasts and down to your cunt, strumming experimentally. you pant, your eyes averting from his when he finds your engorged clit and presses the rough pad of his thumb on it to rub it hard. you couldn’t stifle your moans anymore, no matter how hard you tried, and let them punctuate each, maddening slam of his body into yours. your eyes trained on the muscles in his arms, veins bulging, everything pulled taut like a rubber band ready to snap. you wanted to reach down and push his hand away from your bud, the sensations overwhelming you, but decided against it. he’d overpowered you in every aspect of the word so far, you might as well take the role of the weaker, helpless one. your hands lay up near your head, backs of them resting against the table, and your legs were splayed wide, cramping from the position, and you whimpered. your back arched when his thumb pushed in just the right way, and you knew he’d rip an orgasm out of you if he didn’t ease up.

and he didn’t.

when he felt you pulse, when he saw your back arch, he rubbed more furiously in the same spot, and pistoned his powerful hips until you were babbling and squirming and coming undone on his cock, and he was panting and gripping your hip with his free hand, murmuring about how beautiful you were and how much he’s always wanted this.

his second climax wasn’t far behind yours, and he traded his fingers pinching your clit for both hands gripping your hips and pulling them to meet his reckless fucking. “I love you,” he panted when he was right on the cusp. “I love you so fucking much.” and somehow, even though lust might’ve been puppeteering him, you believed it. Reiner was obsessed with you, infatuated, since before he left for Paradis Island, and now he was finally getting to force that obsession on to you. with no more resistance. no one there to stop him or beat him for laying his hands on you.

it was only after he’d pinned you to the table with his whole weight that he whispered in your ear, “I want to give you babies.” your eyes widened at that, “I want to see your belly swell, and I want to know that you’ll bear my children, it’ll make giving over my Titan easier…” a couple of deep, slow pumps and he’s filled you once more, this time the excess spurts out around his base and dribbles down his thighs, too, as he moans and pulls back, to smother your mouth in a sloppy, needy kiss.

you should’ve turned your head, pushed him off and told him that you would rather die than birth and Eldian bastard, but you didn’t do any of those things. because you weren’t entirely sure if that was true anymore.

#reiner braun #reiner #reiner x reader #reader x you #reiner smut #reiner braun x you #Reiner braun x reader #reiner braun smut #attack on titan x female reader #attack on titan x you #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan smut #attack on titan #attack on titan imagine

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justagalwhowrites · 13 days ago

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The Campaign - A TSATS One Shot

You're doing your part to get out the vote and Joel is doing his part to protect you while you do. AKA Bodyguard!Joel beats the shit out of a Trump voter.

Pairing: Bodyguard!Joel Miller x Movie Star!Female Reader (from The Savage and the Sanctuary)

CW: Joel beating the shit out of a Trump supporter. That's it, that's the fic. Also mentions of the misery that's befallen us since Trump and all the general misogynistic bullshit of this Godforsaken timeline. No use of Y/N.

Length: 1.1k

A/N: Look. I desperately want to beat the shit out of everyone I see wearing a MAGA hat but, unlike (my version of) Joel, I'm not a 6'5" man with years of experience beating the shit out of people so I can't. Wishing exactly what they voted for on every Trump voter there is and then this too because they deserve it. OK ENJOY LOVE YOU!

Joel was about ready to strangle you.

Why the fuck you’d volunteered to go out and try to get a bunch of fucking college kids to vote was beyond him. Sure, he knew the election was important, but did that really mean you needed to personally go try to talk to as many idiots as possible in an unsecured area?

He ground his teeth. You were standing on campus, surrounded by a mob of 20-somethings, each with their fucking phone in hand so he couldn’t even tell if someone was holding a goddamn weapon. Anything was safer than this and yet, here you were, doing it anyway.

“Can I get a selfie?” One girl asked, practically glowing at the sight of you.

“Of course!” You said and you smiled and put your face next to hers so she could take a photo. “Can I convince you to vote in the upcoming election? We really need voices like yours to be heard loud and clear.”

“Definitely,” she said. “I already have a plan for getting there!”

“That’s what we like to hear!” You said. “Just go online, make sure you’re registered and that you know your polling place and the times. Sound good?”

She didn’t get a chance to respond, a man in a red Trump hat shoving his way through the crowd, pushing a student into and making you stumble.

“Hey!” Someone in the crowd protested the intrusion but the man ignored him.

“The hell do you think you’re doin’?” The man got in your face. “We don’t want your coastal elite bullshit getting mixed up in our government!”

Joel went to intervene but you held a hand out, stopping him. He clenched his jaw but obeyed, standing at the ready in case things got out of hand.

“I understand,” you said gently. “I’d probably be upset, too, if I were you. But it’s my government, too. I live in Austin, I love it here and part of showing that love is getting involved…”

“I don’t give a shit,” he stepped closer. “Get the fuck out of here and leave our kids alone, you fucking bitch!”

He went to shove you and Joel stepped in then, putting himself between you and the fucking Trump guy before he could lay a hand on you. The man’s hands ended up square in Joel’s stomach, bouncing off almost comically.

The man was shorter than Joel and definitely weaker. He tilted his head back to look Joel in the eye, an unkempt beard growing in on his neck, his eyes narrowed.

“That was a mistake,” Joel said, his voice dark and deep.

“Joel,” your hand went to his shoulder but he shrugged you off. Yes, he was here to protect you but your almost callus disregard for your own safety made him want to pull his goddamn hair out and now, here you were, ready to just let this asshole off without any consequences.

And fuck if this man didn’t deserve some fucking consequences.

“Need to you to apologize to the lady,” Joel said. “And take that fuckin’ hat off before I shove it up your ass.”

“If you think I’m about to just let her indoctrinate a bunch of kids…”

The man made the mistake of leaning around Joel, starting to reach in your direction, and Joel’s patience was nearing its end.

He shoved the man back before he even really thought about it, making him stumble and sending college kids scrambling back.

“Joel -“ your voice was sharper now, but he ignored you.

“Step back,” Joel said, his hands clenching into fists. “Last warning.”

“Fuck you,” the man said, stalking up to Joel again. “And fuck that bitch, too.”

Joel’s fist caught the man off guard, not even getting the chance to flinch before it connected with his face.

The man cried out, stumbling and disoriented, but Joel stalked after him, catching him on the chin and sending him sprawling to the ground.

“Joel!” You yelled, but you seemed far away in that moment.

Instead, Sarah seemed close. He thought about the 2016 election, when Trump won and Sarah was all of 12 years old. She’d just started getting interested in shit like politics, she was excited about a woman running for president and Joel’d had to explain to her why someone would say something like “grab ‘em by the pussy” and have half the fucking country voting for him.

Things had only gotten worse in the years since. He had to explain Brett fucking Kavanaugh to his daughter, had to watch as fucking Nazis burned torches and marched through the streets with her, had to just sit there as assholes like this man in his red goddamn hat tried to make life worse for her.

Back when he had her, he had a reason to keep his nose clean and stay out of trouble, even when dealing with assholes like this. That reason was gone now and so Joel did what he’d been wishing he could for the last damn decade.

The man tried to get up from his place on the ground but Joel didn’t let him, all but diving on him, grabbing him by the collar and holding him there so he could land blow after blow on his face. He clumsily tried to swing at Joel but he didn’t even feel it. When that failed, his hands scrabbled over Joel’s arms, trying to pull himself free. It didn’t work, either.

Hitting the man again and again hurt but it was a strangely satisfying kind of hurt, one that felt just and righteous, like Joel was finally doing something that was worthwhile. He was hurting someone who deserved it, he was protecting you, he was defending a world that would have been better for his daughter.

“Joel!” You pulled hard enough on his shoulder that he was forced to pay attention. He was panting for breath, his knuckles bloody, the man’s face a mess. He looked back toward you, at your wide eyes in your unsettlingly perfect face. You looked afraid, but not of him. You were afraid for him. “You can’t do this, you can’t just… Joel, you have to stop.”

He dropped the man to the ground where he lay, moaning, cradling his broken face. Joel ripped the hat off his head and he groaned in pain.

“Should’ve listened,” he said, before holding up the hat. “I’m keepin’ this. Get fucked.”

You looped your arm around Joel’s waist, pulling him against your side and he could have sworn he saw the hint of a smile on your face as you led him away.

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #tsats #the savage and the sanctuary #election catharsis #fuck trump voters though #Joel Miller would HATE Trump and everyone who supports him I will die on this hill

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raz-writes-the-thing · 1 year ago

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Not For Lack of Squirming (Doctor Who Drabble)

Dark!Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are open

Summary: oral with Dark!Ten

CW: this fic is GN but reader has a vagina, oral (reader receiving), dirty talk, restraints, almost cnc

DW: @nyxiethesimp @quickslvxrr @midnight--raine @blueberry-sunshines @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 @yeethaw13 @complimentary-breadbasket @thekirbishow (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

“Shut it and stop squirming,” the Doctor growled, cinching your restraints tighter. He had you zip-tied to the bed, legs bared and cunt exposed for him.

His fingers spread your folds for him, and he licked a savage stripe up your swollen cunt. He laughed darkly at the mewl that escaped your throat. The Doctor slapped your thigh harshly, a delightful burning sensation digging into the bend of your knee where he had you tied up.

He’s edged you over and over by now- so many times you couldn’t even count how many if you tried. His tongue wreaking havoc on your clit and his fingers punishing your hole like he just can’t get enough.

“I said,” he said lowly, fingers gripping the flesh of your thigh and squeezing hard enough to bruise. “Stop squirming. Do you want me to hit you, eh? Is that it? You like it when Daddy hits you, hmm?”

You whimper and feel your cunt clench on autopilot. The Doctor notices, of course, and you’re rewarded (or punished, depending on how you looked at it) with a light-ish slap to the clit. If you could have, you would have curled up into a ball.

Your thighs strained and jerked in their hold as the pain petered out into electric pleasure. Tears were welling up in your eyes, desperate for relief.

The Doctor laughed before slapping your inner thigh once more and leaning forward to lave his tongue over your clit. He sucked your sensitive clit into his mouth and grazed it with his teeth threateningly.

You whimpered, trying not to buck against his mouth. The wrong move and you’d get a cunt full of sharp teeth- the only thing was… was that it was so hard not to grind against him. You were tied down, yes, but still loose enough to squirm which he so loved to punish you for.

The Doctor let you go and wiped the slick off his bottom lip. He sucked it off his fingers and laughed at the flush that appeared on your cheeks. He gripped you by your ass and yanked you as far as the restraints would allow your body to move. You yelped as his tongue was suddenly buried in your hole, wriggling against your walls to wring the most pleasure he could from you.

His nose bumped against your clit and you grunted, knowing you weren’t going to last long now. He knew it too.

The Doctor removed his tongue by licking a stripe from your hole up over your clit.

“Cum for me, little slut,” he growled, fingers all of a sudden working harsh circles on you.

You cried out, bucking against the ties. You felt the plastic dig in painfully but then the pain was overshadowed by pleasure as you finally, finally came- jolts and spikes of pleasure culminating in a thick gush of liquid from your core as you squirted onto the Doctor’s fingers.

He laughed at you, rubbed harder at your clit and revelled in the way you shrieked with that tip into overstimulation.

He made you cum one more time before letting you out of your restraints. He lightly massaged the angry, red lines, and tutted condescendingly as you hissed at the sting.

“Good Pet,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Now go to sleep.”

You had no problem following that particular order.

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uglypastels · 2 years ago

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Not Wholly Evil |I| Pirate!Eddie au

summary: as the daughter of the Governor, there is quite a heavy prize set on your safe return home, and the captain will not let anything come between him and his bounty.

Series Masterlist

word count: 5.6k

"semi dark fic" - READ the warnings:. (gun/sword)violence. blood. minor character death. allusions to suicide. kidnapping. imprisonment. alcohol. open and deep sea. pirates are pigs: frequent mentions of non-con and allusions to assault, but it does not actually occur. malnourishment. abuse. manhandling.

There might be a mention of other ST characters, and for plot sake, everyone is an adult here, just coz I don't want fetus pirates running around, but they are not really relevant to the plot.

Chapter 1: The Death of the Red Tail

“I dare say that we are all savages under the cloak that civilization fashions for us."

- Rafael Sabatini, Captain Blood

You were startled awake, once more, by the sound of the metal scraping over the wooden planks. Again, the harsh noise pricked at your ears. Over the past few days, you had done your best to get used to all the loud noises aboard. Still, they tended to occur at the most random of times, usually when you had finally managed to fall asleep, pulling you right back to reality, which, ironically, was your nightmare.

‘Didn’t mean to wake you up, Princess,’ the man chuckled, to which you did not respond. You never responded to what he, or any of them, had to say. Instead, you barely acknowledged him as he passed your jug of water between the steel bars. The roughness of his movements made the already meek amount spill out. ‘Breakfast’s served.’

It was dark below deck, with the only light coming through the small windows atop the walls, letting sun rays hit the ground at your feet in a circle. It was just enough of a light source for you to see what you were surrounded with. Barrels and crates filled with Gods know what. Next to you was a thin fleece that was supposed to keep you warm through the night but barely ever sufficed at its job.

