#for the dull burning pain up my left forearm

[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

Day 19: "Please Don't" / Adrenaline Crash

@febuwhump prompt: "Please Don't" @badthingshappenbingo prompt: Adrenaline Crash

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Hunter, Omega, Wrecker, Tech, Echo (Did you read Day 5: Rope Burns / Bound & Gagged and Day 12: Semi-Conscious / Over-the-Shoulder Carry? This is a continuation! Follow the links above to catch up on the story so far) Word Count: ~3005 Click here to read on AO3 Also available in Russian (with thanks to @tech-o-mania for the amazing translation!)

Synopsis: Hunter loses control as he hunts down the mercenaries who captured and injured Omega.

Art by the awesome @collophora of my gorgeous Feral Hunter! Thank you so much for this beautiful pic and letting me post it with my fic, everyone go view collophora's original post HERE and tell them how great they are! <3

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Omega swings her legs as she sits on the edge of the table, watching as Tech methodically extracts embedded strands of hessian from the wound on her left wrist. Her right is already swathed in bandages, the bacta gel bringing a soothing numbness that dulls the pulsing pain to a background throb.

She draws her breath in as a hiss though her teeth at a particularly painful pull, and Tech glances at her to check she is okay. He doesn’t continue until she nods to give him permission to do so.

The com at the engineer’s wrist crackles to life. “Come in, Tech.” It is Wrecker’s voice, low and urgent.

Tech pauses his ministrations to answer the com. “What is it, Wrecker?”

“I need backup.”

The big clone’s voice over the com is deadly serious, none of his usual joviality.

“What is your status?” asks Tech, his voice taking on a more clipped edge.

“It’s Hunter.”

Tech quickly looks up at Echo, and Omega doesn’t miss the alarmed look that passes between them.

“Will you and Omega be alright by yourselves?” Tech asks, putting the tweezers back in the medkit and standing.

Echo nods, resting a hand on Omega’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about us. Go help Wrecker.”

“Help Wrecker with what?” asks Omega, getting to her feet and looking first at Tech, then Echo. “Are they in trouble?”

“You are still in need of treatment,” says Echo firmly, trying for a smile which comes out too tense to be reassuring. “I’m sure Tech will manage without us.” He gestures back to the table. “Sit back up, and I’ll finish your wrists.”

Tech is gathering his equipment, and Omega leans past Echo to see him set his pistol to stun.

“I want to go with Tech,” she protests softly. “I want to check that Hunter and Wrecker are okay.”

Echo and Tech exchange another look. Omega is getting pretty tired of the unspoken conversations they share with their eyes.

“Finish attending to Omega’s wounds,” says Tech eventually. “Then you may follow… carefully.”

*

Hunter’s pistol is in his left hand, balanced on his forearm which is crossed in front of his body, vibroknife held blade outwards. The hum of adrenaline is in his veins, pulse pounding, slowly building to a tense knot of pain at the base of his skull which will surely become a migraine later.

Two more mercenaries up ahead, just out of sight. He can hear them.

Hunter doesn’t have to think about softening his footfalls. The predator’s stealth comes naturally to him.

In moments he is around the corner and the two men are ten paces ahead, weapons out as they scout the corridor.

They don’t know that death shadows their movements.

In his ear, the com pings. Hunter shakes his head, shutting it off irritably. Not now. Whatever his brothers want, it can wait.

He rolls to his toes, picking up speed. Closes the gap in a sprint.

One shot with his pistol. The laser-burn eats through the first man’s skull. The second turns but Hunter is on him, and the vibroknife tears out his throat before he can cry for help.

Hunter pauses for a moment, surveys his work. That makes four of them he has eliminated now. Four of them who harmed his Omega. Four of them who will never threaten her again.

A high-pitched whine, like tinnitus, sets up in his head. He pulls his helmet off, rubbing his ears, trying to chase away the source of the sound.

His helmet is dropped to the floor, forgotten, as he sets off to find the rest of his quarries.

*

Tech tilts his datapad towards Wrecker. “I have picked up the bounty hunters’ com channel. They seem concerned that they cannot raise a number of their companions.”

Wrecker looks up from fitting binders to the two mercenaries he has captured. “Hunter won’t waste any time,” he says gruffly.

“He may have deactivated his com, but I can still track his locator beacon,” says Tech. “Leave these two here. We must catch up to Hunter as soon as we can.”

*

Hunter crouches on the narrow gangway, watching the knot of mercenaries in the hangar below. Five left. Their conversation drifts to him but it is just noise. He can’t make his head understand the words.

It doesn’t matter what they are saying. Hunter will be among them soon, and their words will give way to screams and then they will be dead. He plans to make sure of that.

The migraine closes its vice-like grip on his consciousness and Hunter pulls his bandana off, trying to ease the pressure at his temples. A faint aurora halos his vision, sparkling in the periphery. His back teeth ache.

He creeps along the perforated metal walkway, feeling it sway a little from the suspension cables that keep it aloft. He holsters the pistol, curling the fingers of that hand around the rail instead. His right hand continues to clutch the vibroknife like it is an extension of himself.

Almost directly above them. From here he can drop onto the group, break his fall with one of their bodies, before wreaking his vengeance.

Hunter climbs silently to the railing. Leans over the edge, gravity pulling at his body, braced now on the outside of the walkway.

Ready to drop.

*

Echo spots the pair of bodies before Omega does. He stops her with a hand on her shoulder and ventures forwards cautiously, already knowing what he will find.

He is surprised to see the half-skull of Hunter’s helmet staring up at him from between the fallen mercenaries. He scoops it up and checks the wiring. The com is undamaged. It has been deliberately disabled.

Behind him he hears Omega.

“Tech, come in. Did you find Wrecker and Hunter?”

She has her bandaged hands pressed to her com, trying to raise her brothers. Echo hurries back to her, Hunter’s helmet in hand. Omega’s eyes go wide as she sees it.

“Is Hunter okay?” she asks in a fearful whisper, reaching out to brush the side of the helmet. The fresh bandages across her palms come away stained red.

“Don’t worry,” mutters Echo, “it’s not his blood.”

There is a moment of confusion before the meaning of his words dawns on Omega. She leans past him to peer down the corridor. Two bounty hunters. Not unconscious. Dead.

“Oh,” she says in a small voice. Then, looking up at him with a determined frown, “We need to find Hunter.”

*

Wrecker and Tech press tightly to the door-frame, one on either side of the corridor that has brought them to this hangar. Tech’s datapad says this is where Hunter should be, but all they can see are the clustered mercenaries.

Wrecker is the first one to look up. His hands move in a quick signal sequence, drawing Tech’s attention to their brother in his ambush position.

“Hunter,” breathes Tech. And as though it is a command, Hunter drops.

The chaos is immediate. Hunter is amongst the mercenaries, pistol forgotten, knife indiscriminately biting through cloth and armour into flesh. Panicked cries answer his sudden appearance. Blaster fire greets him.

Tech and Wrecker recognise Hunter’s grunt of pain like it is their own. They take a single moment to share a nod, and then they too join the fray.

Wrecker charges in, shoulder down, crashing into a mercenary and knocking him away from Hunter. Tech skirts the edge of the hanger, diving into a roll to evade a stray blaster bolt. He comes up with his pistol ready, gaze flitting over the knot of combatants before choosing his target. He knows this is the quickest way to end this.

Omega’s voice comes over the com but doesn’t answer. He needs all his considerable wits about him if he wants to take down his younger brother.

He steadies his aim.

He fires at Hunter.

*

Somewhere beyond the roaring in his ears Hunter is dimly aware that he is injured. There is a lingering trace of heat as the laser-burn crawls against his skin, softened from deadly to merely painful by the layer of his armour. It slows him, but he doesn’t let it stop him.

He ducks a wild haymaker meant to knock him to the ground and comes up inside the man’s guard. The mercenary yells as Hunter’s forehead connects with his nose, blood gouting from the broken cartilage, and Hunter winces at the shout pierces his already tender headache.

The migraine is stabbing behind his eyes now, his vision winking in and out in bright flashes. He has to finish this fight soon, or he won’t be able to.

The sudden jolt of a stun blast catches him in the back. He feels the sensation ripple forwards across his chest, electric, followed by numbness. The blast threatens to short out his enhanced senses.

With difficulty he fights the blackness that follows the stun bolt, dragging his awareness back to the fight. Two others still standing. To his surprise, he realises Wrecker is one of them.

Then Hunter feels an attacker leap onto his back. He howls in panic and anger; instinct directs him to dip his body, rolling the assailant over his shoulder. He grabs them and slams them into the floor, a blow designed to stun.

Recognises the helmet. The goggles.

“Tech?” he slurs in confusion.

And, “TECH!” The shout is echoed by Wrecker, scooping up their fallen brother.

The final mercenary takes advantage of the distraction. Two blaster bolts hit into Wrecker’s back, staggering him, and he clutches Tech to his chest protectively. Hunter watches as the bounty hunter retreats, fleeing for the bikes they came in on.

His prey's footsteps are still reverberating at the edge of Hunter’s enhanced hearing when others approach from behind him. He whirls, sees Echo and Omega.

“What happened?” demands Echo, crossing to Hunter. With one hand he pushes Omega behind him, making sure she doesn’t step round and see the Sergeant. Doesn’t see the feral gleam in his eyes, the sharp and dangerous expression of his open-mouthed panting.

“I’ll find him.” Hunter’s voice is a subhuman growl. “I’ll end it.”

*

Omega paces anxiously, glancing towards the farthest exit to the hanger. Tech is conscious but dazed, propped up against a storage crate as Echo checks his pupils. She worries for Hunter, but she has been told to stay put.

Wrecker finishes restraining the still-living mercenaries and rolls his shoulders, easing out the stiffness of the injuries he sustained. His own blaster is loose in his hands, still set to stun.

The bodies have been hidden to one side, smeared trails of red marking the route they had been pulled. So much for out of sight, out of mind. Omega curls up over her injured hands, rubbing at her wrists through the bandages. The rope burns itch under the healing bacta gel.

“Tech will be fine,” reports Echo, “but one of us should stay with him. Omega?”

“I’m going after Hunter,” she announces, before she can be asked to play medic. She turns and looks at Echo with her mouth set in an unhappy line.

Echo calmly meets her gaze. “Hunter won’t want you to see him like this,” he says softly.

“Hunter needs me.” She is the embodiment of stubbornness. “I know it.”

Wrecker’s big hand touches her shoulder gently.

“I’ll keep her safe, Echo,” he says, voice strained with an ache of worry. He pushes his helmet back down onto his head, the snarling skull hiding the concern in his eyes.

“Let’s go, kid.”

*

Hunter is exhausted, muscles trembling as he forces them to continue. He has to do this. The image of Omega’s injuries is burned behind his retinas, the scent of her fear cloying. He failed to protect her once. He won’t do so again.

One more mercenary, and the job was done. There would be no-one left to threaten her. And if this group didn’t return, perhaps whoever was hunting them would think twice before sending more agents to kidnap her.

Protect Omega. Blood pounds in his head. Every footstep is a hammer-fall on the anvil of his overwrought senses.

Protect Omega.

A blaster shot hits his right hand. The vibroknife is flung free of his grasp, spinning into the air and embedding in the wall above his head. Hunter startles, the pain in his hand almost enough to stop him from evading the follow-up shot aimed for his heart. He twists at the last moment, the blaster bolt grazing his chest-plate.

Then his feral instincts are back, taking over, shutting down the thoughts that are distracting him and driving him forwards into the fight.

Hunter lunges, closing the distance to his would-be ambusher in a burst of speed that belies his injured state. He doesn’t remember that he has a pistol. Instead he barrels into the man, tackling him to the floor. The two of them roll, fighting for dominance, and Hunter comes out on top. Slugs the man. Pain explodes in his knuckles but he doesn’t stop. Again. And again.

Under the onslaught the mercenary’s face is transforming to a swollen, bloody pulp. He writhes and bucks under Hunter, throwing the sergeant off and scrambling for escape. Hunter leaps after him and they are back to brawling, only it isn’t a brawl. The man is sobbing, arms over his head, trying to shield himself from Hunter’s incoming blows. Pleas dribble with bubbled blood from broken lips. The man weeps for mercy.

Hunter’s onslaught continues. One more mercenary, and the job is done.

Protect Omega. Protect her at all costs.

*

Omega and Wrecker round the corner and Wrecker pulls them up short. Hunter is locked in combat with the final mercenary, the sickening sound of fist hitting flesh and the crepitus of broken bone reaching them across the otherwise empty room.

Omega recoils, watching the scene with fascinated horror. The brutality makes her sick to her stomach, but she can’t look away.

Hunter’s hair is loose, missing the bandana that usually tames it, and hangs lank and sweaty about his face. Blood streaks his fists and spatters his armour. The air is punctuated by his soft grunts and laboured breath, and the moans and whimpers emanating from the figure that is huddled beneath his fury.

Wrecker lays his hand on Omega’s shoulder, trying to coax her away. “Omega,” he says, and his voice quavers. He crouches in front of her, interposing himself between her and the brutal scene, and pushes his helmet back on his head to lock gazes with her.