After the jug of water, he threw you your breakfast: a piece of stale bread and a severely bruised apple. The bread fell into your lap, but you managed to catch the fruit quite easily, which you then also put down in your lap, looking down at your old dirty dress, not saying a word. Miserably, you toyed with the slice of bread, the lack of appetite weirdly not corresponding to your hunger. The food was far from edible, but it was also the only thing that came close to it, so it would make due. You had taught yourself to fight through the dryness and tastelessness.

‘A thank you would be nice, Princess,’ he snarled, but you didn’t even look up at his comment. Ever since you had been brought down there, you had made it your goal to exchange as few words as possible with these men, even when they started rattling the bars around, trying to catch your attention. Even when they slammed their hands on it, making you jump. But, finally, after a third slam, you snapped.

‘You gone deaf, too, now?’ he spoke louder.

‘I would be more than happy to thank you if there was anything to be thankful for.’ You rolled your eyes. You had grabbed small opportunities to ask for more food and water, begging to be let out of the tiny cell to stretch your legs and get some fresh air and every time you were met with nothing. It was the definition of insanity, wasn’t it? To do the same thing expecting different results? But you weren’t expecting anything. You were hoping. Desperate that something would change one day, and the odds would turn in your favour. Just once. That was all you asked of the universe.

‘We could easily let you starve, so better shut it.’ He pointed at you sternly, but you knew it was a big bluff. And it angered you. A rage slowly cooking inside you rose to a boiling point. You couldn’t keep it in any longer.

‘No, you shut it,’ as swiftly as you could manage on your weak legs, you got up and made your way over to the bars that separated you and the man. He backed away, clearly not having anticipated your sudden move, but he was too slow, and you still managed to snatch at his collar, pulling him back to you. Then, gritting your teeth, you spat your words into his face. ‘I have been stuck here for days, begging for the smallest amounts of decency from you, and so far, I have been laughed at in my face every. Single. Time.

‘So, you can try and scare me with your empty threats, but I know you need me alive and well for you to get your gold. Dead, I am worth nothing. So, I doubt your captain would enjoy hearing that something happened to me on your watch.’

‘You wouldn’t dare,’ his eyes narrowed into tentative slits, as did yours.

‘I don’t think you really want to wait and see if I do. Because I don’t know about you, but that rope over there looks like it would make a grand necklace. Do you think that beam up there could hold me up?’ you cocked your head up to a point at the ceiling. His eyes followed your movements and the rope hanging just arm’s length away from the holding cell. Suddenly, his throat tightened as he tried to swallow.

‘What do you want?’

‘I want to get out of here,’ you said, gritting your teeth. You didn’t dare look away from his eyes, which were just as cold as you felt. You thought you might finally have cracked one of them for a second, but then he managed to pull himself out of your grip. He kept muttering curse words directed at you as he climbed the stairs up the deck. ‘Remember, I have nothing to lose!’ you shouted out after him, one final attempt, just in time before he slammed the trapdoor behind him.

You sat back down. Heart beating against your ribs and a smile covering your lips for the first time in a long time. The adrenaline from the little stunt quickly deflated out of you, and you folded your legs into your chest.

It was stupid. It would only anger them more, and the last thing a person wants is to be stuck on a ship, in the middle of an ocean, with a crew of scoundrels. For people like them... the smallest of annoyances could cost you your life. No matter how much it was worth to them.

Biting into your apple, ignoring the slight sourness, you tried to keep your breathing steady. Then, with closed eyes, you listened to the sea hitting the ship's side as it sailed on through them. If you sat there long enough, you could almost make yourself believe that you were not locked up in a small cell at the bottom of a rotting ship. That you were, in fact, in your own cabin on the Red Tail. Your father’s ship, sailing home.

You were not meant to be there. You had insisted on coming along, wanting to see something of the world, being exhausted of never going further beyond the outskirts of your city. You had been yearning for that space.

It had been a sunny day, with just enough wind blowing through the sails to progress the journey, only a little longer until you would reach your destination. The crew was happy, relieved to be so close to the end. As much as it was an honour to work under the Governor’s orders, to sail for weeks on end over the open sea was a dangerous and exhausting task.

Everything suddenly changed when someone yelled it out. You weren’t even sure what they had said, but by the reactions from everyone around you, it was easy to guess.

Pirates.

Before you could even ask to be sure, you were dragged back inside to the Captain’s quarters and told to hide. So, hide, you did.

It took the ship a while to make contact. And all this time, you remained seated under the oak desk. It was the calm before the storm. You knew the canons would soon go off, and the ships would be punched with holes. The pirates would jump ship; they would attack and destroy. You could hear it all happening outside. The swords clinking, the guns going off, the wreckage, and the screams. It was all too much.

The minutes between the canons were the worst. Your ears were still ringing, and all you could do was anticipate the subsequent explosion and the shaking of your whole world. And then they would go off, and you had to do your best to follow the orders you were given. Be still and be quiet. They would take care of it. Your safety was everyone’s priority.

And yet, you felt shame wash over you at the idea that you were hiding while the men were out there, fighting. You felt useless and small, like a child. Cradling yourself to make your being as small as you could underneath that desk. The canons only seemed to be getting louder and louder. You couldn’t block the thundering and destruction on the other side of the door.

Perhaps you had screamed. You couldn’t remember. Everything was a blur. But something must have given you away in the end. How could they have known you were aboard? In the captain’s quarters? Nothing else made sense, but they heard your panic. They could sense it, being the predators they were.

It took all of your inner power not to scream when the door to the quarters burst open. At first, you thought a cannonball must have just burst through the wall, but it was much worse. Pairs of boots slowly made their way towards you. You closed your eyes and tried to stay calm; in your mind, the words of your mother’s lullaby swept by. The same old song she used to sing you during dark and stormy nights. That was all this was… a storm… and it would soon pass…

‘Gotcha,’ the voice sounded acidic and vile. You opened your eyes to be met with a pair of stormy grey ones, so cold it made your blood freeze. He smiled at you with a toothy grin, which only made you crawl back under the desk. There was nowhere for you to go, and he knew that. So did his lanky friend as they both reached out for you and pulled you out from beneath the furniture. Your skirt hiked up as it grazed over the floor, and you did your best to keep it down and over your legs.

‘No, please, no,’ you tried to sound as assertive as possible, ignoring your urges to scream and cry out. With little care, they pulled you up on your feet. Standing face to face with them almost should have taken away some of your fear, for you realised they could not be much older than you, perhaps even younger, but you still felt your legs shake.

‘You gonna come with us?’ he wouldn’t stop smiling at you, which was unnerving. But, of course, only a truly evil person would find joy in such circumstances, a severely disturbed and corrupt individual.

You took your shot, trying to wring your arms out of their hold. You thought you might have slipped out of one of their grips for a second, but then he pushed you forward, nearly making you fall as you stumbled over your feet. With each step they made you take, you tried to defy them, thrash around like a freshly caught fish, really, much to your own embarrassment. But it wasn’t doing any good. The net just tightened around you with each attempt at freedom.

You had imagined what was happening in the rest of the ship, but the reality you were met with was even worse. The vessel was in shambles. The broken mast had fallen, and the sails were ripped to shreds. The clinking of swords was still coming from all angles. Some of the men noticed you, captured by the enemies and tried to reach you. Fighting off the scoundrels with their long swords, to no avail. The fight was not a fair match. The people you travelled with were mostly sailors, never having learned how to fight correctly. They were all going off of survival instincts.

You heard your name being called to you from the side, and you could see the worried face of admiral Carver as he pushed his way through lines of enemies. You made another attempt to free yourself from the men's grips, pulling yourself toward the admiral, the man appointed to keep you safe throughout your journey… to think that mere days ago, you had both joked he was nearly futile in these endeavours.

The chaos around you ensued as men fought, bled, and died.

The blood was everywhere.

It was all going too fast. The hold the cruel men held on you was too tight to attempt anything, and before you knew what was happening, you were being led across the plank connecting the two ships.

A gunshot went off. One of the men holding on to you went limp, letting go of you. You didn’t dare to look, but you could tell by the shift of weight on the wooden bridge that there was one person less standing beside you. And indeed, a second later, a splash followed as his body hit the water beneath you.

Not by choice, you turned around the thin piece of wood as the other man holding you looked over to where the gunshot came from. Carver stood at the foot of the plank. Gun barrel still smoking, pointing right at your aggressor. The admiral had an admirable shot, so you had no worries about his aim. But that shot never came. The two men on the opposite sides of the bridge locked eyes with intimidation coming off both of them in great amounts, but the trigger was never pulled. Before Carver could, you screamed in horror as tears stung your eyes.

You were pulled the few final steps across the plank, almost pushed down to the ground, for you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the sight of your loyal admiral falling to the deck of his ship. His white shirt was stained red, and the staining only grew larger and larger. He had just enough time to look down at his bleeding chest before he fell to his knees. The sword stuck out from his back.

‘No!’ your scream pierced through everyone’s ears as you tried to get out of your capturer’s hold and run back to your own ship, to your people, but it was too late. They had removed the wood that connected the vessels. You were stuck, and the Red Tail seemed significantly smaller.

It was sinking.

It only took a few minutes before everyone and the viscous sea ate everything you knew. Days later, it was still painful to look out at the horizon, seeing the vastness of the waters.

The seemingly neverending darkness that had swallowed those who fought for you, hoping to keep you safe. And for what… you were now stuck in this prison. Eating the damned apple. For the first few days, you tortured yourself by refusing their offers of food. A form of protest that no one seemed to be much impressed by. The myths of poor Persephone had come to your mind in those moments. Thinking how the goddess had been tricked by the evil Hades, all for a measly pit of a fruit.

But your body screamed for nutrients, and you could not deprive yourself much more of your own life. To die at sea could be an honour for many, but not in a dark cell captured by the enemy. You had no intentions of dying because of your stubbornness, but you would never give in to what they wanted. If it came to be, you would pass on your own terms.

It was days now since the Red Tail sank. During your first moments on board, you had a naive hope that you had not been the only person taken. That somewhere around, someone else was here with you. A known face, a name you didn’t have to fear. The idea of the possibility brought you a little comfort, but soon you realised the harsh truth. You were entirely on your own here. But worse, even, was that you realised that, perhaps, death in battle and the fierce ocean waves would have been a kinder sentence than the horrors awaiting you aboard this vessel.

It had all started in the moments the Red Tail was abandoned. You kept your eyes on its crow nest, reaching out from above the water like a desperate hand in need of a saviour.

But you had no option but to dwell on the wreckage or the lost souls of your friends. Not when you were surrounded by dozens of men looking hungrily at you as if you were nothing but a piece of meat for them to devour. They were closing in on you; there was nowhere to go. Any direction you looked…

Surrounded by wild men screaming and tugging at you from each side, pulling you from side to side like a rag doll. They all wanted a little fun, but playtime was cut short rather quickly by the simple sounds of boots tapping over the floorboards. Everyone looked up as his voice loomed over everybody:

‘Well, well, well, what do we have here?’ It sounded almost whimsical, bemused. Everyone froze as the captain approached his crew. Even you did, looking up as he walked down the quarterdeck towards the large helm. The floor creaked with each step. The chains and beads hanging around his neck and hair accompanied him in a chorus. Not another word needed to be shared.

He stood there, looking down at what was occurring beneath him. Fingers clad in silver and gold rings tapping away at the handles of the ship’s wheel. When you looked a few inches higher, you recognised that his eyes were directly on you. There was no hiding or denying it. He was staring deep into your eyes. The corner of his mouth tilted up in the slightest smirk. The position in which the two of you stood made you feel like you were some kind of act for him. An entertainment piece for him to enjoy in his own time despite you being surrounded by all his men. It felt perverse. Disgusting. You quickly turned away.

But the image of those dark brown eyes stuck with you. Days later, and it still haunted you, the day you met Captain Eddie Munson.

The name was not much by itself. The stories that followed it brought fear onto people’s faces. For years now, you had overheard the people back home speaking tales of the notorious ocean bandit. The man who had sailed the seas with sails as dark as his eyes and soul.

You had never expected much from a man with a name like that, but you were quickly proven wrong.

The respect he had gained over the crew was evident; you could see it just by how everyone had paved the way for their captain and his strides of confidence as he made his way down onto the deck. There was an energy that came from within him, this dangerous confidence. Maybe because of this, you felt like ignoring his eye contact would be a shot worth taking, something to crack that filthy grin on his face as he neared you. The crew had widened their circle to make space for their captain and you, but you took a step back at each he brought forward. Your attempt was quickly stopped by whoever pushed you again right into his chest. The captain grinned at the collision, almost politely, apologetically, but it made you sick to the stomach.

He looked up from you to look at his men. 'Is anyone going to answer me?' his voice carried, making you flinch from your proximity to it, just like the canons. It was too loud. Your ears had almost stopped ringing from the explosions.

'Was hiding in the officer's quarters, she was.' Someone called out from behind Captain Munson, which must have interested him. To be a woman in the officer's quarters on a ship like yours… meant status. You could tell he looked at you intently but would not give him the satisfaction, and your eyes did not give him the time of day, instead focusing on the highest mast and the sail flickering softly in the wind. Not pitch black like the tales told, but a sunburned copper. Even despite this, you could feel his look on you. He was taking all of you in, grinning over his newest conquest.

'And what was a pretty thing like her doing up there?' While his question was directed at everyone else but you, he dug his eyes deep into your soul. They were pulling you in, trance-like. A pair of irises darker than amber but just as warm and beautiful. A facade for a lie, as there was only cold and darkness beyond the warm hue, the cursed soul of a criminal. You had heard stories of men like him, but to find yourself in the midst of them, knowing it was more true than any other tale told at sea, to be held captive as if in an inescapable nightmare…

Being oppressed into looking him in the eyes, you couldn't help but think how he, and his comrades, could have been perfectly fine young men in any other life. Maybe they even had been until the ocean took them, poisoned them with the cursed fruit of the sea. Corruption was so quickly and easily committed.

His hand, filthy, covered in tattoos and heavy rings, reached out for your cheek, which you quickly turned away from him as far as possible. You had hoped it would show him you weren't some fragile little girl, that you weren't just easy prey, but the laughter that erupted around you proved you wrong. He chuckled as his fingers found a new grip on your chin, turning your face back harshly, so you had no other option but to look him in the eye again.

‘Name, my darling,’ he smiled wickedly, squeezing your cheeks until you could feel the tips of his fingers against your teeth before letting your face go, ‘come, speak up, or that tongue will have to find a new use for itself.’ His words came out like a hiss of a snake.

'I am not your darling,' you spat once he had released you, to little effect as more laughter kindled from the men around you. You wondered how much time you would have from the shock value if you went on a rampage and started to kick all of them in their most sensitive parts. How many would you be able to get through before one of the others would grab you, possibly throw you overboard?

The Captain kept on smiling. 'I must call you something if you do not care to share your name with us, my darling.' His erring grin burned your skin like a hot kettle fresh off the fire.

'Carver called her something, Captain,' someone had shouted out, and Munson’s reaction was immediate when they repeated your name. His eyes widened, his grin spiked at the corners, showing his teeth, and his brown eyes glistened with enthusiasm. Then, jaggedly, as if remembering something suddenly, he moved his head around, looking around.

'Carver? Our dear friend Carver?' He looked around for whoever it had been that had spoken up a second ago, 'where is that pesky little–'

'Stabbed,' the crewmate responded, 'bled out on the ship,' a chorus of cackling surfaced among the men, but the captain looked a bit disappointed, hiding his amusement. Meanwhile, the mention of what you witnessed moments before stung you deep within.

'Shame. I would have liked to have seen that,' he said, with astonishing indifference covering his face, then he turned to you again, 'so, you were Carver's little toy, huh? I assure you, dear, you'll have much more fun here than with that stale little bilge rat.'

'I am nobody's toy.' You held back on shoving the man away or trying to act out of self-defence against any of his movements, knowing that upsetting him would not end in any better scenario than you were in at that given moment.

'No, no,' he chuckled, pouting his lips in a manner of mocked sympathy, ‘A princess like you takes what she wants, don't you? We're similar in that way, I feel like— Where did you find her, Henderson, the officer's quarters, was it?' Perhaps the rest of his crew had been too slow to catch onto their captain's thoughts, but you could tell by the glint in his eye that he knew exactly who you were.

'If you know who I am,' you tried your luck, pushing your voice out as steady and loud as possible to convict some confidence, 'then you must release me at once!' you tried to fight the situation. Still, there was very little you could do to gain a reaction out of this crowd that had not originated in humour. Some men asked around, still trying to catch up on what was happening.

‘Now, why would I do that?’ The captain spoke directly to you, leaning in closer. So close you could smell the rum wafting off him. But he quickly leaned back to address his crew once more, answering all the inquiries in the crowd. 'This here, gents, is no one less than the Governor's daughter!'

It may have been silly of you to think that if they knew your status and position, they would find some newly gained respect for you. You would even find some small ounce of respect toward them as long as they would release you back to safety. But where would that even be… with your trusty ship now slowly greeting the bottom of the sea.

On the contrary, they had lost any image of you. From that moment on, you had become their most-priced possession. No plea would do good for it. It did not matter that mere minutes ago, you had seen them all make their way back, faces happy and arms full of treasures belonging to your family. What good were these riches when the real treasure stood tall in their centre? You were the one thing that would bring in the motherload they had been searching for for so long.

The captain looked back at you. 'Do not worry; we shall release you straight back into your father's arms– for a reasonable price, that is,' he looked around at his men, who all once again erupted in a jolly sea of laughter, matching his much softer depiction of humour. 'But for now….' He dramatically removed his hat as his unbrushed locks grazed the floor at his bow. When he rose back up, his grin had spread to the widest corners of his mouth, and his dark eyes were filled with menacing mischief, freezing your core at the thought of what he could possibly be holding back in his mind. 'Welcome aboard the Hellfire.'

The Hellfire. A crew that rampaged and torched anything that came in their way. Ships, harbours, cities, entire islands even… nothing stood a chance against the devils of the ocean… Devils, that’s what they were. Some truly believed they had all been cursed by something dark. Their lives had been given up to work for Satan as his harbingers of death and chaos.

But you would only see a little of the ship or experience much more time with these men, as, not long after your introduction, you were dragged down below deck and locked behind the thick steel bars. The captain kept his eyes locked on you until you disappeared into the trapdoor. His smile never faded. And so, it was a dreadful sight to see that days– perhaps even months– later, the smile still persisted.

How long precisely this nightmare had lasted, you were unsure. Or maybe you knew exactly. Would it have been better to lose count of the days and nights you had spent in this hell and think you might have lost your mind? Or to remember everything exactly how it had been, knowing what was and what would follow? For now, you were somewhere in between and unsure of what direction to go. A grey limbo where your body and mind were fighting themselves. Whether to give up or keep on battling your enemies. To forget would be to ease the pain, but it would also feel like losing the battle. Something you were not ready to do just yet. Though the memories still haunted your dreams. Was any of it worth it? That was the question that kept you up.

And it was answered, more or less, when the trapdoor opened. Just as you were about to take your last bite of the apple.

‘Will it be the rope then?’ you shouted as the footsteps came down to your level. Suddenly the apple felt much juicier, sweeter, and better than anything you had tasted in weeks. The odds would be in your favour, and you would get your way… even if it meant a measly ten minutes out in the cold sea air.

‘Be my guest, princess.’ The voice immediately made your stomach drop. The sweet taste of the fruit turned bitter, the bread even drier. You looked up in horror as Captain Munson appeared out of the shadows. He leaned against the thick bars that imprisoned you. Then, when no response came from you after a long moment, he asked, ‘what? Not so brave anymore, are we?’ The chuckle that followed was deep but genuine. He was enjoying everything about your fear and you; you could not let that stand.

With shaky legs, you got up and took the two steps to your barricade. Facing the captain should have been terrifying, but you were using your stubbornness to push any fears aside for the time being. As confidently as possible, you clenched your fists around two of the bars, gritted your teeth, and demanded: ‘Let me out.’

‘Have your parents never taught you manners, my darling?’ He did not seem to be phased by your attitude.

‘You dare speak of manners to me?’ You could not keep yourself composed. Heat was rising to your cheeks with anger. ‘You? The man that has kept me locked in a cage for days?’ Who knew where this confidence came from in front of the notorious pirate captain? If anyone had seen you act out like this as opposed to such a dangerous criminal as he was, they would assume you had a death wish, yet this was your attempt at survival.

He reached his hand out to brush it over your cheek, and unable to react quickly; you let him. It was as if his touch had a numbing power over you, freezing you in place. His skin was hot, assumably from staying out on the deck during the day, steering the ship whichever way you were going. But then his rings, a sobering cold. His voice was as smooth as the rum he burned it with. ‘Do you blame me for wanting to keep my treasure save?’

‘You are despicable.’ You hissed out, and suddenly his gentle touch roughened up. His fingers wound their way through your hair, and with a firm tug, he pulled you forward, nearly smashing your face against the bars. His voice was distorted with a growl as he warned you.

‘You don’t even know the half of it, darling,’ you were so close to each other, only separated by the metal rods, you could feel his breath on you. There was that distinct smell of rum followed by… cinnamon. There was no way you could focus on that, however. Not when he pulled at your hair harder. ´If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have that pretty dress, no more. Let alone even have food to disgust over. Besides–’ He let go of your hair, pushing you back and you let go of the breath you had been holding in. ‘This attitude really does not suit you.’

As you let your lungs fill with a fresh breath, you watched the captain inhale slowly. He was composing himself. And when he looked back up at you, from a first glance, it looked as if he had pushed aside the part of him that had just grabbed you. All except for his eyes. They were still dark and filled with the devil’s fury.

‘So,’ he spoke calmly, ‘is there a reason why you threatened your life to my incompetent men for the– what is it– fifth time?’ You had a request, did you?’ Was he really giving you a chance? Trying to mimic his calm stature, you repeated your demand.

‘Let me out.’

To this, he raised an eyebrow. Did you not learn anything from the interactions that just occurred between you? Why, yes, you did, so you added one last determined word: ‘Now.’

Against all expectations, he laughed and reached for a set of keys that hung on the wall next to your jail. It must have been a well-thought-out joke because it had always been just out of your arm’s reach, no matter how you angled or stretched yourself out. Because you naturally had tried to reach for it across your first nights of capture when most of the crew was asleep– you didn’t want to be caught trying to escape.

The captain took the key, it rattled on its large ring, and turned it in the lock. With a rusty croak, the barred door opened. He extended his arm invitingly, but you stood frozen in place. What was happening?

‘Isn’t this what you wanted?’ He looked up at you, one arm hooked between the bar, the other nudging you to move with a wave. ‘Well, go on then. Be free.’ He knew exactly what he was doing, and you realised it at the sound of his last word.

Despite your cage finally being open, unlike a bird, you could not fly away and truly escape this ghost of a ship. You had nowhere to go. For days, you had thought it would be alright if only you could get out of this jail. Reality hit much harder. It was much worse. Out in the middle of the vast sea, there was nowhere for you to go. The ship was your true prison.

You remained in your spot, frozen. Finally, the captain nodded satisfactorily and removed the key from the lock but kept the door open.

‘I’ll be on my way now if you do not mind, darling’ He chuckled again. It had quickly become one of your most hated sounds in the world, ‘but do join us on deck if you ever feel like putting on another performance such as this. I would suggest something of the likes of Shakespeare, though– much less hysterics.’

You wanted to scream at him, run up to him and hit him with every ounce of power in your body, but you couldn’t. He could easily overpower you, and God only knew what would happen. Keeping a distance was better. It was safe.

From that point on, the jail door stayed open. With it, another realisation came to light.

That steel barred door, now swinging and creaky as the ship crossed the waters, had been the one thing that kept you safe. It had been a barrier between you and the wild men of the ship.

Now, for whatever reason, they kept to themselves. Depending on who had drawn the short stick to bring you a meal, you only came into contact with one or two crewmates a day. There was no eye contact and no more conversation attempts. You had become like an animal they just tried to keep alive until you reached your destination or until boredom hit… and you weren’t sure if it was for the better or worse.

Chapter 2

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1-have-no-idea · 1 month ago

Text

But hate is so close to love

(Image not mine :))

authors note: this is the fic I’ve been talking about! Finally something long! Let me know what y’all think, this is my first time ever writing something really ‘long’, apologies for the wonky spacing, kinda rushed-

Character(s): Maul, fem! reader

Genre: angst, romantic, comfort

Overview: you, being a civilian that Maul originally took with him to be an ‘example’, aka, killing you, but at the last second, takes interest in you because he can use you. You made a wonderful slave. But slave’s aren’t supposed to forgive their captor, much less love them. Sith couldn’t love. Maul couldn’t love. He couldn’t care less about you. So why did it scare him so much that one day, you’d realize how bad he was for you and leave him?

Warning(s): death, mentions of torture, starvation, dehydration, cruelty, fear, bleeding heart reader, slavery, slight age-gap (reader is implied to be somewhere in her early twenties, Maul is around mid-thirties), corruption, Stockholm syndrome (?), violence, panic attacks, abandonment, manipulation (?), degradation

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The dust under you was smearing your pants a rust-brown. You felt a bead of sweat on your temple slowly run down your face, the faint heat of a lightsaber near your face. It burnt your skin, felt as if you were on the planet of Tatooine in the middle of the day. An understatement of a testament of how scorching it really was if it made contact with your flesh. You kept your eyes trained on the saber, the one casting a red glow upon your face. The one wielding the lightsaber was none other than one of the most infamous Nightbrother’s, Darth Maul himself. His face held no emotion other than dispassion as he held the lightsaber close to your face, fiery yellow eyes boring into your own.