“What is he doing?” Omega whispers in horror, brown eyes wide as she searches Wrecker’s face for answers.

Wrecker merely shakes his head. “You should get outta here, kid. Head back to the Marauder, wait for the others.”

He stands and turns away from her, dropping the blaster and moving towards Hunter with his hands held up defensively. It is like he is approaching a wild animal, wary of attack.

“Hunter, stop it. Please, vod. He’s down, he surrendered. This isn’t right.”

If Hunter hears him he gives no sign. His punches keep flying, sluggish but solid. His victim lets out a single broken sob.

Omega’s com chirps.

“Omega, are you alright?” It is Tech, his voice weak-sounding as he recovers from concussion.

“We found Hunter,” she whispers, riveted on Wrecker’s careful advance.

Wrecker nears Hunter and his victim, one hand extended. “It’s me, Hunt,” he says, softening the brash edge of his voice. “Time to stop. Okay, vod?”

Hunter doesn’t hear him. Or ignores him. It is hard to tell.

“Is Wrecker able to handle the situation?” asks Tech.

Omega shakes her head. “No,” she says, voice trembling with determination. “But if Wrecker can’t make Hunter stop, I will.”

“Be careful, Omega,” Tech warns her, and she steels herself for what is to come.

She steps past Wrecker, ducks to evade his grasp as he tries to stop her. On shaky legs she closes the distance. Hunter, her Hunter, is a creature she does not recognise. Ruthless, bloodstained, no glimpse of gentleness or mercy.

Hunter leans back, winding up for a huge hit. Omega darts in front of him, catching hold of his fist, levelling her intense brown-eyed stare into the wildfire of his fury.

Omega positions herself directly in front of the exhausted sergeant. Hunter is on his knees, tattooed face glazed in sweat and blood that almost certainly does not belong to him. His shoulders heave as he gulps in great lungfuls of air.

“Don’t,” she says. A plea. A command. “Please don’t.”

For a moment Hunter’s eyes turn glassy and unfocused, pupils trembling with rapid dilations before he eventually blinks and manages to fix his gaze on the girl before him.

“Omega?” he croaks weakly, and staggers to his feet. He sways a little, then replants his feet and braces a hand against her shoulder to steady himself. “You’re meant to be with Tech.”

Unexpectedly, he retches. Omega takes a startled step back as Hunter heaves bile, his whole body trembling. When he is done he wipes his mouth slickly on the back of his hand, glancing round in confusion.

Wrecker steps forwards, caution still written in his posture. “Hey, Hunter,” he says softly, a greeting to his brother as he returns to his senses.

Hunter sags against Omega, his arms going round her in relief, and she can feel the uncontrolled quaking of his body as adrenaline fatigue truly sets in.

Quickly Wrecker steps in to support him, taking some of his weight from Omega. But Omega wraps her arms tightly round Hunter’s waist, pressing her face against his chest, ignoring the scent of blood and blaster-fire as she feels his trembling hand run through her hair.

“I forgive you, Hunter,” she whispers, fingers digging into the cracks of his armour as they both cling to each other with equal ferocity. “I forgive you.”

[daddyhausen]

｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ 「 KINKTOBER DAY FIFTEEN : ABDUCTION 」 ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

「 MASTERLISTS 」 | 「 KINKTOBER 2023 」

「 COMMISION INFO ��� | 「 LIKE MY WORK? BUY ME A COFFEE — KOFI — DXDDYHXUSEN 」

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「 SUMMARY 」 — you feel his presence following you, not knowing when he was going to strike

「 WARNINGS 」 — smut, 18+ [ minors do not interact ], dubcon, cnc, abduction, chase/hunt, stalking, drugging, blindfolds, bondage, gags, fingering, praise, size kink, dacryphilia, oral sex, [ female receiving ], squirting, multiple orgasms, vaginal sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, male + female orgasms, vaginal creampie, internal cumshots

「 WORD COUNT 」 — 2.4k

「 PAIRING 」 — fem!reader x brody king

「 GENRE 」 — smut

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「 TAGLIST 」 — @cosmoholic13 @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @adamjf @wardlow @alexisquinnlee-bc @sammiejane22 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @omegasluvbot @melissahausen @writtingrose @drummergrl1310 @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @bonehead-playz @cherrytheeredheadmamaclaymore @crowleysqueenofhell @romanreigns-supreme @janetreader @thenerdybaker523 @sunshinevirus @nicoleveno14 @rubyred1980 @igncrxntripley @ripleyswhore @embermdk @thepalaceofmelanie @violetmacher @seeingstarks @kennysbadkitten @darkangelchronicles @ripleyswife @selena-tyler-564 @auburnwrites @biforrollynch

「 BETA READERS 」 — @allelitesmut + @legit9thlunaticwarrior

「 COMMENT IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST 」

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your feet sore and blistered from the forest floor

jagged rocks and sharp twigs, poked and punctured your soles

sending mild jolts of pain up through your legs

yet that did not deter you

no matter how much your legs hurt, numb with a dull ache as the muscles spasmed painfully

you had to keep running

you could not let him catch you

he was hot on your tail

the wind felt as if he was breathing down your neck

a harrowing feeling to say the least

ducking and weaving through pine brush

dodging the low hanging branches, whilst avoiding any uproots

the latter being harder to spot, even more so at the speed you were traveling at

covered in moss and dirt all to similar to the forest floor

your chest burned with a primal need for escape

mouth dry with each inhale, each gasp, each swallow

an acidic almost bile-like taste

occasionally craining your head back just to catch a glimpse of him

hoping that finally he would have relented in his chase

lucky for you, it seems that he might have

the heavy trudge of his footsteps had subsided

not a sound of leaves and twigs crunching underfoot

nothing but the shaky exhales that left your lips

you were safe. for now at least

you took a moment to catch your breath

sitting upon a stone, patches of moss lined where it was embedded in the dirt

quietly observing your injuries, as mild as they were

the soles of your feet tattered with small cuts and grazes that left a sharp sting each time pressure was applied

how the blood left an iron stench in the back of your throat

mixing in with the dirt and mulch

your breath shaky, exhales caught in your throat still trying to regain your barings

the forest opening just past the clearing

the subtle earthy scent of the river met your nostrils as you peaked beyond the clearing

you had no choice but to keep moving, you did not want to fall into his hands

you started to move again

slowly this time, stepping as gingerly as your injured feet would allow

every wince and groan was kept under your breath to avoid suspicion

hobbling ever-so-silently towards the clearing

without warning your body felt tight, restricted somehow

your felt weightless, limbs flying in all directions, kicking, punching, clawing at the source

it was then you caught a glimpse of a tattooed forearm, the limb imposing and large in comparison to you

bringing forth a damp rag to your face

obscuring your mouth and nose, forcing you to breath in whatever chemical he doused the rag in

it was a sweet yet mildly pungent smell, one that left your mind reeling with haziness

limbs falling weaker the longer he held the rag to your lips

the soft lulls of his voice dragged you deeper into the abyss of slumber

the his words incoherent as you slipped further into comatose

your eyelids heavy, still reeling with forced slumber

in an attempt to open them you were met with a still blackness

like an all encompassing fog clouding your vision

you could have sworn you’d opened them

fidgeting around in your compromised and frankly uncomfortable position

you were able to deduce you’d been caught by the beast who’d been chasing you previously

he’d blindfolded you

your wrists painfully bound atop your head, knotted together to a thin pole or an iron bar of some kind

the material was cold to the touch

the same could be said with your ankles, bound, this time spread apart

your feet bound on cloth, linen you assumed

under the assumption that he’d tended to the small cuts on your feet

you’d almost feel grateful if your predicament was different

a cool breze wafted over you, the springtime air left a chill on your skin

your body felt bare, your nipples peaked and stiffened as a gust of wind blew past

through an open window it seems, judging by the soft, faint howls of the wind

you’d come to the concussion that you were infact naked

naked, afraid and bound to a stranger’s bed, unknowing exactly how it all came to be

you remember the forest that the events preceding it

you remember the hulking man and the rag with the sweet ether-scent

then the world went dead

a scream tried to pass through through your lips, nothing but muffled sounds excape

a cotton like texture on your tongue, spit pooling around it

he’d stuffed your panties in your mouth, securing them with duct tape

you struggled against your restraints, feeling the ropes tighten and dig into the flesh of your wrists

“shh little one, struggling with only make them tighter”

you froze

the disembodied voice deep and menacing

your ears pricked up at the sound

ringing as his words flooded your senses

feeling the bed dip with his weight

he was a large man, not in an weight kind of way from the glimpses you managed to catch of him back in the forest

he was built, stocky. a hulking mass of a man

his palm alone would wrap around the entirety of your face

your felt the a phantom of his fingertip graze utop your thigh

close to the axis of your hip, tracing small circles in the indent

your body shuddered at the foreign feeling, his fingertips cold to the touch

“easy, i’m not going to hurt you little one”

oddly, his voice was enough to soothe your worries, momentarily

it would be wholesome if not for the fact you were currently bound to a stranger’s bed

oh yeah and the fact that he abducted you!

your words muffled against the cotton of your panties

mind hazy still coming down from the ether

his large fingers traced over the mound of your cunt, smoothing down the skin

you’d never felt so sensitive in your life, your skin bursting with flames of arousal each time his fingers met your flesh

feeling them ghost over your clit

your body shuddered at the sensation

you could feel his weight shift in the bed as he leaned in to gain a closer view of your dripping cunt

he dipped two fingers inside, adoring the way you stretched around him

curling up into the warm crevices of your cunt

the wet sound making his cock swell with arousal

he continued the motion for a few moments, watching you squirm and try to pry yourself away from his fingers

your juices gathering against the skin as he buried himself in to the third knuckle

“so wet…” he mumbled gruffly, a low growl resonating at the end of his words

he pried his fingers out of you, admiring the way that they’d become so slick with your wetness

pearlescent droplets clinging you his fingertips

letting them drip onto his tongue, savouring it on his tastebuds like sweet nectar

he stopped for a moment, anticipating your reaction

your body trying desperately to not seem as aroused as you actually were

your thighs would have been clenched shut if it not for the ropes that held them open

your chest rising and falling with shaky breaths

nipples peaked and hardened still chilled from springtime air

you could feel him shuffling around the mattress again

this time the weight of him present between your thighs

the tickle of what you could assume was his breath brushed against your mound

his tongue licking soft, almost featherlight lines across your hip bones

“don’t be afraid…” he mumbled between the licking and sucking of your skin

“just wanna make you feel good, little one”

your breath hitched in your throat

tears stung your blinded eyes as you realisation that you had no way of escaping him set in

you wanted to scream, cry, shout the most vulgar expletives at him if i’m weren’t for your panties stuffed haphazardly behind the tape

his tongue barely grazed your clit, merely testing the waters before diving in

your body’s instant jolt in response proved just how overstimulated you were

despite the minimal contact

he did it again, this time more force behind his tongue

your body reacted the same way, although your legs did shudder with arousal this time round

he took no precautions the the third time

he dove in, lips wrapping around you clit in a primal fury

sucking hungrily at the sensitive pearl

lapping up whatever of your juices met his tongue

a choked moan ripped through your throat, you did not want to admit how pleasurable it felt

how his tongue made your thighs weak

and you mind faulter with thoughts of him absolutely ruining you

even more so than he was now buried between your thighs

you imagined how his cock would feel, how big it was

hiding from the size of his fingers and the way they were able to stretch you out

you had high hopes to say the least

he moaned into your warmth, offering subtle praise at your taste that did not go unnoticed

the sensation left a whirl of butterflies in your stomach

one that did you did not want to admit had a drastic effect on you

“you taste like heaven…so fucking sweet for me”

his voice held a deep gutteral passion to it

he was absolutely enamoured with you and your taste

your hips instinctively arched up to meet the movements of his tongue

feeling the appendage sink feeling into your warmth

“fuck yourself on my tongue little one, that’s it…good girl”

he was shocked at just how obedient you’d become after his command

the way your hips rolled and jolted against him was nothing short of mesmerising

feeling yourself clench around his tongue

you were slowly unravelling before him

juices dripping from your void in pulsed aftershocks of pleasure

leaving his beard damp with slickness

your stomach swirled with want…with need for more of him

he paused for a moment, sitting back to admire the slick-soaked bedsheets he’d purchased just for the occasion

the silk cool against your burning skin

an evident wet puddle between your thighs

still positioned between your legs, he propped himself up into his knees

the soft fumbling of him unting the ropes around you ankles pricked your ears

even more so did the thud of them as the hit the wooden floorboards below

his hands fell to your ankles, propping them up into his broad shoulders

his breath heaving in his chest, still regaining his composure after being buried tongue deep between your thighs

his fingers traced soft, delicate shapes into your calves

as if he was trying to deter the monster image you’d seen him portrayed as in favour of a more sensitive lover

his cock warm to the touch, swollen with need as it grazed against your clit

slapping the tip against your soaked folds a couple of time just for good measure

even then, you could judge just how big he was

“little one…” he cooed sweetly, noticing your choked sobs and whimpers

he entered you, a noticable squeal of pain left your lips due to the sheer force of his size stretching you out

your body thrashed violently, trying to break free from the ropes

“don’t fight it…it’ll feel better soon…i promise”

if you didn’t know any better, you’d sweat there was a shrewd of sympathy behind his words

that would be true if this man did not fucking stalk and kidnap you that is

he began to move, slowly at first but that didn’t deter the sheer force he provided

feeling your walls burn with the stretch around him

despite your walls lined with slickness

you still felt so tight

his thrusts became violent, unhinged. a desperate attempt to get himself off rather than ease you into pleasure

his cock buried to the hilt, size outlined in your abdomen rather starkly

he adored the way he would disappear and reappear in your skin

he pressed himself further into you

your legs pressed against your chest, feeling his cock sink deeper and seller into you

you let out a pleasured cry, giving in to the sensation despite not wanting to admit it to yourself

his cock had put you in a trance

one that you’d fully, physically embrace

despite your sight being absent

you still made an attempt to crane your head down to see the way his cock filled you

“you’re so eager to see my cock huh?” he remarked cockily his fingers hooking under the silky blindfold

the digits warm against your skin, instantly meeting into his touch

you nodded, far too eager for your current predicament

he preid the blindfold from you face, you blinked a few times

eyes still trying to adjust to the newfound light of the room

the drab grey concrete walls, iron bars lining the windows

a basement of somesorts?

the room bare besides the twin bed your were currently tied and being fucked into

you met his gaze, the warmth of his dark eyes gazing, surprisingly, lovingly into your soul

his features were beautifully rugged

his beard still slick with your sweetness

his hulking figure littered with intricate tattoos

the artistry contrasted with your skin so eligantly

you could not feel oddly safe buried beneath him

you peered down breaking his gaze momentarily to gaze down at his cock

eyes widening at the sheer size of it

probably about seven and a half or eight inches if not bigger

his was thick, that’s was evident by the way he stretched you out and was probably the only place on his body that wasn’t christened with ink

not that you had a long enough opportunity to fully observe him

for he grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze once more

“eyes on me, little one”

the nickname made your stomach flutter even more so now that you saw his face

“you want me to fill you up?” he cocked his head slightly

you nodded eagerly, a soft smile crossed his lips

“good because i was gonna do that anyway”

he pressed himself against you, his body almost crushing yours

your knees firmly pressed against your chest, his cock disappearing deep into your cunt

“fuck…” he grunted, forehead pressed against yours

“you’re so fucking beautiful, little one. such a good girl, taking my cock so well”

you muffled a thank you in response

feeling his cock twitch inside you

your cunt quivering around his size

drawing out his orgasm little by little

hot tears pricked your eyes, his thrusts became lazy and sloppy

yet still holding that roughness that you’d come to adore

his cock driving into your cervix

he gave a final thrust, his cum filling your womb

so warm and wet as you gushed around him

your body shuddered with delight, back arching with pleasure

he still kept himself buried is side you

offering small thrusts to send you over the edge

his cock throbbed inside you

cum seeping from your void as he slowly pulled out of you

his seed dripping onto the bedsheets

your cunt aching from the pleasure

“little one…you’re never leaving me”

｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡ ｡ ･ : * ˚ : ✧ ｡

[freezingmcxn]

i wanna draw ur version of jack sooo bad! can you explain what he looks like in A LOT of detail? like skin color hair color hair style scars and whatever? pretty please with a cherry on top!!

WHAT EYELESS JACK LOOKS LIKE IN MY AU

WAVES FRANTICALLY OH MY GODDJFJEHDBEBABA I will totally totally tell you… sorry this is so late I had stuff going on.

Jack is a black man, he has a few lighter patches scattered across his face, neck, and hands, signifying vitiligo. These patches are subtle, blending slightly into his natural skin tone but are noticeable if you’re close enough.

He has long, dark brown locs, they’re often tied up in a loose bun with whatever he can find—be it a piece of string, a rubber band, or a makeshift hair tie.

The locs are thick but have some frizz, he tries to keep up with them but it’s hard when you have nothing but gas station bathroom mirrors and an old pink comb.

His left eye socket is empty but covered partially by a drooping eyelid, a result of Bell’s palsy. The skin around it is slightly taut, and the sparse brow on that side sits lower.

His right eye is cloudy and bloodshot, the iris barely visible through a whitish haze. It still functions partially, but the cloudiness gives it a “haunted” look in my opinion. The white part of his eye has a dull, reddish hue.

His smile is pretty uneven, with the right side curving upward while the left remains slack, a result of his facial paralysis. His lips are normally chapped and slightly parted, revealing crooked, uneven teeth.

Jack’s nose is visibly crooked, with a slight bend to the left. From the side, a noticeable bump sticks out where the bone has healed awkwardly after being broken.

The right side of his face is covered with burn scars, the skin appearing slightly puckered and uneven as if “melted”. These scars start at his cheekbone and trickle down in a drip like pattern toward his jawline. Similar burn scars cover his right hand and forearm, with the skin appearing uneven and rough.

A prominent scar runs horizontally across his neck, slightly jagged and redder than the surrounding skin.

His arms, specifically his forearms and hands, bear numerous bite marks—small, circular scars, these are signs of self inflicted pain and struggle with hunger.

Random scars dot his body, varying in size and shape, but I’ll leave them up to you!

I don’t know if you wanted to know what he wears.. but, I’ll add it any way since I��ve never spoke about how he looks:

He is usually wearing one of two hoodies: one dark navy, almost black, faded from wear, and the other pure black, frayed at the cuffs and hem.

Both hoodies are oversized, often hiding his frame and giving him a slightly hunched appearance (it’s mainly because of his AWFUL posture, bros like a shrimp).

His black jeans are worn thin, with the knees almost threadbare, and his blue denim trousers are stained and patched in places.

Jack wears a pair of black, steel-toe Timberlands, they’re scuffed and dirty, the leather is cracked from constant wear. They are sturdy and practical though! He loves them dearly.

He has a long navy raincoat, worn mostly when the weather turns bad. The coat is old, with a few tears and missing buttons.

On particularly cold days or when he has to conceal his identity for some not so legal acts, he wears his dark blue mask that he made himself.

WOO OKAY THATS JACK! I cant wait to see any drawings of him, thank you for your ask :)))

[daisies-daydreams]

Office Hours - Chapter 7 (Professor!Miguel O'Hara x F!College Student!Reader)

Pairing: Professor!Miguel O’Hara x F!College Student!Reader Category: Angst/Comfort Warnings: Hangovers, Mentions of Drinking, Swearing, Hospitals, Grief/Trauma, Emotional Turmoil, Mentions of Minor Character Death(s) Word Count: 2.5k+

A/N: Thought I’d post a chapter that correlates with the current holiday season (though I apologize for being a day late). Thank you all for reading this series - the next chapter will be the penultimate or last chapter (I haven’t decided yet). Thankful for each and every one of you. 🫶

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

Ch. 6 <- -> Ch. 8 (WIP)

Thanksgiving Day

The sound of cardinals chirping outside your window stirred you from your uneasy rest. You slowly blinked as your head throbbed with a dull ache.

"Shit," you cursed as you rubbed your face. The two crimson songbirds tilted their heads as they glanced at you through the blinds. You smiled at the vibrant creatures despite the pain that shot through your skull. They instantly flew away the second you pushed yourself up on your forearms. You frowned and squeezed your eyes shut.

“What the fuck happened last night?” you muttered. Your eyes shot open when you remembered coming home after overhearing Miguel on the phone. Your heart immediately filled with lead and sank into the burning pit of your stomach as you turned on your side.

Relief washed over you when you saw a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen sitting on your nightstand. You shivered as you sipped on the cold drink and guzzled down two red pills, mentally keeping your fingers crossed that the pain would fade quickly. You closed your eyes after you set the glass down and rubbed your sore temples. You tried to rummage through your foggy memory in an attempt to recall last night's events.

Let's see...you stumbled through the door and Hobie was on your couch. You remembered the slightly tangy flavor of beer washing over your tastebuds and the stinging, acerbic feeling of it sliding down your throat. You remember crying on him...and then-

"Room service," Hobie called from the other side of the door, breaking you from your train of thought. You glanced down and quickly smoothed your hands over your hair and clothes before straightening your posture.

"Come in," you replied. Your bedroom door creaked open as Hobie stepped inside with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in hand. You felt your cheeks warm as he came over and set the plate down on your nightstand. Your mouth watered as steam rose from the freshly cooked food.

"Thought you could use some breakfast. Always helps me when I have a nasty hangover," he said while scratching the back of his head and averting your gaze. You shifted your gaze between the plate and the tall, lanky man standing in front of you. A small gasp left Hobie as you pulled him into a tight embrace, his hands hesitantly hovering over your upper back.

"Thank you," you sniffed against his stomach. Hobie nodded as he patted the space between your shoulder blades.

"No problem," he replied. You smiled a little as you pulled back.

"You can stay...if you want," you cleared your throat as your body glowed with heat. Hobie carefully studied your face before he slowly sank down on the edge of your bed. His eyes widened as he fully sat on your cozy comforter and smoothed his hands over the soft fabric.

"Don't think I've ever felt somethin' this comfortable in my life," he sighed in astonishment. You giggled as you took one of the slices of toast. The Brit raised a dark brow as you held it out to him.

"No thanks, love. I already ate," he said with a small smile. You shrugged and brought the food to your mouth. The room was quiet as you slowly munched on the crispy, golden bread. Hobie drummed his palms against his ripped jeans.

"So...how're you feelin'?" he asked. You swallowed and looked down at the wrinkles and creases of your plush blanket.

"Honestly? My head feels like complete shit," you laughed tiredly. Hobie chuckled, a soft warmth glowing in his eyes.

"I'll bet. Never seen someone down a beer that fast," he said. He laughed quietly as you playfully flicked his arm. You ate a bit more of your breakfast before you felt a pang of guilt reverberate through your chest.

"Hobie?" you piped up. The man hummed in reply before you bit your lip.

“I-I’m sorry about last night,” you began as you glanced down at the remaining fluffy eggs on your plate. Hobie pursed his lips and shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it,” the man said with a flick of his hand. You shook your head.

“No, it-” you tightened your lips as you thought for a moment. “It wasn't right for me to kiss you. Especially since you and Gwen-”

“We aren’t seeing each other,” Hobie interrupted. You blinked.

“Wh-What?” you stammered. Hobie gave a small grin.

“Gwen and I…we get along great. But I’ve honestly never felt that way about her,” he explained. Hobie chuckled at your shocked expression-mouth agape and eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“I see,” you eventually cleared your throat as you felt the tips of your ears burn. Hobie tilted his head as you remained silent for several minutes.

“You doin’ alright, kid?” he asked. You shifted your gaze between your lap and his deep, brown eyes.

“I…I don’t know,” you sighed. You cringed when you thought about vomiting all over his lap last night. “Oh God,” you whined as you ducked your head into your hands.

“What?” he asked.

“You probably hate me for throwing up on you,” you groaned. You heard Hobie shuffle a bit.

“I mean, I was a bit surprised. But everyone has their rough nights, you know?” he said. You exhaled loudly and slightly tilted your head up, still too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

“I’m a fucking mess, aren’t I?” you laughed bitterly as tears pricked at the corners of your blood-shot eyes. Hobie sat up when the steady trickling of tears turned into sobbing. You tensed a little as he scooted closer and gently placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, you’re not a mess, love. You’re just goin’ through a lot right now,” he murmured softly. He squeezed your shoulder as you gulped for air, your heart feeling like it could unravel at any second. Hobie hummed as you tilted your head down and rested your forehead on his thin shoulder. He rubbed your upper back as your tears flooded the sleeve of his crimson shirt.

"I'm here, (Y/N)," Hobie reassured you.

You sniffed and gripped onto him like he was your steady anchor to this reality. Your heart rate eventually slowed as you felt your eyes puff up and body tremble. The man beside you patted your back. “You want to come to Gwendy’s with me today?” Hobie asked. You pulled back a little and wiped your cheeks.

“I…I don’t know,” you frowned. Hobie adjusted himself as he slotted his thumbs inside his jean pockets.

“You don’t have to. Just thought-“

“I mean, I kind of want to,” you said. You tightened your lips at your sudden interruption. “Sorry,” you laughed awkwardly and glanced away.

“T’s alright,” Hobie said. There was a brief, tense pause between the two of you. You shifted in your bed as you felt another wave of heaviness wash over you. You nearly choked as you tried to hold back another wave of tears, cursing yourself for breaking down right after you just put yourself back together. Hobie remained at your side as you clutched your blanket.

“I should’ve known better,” you cried. You hiccupped and squished your palms over your eyes. “I-I should’ve known,” your body shook violently as you sobbed. You relaxed this time as Hobie wrapped his wiry arms around your trembling form, the warmth of his body cascading over your own. You sighed as you pressed your face against his chest while he caressed your upper back.

“It’s not your fault, (Y/N),” he gently whispered. You dipped your head lower and rested your hands in the middle of his back. Hobie let you soak his shirt once more as he held you.