Oh, you knew this was a bad idea! You should’ve never hijacked that ship, should’ve stayed at home and not have letten your curiosity take over you! ‘Curiosity killed the loth cat’ wasn’t just a saying, you realized. You just wanted to get off your own planet and explore a new one, that was all! But of course you just happened to crash into one of the most godforsaken ones, Dathomir. Everyone warned you of the planet. Apparently, the dark side of the force resided there strongly, and the residents who lived there were… not exactly the most welcoming. And guess what? Young and dumb you left your own planet out of curiosity, and now young and dumb you were going to be beheaded while down on your knees from a powerful Sith everyone feared. You didn’t know whether to start sobbing and begging for your life, or maybe in the heat of the moment, you could roll away and make a run for it.

…No, you knew that both of those would be futile. Maul could sense your fear, your anxiety. Could see it in those doe eyes peering up at him nervously. He almost pitied how pathetic you looked, but honestly, he couldn’t care less. It irritated him how weak and soft you looked. Didn’t you know Dathomir was filled with ruthless savages who wouldn’t think twice about taking advantage of a dumb thing like you? Obviously not. You seemed a bit airheaded to him.

“You’re a daft one, aren’t you?” The tattooed Dathomirian crooned down at you, cocking his head to the side slightly. Excuse him? He then sighed, raising his lightsaber, holding it taut and ready to strike at you without any mercy. Immediately, a choked gasp left you, and your eyes widened in horror, before, without thinking, you flung yourself onto the dust-covered ground before him. Bowing now. Like you were kneeling at an altar, your hands moving into a pleading position. How pathetic.

“Wait, w-wait-!” You stammered, lifting your eyes to look up at him from your place on the ground. “Please don’t kill me, I’ll do anything!” Wow, didn’t that come out desperate? This was cliche. “I- I know that sounds super desperate and cliche, but honestly, I don’t really care–” bold for someone who was face to face with a Sith. “You can just take me in, and I’ll- I dunno- I can, uhm, I can-” a click of his tongue was your breaking point, and just before he could bring down his weapon and plunge it into you, you flinched and shut your eyes tightly in fear. “I’ll be your slave-!” You cried out desperately, bracing yourself for the hot pain to tear through your flesh, but it never came. Your heart was banging against your ribcage, and cold sweat dripped down your body, eyes clenched so tightly you started to feel a tad lightheaded. Then, a marred hand came down and rooted itself in your hair, before tugging you up so you were back sitting up straight. A small yelp left you at the action.

“...Look at me, girl. Open your eyes.” Maul demanded, and you complied, opening your eyes to stare at him warily. The Sith regarded you intensely, sizing you up, a hint of interest present on his stone cold face. “My slave? For your life, in return, you’d agree to be my slave? A slave to a Sith?” He sneered, tone almost sardonic. Like he found the idea funny. In all honesty, being a slave to a Sith was worse than death. Regardless, however, you bobbed your head up and down, swallowing down your fear and nervousness. “Yes sir,” you agreed in a shaky murmur. He looked you up and down once more, before a twisted grin of cruelness split on his lips. “I believe that can be arranged.” He droned, before tugging you up on your feet by your hair.

The good thing was that you escaped partially unscathed with your life. The bad thing? Your life was in the hands of Darth Maul himself, and he didn’t come with the title ‘gentle.’ And you were a fragile little thing.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Your hands were worked raw at this point. Your body aches everywhere, and you haven't slept a wink ever since Maul took you in. He was high maintenance. Your tasks were to fix his ship whenever he spotted something wrong with it, to clean every nook and cranny inside of it too, he wanted you to take apart his lightsaber, clean it, and then piece it back together. With no safety gear, mind you. The tasks were dangerous as they were tedious and difficult. But you knew better than to complain. You wouldn’t. If this was your life from now on, then so be it.

He didn’t really talk to you. Not unless it was about your chores. “Have you finished the floors, pet?” He’d ask, giving you a condescending smile. And you’d nod, and straighten your back, and it’d give a small pop. “Good. Now, do the windows, I need you to make the beds and sweep, and do not forget to make the bunks and clean all the rooms.” He’d remind you, despite it being the unholy hours of the morning and you’ve been awake the entire day and night before.

Weeks passed, and weeks turned into months with him. You had gotten used to barely getting any sleep, you were used to not eating that much, not needing him to tell you what he wanted and when he wanted it. You had completely memorized everything.

As of late, however, your tasks have become well… more, domestic. Maul had entrusted you with cooking his meals, with his eyes on you of course, just so you didn’t try to sneak anything in it, you started to wash his robes, he liked when you filed his nails and his horns from time to time. It confused you, why your tasks were getting easier and less harsh each day. It was as if he was… giving you a break, for your weary body. But then he started to feed you, too. Allowed you to eat and sleep, to regain your nutrition. A part of you thought that maybe it was a trick, to give you a false sense of security. But another part, a more trusting and altruistic part, believed that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t all that of a sadistic Sith that most people believed him to be. You knew that was just your heart talking, not your mind. He didn’t care. Not one bit.

And that’s when you started to realize. This Sith, this Nightbrother, Darth Maul, was starting to lower his guard around you. It made sense, really. You weren’t a Separatist or one of the Republic. Just a citizen. A mere stranger on the side-lines. You posed no threat. That’s why you were here currently, his hand in yours as you delicately held his fingers while filing down his nails. Sharp, how he liked them, but short. He insisted that when he grew his nails out, although it was beneficial, he didn’t like the grime that collected underneath. He sat on his throne, legs spread, one bent at the knee with his foot on the seat, and the other down on the floor. His eyes were downcast, flickering across the words in his book. You were sat next to the arm of his chair, only sometimes glancing up to look up at him or peeking at his book. His expression was soft, softer than it ever really was. He always had that look while reading. Where the scrunch of his nose smoothed out, the way the corners of his lips that were usually naturally tugged down evened out into a soft line, and his eyes were less clouded over.

“It’s rude to stare, pet.” Oh. Immediately, you snapped out of your daze, clearing your throat. “Sorry.” You mumbled, eyes falling back down to his nails. He didn’t look up at you when he said that, still reading, but once you looked back down, his eyes slowly fixed on you. A soft huff left from his nostrils, and he looked to where your small hands were on his. Your soft palm against his rough one, the way you held his fingers so gently. It made him sick. Like he wanted to curl away from you. But it also made him want to relax. He then resumed to look back at his book, but not before posing a question. “...would you like to know what I am reading, girl?” He asked softly. He always was soft-spoken towards you. At least, nowadays. Scaring you and putting fear in you became less entertaining for him. You hummed and stared up at him quizzically, before nodding shyly. As if you were flustered at his offer. Another huff. “I am reading poetry. I find it most interesting… I enjoy how it is like a puzzle. Something to figure out. Yet, the feeling is expressed so vividly and clearly. It is just so easily looked over sometimes.” He explained in a quiet voice. You were surprised at how open and attentive he was to the book, and how pleased he seemed to be to share it with you.

The life of a Sith was as dangerous as it was evil. The one thing that people never mentioned about taking that path, however, was how lonely it was.

“You like poetry, Maul?” You questioned, tilting your head a little while he blew on his fingers to rid of the dust that was his keratin. He gave a small hum of agreement. “I do. Very much so.” He affirmed. And then you gave him a faint smile, a quirk of your lips, and in return, his expression turned a little wary. “Me too,” you admitted. That made Maul relax once more. It was silent for a moment, before he spoke up. “If you would like, I could read out loud to you.” He offered. That made you pause, a look of surprise growing on your face, before you nodded, giving him another smile.

“Yes, please.”

When he opened his mouth and started reading out loud, you tried to focus on his words, you really did, but you couldn’t help but be distracted, watching how his lips moved to form his words, how his voice was so smooth. He was softer. He was less violent towards you. He was reading to you. The way your heartbeat quickened is where you started to slowly become more aware of your thoughts. And also became aware of what was happening.

No. No, that couldn’t be, he was your captor! You should hate him! …So why did you feel so safe with him? Why did he make you smile? Why did he make you care? You shouldn’t care for him, not when he almost took your life. But he didn’t, your heart cried out. He’s lonely, your heart defended. There’s a reason for that, your mind retorted. He’s a Sith. Sith can’t love. He can’t love. So your heart and your mind were at war with each other, and you yourself were gazing at Maul in uncertainty. In the end, your heart won. He can be good. I know he can.

You couldn’t fix him, no. But you could at least try to be there for him.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Today, Maul came back to the temple tense. There were multiple lines on his forehead from frowning, his breathing was coming out in harsh huffs, and his lips were twisted into a nasty frown. He was muttering under his breath, words quick and indecipherable. He was rambling incoherently under his breath, before collapsing on his throne, one hand moved to his head, fingers moving to grip ahold of one of his horns, while the other slid down to cup at his jaw, before holding the side of his neck. He was hunched over, slightly rocking back and forth in his chair.

You exited your chambers to greet him when you heard him come back, but seeing him break down like this made your heart fall to your stomach. “Maul-?” You called out in concern, padding to his side quickly, brows furrowed in concern and eyes showing nothing but care and worry. “What’s wrong-?” You tried asking, but he just continued to whisper under his breath. He looked like he couldn’t even see you. Slowly, in confusion, you sank down into a crouch. “...Maul?”

When he didn’t answer, you carefully reached out a hand to him. Your finger brushed against his wrist. Brushing against his wrist gently, a feather-light touch. Barely, but that’s all he needed. Like a spider when it feels that single movement in its web, he lunged forwards to you, shoving you off balance.

You yelped in shock, being shoved off balance and almost tumbling backwards, before feeling your throat tighten. Your air was being cut off, and there seemed to be some invisible pressure around your neck that lifted you off your feet to where you hovered above the ground. You let out a strangled cry of his name, hands moving to claw at your throat despite nothing being there. He walked toward you, and each step he took, you were pushed backwards by the force, his lips twisted into a snarl, teeth bared and right hand extended with his palm facing towards you. He growled at you, a guttural sound, and it sounded so pained. He looked at you as if he didn’t know you. Your lips trembled, and you felt yourself getting lightheaded. “Maul—” you gasped out.

“You’re– ack– you’re hurting me—”

And just like that, all that fear and hate and anger left his eyes, leaving a confused awareness. His arm dropped, and he took a shuddering breath as he fell to the floor, choking and gasping for air, gulping it down greedily. Your hand moved to gently prod at your throat that felt bruised now, eyes moving to look up at him in a fearful and confused question. A hint of regret and shame flickered in yellow orbs, but as quickly as it was put there, it left. A frustrated shout left him, and he whipped away from you, fleeing the temple quickly, leaving you alone on the floor confused and hurt.

Questions flooded your mind. The most prominent one being why? Why would he do that? Why’d that happen? Why’d he leave? Or, what, happened?

Maul himself had to leave the temple. Move outside and just take a walk, kicking up the sand beneath his boots. That simple brush of your fingertips to his wrist made him want to hide. And when he didn’t want to hide, he wanted to bite. Words could not explain how when you made contact with his skin, it burned. Made him recoil away from you, but Sith do not recoil and curl away, no, they fight. So that’s exactly what he did.

It was encouraged, you should’ve known your place and never decided to get close to him in the first place, it was your fault. You were nothing but his slave, that was it. …So why did he feel bad? Why did he have that sudden sting in not one, but all three of his hearts? He was growing too soft. That was the problem. He was actually starting to relax around you.

Maul gritted his teeth in anger, head shaking in disbelief. This was all a part of your plan, wasn’t it? You were tricking him– yes, that was it! You were trying to trick him to lower his guard around you, so you could take advantage of him! That was the only reason. That made the Zabrak let out a deep sigh of relief. Yes, that was it. You were a small, dumb thing, but Maul had to applaud you for being so bold and more cunning than he gave you credit for.

…Yet, at the same time, he had entrusted you with cooking for him, even going as far to not watch you. If you had planned to escape him, wouldn’t you have tried to poison him the moment he took his gaze off you? Maybe kill him in his sleep? You could’ve impaled him whenever you desired while filing his horns, but you never did. You weren’t malicious, not one bit. Not even violent. Maul almost thought that maybe you were incapable of feeling such things as hatred or anger. You couldn’t harm a fly. Literally. He’s witnessed it. Despite flinching and almost running away when you first saw it, it didn’t stop you from running around in the temple trying to catch it inside your cupped hands before releasing it outside. The entire time, he had watched with a slightly baffled expression, eyes wide and brow ridges furrowed, once quirked up with parted lips.

He spared you from the fact that the minute you released the small insect outside and walked away from the window it got eaten by a small reptile. He’d hate for you to be whining about it, he could imagine how much of a nuisance that’d be.

Or maybe he was sparing himself the fact that he didn’t tell you because he didn’t want you to be upset about it.

That made Maul freeze where he was sitting atop of a small boulder, eyes widening. He couldn’t deny that he enjoyed having your presence around. He enjoyed you. He liked how you would let him read to you, how you would cater to him so gently, how you were softening around him. You were making him feel something.

You made him feel less of a burden on his shoulders. Released some of that darkness inside of him. You made him feel warm, soft. And Maul, oh, he hated that. He hated the way you made him feel. Maybe it was just temporary, though. It would pass, surely.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

When Maul got home that night, he was quiet. He ignored you for the first couple of hours, not sure how to interact with you after his actions. You would glance at him in concern, not fear. You were worried, he could see that. He hated how you didn’t look at him in fear like how you should, he just strangled you! It annoyed him, made him feel that same weird pang in his chest, but he didn’t say anything. Neither did you, not wanting to set him off again. That silence lasted until when you were about to retire into your chambers. Before you could, though, Maul called after you.