“Hobie…could you, could you stay with me today instead?” you eventually asked with a shaky breath. He leaned back, his expression gentle as he gazed into your eyes. You swallowed the thick lump in your throat. “I’m sorry. I know you want to be with Gwen and her dad. I just…I don’t know if I’ll be able to go out without…” you trailed off and sniffed.

“If you want me to stay, I’ll stay,” he said with an assuring murmur. Your heart melted as you pouted. He grunted as you squeezed him in another tight embrace.

“Thank you,” you said before sucking in another sharp breath. Hobie nodded as he rested his sharp chin on your shoulder.

“You're welcome, love," he replied. "I’ll even order us some takeaway if you get hungry again,” he said with a soft smile. You gave him a puzzled expression as you pulled back. “Sorry, ‘takeout’,” Hobie chuckled. You nodded as a small, exhausted smile graced your features.

“That sounds great,” you grinned.

Meanwhile, at St. Temple Hospital...

Miguel stared mindlessly at the television hanging in the corner of his dimly lit hospital room. His phone was propped up at his side, a picture of Mari and Gabi smiling brightly displayed on the slightly cracked screen. His lips twitched a little as a familiar bald-headed boy and his friends sat around a table and passed out their unusual Thanksgiving meal. He shifted his gaze when a few gentle knocks came from the door.

“Mr. O’Hara? Your brother’s here to see you,” a nurse called. Miguel glanced back over to the television without saying a word. His brother, Gabe, strolled into the room with a brown bag in hand. Miguel kept his eyes trained on the cartoon as the shorter man sat in the chair nearby.

“Hey,” Gabe said as he adjusted himself in the plush chair. Miguel remained silent as he traced his finger along the thin blanket draped over his legs. His younger brother cleared his throat as he rummaged through the bag and pulled out a Styrofoam container. "Figured you'd want something more close to home," he said with a nervous smile. Miguel remained still as Gabe popped open the container, revealing a row of fresh, steaming empanadas.

“We would watch this every year,” Miguel suddenly muttered. Gabe paused as he pulled out a plastic fork. The older brother sighed, his eyes quickly becoming glossy as a lump swelled in his throat. “Gabi loved these cartoons. Her favorite was the Christmas one, though,” he choked. Gabe hesitantly rested his hand over his older brother's, his own eyes a little glassy as he frowned.

“Lo siento, hermano," Miguel sighed as he wiped his eyes [I'm sorry, brother]. Gabe shook his head.

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Miguel," he said. The large man in the hospital bed sighed.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” he murmured bitterly. Gabe remained quiet as Miguel took the box into his large hands and examined one of the golden empanadas with his dry, cracked hands. He sighed as tears poured down his sharp cheeks. "It's my fault," Miguel muttered. Gabe straightened in his seat.

"Miguel," he began. The older brother scowled as he dropped the food back into the bin, his chest feeling unbearably tight.

"I-I should've driven the car that day. I should've spent more time with Gabi. I should've...should've..." his voice trailed off as his entire body trembled. Gabe hesitantly placed a hand on his brother's back. Miguel sobbed and gulped for air, old wounds starting to resurface and tear his heart to shreds vein by vein, muscle by muscle.

"No es tu culpa, hermano," the younger man said [It's not your fault, brother]. Miguel snapped his head up, his eyes lit with conflicting emotions that seeping out of every pore.

"¡No lo sabes!" he suddenly shouted [You don't know!]. Gabe frowned as he let his hand fall back into his lap. Miguel sniffed and gripped at his dark locks. "You don't know..." he heaved. The TV continued to play in the background as Miguel felt himself falling apart and pulling himself back together over and over again. "That day, when the police called..." he took a deep breath as he felt his phone fall against his hip. "It was snowing. I just finished grading some modules even though I told Mari I would...I would be out early," Miguel said with a broken frown. The cartoon shut off before a new program flickered onto the TV screen.

"She was coming to pick me up. And I waited and waited until I saw those red and blue lights," he clenched his fists at his sides as he felt his jaw nearly shatter. "Why didn't I just leave when I said I would?!" he yelled and smashed his fist against the mattress. A nurse came rushing to the door before being quietly shooed away by Gabe. The younger brother slowly turned back to the man weeping in his bed. He laid a hand on his broad shoulder, making Miguel tense.

"Hermano...there's no possible way you could've known," he said in a slightly shaky voice. Miguel slowly tilted his head up to see his brother's big, brown eyes glazed over with tears. Gabe sniffed as he squeezed his brother's shoulder.

"You lost your wife and child. I lost a sister-in-law and niece," he muttered as a tear fell down his cheek. Miguel parted his lips and furrowed his thick brows. "What I'm trying to say is everyone in our family lost someone that day," Gabe stated in a more firm tone. Miguel released a shaky breath as he gripped his blanket. "You're not alone in this, Miguel. You never were," Gabe said. Miguel's mind was swimming as a dull haze settling over the landscape of his consciousness. He could feel his body and mind sink lower and lower in the dark waters of an unbearable pain.

He never knew emptiness could feel so heavy.

"Miguel? Miguel?" Gabe's voice faded back in. Miguel opened his eyes as he grunted. His younger brother sighed.

"Are you okay?" Gabe asked, his face slightly paler than before. Miguel's lips fell into a straight line before a small croak left his throat. He couldn't stop the tears from falling even if he tried. His violent sobs reverberated inside the small, dull hospital room as he constantly wiped at his eyes. Gabe patted his brother's shoulder before slowly pulling him into an embrace.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," Miguel choked. Gabe nodded as he rubbed Miguel's upper back.

"Lo sé, hermano. Lo sé," the younger man replied [I know, brother. I know]. Miguel soaked his sibling's coat with his thick tears as memories of the past year rushed through his mind.

Eating Thanksgiving dinner by himself in the silent space of his kitchen. Waking up to a cold, empty spot in his bed where Mari used to be curled up at his side. Driving past Gabi's school every day, his heart growing heavier each time he laid eyes on the brake lights of the drop-off line. All of them flooded his mind like a violent tidal wave.

"Por favor, perdóname," he murmured like a broken record [I'm sorry, forgive me]. Gabe only nodded as Miguel shivered.

Even in the midst of the chaos that tore him from the inside out, your face slowly came to Miguel's mind. He gripped his hands against Gabe's coat as the sharp blade of guilt pierced his heart. He blinked away a few tears before his face slowly hardened. Despite how much pain he was in, he realized that he at least still had a chance.

A chance to set things right with you.

----

Thank you for reading and Happy Thanksgiving! 💖

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[liauditore]

aight i think i'll be releasing all my whumptober drabbles whenever i finish all the prompts (cus i am NOT finishing on time lmao) on AO3 as a collection but until then have this 👍👍

limlife martyn hurt/comfort with some treebark/solidwood/zombiewood if you squint (not explicitly romantic, just very affectionate, u can read it however u'd like)

// detailed violence, character death, light gore, implied insanity, implied mind break, swearing, hallucinations

The first thing Martyn knew was that it burned. The second thing was that he should’ve been dead.

As he dragged himself across the gravel, leaving a trail of red behind him like paint off a paintbrush, he wished he was.

His legs had given up on him, that much was clear. He was almost thankful he couldn’t feel them, if the splitting pain that ran down his torso from chest to stomach was any indication of what they would feel like right now. Not that there was much left of them anyway.

He grits his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut and claws himself forward another few inches, dragging the rest of his body behind him. The gravel scrapes at his exposed skin, leaving long, raw scratches running down his forearms. A hundred tiny needles digging into his fingertips.

He does it again.

And again.

And again.

Involuntary grunts escape from his lungs. He yanks himself forward. Something sharp cuts into his side. He yelps. His arms give in, his form falling down onto the coarse earth with an unceremonious thud. Forehead pressed against the coarse earth, Martyn chokes out something between laughter and sobs.

God, where the fuck was he even trying to go?

He remembers now. The game, the timers, the way Scott looked at him as he pulled the sword back through his ribs. He finds it funny now, thinking back, how fast he got to die. Martyn had won.

He remembers now. The moments after he killed Impulse. The clarity returning to his mind, the smell of blood and sea water in the breeze. The fact that nothing happened at all.

Whoever had Watched them, made them fight to the death in this sick game, didn’t offer any congratulations or reward for Martyn after his victory. He got nothing. Nothing but the continued beeping on his bracelet as the seconds continued to tick down.

He’s… Not sure what happened after that. There was an hour and more left on his timer. Then there was suddenly less. And it hurt. A lot. But whatever it was, it didn’t manage to finish him off.

Martyn laughs til his throat could take no more.

All of it. Everything he did. For this?

The least they could do was kill him right.

Martyn stops trying to move. His breath weakens and shallows.

Maybe if he manages to stop thinking, he’ll be okay.

Time passed.

The waves kept crashing.

The birds kept singing.

The leaves rustled in the breeze.

Something crunched, far off in the distance.

The ocean sung.

A dull noise sounded somewhere far off.

Blades of grass brushed up against each other, propelled by the winds.

Another crunch. Closer.

A larger wave crashed, the very edge of it brushing up against Martyn’s hand.

The crunches speed up. Closer. Closer. Closer.

Footsteps.

That noise again. But clearer. Closer.

“Dude, hey!” it was a voice. Martyn’s eyes re-focused.

“Dude, are-are you okay?! Oh, jeez…” the voice was right next to him now. If he rolled his eyes all the way up, he could make out the bottom of the person’s boots.

This was… Impossible.

It can’t be him.

“Come on, babe,” the voice spoke. “Let’s get you someplace safe.”

The man lifts Martyn up into his arms, resting his head on his chest. Suspenders, Martyn noticed, as he nuzzled up to his mystery saviour.

“Eager there, lad!” the voice chuckled softy. Martyn doesn’t have the energy to smile back, but something about the way this guy is trying to brighten him up… Feels right. Familiar. He lets his weight sink completely into the man’s arms. Warm.

He doesn’t know when the tears began or when the wet splotch on Ren’s shoulder formed, but he didn’t care. He doesn’t know how Ren is even here. Or why he’s helping him. Or if he remembers him. But he doesn’t care.

“That’s right, there you go,” Ren whispered as he carried Martyn… Somewhere. “You can sleep if you want, my dude.”

Martyn woke up in a bed with way too many pillows.

“R-Ren!” he shot up to a sitting position, taking in his surroundings.

He looked down on his legs. Wriggled his toes. He was… fine. It didn’t hurt anymore. The bracelet with the timer on it was gone.

He was… in his usual t-shirt and shorts, not that gaudy outfit with the broken buttons.

“Martyn?”

Not Ren’s voice. Pitch was higher, accent was different, but familiar-- he knew this voice.

“Jimmy?!” Martyn’s eyes went wide, his breath hitched.

“Martyn, are you—”

He dived out of bed, tackling his former friend a little bit too hard. He squeezes him, burying his face into Jimmy’s chest.

“M-Martyn, jeez!” Jimmy exclaimed, a half-laugh accompanying his words. “Not that hard, jeez! Let go!”

He tried to kill Timmy. Martyn remembered. He set up that trap, he was so mad at him for… Everything.

He watched him die.

Babbling resembling apologies started to escape between gasps for air, incoherent yet visceral.

“You should be dead,” Martyn whimpered. “I watched you die, I would’ve killed you, you—”

“Martyn,” Jimmy sighed. “It’s-- It’s not-- I’m not mad, Martyn.”

Another figure approached, Martyn could feel the presence behind them.

“Oh, someone’s up!” Ren exclaimed. The dog-man squatted down. “Martyn, was it?”

Martyn just stared, unsure of what to do or say.

“You’ve, uh… Been through a lot, haven’t you?” Ren tilted his head. “You’ve probably got a million questions, huh?”

Martyn nodded, looking back and forth between Jimmy and Ren.

“I don’t… really understand what’s happening either,” Ren said. “But, uh, couldn’t just leave you there, y’know?”

“Ren,” Jimmy spoke up, still holding Martyn close. “I think… I think you should grab Cleo.”

“Right, right!” Ren bounced back up. He looked Martyn in the eye, grinning. “You should’ve seen the look on her face when I took you home, dude! I don’t know what you did to her but-- Sheesh!”

Cleo. Cleo was here too?

Martyn didn’t catch the rest of what Jimmy and Ren said. His head spun. Wooden floors, he noticed, and a huge window on the side of the house. Sunlight beamed down on a cute little dining table, littered with crumbs and dirty plates. It must’ve been lunchtime not too long before he woke up. This was… a house. That much was sure. A home, even. Multiple rooms. Bedrooms. Lived in. Ren and Jimmy, did they live here? With Cleo too? For how long?

Could he… stay here with them? Forever?

The distant sound of waves crashing ashore could be heard, a little more violent, a little angrier.

But Martyn felt safe.

And as his body finally grew cold, as his heart couldn’t keep up any longer, his entire body went numb.

Waves. Crashing.

The moon rose, full and bright and beautiful on the shore.

This is okay, he’s okay.

He’s going to go home.

A wave crashes over his body, dragging it towards the ocean’s jaws. He doesn’t even feel it.

As he dies, as the last beeps on his timer sound, his mind is not alone, cold with mangled legs on that deserted shoreline with the bodies of his former friends just metres away. He is having freshly baked carrot cake with people who care for him, hold him, love him around that tiny dining table in that cabin off by the cliff side.

Even as his body is carried off to be washed ashore someplace far off in the future.

Inthelittlewood fell out of the world.

[meaculpameahugeculpa]

Try to act like a person

CW: female whumpee/male whumper, villain whumpee/hero whumper, starvation, manhandling, hair pulling, verbal abuse, implied ableism (Whumpee gets insulted because she is unable to perform household chores).

Note: this is my first work, and I’m not a native speaker, so please, be gentle, haha! And don’t hesitate to give advice!

-Again, it’s the worst thing that I’ve ever seen.-

That was the third time! Her weak arms weighed on her shoulder like rocks on a slope; the woman could feel her muscles contracting as she laid out the sheet on the mattress; cold sweat dripped down her neck as her body stretched to reach the furthest angles of the bedding.

The villain pulled the blanket over the mattress and placed the tiny cushion on it; her breath was heavy and irregular, her mouth a dry cave. She covered her face with her hands and rubbed them on it, trying to melt the weight on her foreheads: she wanted to close her eyes and see nothing than pure black, she wanted to turn off her head!

-Now, you are kidding me!- the man muttered, storming towards the cot; he grabbed the blanket and the sheet, throwing them on the floor.

The woman’s gaze jumped on the sheets, her black eyes were wide open in incredulity; she had fixed that shit! How the fuck did he dare to destroy everything?

She hadn’t eaten in days: spasms ached inside her stomach, every contraction anticipated the nauseating gurgles; she couldn’t feel her legs, and her head was throbbing; she couldn’t repeat the same shit another time, it was impossible, she couldn't move, she couldn’t move and the bastard was still babbling off his orders, fuck!

-You are kidding me, idiotic bitch!- he screamed, the same clenched jaw and lips that had haunted her high school years: it was his defeat expression, the expression of a parent that beats up his child because he can’t get him to clean his room.

He grabbed her forearm, clawing his palm around her cold skin, her entire trunk shook under his grip: a sob broke from her lips: the villain could swear she felt her organs coming off from her body; -Are you unable to make up a fucking bed?!- the woman swallowed, her stomach burning as the man’s words left his mouth.

With his hand still anchored to her forearm, he threw her body near the mattress: her knees fell on the ground, and she squeezed her eyes as hot pain burned her skin scratched by the concrete.

As she started crawling to reach the sheet, trembling sobs filled the cell: her body threatened to fall on its weight, her reddened arm still pulsing from the previous abuse; when the villain managed to position the tissue on the mattress, the man kicked her left hip: she screamed, curling on herself in the attempt to calm down the dull pain, -I cannot believe it…- he muttered, with his fists clenched.

-Your brain cells are selective, you can hack the computers of an entire fucking state, but you can’t deal with some sheets- he said, shaking his head;

at the man’s words, her eyes tightened, getting darker as she felt her entire body tensing up, the ache in her hip left place to a wave of heat pumping inside her: she started kicking out, trying to hit the hero’s shins:

she could sense him holding up his breath, his mouth a tight line as he stared at her; he descended on her body with a fast motion, and grabbed her black hair, pulling her up; she grunted: it was like splinters were penetrating in her scalp!

-Never again.- he screamed, forcing her face in front of his, -Don’t you dare do it again.- the hero’s grip tightened, and she flinched as another pang of pain crossed her head, -Understood?!- his voice pierced her eardrums like a sharp knife: the villain forced a nod, that simple movement felt like selling her entire dignity,

-Never do it again.- he replied, releasing her hair: the woman stumbled on the floor, but still managed to stand upright; her body was shaking without pause.

-The Court isn’t going to kick you out of the class. They aren’t me or your teachers. Try to act like a person.-

[flamexbound]

“Strange place to fall asleep.” from eritvita!! hi yaya!! 👋🏻👋🏻👋🏻

Warning: Druge use. Mentions of drug addiction.

"At least in a vampire crypt, I have a warm fire and fresh linen," grumbled Magna, but her rebuke lacked any heat as the pain she was experiencing made it hard to be angry with the young mage whose only crime was to escape the Nightlord's fury unscathed.

Damned vampires and their death hounds!

Magna had cleaned and bound the claw wounds on her forearm as best she could, but the death hound's claws must have been diseased, for the arm was now stiff and hot, and the edges of the gashes were red and painful to the touch. Still, Magna could hold a dagger and she could walk, and in Skyrim, that ranked her among the lucky and able. Except now, she was completely drained of magic from her fight with the Nightlord Vampire she'd been tasked to eliminate which left her with little to no healing power for her arm.

And it hurt.

“Consider yourself lucky that bastard and his hound hadn't attacked your first.”

Limping, Magna pulled open a drawer in the cupboard and took out a long pipe, bowl stained black and red flecks of blood. “But at least my target was a man of culture and pleasure.” She stooped and fished a hot coal from the abandoned fireplace with a set of tongs. “Until my magika has replenished itself...I plan to dull the pain with skooma. Do not bother talking me out of it.” The worn mouthpiece beckoned her like an old lover. An old friend. As a child, Magna had seen skooma addicts often enough, sprawling like corpses, withered to useless husks themselves, caring for nothing but the next pipe, the next hit, the next dose of mind-numbing pleasure. Skooma was like mercy. A thing for the weak and foolish. For the living and none for the dead. The smoke burned at her lungs and made her sore ribs shake, each choke sending new shocks to the tips of her fingers. Magna moaned, face screwing up, struggling again, but more weakly, now. One more cough, and she lay limp. The horrid pain in her forearm was now a thing of the past.

Everything slowly melted. Soft, warm, comfortable. Someone made a long, low moan. Her, maybe. She giggled. “More.” Magna held the smoke as it bit, blew it out in a shimmering plume. Her breath came slower, and slower, the surging of blood in her head calmed to a gentle lapping. “More.” The sloshing of blood from the vampire's decapitated head washed over her like waves on the smooth beach. The crypt blurred now, glistening in haloes of warm light. The coals in the grate were precious jewels, sparkling in every color. There was barely any pain, and what there was didn’t matter. Nothing did. Her eyes flickered pleasantly, then even more pleasantly drifted shut. Mosaic patterns danced and shifted on the insides of her eyelids. She floated on a warm sea and dreamed of home.

@eritvita

[slinksly]

The cold air nipped at the exposed skin of the young man’s forearms and face. He was wearing tan trousers and a stained white shirt that looked a tad too large for his lanky frame. The wind left his ink black hair tickling his eyes and the nape of the neck. His eyes were a dull grey, calm and unassuming; but looking out to the world, he did so with the innocence of youth. It gave the young man an uniquely amiable appearance, often leaving others to mistake his age of twenty years for something younger.

Calloused hands gripped the handles of the cart as the young man made his way up the hill. He passed by the butchers and the little village market and by the orphanage where children of various ages were playing outside. A few of the more reticent children were watching the passerby with shrewd eyes. He tipped his head as he passed them.

Miss Boldy’s Bordello, or simply “the cathouse” as the crowd called it, was an older construction with solid bones. “She’s one sturdy brick,” Miss Boldy would brag to any willing—as well as unwilling—ear. It was one of the girls, Winni, who met him out by the back of the building.

“Hey there, lad. Want some help bringing all that wood in?”

The young man tipped his head in thanks. “Yeah, that’d be a great help.”

Winni nodded as she picked up a few logs of wood from out of the cart. He grabbed some logs of his own and they began making their way inside. They unloaded the logs in silence. Then Winni said, “You still got some work to do ‘fore it gets dark?”

The young man looked over and nodded his head. Winni said, “Wait here just a moment.”

She went in and shortly came out with an apple in one hand and reached out with the other to ruffle the young man’s hair. “There you go, boy. Snack on that til it’s time for a proper dinner.”

He shook off her hand but accepted the apple with thanks. He liked Winni. He liked all the girls that worked here. They had all been nothing but kind to him since he was a boy. They took care of him. Some of the original faces were no longer there, having been replaced by younger, fresher faces like that of Winni. Yet there was always a sense of familiarity, nonetheless. He said, “I’m off to help Mr. Burns with his fence.”

Winni gave a small smile and said, “Off you go then, laddy.”

He gave her one last tip of his head before heading off.

The grin on Mr. Burns’s face spoke of his satisfaction of a job well done. Fixing a fence was an honest job, after all. But no matter how honest a job, it ain’t honest enough to keep those pesky chickens from departing in the nighttime (and usually with the helping hand of things a little less friendly).

But the young man decided against reminding Mr. Burns of a fact that he likely knew all too well, lest he risk losing his payment. He already knew at such an age that the best way to keep your pockets full was to keep a smile on the face of whoever held the cash. He wasn’t any good at lying, thus opted to keep his mouth shut.

Mr. Burns shimmied a bit in what looked to be an attempt to get his trousers back up over his large gut. His hair was greasy where he had smoothed it back over and over again. The tiredness of a full-days work could do little to dampen the smile that bloomed on Mr. Burns face.

The young man prepared to bid the gentleman goodbye when the man spoke. “Say, my wife prepared so much food in preparation for my brother visiting that not even I could fill it all in this big ol’ gut of mine. And Tommy was only here for a few days and we’ve still got more food than we can finish off. How about you take some of it with you to share with the girls?”

The young man kicked at a stone by his left foot, ignoring the subtle pain and turned and said, “That would be mighty kind of you, sir.

Mr. Burns turned and waved him over as he began walking towards his home. Mr. Burns lived on the outskirts of the village. He was certainly one of the wealthiest around, being able to afford a fully furnished house and enough land to accompany it. Though no one in their little town could begin to even scratch the edges of true riches, Mr. Burns seemed to have all the wealth he could ask for and didn’t want a penny more. The young man always admired the manner in which the older gentleman carried himself.

Mr. Burns gathered up the food with a steady ease. “Did you hear? Apparently some folks from sea were in the coastal town over.”

The young man asked, “Pirates?”

Mr. Burns shook his head in amusement. “Nah, thank goodness. Good ol’ sailors. Government sponsored or something, maybe just rich, but ain’t nothing bad. Now I heard this from Tommy—” Mr. Burns leaned in conspiratorially and the young man couldn’t help but mirror him. “—some were seen heading this way.”

The young man tilted his head in thought and asked, “Why would sailors be coming to this town? Ain’t make no sense. We ain’t close to the water.”

Mr. Burns smiled. “Young lad, let me tell you: Opportunities! We’re a land of opportunities! For any sea-weary sailor looking for a place to settle for a bit, well, this little upstart of a town would be a great place to find oneself.” His grin widened before he added, “And cheap.”

The young man couldn’t help but feel a tad bewildered by the older man’s words. New money could hardly hurt such a place as this, and new faces were likely to bring more customers for Miss Boldy’s Bordello and the girls. But for the just over twenty years that he’d been living here, the young man could hardly see how one could describe the quaint town as a land of opportunity.

It was later that night when he found himself back at the bordello, tired from a long day. He’d shared the food with the girls and gotten plenty of thanks in return. “Tell Mr. Burns we’re awfully appreciative,” said one of the girls.

That night when he lay in bed he dreamt of the sea and the waves that crashed; that tumbled and whirled endlessly. What type of man would the sea weather. What type of man will she bring?

[stardust-and-sage]

theory 001

whenever you feel pain, like a burning sensation, or a needle-prick, or even maybe a knife pain, it’s your soulmate who’s getting hurt. (knife pain i would like to think is surgery) and when your soulmate and you finally meet and get to know each other, you stop feeling unknown pain.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

The Lost Princess Chapter 6

Jotun!Loki x plus size reader

When Jotunheim and Asgard are on the brink of war, only a marriage of convenience between the two worlds can unite them. The only problem is, Odin does not have a female heir, or does he?

Submit your own character!

Warnings: fluff, arranged marriage, angst, d/s dynamics, slow burn, Odin slamming, enhanced!reader, swearing, slightly unhealthy relationship, Loki is an emotionally stunted person, age gap (I wrote reader as being in her early twenties but can be read as any age), mention of dead parents

WC: 6.2k

Minors DNI

Chapter 6

The Ice Will Always Melt

The air smelt of ash, gray flecks floated down with the ever-falling snow. Y/N lay in the white powder, the expensive furs she had donned were soaked through but she made no move to get up.

“You need to get up, pet.” “No.” A sigh. “I wasn’t asking.” “And I’m not listening.” “Your rules still apply. I will not hesitate to put you over my knee if you continue to disobey me.” She lifted her head from the snow, her hair covered in it. “Yeah and that would actually involve touching me which you can’t seem to do.”

Loki growled, he stood over her, his huge stature casting a massive shadow. Her eyes flicked up to his red ones then back down to his crotch which was barely covered by the leather strip he always wore around his hips. “Are you done sulking?” She glared at him in response.

The ground shook as he plopped down next to her, sending a puff of snow onto her plump body. “You can’t do that forever.” “Thanks for your wisdom Master.” She hissed. “It wouldn’t kill you not to be such a fucking brat.” She just glared at him, wincing as she tried to turn away. “Try one more time and then I’ll bring you inside to change your dressings.”