“Pet.”

Your head perked up and you looked over to him, a small nervous look on your face which made him want to grimace. He pointed to the space in front of him, looking at you expectantly. “Come here.” He demanded. Tentatively, you approached him, until you stood in front of him while he sat. The Nightbrother made a soft grunt, before beckoning you even more down. “Kneel. I do not bite.” He said in a tone of annoyance. Liar.

However, you cooperated, moving down on one knee so you were looking up at him, his knees on either side of your face. With a curled finger, he made you sit up slightly, before leaning down so he was face to face with you. His eyes flickered down to your throat, seeing the slight bruising there and redness of where all the pressure had been. Then, silently, he reached inside of his robes and pulled out a thick plant, (that he collected on his way back to the temple), breaking it in half while keeping his eyes on your neck. A slimy string connected the two broken halves, but Maul made no movement to swipe it up. Instead, with the tip of his finger, his claw poking into the supple and sensitive flesh of your throat, he tilted your face up so your throat was bared to him. He peeled the plant of its skin, only the clear and slimy flesh left, before scraping the gooey slick off it, and picking it up. It dripped from his hands, and he placed the cool slimy gel on the bruises. It was wet, and kissed your skin, dribbling down and sending a shudder down your spine from the coolness. Once he was done applying it, he looked at his now slimy and sticky hands distastefully, and wiped them on his pants legs. But then he pulled his lightsaber out, igniting it. Immediately, you flinched backwards, brows knitting together, but Maul stopped with you by placing a firm hand on your shoulder.

“Calm yourself, star,” oh, that was a new one. You couldn’t help the way it made your heart flutter. You wondered why he decided to call you that. “I have no intention of killing you. I would’ve done so already if I did.” He reassured, if you can even call it that, just letting the lightsaber hover near your skin so the heat of the saber could warm the area. “Oh.” You relaxed, breath evening out. “Heat helps get rid of bruises.” He explained, and you nodded. He was taking care of you, you realized. It was a silent apology. A way to make up for it.

Was it bad that it made you love him even more?

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The next couple of weeks passed by quickly. You were growing bolder each day. Maul soon came to the realization that if he got you talking, you’d never shut up. You were treating him like a friend. And with the title of friend, comes the affection. In the beginning, you’d be scared about it. Maybe an accidental brush against him, and he would immediately whip towards you, teeth bared and snarling at you. A silent but expressive and aggressive don’t touch me.

You didn’t listen, though. Not to purposefully try him, no, sometimes it really was an accident, and others you just weren’t really thinking about it. Soon, snarls and growls turned into flinches and grimaces, until it turned into tensing, and now, he would just let it happen. He wouldn’t shove you away. He would just glance at where you were touching, and move on with whatever he was doing. That made you happy. He was comfortable around you. And that made you happy. You know what else it made you? Made you feel closer to him even more.

There was no use in hiding how your relationship with the Sith was definitely not fearful like how it was in the beginning, and your feelings definitely weren’t what a ‘slave’ should be feeling. Of course, you were ashamed of it at first, but after realizing he really wasn’t a bad person, and just did many bad things, it made you accept it. He was hurt, and he was angry and hateful. And he was lonely.

In return, it was no secret how Maul was softening up to you too. Allowing your touches, listening to you talk, he even smiled at you. Multiple times. Not those mean ones either, a genuine smile. Not to mention the couple of more sweet terms of endearment that escaped his lips whenever he really was relaxed and not thinking.

You supposed that’s what led you here, now. It was dark outside, all the close by planets and stars visible from where you and Maul sat. He had found you stargazing, and decided to join you. He didn’t quite understand why you were so enthralled by them when it’s something you see everyday, but you were like that. You just loved life. He almost envied you, because he didn’t understand it.

“I don’t understand why you look up there like it isn’t something you see everyday.” He commented suddenly, making you let out a soft chuckle.

“They’re pretty. I just can’t get enough of it.” You responded with a shrug, and that made an amused hum leave him. “You never fail to confuse me.” He muttered under your breath, and you turned to smile at him. “But ain’t that the nice part? Means you’ll always be surprised by me, and it’s like a big puzzle. You like puzzles, Maul.” He sighed deeply, and shook his head. “I resent you, sometimes.” He said, but it was a lie. He didn’t mean that.

But it made your smile soften, and your heart tighten.

“I love you.”

And those words escaped you before you could stop them. Maul froze, and so did you. You were about to stammer out an excuse, but it was far too late. Maul didn’t look at you, and you couldn’t tell whether he was angry or shocked.

“...You what?” He whispered. You could lie, but there was no point in that. He’s already heard you, and there was no going back now. Swallowing, and clenching your hands, you took a deep breath, before repeating yourself. “I… I love you.” You said in a hushed tone. And he tensed, claws digging into his pants legs. “No, you don’t.” A whisper.

“What-? Yes, I do—”

“No, you don’t.” More firmer this time. Okay, now you weren’t scared, you were just concerned. Why was he denying this? “Maul, I do–”

“No, you don’t!” He finally shouted, standing up and seething at you, shaking his head. “You don’t love me! You don’t, you don’t, you don’t!” He screamed at you in fury, trembling. You looked at him with hurt and disbelief, getting up with him, but as you did, he started to pace away from you back to the temple. “Maul, no! Why-? What do you mean-?” You questioned, not understanding why he was so upset with you as you ran after him. But then, a guttural growl which borderlined a gritted noise of pain escaped his throat, and he turned around and shoved you to the floor, chest heaving. “Do not speak.” He spat out venomously. “I’ve heard enough.”

And that was the last thing he said to you before disappearing from the temple, slamming the doors shut as he left you. You laid there on the floor, bewildered, before standing up on shaky legs and stumbling to open them. “Maul-?” You called out, eyes flickering around to find any sign of where he went, but you found none. “Maul! I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you!” You cried out, hoping that maybe he’d come back if he heard you. “Please come back!” And yet he never did. The only response you got was some chitters of the nightlife and a small breeze that made you feel even colder.

The next few days, you were left at the temple alone. You’d frequently look back towards the doors whenever you heard the slightest noise from outside, hoping that maybe it was Maul returning just like how he always does, but it was always just the wind or a little critter. You’d wake up early in the mornings to go and check his quarters only to find yourself being disappointed that he didn’t decide to come back the night before, and during the evenings, you’d still cook food for two despite it just being you, and unsure of what to do with the leftovers afterwards, and at night? That was the worst. You would move to sit outside of the temple, on its stairs, waiting for him to come home, or at least, what felt like home. Not anymore. Not without him in it.

This cycle repeated itself over and over again, every day, with no trace of him. At this point, you were starting to actually believe he had… abandoned you. All because you said, ‘I love you?’ You guessed so.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Finally, after days of desertion, he returned. You were overjoyed, bounding up to him and going in for a hug, which he begrudgingly accepted but stayed silent nonetheless. You cooked for the both of you and tended to him eagerly, but the both of you never dared mention your little confession. Thankfully, at least he still accepted your affection. So it wasn’t like you guys had to start back at base one. In brutal honesty, ever since that happened, you felt as if you had to start walking on eggshells whenever around him. Anything could set him off, and you didn’t want that. Not after what you had seen, what he did. You didn’t want that.

Though, you did recognize that ever since he came back, he was more… tender, if you could put it that way. He read to you more often, and invited you to sit with him whenever he sat somewhere. So it wasn’t all that bad. And you started to get more comfortable with him again, and vice versa.

And soon that led to the both of you sleeping in the same bed.

In all honesty, you didn’t know what you guys were. Definitely not just acquaintances, and you definitely weren’t just a slave to him, you were something more, but what? It was quite obvious you were harboring a huge affection for him, with him harboring an affection towards you, but he never brought it up. So neither did you. But, you’d suppose you’d go under the title of lovers, finally. Or, well, partial lovers. He’d still have his moments, and push you away, and sure, it hurt, but you knew not to take it to heart. He was still getting used to it. So, it wasn’t that much of a surprise when he suddenly was faced away from you, the breakfast that you made him, that he asked for shoved away from him, a cold look of disdain on his face.

Oh. Okay.

“Are you not… hungry, anymore?” You asked quietly. The Sith shook his head, lips twisting as he took a deep breath in. “I don’t want it.” He stated. Your fingers curled into your palms nervously and you nodded. “Do you want me to save it just in case you do feel hungry later—?” “Get rid of it. I don’t want it.” He repeated, more firmly this time, hardening his stare to you. Immediately, you grabbed his plate, a small noise of agreement leaving you as you sighed softly. Once you left the room, Maul settled back in the bed, trying to relax, but seeing that disappointed and tired look on your face hurt him. He knew it was hard for you. He knew you didn’t deserve this. Not in the slightest.

Truth be told, Maul knew exactly how he was affecting you. During the night, when you thought you were being quiet and careful of not waking him, he could hear the small sniffles escaping you and the shaking of your shoulders. He saw how your face would fall when you noticed how he was switching up again. He could feel your hurt. And he’s never hated himself more.

Curling in on himself, Maul buried his face into his hands. You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve him. He didn’t deserve you. His hearts tightened, and his hands gripped his sides tightly, claws most likely digging into his tattooed flesh. He didn’t deserve you.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“Oh, no, hey, hey, hey, Maul…” You called out his name softly, gently pulling him to you and cradling him to your chest as sobs wracked his body. Ugly sobs. He clung to you tightly as he cried. He was definitely having one of his moments. “It’s okay, s’okay, I’m here, s’okay…” you comforted, rocking him soothingly. He seemed like nothing more than a child who was lost and had no idea what he was doing while in his arms.

“It’s not okay, it’s not okay, not okay, never okay–” he uttered under his breath over and over again, voice thick with tears and trembling. You cooed to him and held him even closer to you. “It is,” you assured. “We’re okay.” And not knowing what else to say, you said the same words he never echoed back, the ones that made him shove you away and shut down.

“I love you.”

He froze in your arms, sobs dying down, but he didn’t shove you away or shut down like usual. “...It’ll pass.” He responded quietly. Your heart broke for the broken Sith, and you shook your head. “No, it won’t. I love you, Maul. I do.”

“You don’t. You shouldn’t.”

“But I do.”

“Why?” He finally asked, pulling away from you with puffy and teary eyes, nose scrunched up and lips twisted into a frown. “Why do you love someone like me? I tortured you. I almost killed you. I’ve abandoned you. You shouldn’t love me.” He explained, tone slowly evening out.

“I’ve forgiven that. I’ve forgiven all of that-” you responded, but he cut you off, voice almost flat.

“I hate you.”

…What?

Your eyes widened, and your heart dropped to your stomach. Surely not, right? He didn’t mean that. Maybe he– maybe you misheard him?

“I hate you.” He repeated, voice hollow. “I hate how caring you are. I hate how you treat me so gently. I hate how you act. I hate that you love me. I hate that I care for you. I hate that you make me feel so bad. I hate you.”

Oh, but hate is so close to love.

“You should just leave.” He stated, not even batting an eye at his own words. You forced back the tears that threatened to prick at your eyes and shook your head. “You— you don’t mean that. You’re just saying that-” you basically tried to convince yourself, eyes tracing his face for any lie or deceit to tell you that he didn’t mean it. You couldn’t find anything. His face was blank. Like he was on autopilot or something.

And he was. Right now, it was his insecurity talking. In reality, what he wanted to say was I’m sorry you have to deal with me. What he meant when he said he hated you was that he loved you. He was angry with you because you weren’t angry with him. He wanted you to hurt him, yell at him, get mad, because that’s how he felt for himself. He just didn’t understand why you didn’t feel the same way. You were the victim after all. He didn’t want to taint you any more than he already has. You were a young thing, a sweet thing. And Maul was an old, rugged, and cruel and unfeeling, broken bastard. He couldn’t burden you with that.

“Just leave!” He finally shouted. “I don’t want you here! It was better when you were gone– I was better off without you!” He screamed at you, trying to push you away, because he loved you. It was for your own good.

Slowly, you let go of him, hurt written all over your face. You looked as if you didn’t know what to do, you didn’t. Because how are you supposed to respond to that when it was the man whom you loved yelling it at you? But he said it’d be better, right? That he rather that? So, swallowing dryly, you gave a tiny, imperceivable nod and slid away from him.

Oh.

Oh- you were actually leaving-?!

He’d pushed you too far this time, he was too mean, he said too much–

“W-wait, where are you going?” He asked, sitting up and looking at you with wide eyes. “Leaving.” You responded quietly, standing up from the bed, and he immediately grabbed for your wrist, pulling you back. “I didn’t mean it, I swear, I didn’t–” he started to ramble, and you tried tearing yourself from his grip.

“Let me go, Maul! You can’t just take that back, you’ve already said what you said, now let me go-!” He should, shouldn’t he? He didn’t deserve you, you didn’t deserve him, he was being selfish. But couldn’t he? Couldn’t he be selfish? Just this once? He’d already lost so much. He couldn’t lose you too. Not from over those stupid, ugly words that left his lips in a fit of insecurity.