“I am sorry I was not here to help you my love.” Loki cupped her cheeks, lightly kissing her forehead as he guided her back into the water, muttering in a language she didn’t understand. The water glowed as her damaged skin came into contact with it, immediately soothing the burn. “Stay here, I’ll be back.” She was shocked into silence, simply watching as her husband rushed out of the room, eyes filled with panic. 

He came back into the room with a pile of cloth but before she could identify what he was holding, he completely stripped down to join her. Y/N’s eyes went wide at the sight of his cock. She quickly averted her gaze but it was already burned into her mind. He was incredibly thick and long, well-endowed even for being a 12ft frost giant, his soft length was easily over 15 inches and thicker than her forearm. Silvery ridges, like the ones on his body, went down the entirety of his cock, leading to a slightly purple tip. 

The water settled around them as Loki kneeled in front of her, holding a glass jar full of ointment. “Wh-what are you doing?” “Just relax, pet. Let me take care of you.” Huge hands gently rubbed the oil into her skin. Bolts of pain still shot through her as he touched her but it was more dulled than before. “I know. I know how much it hurts but it’ll be over soon, just breathe.” She clutched the index finger on his left hand, squeezing every time he hit a particularly sore spot. “Why didn’t you tell me you had abilities?”

Y/N huffed. “I didn’t know. I had a nightmare and I burnt your bed.” “It’s our bed pet.” “Agree to disagree.” He chuckled, the sound was strangely comforting. She whimpered as he touched her sternum, calloused fingers gently massaging the skin between her breasts, careful not to touch the fatty tissue. “Are you almost done?” Her eyes were flicking to everywhere but his own, not able to look at him as he touched her more intimately than anyone else ever had. “Almost, you’ll just need to soak a bit longer for the medicine to work.” The prince sat on the stone bench beside her, pulling his small wife onto his lap and wrapping his arms around her so she was trapped in place. She froze, feeling his half-hard cock resting between her legs, his tip nestled between her pudgy thighs. “You need not worry pet. I will not take you tonight.”

Huge arms held her tighter, and even though she knew she shouldn’t, Y/N melted into his embrace, letting the tears fall again. “I’ll help you control it. You needn’t be scared.” She slept soundly in her husband’s arms that night, the burns soothed by the many bandages and his cold skin.

Loki guided her back to her feet and directed her towards the pile of wood he had gathered, much of it was already burnt to a crisp. “Can we just go back inside? I can’t do any more.” “You need to practice. Your abilities are obviously tied to your emotions so we need to figure out how to manage it.” “What’s all this ‘we’ talk, I’m the one that has flames coming out of them.”

“I’m really trying to be nice but if you want, we can go back to being Master and pet.” “Cause that worked so well last time.” The first time he had taken her out of the palace to practice her new found abilities, she had gotten too worked up, snapping at her husband which made him bend her over his knee in the snow. The pain and aggravation she felt had turned into an explosive outburst.

The flames she let out were so powerful that they melted the ice around her that had never been melted before and burned Loki quite badly. He had simply taken a deep breath and brought her back inside, stripping them both down to soak in the healing water. Her eyes had still burned with rage even as he delicately cleaned her skin before tending to his own wounds. He hadn't touched her since then.

Y/N huffed but extended her arms once more, her s/c skin being exposed to the elements but the cold had little effect on her anymore. Worthless. Disgusting. Ugly. The voices rang out in her head, the insults bouncing around her brain, getting more cruel and venomous each time they came forward.

She winced as the voices got stronger, heat racing through her veins, steam rolling off her. Red flames licked at her fingers, the glow surrounding her. Loki watched as her eyes become glassy, her pupils and irises disappearing under a sheen of white, leaving only a thin, almost translucent line under the white.

She looked regal, a goddess overwhelmed with fury, threatening to burn everything that opposed her. She was a queen in the making. But the tears that dripped down her plump cheeks were what really terrified the god. 

He knew emotions drove her powers, just as they did his own. Negative thoughts were powerful, good for short bursts but they weren’t sustainable. They ate away at one until there was only a husk left, driven forward by anger or sadness then nothing, only numbness remaining. Loki reached out to touch her but stopped as a sob ripped through her chest.

Her eyes shut and she collapsed into the snow, the red dissipating into the gray skies. He sighed. “Fuck.” He ran a hand through his raven hair, taking it out of the bun he had tied it up in. Squatting down, he scooped her into his arms, the heat from her body radiating even through the furs she wore. Huge hand cupped her face, brushing the remaining tears away. She looked so small in his arms, too small, too delicate, too innocent.

Servants scrambled out of his way, all too eager to avoid the prince’s legendary temper. Especially after the huge tantrum he had thrown a couple weeks before. His shouts almost shook the ground as he screamed at his father for speaking to his wife without permission. A storm had raged as Loki’s eyes almost glowed with fury. 

Laufey matched him word for word. “I never thought my own son would use his wife as a slave and would be so inadequate to not even get his wife pregnant even after all the fertility potions we have been putting in her tea.” It was a low blow but necessary. “You’ve been drugging her?!” “I’ve been ensuring that you’re following through on this deal.” He growled, looking down on his son, eyes blazing.

“She is my wife, I’ll do with her what I please.” “Exactly, she is your wife, not a concubine. You both have an obligation to birth a child. Do not treat her like a slave, she deserves your respect for even marrying such a spoilt brat.” Loki yelled in frustration, storming from the hall. He left Jotunheim, knowing that if he returned to his rooms, he would not be able to control himself and take his anger out on her. 

The prince laid his wife on their newly fixed bed, making sure she was in the direct center. Her breathing was even and slow, at least she was getting rest without the constant nightmares that seemed to invade her subconscious every night. With gentle movements, he stripped the many layers off her body, careful not to touch the still healing wounds.

And then with a practiced ease, he redressed the burned and wrapped her in one of his shirts, sliding her beneath the covers. Settling himself by the fire, he watched over her as she slept, ensuring that she got the rest she needed.

——————

“So, what, no training today.” Y/N slumped into the chair across from her husband, thick arms crossing over her heavy chest, her body finally gaining back the weight she had lost. Loki barely looked up at her, red eyes flicking up only briefly, noting her eyes still puffy from sleep, before returning to his book. “You’ve passed out every time we’ve tested your powers.”

“Maybe it’s because you’ve been overworking me.” She scoffed, picking at the plate of fruits she didn’t recognise. Anger curled in his chest at her blatant sass, hand twitching, tempted to put her over his knee but he wouldn’t risk it, not until he learnt the full scope of her abilities. “I have nearly been pushing your limits in an attempt to understand how these powers came about and how strong they are.” He answered bluntly.

“I’d blame the shit they injected into my system while I was being tortured.” She selected a grape-looking thing, the bright blue colour slightly throwing her off, but popped it into her mouth anyway. “You’re a demi-god, it is a given that you would be powerful but they would only emerge if you were put under great stress.” He could practically feel her eye-roll as she took another bite of fruit. 

Loki heaved out a sigh, his huge chest expanding with the intake of air. “Rule 2. Now.” “What exactly does that have to do with anything?” Long blue arm stretched over the table, strong fingers gripping her jaw tightly so her e/c eyes were forced up to his ruby ones. “Do not question me pet. Rule 2.” A shiver rolled up her spine at the pure dominance of his tone, a fire lighting in her belly before it quickly extinguished.

She couldn’t bear to maintain eye-contact with him, not when it was like he was staring into her soul, making her feel naked and vulnerable. “You are never allowed to lie to master.” She murmured, her voice quiet and docile, the rules burned into the front of her mind. He withdrew his hand, slowly. She knew the threat was still there, how easily he could break her with just a flick of his wrist.

“Correct. And that also means that you don’t omit the truth. I do this to keep you safe.” Y/N scoffed, Loki ignored her and continued, placing his book down on the table with a thump. “Your powers are motivated by emotion and that emotion is obviously damaging you. I may be a cruel man but I cannot ignore the fact that you cry whenever we train.” Her shoulders became hunched, folding in on herself. 

“So what do you want me to do?” She almost pleaded, ripping apart the small bits of fruit she put on the plate in front of her. “Be honest. That is all I ask. It is the one rule I want you to abide by until we understand the full extent of your abilities. Am I clear?” Y/N’s fingers withdrew from her plate and twisted around the delicate chain of her necklace, anxiously pulling on the thin links.

She gasped and flinched away when Loki placed a giant hand over the top of her own. His skin was cold against her own, the hard calluses on his fingers a stark contrast on her soft palms. He seemed concerned as he loomed over her, emotion shimmering in his eyes, a lock of his dark hair falling from his braid. “I will find a way to help you, but you must trust what I am doing and you must listen to me. I am far older and far more powerful than you. We will fix this.”

A breeze blew through the room, shocking her out of the slight daze she was in. Yanking herself from his grip, she moved to the center of the room. She was silent for a long while pacing on the intricately designed carpet, her bare feet sinking into the fibres, tramping them down. Loki watched as she walked with a surprising amount of grace. Each step was light as if trying to stay silent, her head held high, shoulders back. She almost looked like a real princess.

Could she really trust him? She doubted it but it wasn’t like there were any other options, she didn’t even know how to get off this stupid planet let alone who she could go to. Not Asgard, Odin would turn her away, it’s obvious he only saw her as a bargaining chip. She doubted anyone on Earth would help her after learning she married Loki of her own free will. And Laufey would return her back to Loki if she went to him. 

Maybe if she gained enough of his trust, she could get some more freedom. Maybe she could even convince him to let her see Thor. It was getting slightly depressing only seeing one other person’s face, only hearing her own voice or that of her husband’s for months now. Even having a little pet would be enough, she was sick of being alone.

The weight of what she knew she had to do rested heavily on her shoulders. Part of her wanted to wait out this wretched marriage, content to let Loki do what he pleased with her until her death or got bored of her. But a larger part wondered that, if she could master these powers, then she could escape this icy planet. 

“Ok.” Y/N sighed, turning to look up at her husband through her dark eyelashes. “I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you wish for me.” “Very good. Now I think it best for you to finish your breakfast, then you may do what you wish for the rest of the day while I prepare your new training.” She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his almost derogatory tone. Loki crossed his legs, giving her a quick glimpse of what was hidden under his black trousers, the outline of his cock clearly visible as he moved. “Doesn’t anyone own underwear on this planet?” She thought as she planted herself on the small bench at the end of his their bed.

“Well, go on then, do what you normally do when I’m not here.” He urged, his deep voice rumbling through the cavernous room. This time she did roll her eyes. “I am.” His red eyes narrowed at her, not fully trusting her word. “Really? I didn’t think you were that dull that you just sat and waited for me to come home.” Y/N scoffed, crossing her plump arms over her chest defensively.

“You left me alone here for over a week. I’ve already read all of your books, they were incredibly boring by the way. Would it kill you to get better books like Lord of the Rings or Jane Austin? Hell, I’d even take Fifty Shades of Grey at this point and that book sucks.” The god scoffed, leaning back in the massive recliner-like chair. “I do not think any Midgardian writer deserves to be placed in my library.”

Y/N pointed at the huge, well loved, leather covered book that stood proudly in the center of the main shelf of books. “That is the complete works of Shakespeare. Get me something good.” He just barely hid the smirk that coloured his features before Y/N’s e/c eyes turned their attention back to him. “You seem to be ungrateful for what I have provided.” He prodded.

“I’m just saying you don’t have any taste.” She muttered under her breath, he caught it but didn’t say anything, all too pleased to have a little brat on his hands instead of the lethargic girl he married. “I will procure you some knitting needles and yarn for now, I know how much you adore knitting. And I will think about getting you some books. But only if you are good.” Y/N froze, did she tell him that she liked to knit? She couldn’t remember if she had. 

She glanced at him suspiciously as he turned back to his book. “Make a list of works that you would like and I shall see what I can do. I can’t have my wife being bored now can I?” He asked rhetorically. “Right.” The woman murmured, keeping the huge man in her sights, studying him, trying to remember if he had ever asked about her interests. There’s no way he could’ve heard about it from Thor or Frigga, she had only met them briefly and their own interactions with Loki seemed strained to say the least.

He could be a mind reader but somehow she doubted that. If he was he totally would’ve heard her disparaging remarks she constantly made about him in her head. “If you cannot decide what to do, I will choose for you.” He scolded, she remained silent, still thinking. Loki sighed. “Go on pet, pull down that book.” He gestured to the large book of plays, spurring her forward. 

Sliding from the bench, which was more of a daybed to Y/N, she reached up and grabbed the massive volume, letting out a small puff of air as the heavy weight of it landed on her chest. She stumbled slightly and Loki’s hand just shot out in time to catch her before she fell, his palm resting over the small of her back, almost encompassing it. “Careful pet.” 

He plucked the book from her grip, laying it down on the table on top of the one he had previously been reading, before picking her up and carefully setting her down on his lap. She tried to squirm away but he held firm until she gave up, bottom lip jutting out in a very adorable pout. “That’s better. Now, read to me.”