Holding you to him, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, embracing you to him like he was losing you, because he was. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, darling, please-” he pleaded, feeling you writhing against him and hearing your protests. It absolutely broke his hearts. As if to make up for it and convey silent apologies, he started pressing soft and fluttering kisses to the skin of your shoulder and neck in whispered apologies, mumbling his regret and shame through each kiss.

“Maul, please.” You finally choked out, falling limp against him and just weakly pressing your palms to his chest. “You don’t love me, you don’t. Let me leave.” You begged, and he shook his head, nuzzling into you even more and taking a shuddering breath. “No, no, that’s not true, darling, I- I do– I just- you don’t deserve me, I don’t deserve you, and I was just hurting you and I–”

It was all coming out now. The guilt. The pain. The insecurity. The self-loathing. The love.

Your eyes slowly softened, and you relaxed against him, understanding now. “I love you.” He finally choked out, cupping your face in his hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it before, that I couldn’t, but know now, I love you. I’ve never hated you. I don’t. And by the Force, I don’t want you to leave. I don’t.”

And you cried. You cried in his arms, like the many times he cried in yours. And he pressed your foreheads together, cradling you like you were glass while pressing kisses to your face to prove to you he really was telling you the truth. Because nothing scared him more than the thought of losing you.

After all, hate is so close to love.

#star wars x reader #darth maul #darth maul x reader #x fem reader #nightbrothers #sith lord #Spotify

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sleepyfan-blog · 5 months ago

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Red Thirst in the Morning

Author’s Note: This is the next part of Hagiel’s Awful Mission. First. Previous.

Playlist for this fic series: Spotify Youtube

Tagged: @egrets-not-regrets @the-pure-angel @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @i-am-a-dragon34

Warnings: nonconsensual blood drinking, please ask me to tag if something bothers you

Summary: In the early morning, Hagiel gives into his cravings for blood and drinks from a dead body. Unfortunately, he’s spotted by one of the Ecclesiarchy’s elderly priests while feeding.

Hagiel had been unable to sleep very well, even though the long day and evening of working alongside the mortals to get the city into the appearance of fully functional had worn him out. He had eaten a full standard ration, as he was the only surviving member of his squad, and there was at least, plenty of Astartes-quality standard rations to consume. But he couldn't get the scent of fresh blood to leave his mind. He had managed to restrain himself from feasting on the freely bleeding and injured mortals like the savage monster that the Red Thirst would turn him into, but doing so had taken a distressing amount of will-power and concentration. So much that Hagiel had found himself waking up less than a handful of hours later, his stomach gurgling with hunger and the Red Thirst pulsing in his thoughts, guiding his black-clad body through the streets of the hive city, aware of where the day and night Arbites patrols and repair crews were stationed all over the city and careful to slip from shadow to shadow, avoiding them as he made his way over to where the dead were being processed.

The Lamenter took in a deep breath, the stench of death and the beginnings of decay, despite the fact that the remaining members of the Ecclesiarchy were working as fast as they could to give the dead their final rites and committing the bodies to either the flames of consumption or to be processed into Corpse Starch. He slipped into the mausoleum where the bodies had been piled together, taking in another deep breath as he hunted for the freshest corpses, his guilty conscious not quiet enough for the Son of Sanguinius to stop himself from kneeling down before a still-warm body of a mortal. He suppressed the groan of relief that threatened to claw its' way out of his chest as his fangs sunk into the dead mortal's neck, tasting the coppery tang of blood filling his mouth and quenching the desperate, ravening thirst deep within his body and soul.

The blood was thicker and cooler than he liked - but as the mortal he was drinking from was newly dead, that didn't surprise him much. Hagiel drunk from the body until it had no more left to give him. He whispered softly "My thanks for the meal." As he licked the two wounds he'd left on the body's skin closed with a swipe of his tongue. No need to terrify whoever was processing the body by finding unexpected, post-mortem wounds. It might start a panic or a rumor that there was Chaos shenanigans going on amongst the Ecclesiarchy and he really didn't need that kind of additional scrutiny nor barely contained panic. His stomach was pleasantly full of blood and Hagiel was about to clean his face and lips of the cooling blood on his lips when he heard a startled gasp.

His head snapped up and over to the sound, still crouched over the dead mortal, wearing only his black body suit (as it was much stealthier than the bulky armor he typically wore, and what civilian clothes he did have were also quite colorful as well) his red eyes glowing softly in the partial darkness of the mausoleum as he spotted an elderly priest staring down at him in abject fear and horror.

Fuck!

"Wait, I can explain-" Hagiel called out, trying to make his voice sound warm and inviting, even as blood dripped off his chin and onto his bodysuit.

"D-Deamon! I-I will not let you take me!" The elderly priest yelled hysterically before sprinting out of the mausoleum as fast as his mortal legs could carry him.

FUCK

This had the potential to get wildly out of hand. Hagiel wiped his face clean with his hands, licking the blood off of his fingers hurriedly. He briefly looked down at himself to make sure that he didn't have any accidental blood splatter anywhere before he went sprinting after the fleeing elderly mortal, internally swearing. He should have heard the elderly baseline coming. It had been his own avarice and ravening hunger that had narrowed his senses to focus on the dead mortal he had been consuming. He should have double checked that the area had been clear, rather than immediately zeroing in on his meal.

Hagiel ran after the mortal, searching for them. The priest looked to be an unaltered baseline mortal - and as they had also been older in years from their silvery, wispy hair and the amount of wrinkles and sun-damaged freckles on their face and hands, he hoped that they hadn't gotten far. He *really* needed to find that priest and explain himself before the other could accuse him of being a Heretic or worse.

Hagiel scoured the city from top to bottom, moving as quickly as he could, avoiding the rest of the mortals lest they ask him why he was running around in the Astartes equivalent of his underwear as he really had no good way of explaining himself. But as the minutes turned into hours and the morning passed, the Lamenter had to admit to himself that he... Couldn't find the mortal priest, no matter where it was that he looked. He could only hoped that the other would calm down and approach him privately to ask why he had done what he had done. Hagiel really didn't want things to potentially escalate.

With a defeated sigh, Hagiel returned to The Resolve and got into his power armor. He was half-way dressed when his vox started to buzz. He answered it in his helmet as he continued to get dressed, knowing that she wouldn't be able to see or hear him doing so. He had wasted a lot of time trying to track down the priest and knew that he needed to make a public appearance doing something actually useful in order to help keep the mortals morale from tanking. Again. "Yes, Lady Sablescar, is there something that you needed from me?"

"I am aware that you are quite busy, Lord Angel, but if you have time to speak with me in person today, I would be most grateful. A matter of some delicacy and needed discretion has come up and I feel that you need to be informed of the issue. Preferably sooner, rather than later, so that it can be resolved before the Ultramarines arrive." The noble mortal woman answered.

Oh fuck. What now? He really hoped that it wasn't another xenos attack looming at the edges of the solar system. He wasn't sure if the ragged remains of the planetary defense forces could take another invasion force. If it was a solo pirate ship, with him as a threat and bluff of more Astartes to potentially tangle with, they might be able to chase them off without much issue. "Alright, where would you like to meet up?" If he remembered correctly, oat least one of the repair crews were working on the civic buildings, which would make having a secretive meeting there unwise and difficult.

"I'll send my driver to go pick you up and bring you to my manse. I am working from home at the moment, as I had been when the issue came to my attention. Where should I send the vehicle?" Lady Sablescar inquired politely.

"Please meet me on the western side of the primary space port." Hagiel informed her. His ship was on the undamaged eastern side, but he should be able to get to the western side well before her space car driver could. "I am able to step away from what I am doing currently to speak with you about this emergent issue whenever you have time."

"Excellent. My driver will be meeting you on the western side of the spaceport in ten minutes. My thanks for your immediate response to my vox-call, Lord Angel." Lady Sablescar responded before ending the call.

Hagiel swore under his breath as he stepped into his boots and immediately began sprinting for the far side of the spaceport. He should be able to get there just before the noble woman's driver did, but only just. Today was just... Really not going the way he had hoped it would.

Hagiel skidded onto the current work site at top speed, slowing down to a purposeful walk as he came into view of the mortals busily working on repairing the space port, waving to the couple of mortals who were looking in his direction as he started to walk up to the leader of the construction crew. It had taken him less than five minutes to sprint across the damaged and destroyed buildings and terminal grounds. It was remarkable what several nights' of full rest, several full meals and a belly full of Thirst-quenching blood could do to sharpen the abilities of an Astartes. For the first time in weeks, possibly months, he was not slowed down nor distracted by the gnawing hunger that plagued all Sons of Sanguinius. He had slept enough that his mind and body were running at peak capacity instead of whatever dregs he could force himself to continue on.

He briefly spoke with the leader of the construction team, informing him that he would only be there for a short period of time, but was willing to work until one of Lady Sablsecar's personal serfs came to collect him to aid in reconstruction efforts elsewhere. His presence was gratefully and seemingly joyously welcomed by the baseline mortals on the team, and he set about aiding them with his enhanced strength and endurance.

While this sort of reconstruction and building wasn't something he necessarily enjoyed doing, there was an almost meditative rhythm to what the mortals were asking of him, and as he was no longer starving, the Lamenter was almost relaxed by the time that a well-dressed baseline stepped out of the floating space car and called out "Lord Angel, if you would accompany me? Lady Sablescar is expecting you."

Hagiel sighed and set down the large metal pipe he'd been carrying, nodding to several of the mortals around him "I will be back when I am able."

"See you later, Lord Angel! Your aid is always most welcome." The construction team leader called out, waving him off. "Better you deal with the nobles than any of us, Lord."

Hagiel chuckled a little at that, understanding the sentiment behind it. As a rank-and-file Battle Brother, he rarely had this much direct communication with the mortal nobility but... As he was the only living Astartes in this system, it fell to him to wrangle the nobles into doing what was necessary in order to get the hive city for inspection, ideally before the Ultramarines arrived... Though from what Hagiel had seen of the city during his frantic attempts at searching for the elderly priest, even if the mortals continued to work night and day at this pace, they would only just be able to fix up the upper levels in time. The deeper structural issues would take months if not years to fully repair.. But hopefully the Ultramarines would be uninterested in looking at the underhive section of the city. "I suppose that is true." He murmured before heading over to the driver, sitting in the back of the fancy space car. It was large enough on the inside to accommodate his bulk, but only just.

#warhammer 40k #my writing #oc: sablescar #oc: hagiel #lamenter #adeptus administorum oc #adeptus astartes #hagiel's no good very bad mission

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gunbun · 2 months ago

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FFXIVWrite2024 Consolation Prize: Stuffed Garlean

so in addition to pages and pages of handwritten notes that are full of decisions I am continuing to make, I also wrote lots of little sequences of Tiona and Urianger and Nero and whatever the fuck they're doing. Their spaceship brings them together as friends but I'm still working on figuring out how the sex part happens or what the vibe of it is.

Since it's the last day of September, here yas go.

Content Warning: porn, name-calling, power-play vibes, vaguely voyeuristic Urianger. You may see these scenes come about later in a bigger fic. it's not plagiarism if it's your own work.

PORN STARTS HERE. LAST CHANCE TO HIT THE CANCELLATION BUTTON.

“You're rather beautiful for a pair of–” His eyebrows furrow and he hesitates.

Tiona licks her lips. Urianger chuckles.

She smiles broadly, wickedly, parting her thighs to show Nero all that is between them, pulling at one of his lanky arms in an encouragement to touch. Meanwhile Urianger’s lifted the spectacles from the Garlean's face, and is now trailing hands and lips down that sleek hyur form.

“Say it,” Urianger breathes, his delicate astrologian's fingers now scant ilms from Nero's slowly hardening cock, “unless thou art a coward–”

“Savages,” Nero hisses, and when he says the word Urianger sets to stroking him as frantically and desperately as he would his own.

Tiona and Urianger chuckle deeply.

“You have no idea,” Tiona says, scooting closer to where Nero is panting and staring into Urianger’s eyes. No shame. No judgment, despite the slurs.

And then the man takes initiative. Nero falls backwards against the bed and pulls his project partner over to him such that she's straddling his face. Despite having been a civilian for as long as Tiona, he still had that soldier's strength to move a body around.

She squeaks. Nero and Urianger both smile.

“Oh, but I want to know, Eryut.” She rolls her eyes at his odd formality but Nero is unfazed. “Spend enough time with someone and you can't help but wonder what they do when you–”

His lips curl tenderly around the rava's prominent clitoris and she learns all in one moment that Nero Scaeva is skilled all around with his tongue.

////

“Show her to me, I prithee. I would fain see her face as she rideth thy proud, Garlean cock. Thy face, as well, once thou art within her brutally savage cunt.”

Urianger couldn't quite see Nero's face from where he was seated in his rocking chair, knitting projects tucked away in a satchel that hung from its corner. All he could see was the Garlean's shoes and trousers peeking out from underneath Tiona, who was solidly built and gloriously naked.

“And once thou hast satisfied her, i, too, shall have thee.”

He supposed there were stranger fantasies to have than to watch his wife pull Nero's prick out of his trousers and put the other man through his paces like a racing chocobo, but the idea of it thrilled him nonetheless and he could hear Tiona’s quiet, delighted chuckling at the whole situation.

Nero's hands were shaking slightly, but he managed to get them around the rava's thighs once she'd freed his impressively thick cock and turn her around so that they were both looking at Urianger, also naked, elegant fingers curled tightly about the arms of his chair.

The astrologian's proclivities were strange at times; he reveled in the uniqueness of their…situation. Nero was an abrasive, arrogant man – and his tendencies, it seemed, swung as wide as theirs. “Doth my words,” Urianger murmured, shifting slightly in his seat, spreading his thighs not at all demurely to make way for his own rapidly hardening cock, “rouse thee, Scaeva?”

“Your words. Both your words,” Nero whispered, “and your…everything.”

Tiona was hovering perilously close to Nero's cock, red eyes wide with anticipation and lust. Taking a deep breath, she paused, turned to the Garlean and asked, “Do you want us to keep going?”

He didn't say anything, just shifted himself slightly and pushed her down onto him. Nero had seen Tiona fight. He knew she was made of tough stuff and he knew she was brilliant. For whatever reason these things stood at odds in his mind against the warm, snug feeling of her cunt.

Surprised, she let out a gasp, and then chuckled. “Use your words next time, you little brat.”

Nero moaned. Everything about this felt… thrilling. Tiona bore all of her not-insubstantial weight upon him and all he could do was gape up at her and then glance helplessly at the naked elezen seated across from them.

“I do believe he findeth that moniker most appealing.” Urianger shifted in his chair again, leaning back to stroke himself, “but thou art correct, my bright star. We will strive to do whatever thou dost ask, dear bratty Nero, but thou must ask.”

“...fine.” Here Nero was, with Tiona angling her hips atop him to get him balls-deep and by the hells was Urianger a very fortunate man in that regard… He was ruminating. Shaking his head, he adjusted his grips on Tiona’s hips and leaned over to make eye contact with Urianger. “Esteemed Archon Augurelt, might I fuck your wife?” He offered his most brilliant and cocky smile while the words coming from his mouth threatened to be enough to finish him off.

They were right. He was lonely.

“Thou mayest.” Urianger’s eager grin was just as attractive as Tiona’s sly, flushed half-smiles and Nero had not forgotten the elezen’s promise to take him once his wife was through. Nobody left out. Nobody alone. “Thou shouldst dispense of thy clothing ere you two get to it, though. I shall not be denied the sight of our new paramour disrobed and yearning.”

////

“If he fucks you hard enough,” Tiona is underneath Nero, who is beet red and taking every ilm of Urianger’s magnificent cock from behind, “will you finally realize we want you here?”

Her husband is relentless; the Garlean is half-collapsed against Tiona’s fuzzy, warm body, nestled between her powerful thighs. Occasionally she tugs on Nero's hair to get him to look at her, and his blue eyes are glassy, distant.

“You're such a brat,” she whispers, “but you're our brat.”

“We desire only thee in this regard.” Somehow Urianger has found his voice, but his hands that are gripping Nero's ass cheeks are trembling slightly. The elezen’s holding on by a thread. “What else wouldst thou have of us?”

Nero clutches at Tiona, his eyes now screwed shut as he tries hiding his face in her breasts, but they can both hear him whispering “please” against the viera's fuzzy brown skin. He's so far gone that he can't even sass back.

“You can let go,” Tiona says, her fingers now gently combing through Nero's hair. “We have you.”

He wants to. He wishes he could doff his insecurities like a bathrobe and trust that they mean what they're saying, but he has to– it must be a perfect thing–

Nero shakes his head weakly, batting hands at Tiona’s thighs. “Need to make you cum, Eryut. I won't until you do.”

#oc: tiona eryut #ship: lepus #bonus content: nero scaeva

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shmothman · 1 year ago

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Sef’s Fic Masterlist | AO3 | Writing Tag

figured it was about time I made one of these! most links go to my AO3 page, but I’ve cross-posted some fics to tumblr over the years, and there are some drabbles I’ve posted to tumblr that I never posted to AO3. I'll try to keep this up to date! Thanks for reading!

Rating Guide: G (general audiences), T (teen and up), E (explicit, 18+ only)

Kaiju No. 8

something's gotta give (Soshiro/Reader) (E)

Stardew Valley

Let it Steep (Shane/Reader) (T)

A Date With Death

the very mortal concept of “self love” (Casper/Reader) (E)

Internet Safety (Casper/Reader) (T) (Drabble)

Defying Fate (Casper/Reader) (T)

Kekkai Sensen

Bacon & Eggs (Zapp/Reader) (T)

Mushishi

heart-tell (Ginko/Reader) (E)

Just a Little Rush (Ginko/Reader) (E)

One Punch Man

Connection (Genos/Reader) (E)

lovebug.exe (Genos/Reader) (E)

Happiness (Genos/Reader) (E)

Trigun

Vash/Reader Fics

Talk to Me (E)

Throwing Caution (G)

Triage (E)

Reputation (E)

Monsoon (E)

Vulnerology (T)

Bloom (E)

Wanna Be Yours (E)

Arms Tonight (G)

Dirty Little Secret (E)

Seven Minutes (E)

Nectar (E)

Throw Me a Bone (E)

you know, that one song by Jeremih? (birthday sex) (E)

Intense (E)

Stuck like Glue (E)

It’s the Thought that Counts (Part 2) (E)

Your Atlas (E)

Public Displays (G)

One Too Many (E)

Stampede (E)

Vash/Reader Drabbles

love, if your wings are broken (G)

morning, mayfly (G)

love, you're not alone (G)

hands (put your empty hands in mine) (G)

tits or ass (E)

Hurt/Comfort Dialogue Prompts:

"You don't have to be alone anymore"

"You have 5 seconds to tell me not to hug you"

"Tell me what I'm doing wrong! What's wrong with me?!"

"I love you. I'm sorry."

“I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

Confessional (Wolfwood & Reader) (E)

To Have and to Hold (T)

Vash with his hair down (G)

Desperation (E)

Alloy (G)

Blossoming romance prompts:

Hugs that linger (G)

Clumsy attempts at flirting (G)

Not reader insert

Uncanny Vash (G)

Pokemon

Scarlet/Violet

Counting One, Two, Three (Hassel/Reader/Brassius) (E)

Solamente (Clavell/Reader) (E)

The Wig Stays On During Sex (Clavell/Reader) (E)

Lentamente (Clavell/Reader) (E)

Quiero Ser Tuyo (Clavell/Reader) (E)

Legends: Arceus

Judgement | Forgiveness (Volo/Reader) (G)

Judgement | Forgiveness Related Drabbles (Volo/Reader) (G)

Makes the Heart Grow Fonder (Volo/Reader) (E)

Denial's Not Just A River In Utah (Volo/Reader) (E)

Culture Shock (Laventon/Reader) (G)

Fireside (Laventon/Reader) (G)

Sword/Shield

Kiss Me Through the Phone (Leon/Reader) (E)

Hot Blooded (Peony/Reader) (E)

Sun/Moon

Bug Buzz (Guzma/Reader) (E)

The Stanley Parable

And Stanley Was Happy (Stannarrator) (G)

Just Like A Prayer (Stannarrator) (E)

The Sandman

Dream/Reader Fics

Enter, Sandman (E)

Another Taste of Heavenly Rush (E)

Dream/Reader Drabbles

Hurt/Comfort (G)

Who Dreams, What Dreams (T)

Nix Hydra (now Fictif? still don't understand all that)

The Arcana

The Warmth We Share (Asra/Reader) (G)

A Memory of Grief (Asra/Reader) (G)

Seeing Red (Lucio/Reader) (T)

Monster Manor

Soothes the Savage Beast (Casimir/Reader) (G)

After So Long (Casimir/Reader) (E)

The Adventure Zone: Amnesty

The Man, The Moth, The Lover (Indrid Cold/Reader) (E)

Can't See Me Lovin' Nobody But You (Indrid Cold/Reader) (G)

Pheromonal (Indrid Cold/Reader) (E)

Hindsight is 20/20 (but foresight is almost as good) (Indrid Cold/Reader) (abandoned) (G)

Boku no Hero Academia

Smile, Sunshine (Yagi Toshinori/Reader) (G)

Doki Doki, Todoroki (series) (Tododeku) (G)

But the Fire is so Delightful (doki doki Todoroki, part 1)

Much Ado About Shouto (doki doki Todoroki, part 2)

Feels Like Floating (doki doki Todoroki, part 3, tsuchako)

Cherry Blossom Season (doki doki Todoroki, part 4)

Cicadas and Sunshine (doki doki Todoroki, part 5)

Happy Valentine's Day, Todoroki! (Tododeku) (G)

The Magnus Archives

Employee Benefits (and I'm not just talking about healthcare) (Elias Bouchard/Reader) (E)

Mob Psycho 100

Oh, Your Love is Sunlight (Reigen Arataka/Reader) (G)

Voltron

It's a Process (getting two silly boys to realize they're in love, that is) (series) (Klance) (G)

#sef writes #fic masterlist #masterpost #hello hello pinned post because i felt like i should have one

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tavyliasin · 1 year ago

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Next drabble whilst I'm still far from home~

This one was written before my Haarlep x Writer short fic, so it features Tav instead of a full reader insert. Still, it's rather fun, and quite the mental image for the struggling wordsmith~

Smut below the cut, with cw for bondage, pain play, and power play.

“Mouse.” Raphael’s voice was hot on her left ear.

“Rat. ” Haarlep added with a growl on her right.

All that Tav was allowed to reach was the ink and quill on the desk in front of her, along with the half filled parchment.

“We had a deal, Little Mouse.” The cambion kept just a hair away from touch, even as she strained against the cold chain holding her to the chair.

“Uncomfortable, are we?” Haarlep kept up the same game, the denial of even the slightest graze of their lips against her aching body yet close enough to feel their heat.

“Now you mention it-” she began, with her usual attitude, rewarded by two hands savagely gripping her throat.

“Mention all you like, Mouse, but be careful with your little words. They have power, but not as much as we do.” She gasped for air as the pair drew back, but the reprieve was only brief.

The whip struck true, directly between her shoulder blades, perhaps a little too hard as she felt the blood trickle down. A second crack came from behind her, but this time not accompanied by the sensation on her body. No, instead the groan came from a deeper voice as Raphael experienced the same punishment he had just meted out.

“No. I taught you better than this.” Haarlep snarled, clearly up to something where Tav couldn’t see them. She moved in her seat, as much as she could with the bindings, desperately trying to deal with the sensations within her.

The next strike hit her lower back, the chair she was in designed to offer minimal support and no protection. Indeed it was hardly a standard design, the underneath also left open to whatever the incubus had planned.

“Come along now, Rat,” they purred in her ear, “where have all those pretty little words of yours gone?”

“I…It was a tough few days.” She sighed, picking up the quill and re-reading the past lines, trying hard not to drop it as the whip left a new stripe across her skin.

“Oh my, don’t tell me you actually missed me?!” The incubus laughed at their own joke, though the mirth faded away as they realised she did not join them in the merriment but instead turned as deep a shade of red as their own exposed flesh. “You did? Well, we can’t have that , can we?”

In a move that surprised her, the incubus leaned around and held her cheek, one clawed thumb idly stroking the blushing skin as they peered into her tired eyes. When their lips met, it was almost as usual, almost . There was just an edge more indulgence in the passion, even as they gripped her hair to hold her in the kiss when Raphael struck again with the whip. She moaned around their tongue, the pain and pleasure mixing together with the aphrodisiac kiss. By the time they pulled away she could barely breathe from the sensation flooding her body.

Tav blinked, trying to remember what year it was as Haarlep leaned forward to read her work. “I see… So, this next scene…” They slid an arm around her shoulder, whisper hot in her ear as they continued. “Would you like a demonstration?”

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #haarlep #bg3 raphael #bg3 tav #bg3 fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #ao3fic #short fic #writers need motivation #and haarlep provides #I should go back to this #that open base chair didn't even get properly used

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stuckyhistoricalfiction · 1 year ago

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Teasers

Read some teasers of the fics coming out this December and January!

Bucky was frozen in place as time itself stopped, unable as he was to tear his eyes away from unknown warrior. Everywhere around him the shrieks of war ensued but he was silent like the clouds before a thunderstorm, rooted like a tree where others were slipping in the mud. The blood – not his own, for no one got close enough to hurt him – made the strong muscles of his mid-section gleam when the sun hit it, and his massive arms bulged each time the man swung his sword in ruinous circles. Man. Could he really be? A giant amongst them all, with no markings to show where he belonged. Neither blade nor ink had marred his skin, and he lacked the arm-ring that would prove him a Northerner. He couldn’t be theirs – he was fighting against them with a force so strong it didn’t seem human. All the breath left Bucky. He might not wear an arm ring, but he wasn’t wearing that damned silver cross either in a chain around his neck. All he wore was a golden crown.