“What?” “You heard me, read to me. Pick your favourite and read.” Y/N pondered for a moment, then laid the book down on the table in front of her, turning the pages until she found the beginning of Hamlet. She took a deep breath and began. “Francisco at his post. Enter to him Bernardo. Bernardo. Who's there? Francisco. Nay, answer me: stand, and unfold yourself.”

——————

“Please! Stop!” It was a desperate scream that had awoken the prince from slumber. Y/N was thrashing on the mattress beside him, her eyebrows scrunched in pain, sweat dripping down her forehead. She looked terrified. Moving quickly, Loki took her into his embrace, hissing at the steadily increasing temperature of her body. His long arms tucked her into his chest so her nose rested in the crook of his mighty collarbone. This position was becoming all too common now, the way he acted as a straight jacket for his thrashing wife when her anxiety and fear became too much.

Her nails dug into his forearms painfully, cutting his azure skin as her panic grew. The dark emerald sheets had been thrown off her side of the bed, the numerous pillows she tended to surround herself with, were scattered on the ground, the edges of one or two of them singed and still smoking. 

“C-can’t please!” Sobs echoed through her chest, holding tighter to her husband as she wailed, begging the assailant in her mind to stop hurting her. “Wake up my love. Wake up.” He pleaded into her hair, rocking their bodies gently as if trying to sooth a child. He had to cool her down or she would burn everything around them. 

He almost stumbled as he pulled her out of the bed, running into the bathing chamber, using magic to fill the tub with water so cold it was almost ice. By now it felt like he was holding a scalding kettle in his hands, a kettle that was still thrashing violently with a strength that almost rivaled his own. 

“Wake up for me, princess. You have to open those pretty eyes.” But she was deaf to his pleas so he did the one thing he could think of, he dropped her into the deep bath. 

As the water made contact with her skin, it began to boil, steam billowed over the floors, quickly rising to fill the room in a stifling fog. There was a terrifying few seconds when all was quiet before Y/N broke through the surface of the water gasping for air. Her eyes blazed white, wide with confusion. The hiss of the steam still growing from the emptying bath panicking her even further. “Loki?” She called out. 

“Yes yes I’m here pet, wait one moment.” The large window at the other end of the room was quickly thrown open with a flick of his wrist. Loki turned back to his wife, who had now pulled herself from the water and was standing at the edge of the basin, droplets of the clear liquid running down her skin, the white nightshirt she wore, completely see-through.

“Pet, you need to breathe.” He inched closer to her in an attempt to bring her back into his embrace.

“Don’t touch me!” The ground seemed to shake with the power of her scream. It was heartbreaking, the pure, unadulterated terror and hurt that laced her tone. His hand dropped back down to his side and he could only watch as her body trembled with fear, heat emanating from her like dark pavement during the summer, the air shimmering around her, poised to explode. “Just stay away!” She was lashing out like a cornered animal, eyes flicking around the room, searching for a way out.

Her gaze locked on the window he had thrown open. “Don’t do what you’re thinking about.” He growled, legs tensing in anticipation of making a run at her if she decided to make a break for it. But she didn’t run, she didn’t even move, she stood frozen, holding her elbows over her chest as some vain attempt to comfort herself, her breathing still ragged. The panic attack still coursing through her veins made him worry.

Carefully approaching, Loki got on his knees, holding a massive hand out to her, leaving just enough space that she could reach out and touch him but he could not reach her. “Can I touch you now? I promise not to hurt you, I just want to help you get some air, safely.” Y/N nodded, taking a tentative step towards him, wrapping her fist around his pointer finger but not touching him any further than that.

He resisted the urge to chuckle at the arguably cute behaviour of his wife, and instead, lead her to the grand window that overlooked the ice gardens below their rooms. “I’m going to help you onto the sill alright and then I’ll let go of you. I trust you not to make any bad decisions.” He took her silence as agreement because he then carefully lifted her to the wide piece of wood that outlined the window, careful to only touch the cloth of her shirt, which was quickly drying from the heat of her skin.

The sun was just dipping below the horizon, the pair of them having slept away most of the day after finishing Hamlet, giving one last burst of light before it disappeared under the growing storm clouds. Y/N settled herself on the far end, tightly holding to the side of the frame, her husband taking a seat on the other end. Her eyes faded back to her natural e/c colouring as her breathing got steadier.

Loki was silent beside her, focusing on the growing storm in the distance. “My mom always told me I was destined for great things. One day I would make a difference. I know I’ve never been that smart or that pretty, so I settled for helping others. If I could help someone like Tony’s life easier, then maybe, he could be the one to change things.” Y/N wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her head on her knees, wetting the fabric of her skirt with the fat tears rolling down her plump cheeks.

“I’ve failed her. What kind of difference have I made? I’m literally locked away in a castle by myself. I thought I was going to die in that warehouse and all I could think was that I had done nothing with my life. I hadn’t even been on a real date! And now, I’m stuck here with a man who I’ve been forced to marry. And I just feel so alone. And every time I close my eyes, I see those men, I hear everything they told me, I feel everything they did to me. I’m so tired.”

Y/N felt like she had been given no time to mourn. Her life had been flipped upside down in the span of a few weeks and she didn’t have any solid ground to stand on anymore, no one to trust, nothing to hold onto. She could feel the tell-tale burning in her fingertips, the pin prick feeling like her hand was falling asleep, the fire within her threatening to explode out. 

The dark clouds on the horizon were sparkling with white lightning, the wind was steadily picking up, whipping her tears away as they fell. “You know, I’ve never cried this much my whole life. Every time I think I’ve hit the bottom, that I can’t cry anymore, I do. And it hurts every time.” The god relaxed against the windowsill, letting one of his long longs dangle, his heel resting against the cold stone outside of the castle. He studied her profile, taking in the slope of her nose and cheeks, the way her lashes rested against her skin when she blinked. 

Her eyes were so much older than she appeared, horrors haunting those enchanting e/c’s. She was so tortured and confused, like a lost little kitten, staring out into a hurricane threatening to swallow her whole. Loki sighed, tearing his gaze from her and fixing his eyes on the darkening horizon. “I was raised alongside Thor for much of my life. I was always second best, always striving to be better than him but I never could.” 

Y/N’s plump body turned towards her husband, tucking herself further into his white shirt, which she had taken to wearing as a nightgown. He avoided her eyes as he continued. “Thor had been banished to Midgard for attacking Jotunheim. I was finally alone, finally I could have my chance but then, your father told me what I really was. He stole me from my home, kept me as some kind of trophy.”

The ozone smell of the impending snow invaded his senses, calming his racing heart. “I didn’t know who I was. I came home but I was outcast here too. How could I be prince of a people whom I had been raised to hate. So I left once more, trying to find my place in the universe.” His muscles went rigid and his fingers shook as he shut his eyes. “There was a being. He told me I was strong, valuable. He told me all the things I wanted to hear all my life. He lured me in, then as soon as I had pledged my loyalty to him, he-“ A chocked sound escaped his throat as he recalled what Thanos had done to him, the eons of pain he forced his body and mind to go through. He felt his own control slipping through his fingers, the horrors of his past becoming too much to bear alone. 

“One day you will see, I do this for you. I never wished to hurt you. This is all for the greater good of the universe. This is your glorious purpose.” Thousands of meat hooks were embedded in his skin, pulling him apart slowly as he was suspended above the giant. Screams bubbled up in his throat, but he refused to let them out, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Once you are completely broken, that’s when you can be reborn.”

He’d never told anyone what happened to him, swore he would take it to his grave, never even spoken it to the wind in fear his words would carry to listening ears. But the way his small wife looked up at him with huge, understanding eyes, he couldn’t stop himself from telling her. “He inflicted pain on me that I could have never imagined. He broke down every defense I had until there was nothing left. Until he could remold me into the perfect puppet. I was trapped within my own mind, watching myself as I attack people, as I waged a war I wished to have no part of.” He barely leaned forward in order to take her small palm within his own, heating his cool skin, and for the first time, she didn’t shy away from his touch, but instead relaxed into it. 

“I do not know what you experienced at the hands of those men but what I do know is what it’s like to be tortured by your own mind, to think that you are worth nothing because others have told you as such. I may be an awful man and husband, but I would never, ever, make you feel like that. I promise.” A shiver rolled down Y/N’s spine. In this moment, he seemed so small, so unsure of himself, like a child who had lost his way. She clutched at his hand, nodding as the last of her tears faded into the night. “Out loud pet.” He ordered, but there was no malice behind his command, just a gentle urging, the tension easing in his chest.

He sounded almost playful, almost kind. “Yes master.” She snarked, unwittingly seeing how far she could push this new dynamic. A mischievous grin grew across his lips and he yanked her forward, her body falling into his chest, face getting tucked into his collarbone as she wrapped her arms around his torso, her legs coming to rest on the top of his thighs since he was too wide for her to straddle comfortably. “Oh you’ve decided to be a little brat huh?” She propped her chin against his cold skin and gazed up at him. “Of course not Master, I’m a good pet.” A huge hand cupped the side of her head, his thumb delicately grazing her hair.

“Yes you are. Now!” Sliding from the windowsill, the frost giant kept the princess safely tucked in his arms, as he stood to his full height, Y/N giving a cute little yelp as he did. “Enough with all of this disgusting crying and emotions. I will not have my wife be so sentimental when we could be dining on some very wonderful supper and entertaining ourselves while this dreadful storm passes.” Tucked tightly against his chest, Y/N breathed in his slightly woodsy scent, the oaky richness with a slightly spicy undertone, a cinnamon or nutmeg, and something so incredibly familiar and nostalgic, that clung to everything he touched.

With several long strides, they were back in the warmth of the royal chambers, a huge fire roaring behind a long dark wood table loaded with food and drinks. She noted most of the dishes were ones very similar to those she loved on Earth. Her toes and fingers burned with the sudden heat, but she welcomed it. 

One of the two large plush chairs covered in green felt was pulled out on its own and Loki placed her gently onto the seat, the cushion dipping under her plump ass, his hands lingering for a moment too long, like they usually did, but this time, Y/N didn’t mind. A relaxed smile crossed her face as her husband sat across from her, his body slumping, a huge weight having been lifted from his chest. 

“I don’t think you’re horrible.” “Hmm?” He hummed and glanced at her. She smiled kindly at him. “I think you’re a bit of an asshole but you have your moments.” Loki gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “Oh my word! Did the high and mighty Princess of Asgard give me, her humble husband, a compliment?” 

“Oh shut up. That’s the last nice thing I’m ever going to say to you.” She laughed, sipping on her tea, perfectly made. “If only I should be so lucky.” “Cheeky.” He just grinned at her lazily, watching how the firelight danced over her s/c skin.

——————

When Y/N awoke once more, she was alone. The other side of the bed was obviously slept in but not made up properly like Loki would usually do in the mornings. For the first time in forever, she felt well-rested. After their talk last night, she fell asleep soundly in her husband’s arms, no nightmares or evil thoughts infesting her mind.

She was surprised that she found herself missing him. It was probably some form of Stockholm Syndrome, she told herself. But in her heart, she knew that maybe one day, she could grow to love him, just like Frigga said. Turning over, she buried her nose into his soft pillow, clutching it tightly to her body, not willing to get out of bed yet.

Just as she was drifting off once more, the huge doors slammed open, startling her. Y/N sat up quickly, drawing the sheets up around her. Thor stood in the entryway.

To say the least, he looked like a mess. His hair was grown out and dirty, his armour dull and scratched, he didn’t even have his signature red cape on. His electric blue eyes locked onto her and she saw him sag with relief. “Come sister, we don’t have much time.” She barely blinked before he was in front of her, grabbing her left arm in a death grip. “Thor, what’s going on? Where’s Loki?”

He growled at the name, yanking her behind him. “He’s busy.” Was the only answer he gave. His head was on a swivel, constantly searching for any threats that may have followed him as they moved into the hall. With an almighty tug, Y/N ripped her arm away from him and stepped back. “You tell me what’s going on, right this instant.”

“We don’t have time for this!” He whisper yelled. “You tell me or I’m not coming with you.” She hissed back, standing firm. Thor had to admit, even dressed in a massively oversized shirt and eyes still puffy from sleep, she was intimidating and powerful. “Fine, fine.” He relented, pulling her to the side of the grand hallway. The taller man cupped her shoulders, breathing in deeply for a moment. 

“The war was a lie. All of this was a deal between Odin and Loki in order for you to marry him of your own free will.”

Y/N was frozen in place. “W-what?” Thor sighed, his hands cupping her biceps but she pulled away, stumbling back as if his touch brought her pain. “Say that again. Fucking tell me this was all for nothing. Tell me he lied to me. Tell me they all lied.” Her voice was devoid of emotion as a white film settled over her eyes, her body burning with anger and embarrassment. 

“Loki started the war so he could have you as some sort of revenge against Odin. This is what it was all about. He just wanted you. He barely even had Laufey’s support. His father only agreed because it meant that he would learn to rule Jotunheim and have a wife by his side since none of the other frost giants wanted to be his partner. The only way they would’ve accepted an outsider was if they married him by choice.”