“Are you done choking?” The voice says when Steve stops aspirating dried vascular plant bits. The hand once again grips his hair, pulls him up and another hand pushes him backward to sit against a tree and Steve finally gets a look at his attacker. His breath stops. Before him is a savage in leather and pelts, with wild black hair and strange markings down his left arm and shoulder, but Steve can’t pay attention to any of it because his face is painted. White and red and vibrant blue streak across forehead and cheekbones and the eyes are smeared pitch black. It makes the striking light gray irises stand out all the more. His teeth show in a predatory smile between blue and white lips. Steve has heard of Celtic witches. Fearsome stories, all of them. “First things first,” the witch sits down in front of him. “I would never hurt your horse, Roman.” Steve gasps. “Of course, you’re a Roman.” The man scoffs. “I could have picked your stance and build out of a thousand. You have soldier written all over you. You and that ridiculous haircut.” The hand is back in his hair, tousling this time, and Steve curses the fact that he did not have leave to let his hair and beard grow before the journey down. It is probably how the stranger in the tavern pegged him. All his offerings to Mercury were for nothing. “The question is not who you are.” The painted face before Steve becomes pensive. “And I can guess what you’re doing here, dressed like a commoner, skulking around my sacred altars.” Steve’s eyes widen in shock. These woods are consecrated. Tony sent him straight into the lion’s den, and like a sheep, Steve went. The predatory smile comes back, spreads across paint. “Boudica rising,” he whispers. “Is that not why you’re here.” Steve blinks. Bites his tongue. Tries to leave his face impassive, but the witch takes one look at him and once again laughs out loud. It is supremely unsettling. “Aaaaaahhhh,” he sighs, content. “I thought so.” Then he cocks his head left. “Your horse is coming back. Loyal beast that it is. When I sprung you and it bolted, I thought we’d never see the nag again.” Falconis steps into the clearing, snuffling and a little out of sorts, but none the worse for wear. He has not damaged himself in his flight through these woods and Steve is glad. He walks over to Steve and nuzzles his cheek, fluffing happily, and then turns— and does the same to the witch. Traitor.

As many things do, it begins with two corpses; one staining the quilt of snow it lays on a rueful shade of crimson, and the other encased in an icy tomb within the rotting carcass of a downed plane. In a way that defies both sense and science, both corpses are not truly dead at all — at least not yet. One corpse clenches his remaining fingers painfully tight, the knuckles paling to match the snow, grappling with the ledge of life desperately while his companion - his other half - readily lets go, ready to wearily sink under the waves of the quiet and the cold. One in denial and the other relieved. Even though they’re as good as, they’re not dead. Some would say it’s a miracle, a marvel, and that’s just the M’s; nevermind the rest. But, when it is stripped down to the bone, flesh and ligaments peeled away until the ivory skeleton of truth is laid bare, it is undoubtable that these icy graves and their icy corpses are inexplicably, irrevocably, and indescribably intertwined. Perhaps it’s fate, maybe one could go as far as to say it’s destiny. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But the one thing that is undeniable is that from the very second both corpses teetered on the thinning thread between living and dying, their orbits crossed. Over the next handful of decades, they are pulled into each other like stars, spiralling closer and closer until inevitably falling into each other in a stellar collision of a single epic, and irreversible mistake.

“Prince Bohemond VI has submitted to the Mongols.” Marshal Phillips announced solemnly. István looked up from the map. “Are we sending forces to liberate them?” He inquired. It was a larger campaign than they usually engaged in, but the Mongols were also a greater threat than they usually faced. Marshal Phillips shook his head and István felt a bolt of shock through his chest. Surely they couldn’t stand by and let Antioch fall to such a cruel adversary? “The prince claims he is submitting willingly. His father-in-law, King Hethum I, submitted over a decade ago, and has been encouraging other monarchs to do the same for years. He believes allying with the Mongols is our best chance to defend the kingdoms of Christendom from the Mamluks.” “If we submit to the Mongols, there will be no Christendom to defend!” István argued. But the other knights didn’t seem concerned. He thought of the scorched ruins he’d grown up around. The way his mother always choked up when talking about his father’s final stand against “the Tatars”. Desperate for understanding, his eyes sought out Jakab amongst the assembled archers. Jakab was already looking at him with a sweet, concerned frown. István felt a renewed sense of sanity as his friend gave a little nod in solidarity.

“You know you’re quite the informant,” Bucky said softly. “Let’s make a deal you keep talkin to me, and I’ll pay you enough, so you don’t have to walk the streets.” “I don’t need your fucking charity,” Steve growled. “It’s not charity.” Bucky grabbed Steve’s wrist. “You’re in the victim pool. You’re almost an exact match for what he’s lookin for. And you got a son—” “Don’t talk about my son!” Steve snarled. “Let me help you!” Bucky yelled. “I don’t need your help!” Steve yanked his arm out of Bucky’s grasp. “I don’t need anything from you—” “Goddammit, Stevie.” Bucky grabbed Steve and pressed him against the wall of an alley. But Nat’s words echoed in his mind, You’re all violent in your own way. Bucky didn’t want to be violent, especially not with Steve. He pulled back a little, giving the fae enough room to slip away if he wanted to. “I won’t force you,” Bucky told him with a sigh of defeat. “But I really do want to help. No charity, no pity, just help. And I need your help too. You know these victims, I don’t.”

#stucky historical fiction 2023 #stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #upcoming fics #teaser drops

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laelior · 6 months ago

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Was digging around in my old Dragon Age WIPs and I found this spicy scene I'd written for my Solavellan lovers-to-enemies longfic. It takes place near the end of the fic, and there's a lot of work to do between where I left off (in fucking 2017) and this scene which tbf I don't know if I'll get to anytime soon.

But this scene I liked. So I'm sharing it. It's spicy , has spoilers for the story, and has some mild dub-con elements, so consider yourself warned.

The Moth and the Flame

She was clearly in the Fade. It was formless, lacking any familiar features or landmarks except for the ever-present Black City that floated ominously in the distance. The only feature she could see nearby was a length of ancient, crumbling stone wall that stood alone among mists of the Fade.

Wind howled around her, blowing her hair this way and that, tossing around cape of her tan traveling cloak. Her cloak whipped up over her shoulder with a particularly violent gust, the ties straining against her neck. She reached up with her left hand to pull it back down, but she grasped with nothing. Her left hand was gone, as it was in the waking world. A small, startled cry broke loose from her throat.

Ashes fell from nowhere, borne on the wind from an unseen fire. Disembodied voices whispered furiously, creating a cacophonic symphony of sound in the wind. The voices spokes in common, Tevene, Dwarvish, Qunlat, Elvhen. In the hissing tongues she had only heard uttered by Darkspawn. In languages she had never heard before.

“Harellan,” they whispered. Insults. Praises. Words that had no translation in the common tongue.

“Traitor.”

“Amgeforn.”

“Shokrakar.”

“Rebel.”

“Proditor.”

“Teldirthalelan.”

“Liberator.”

“Mexdax.”

“Nuva mar’edhis banafelas i miol’en av ra.”

“Katari.”

“Askatzaile.”

“Dread Wolf.”

Amidst the swirling whispers, he appeared. In the Fade, he was usually well defined, a perfect projection of himself. But now...now, he was frayed around the edges. Indefinite. Blurred. His eyes were rimmed with red and his face had taken on a sunken look. He was as tattered and threadbare as his clothes. The air was heavy with the acrid scent of desperation. This wasn’t the confident, calculating Wolf she knew. The whispers pecked at him, eating away at his borders.

“Solas?” She called, uncertain. Was it him, or some new nightmare?

“Vhenan!” He cried out, fighting through the whispering winds to get to her. He was staggering, trying to stay standing against the weight of some invisible force. An irrational stab of panic twisted deeply in her gut. She rushed over to him, fighting the violent gusts to be by his side. It was like trying to wade through the savage storms that battered the Hissing Wastes.

“What is this? I don’t recognize where we are.” She had to shout to make her voice heard over the din. He didn’t answer her. The instant she was close enough, he pulled her roughly by the shoulders and kissed her. No, not kissed, devoured. The Fade stormed around them and he clung to her desperately like she was the only piece of driftwood in this sea of drowning whispers. His mouth bore down on hers so savagely she felt their teeth clash. She pushed him away, sputtering for breath, for something to say. Something was wrong. This wasn’t like him at all.

“What has gotten into you?” He tried to kiss her again, but she pressed her palm against his chest, keeping him at bay. He was warm and real under her touch. More real than the Fade.

“Sathan,” he said in a strained voice. “Please.” He was bearing down on her again, mouth—hot, hungry, and seeking—slanting over hers, his tongue probing her lips with a wildness she had never felt in him before. Gone was the skilled and considerate lover she remembered. His arms wrapped around her and clung so hard the tips of his fingers dug into her flesh. Her knees started to buckle under the weight of his attentions. She backed up against the crumbled stone wall for support. The stones groaned and shifted under the stress.

He pressed her against the wall, hands roaming over her body. She brought her hand up to his face to cup his cheek and kissed him back, caught up in whatever frantic mood had taken him. For all his realness, he radiated sadness and a certain brittleness. The stray thought crossed her mind that if she reached out to touch him, really touch him, he might break. He tasted of salt and ashes. He tasted of fear.

This is a bad idea, something said far in the back of her head. Everything about this—whatever this was—was wrong. She thought of Morrigan, Cole, of Grim and Rylen, of Harding and Dorian. Of Loranil, who had given his life for her. The rage and despair she felt for them. But she wanted him. Creators help her, she’d never stopped wanting him, even as she hated what he’d done. He was here before her. He was hot and bright with need, his kisses raw and messy and real, and she responded in kind like a moth drawn to a flame.

“We shouldn’t be doing this. We shouldn’t be here.” The words tumbled out of her shakily, even as she grabbed the hem of his tunic and pulled it up over his head. It blew away and dissipated into the aether of the Fade when she tugged it off him.

“I know,” he said, sounding so broken in those two words that she almost cried. He lined her jaw with kisses and pulled at the fabric of her shirt until it tore like so much tissue. It, too, dissolved, borne on the wild winds of the Fade. His hands trembled as he reached for her leggings. Fingers hooked into the waistband, he hesitated. She made up his mind for him and pushed them down until they, to disappeared.

Her legs wrapped around his waist. He plied her with deep, fierce kisses on her face, neck, and shoulders that robbed her knees of strength and made her core quiver.

One of his hands wound itself into her hair and grabbed on, pulling her head back so he could nip at the juncture of her neck and shoulders. The pulling on her scalp sent a shock of desire through her body. She parted her legs wide and hooked them behind the small of his back, inviting him in. He wasted little time in taking her, sinking into her in one smooth motion. It was so right, and so wrong all at the same time.

Once he was inside of her, some of the wildness subsided. The whispers began to quiet and the wind slowed down. He was gentle now, kissing her tenderly as he rocked against her, in her. But gentle was the last thing she wanted. She wanted, needed more. She nipped a trail down his jaw to his collarbone, teeth scraping along his skin, then sank her teeth into his shoulder. He shuddered and whispered her name, pushing harder and deeper inside her.

“Please,” she murmured to him, biting his other shoulder hard enough to mark his skin.

“Ma nuven’in,” he rasped back at her in a voice she barely recognized as his. He didn’t hold back. He drove into her over and over, gripping her hips with such ferocity that her eyes watered with mingled pain and pleasure. She dug her fingers into his shoulders until she felt his flesh give way under her nails. The cold stone of the ancient wall scraped against her skin until she bled but she hardly cared. He pushed into her relentlessly and she pushed right back, meeting every thrust with her hips, until she felt like she was coming apart. The sheer want inside of her exploded and she came screaming into his shoulder. He wasn’t far behind her, crushing her up against the wall with the force of his need, her name a cry upon his lips.

He shuddered and held her against him, her face cradled against the unsteady rise and fall of his chest. Gone were the wind and the whispers. The ashes fell straight down, settling in her hair and sticking to their sweat-slicked bodies. He was more real, no longer blurry around the edges, and murmuring things to her in Elvhen that she only half understood.

She didn’t know how long she stayed there, cradled between his body and the cold stone wall in the wild Fade simply listening to the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling him where their bodies remained joined. At last, she pulled herself away from his chest and looked up at him. He was ashen-faced and tired. In his eyes, she saw shadows of shame. Shame? No. It had to be the shadow of what she felt, reflected back at her.

“Come away with me,” she blurted out before she could fully think about it. “Leave all of this behind. We can start over. We can….” She trailed off, feeling the futility of her words fall like a weight between them.

“I cannot,” he said harshly. He wore a crown of sadness, even as he gently caressed her cheek. She leaned into the touch, the simple affection of the gesture catching her off guard. “I cannot,” he repeated, softly this time in a voice full of regret, like he actually wanted to leave everything behind.

"I cannot stay here," she said, laying her one hand across his cheek.

"And I cannot leave." He placed a hand over hers and laced his fingers with her. “Please...please be careful, vhenan,” he pleaded, his voice shaking just the smallest amount.

“You know I cannot make that promise.”

And then she woke up.

#dragon age #dai #solavellan #solavellan hell #lovers to enemies #hate-ish sex #smut #mildy dubious consent #and soooo muchhhh angst #my writing #lae writes

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