There was a sudden ringing in her ears. She couldn’t hear anything else her brother said to her. “I-I” She couldn’t breathe. Her back slammed into the wall, hands covering the lower half of her face, panic truly setting in once more. “Sister? Are you alright? Talk to me.” But the deep baritone of his voice was a dull noise to her now. She could feel his touch but couldn’t consciously register it as the world crashed down around her.

“Take your hands off my wife.” And there was Loki, dressed in full battle gear at the other end of the hall, ready to kill.

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[just-here-with-my-thoughts]

Injured / Lula

@summer-of-bad-batch week 2 main prompt / week 8 alt prompt

Fandom: The Bad Batch Characters: Cadet Wrecker, Ninety-Nine Cadet Batch as featured in my WIP fic 'Pieces of the People We Love' - haven't read it? This is a retelling of a section from Part 2 from Wrecker's POV. All you need to know is that Ninety-Nine was originally an enhanced cadet from Crosshair's batch, and Wrecker is the only survivor from his batch. Wrecker is younger than the others. Word Count: ~1130 Read Here on AO3

Synopsis: Alone and recovering from an injury that might lead to his decommissioning, Wrecker gets an unexpected visitor, and an unexpected friend.

Wrecker was four years old. Hyper-accelerated growth put him in the body of a sixteen-year-old, although developmentally he was closer to twelve.

He might not get any older.

The blaster which had misfired by his head spidered laser-burns across the left side of his face. Bacta bandages swathed his skin and covered his left eye and ear, but despite the fact that noise now seemed muffled to him, one conversation cut through loud and clear.

They were talking about decommissioning him.

The only thing that had stayed the decision this long was that he was the last of his batch – the last clone in the experimental unit with enhanced strength, superior stamina.

Eventually it was decided to give him a chance to recover. To see if his injuries affected the long-term viability of his use as a clone trooper.

It was a reprieve that came with the promise of execution. If he wasn’t up to standard, death would simply come later rather than sooner.

*

Sound seemed distant and numb, and the periphery of his vision was blurry and shadowed. Cool air whispered across his newly shorn scalp, hair buzzed to nothing to make his injury easier to treat.

The entire left side of his face pulsed with dull, persistent pain, bared from bandages now to expose the angry, swollen burn-lines which leaked fluid onto his red and blistered skin. Heat from the burns radiated from the side of his head, and the rest of him burned too as fever set into his body, complicating his recovery.

He asked for his brothers. Cried, tears leaking out his damaged eye, as he begged for Crosshair, or even Tech, to be here with him.

His pleas were ignored. His squad-mates were not considered vital to his recovery.

It was deemed more important to keep them apart from him, so as not to disrupt their training regimen; especially if Wrecker might not ever rejoin them.

The only clones he saw were other defective clones assigned orderly duties, silently cleaning the medbay between visits from medical droids and Kaminoan scientists. Those visits left him frightened and distraught, convinced that every checkup would be the one when they decided that his recovery was more effort than it was worth.

That they would start again, use his genetic template on a new batch of enhanced clones, and terminate the original.

*

“Wrecker.”

It was the first voice in a week which had spoken his name, not his number.

“Wrecker?”

“’m awake,” he mumbled, rubbing a forearm tiredly across the right side of his face. His cheeks were still pink-tinged with fever, eyes glassy and too-bright. The voice sounded familiar.

A smiling face greeted him as he blinked to full wakefulness. The lopsided features, starting to show lines of age, tugged at something in the distant recesses of his memory.

“’Nother test?” asked Wrecker sleepily, starting to shuffle to the edge of the bed.

“No, vod’ika,” said the clone. “Came to check on you, seeing as your other brothers can’t. How are you doing?”

The endearment only caused more confusion, but Wrecker abandoned the mystery of his visitor’s identity as he was reminded of his misery. “’m lonely,” he snuffled, “an’ scared.”

The maintenance clone sat on the end of the bed, one hand patting his shoulder fondly. “I’ll sit with you a while. How does that sound?”

Wrecker only nodded. He still wasn’t sure who his visitor was, but he was tired and sick and his injury itched abominably as the healing process began and it was a relief to crawl into the other clone’s lap, curling up against his chest like a child even if he was in a teenaged body.

Arms folded around him in a gentle embrace as he was rocked against a shoulder hunched from scoliosis. Closing his eyes, Wrecker let himself be lulled back to sleep.

*

The next time his visitor came, Wrecker was bouncing with excitement.

“Ninety-Nine!”

He charged at the bowed clone, almost bowling him off his feet.

Ninety-Nine only laughed, catching Wrecker’s enthusiastic hug and steering him back into the room. “Feeling better I see,” he grinned, lopsided in his ageing face. “And you recognise me this time. I take it that means your fever has broken.”

Wrecker nodded fervently. “I’m feelin’ loads better,” he declared, trying to peer past Ninety-Nine and out the door. “Where’s Crosshair? Is he allowed t’see me?”

“Crosshair’s not here,” said Ninety-Nine gently, grimacing as Wrecker’s face fell. “But I brought you something to keep you company.”

Wrecker’s eyes went wide as his brother produced a contrivance of black and red fabric, the same material their cadet clothes were made from. He reached out for it eagerly, squishing the lumpily stuffed body between his hands as he turned it this way and that.

Sewn in white onto the things head, a mournful-looking face stared back at him. The faintly serious look the toy gave him made him laugh.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s a tooka,” said Ninety-Nine with a smile, “or it’s supposed to be. One of the other maintenance clones said he’d read that tooka purring helped with the healing process. I can’t smuggle a real tooka onto Kamino for you, so this is the closest thing I could manage.”

Breaking into a grin, Wrecker crushed the stuffed toy against his chest. “I love it,” he declared, voice muffled as he smooshed his face into the fabric. “Can I keep it?”

“I made it for you, Wrecker. It’s a gift. It’s yours.”

Wrecker’s eyes went wide. Clones rarely accumulated personal belongings – even the enhanced cadets knew that. “Really?”

“Really,” said Ninety-Nine, his smile turning just a little sad. He sat on the bed and gestured for Wrecker to sit beside him, fussing his little brother’s shorn head and petting the buzz of his hair. “I can’t follow you everywhere. Haven’t been able to for years now.” Two years, but with their accelerated ageing it seemed even longer. “This little friend can go where I can’t. Keep you company, so you don’t get lonely.”

“I’m gonna love her like she’s a real tooka,” promised Wrecker, volume increasing with his enthusiasm. “She’s the best thing I ever had!”

“You’ll have to give her a name,” joked Ninety-Nine, amused by Wrecker’s instant assumption about the toy. “She can’t stay as ST-0001 forever.”

“Huh?”

“Stuffed Toy One.”

Wrecker guffawed, the first laugh since his injury. With the new tooka toy in one arm, he threw the other round Ninety-Nine’s neck, hugging his big brother hard.

“I love her, Ninety-Nine. I love you.”

Ninety-Nine only smiled, holding his little brother back, remembering when he was small.

“I love you too, Wrecker.” His voice ached, but his words carried a smile. “Always will, wherever you go.”

And another @sweetspicybingo prompt complete!

[umbralaether]

"You've gone too far this time." for the angst starters!

slight tw for alcoholism & endangerment of self

To bury the beast, she sought out places that no one would go willingly. Places where hiding in plain sight was easy, no one knew your name, and fighting with strangers was common. Carefully selected and sure to provide the depravity she craved, these taverns are all but wrapped up in glittering gift wrap.

She might be sorry that Alphinaud is to be the one to drag her back to the inn, stumbling and slurring and bleeding slightly, should the angry creature inside her loosen its grip. When the light of dawn cascades across her face the next morning, she's left with a blurry memory of a worried, “You should not drink yourself to this state, Eisha, I beg of you,” repeating in her brain, which she buries down with all the other regrets.

She retains enough sense during the day hours to dutifully complete what's requested of her, fake smiles and assurances of all is well, I promise that taste like iron on her tongue.

Another drink or six to dull the knife in her chest. She swears the bolt of Light that struck him down had lodged itself in her.

This time its not Alphinaud who places a hand on her shoulder, firm and warm in the Ishgardian cold. A gentle hand takes the mug from her grasp; she's too numb and the world is too busy rushing around for her to focus who the culprit is.

"Hey, that's mine," She manages, before actually seeing the culprit, "Oh. Thancred. Why're you here?"

"I could ask you the same, but I fear I know the answer," He places the gil on the counter, signaling the bartender, "Let's get you out of here."

The chill air is sobering, but the anger in her blood burns hot and she could swear the snow that hits her skin sizzles upon contact. Thancred doesn't say much, just guides her towards the inn with a hand on the small of her back. It makes her bristle, she doesn't want kindness or softness. She doesn't deserve it.

"You don't have to do this. I know my way back from here." She mutters.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather make sure myself."

True to his word, he follows her to the inn, up the stairs to her room. She unlocks the door, kicks off her boots. The bed was just as she left it, unmade and sheets shredded in places from her nightmares. There were bottles of wine strewn about, most empty but a few not.

If she weren't so apathetic, she'd be embarrassed by the sight. This room was not the room of the Warrior of Light; it was the room of an entirely different creature.

"Eisha…" Thancred murmurs. She wasn't aware that he had followed her inside, but she can’t bring herself to care.

She takes off her sweater, crumpling it into a ball and throwing it into the corner. The inn is only slightly less frigid than the outside air, and she is numbly aware of Thancred tossing more firewood onto the sputtering embers.

"I told you, I'm fine. You don't have to—”

He cuts her off, "You've gone too far this time, Eisha. You've gotten Alphinaud quite worked up. Tataru as well. They're both waiting for the day you end up passed out in the snow."

The swirling anger in her chest seethes at his statement, "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

He turns to face her. He steps closer, eyeing the bruising along her forearms,  "Yeah? And where did those come from?"

She shrugs stubbornly. She wouldn’t tell him that she sought out the pain, the hurt. Too much of a coward to do it herself, she had let others leave what she couldn't.

He sighs, "It's clear you're not okay. Is that why you go to those places?"

She says nothing, looking away.

"You know this isn't what he would have wanted for you."

Like rubble shifting after an earthquake, the rage breaks through her defenses. White-hot behind her eyelids she lurches forward and slams the palms of her hands against his chest, words growled through clenched teeth, "He's dead because of me. He wants for nothing, now, and that will always be my fault."

Her strength is useless against him, her punches will barely leave a mark. Again and again she pounds to the rhythm of the heartbeat in her ears. One that shouldn't still be beating, undeserving of this life after ending the purest one of all. She would have traded places, bargained with any god that would listen if the result ended with Haurchefant alive.

Her own will wanes and she drops to her knees but Thancred is kneeling there with her, arms already holding her close as she sobs into his chest. It hurts, everything hurts, and she deserves it completely.

"Shhh," he shushes into the top of her head, "Let it out. Feel it completely, and then let it go. I promise you, the blame has never been on you."

"He's gone. He's gone, and I'll never forgive myself." She mumbles, nails gripping into his shirt enough to pierce the fabric.

"You don't have to forgive yourself now, but you can't keep living like this. Let us help you. Let me help you." Thancred slowly slides one arm behind  her legs and lifts her, carrying her to the bed.

Healing isn't easy, she knew this much. Even if the physical wounds are cared for and the problem limb removed, the phantom pains can linger much longer. One certain phantom had a vice grip on her heart which would need careful unraveling, the kind found within the ones who love you. It's a slow process, putting yourself back together, and yet she gives into it readily, no longer choosing to be alone.

Thanks for the prompt @healersadjust <3

[uh-e-rinnie]

Analogy (Prinxiety)

I have been bullied /lh by my friend for two hours in discord to post this, and since I don't have an ao3 account for Sanders Sides, welp. Here it is.

Note: I don't write shipping often (I'm not an active shipper!!) and writing isn't my main thing, so don't expect this to be super great!

Tags: Fluff, Cuddles, Subtle romantic gestures, a long ass analogy from Roman's POV

Analogy

To the eyes of the world, Roman and Virgil sat on opposite sides of a spectrum.

On one side you have a beautiful burning red. Bright, vivid, so much so that you can’t help the way your eyes draw attention to it. Like a fleeting firework launched into the sky, leaving a trail of sparks behind as it illuminates the dark sky with a warm light. Sparks fall to the ground, twinkling like stars as they fade into nothing. A gasp and a cheer, a show for all to see and all to be amazed by. It’s boisterous and loud, beautifully standing in a spotlight of its own making. It leaves people talking for minutes, hours, with thunderous applause filling the dull quiet.

It’s red roses in a well-kept garden, its vivid hue brighter against the green surrounding it. Swaying in a gentle breeze as if it were dancing. It makes those who pass stop and stare, stunned, smiling. Drawing closer to take in the raw beauty stood in front of them, like moths to a flame.

And then, there was the other side of the spectrum.

A deep darkness that lures people in, drawing attention through the curious minds of those who cannot seem to look away from temptations of mystery. A soft fog of purple as one feels themselves creeping deeper into the darkness. That purple grows more prominent, more vibrant with every step, slowly the darkness creeps away and you are left with the shade. Its glow is subtle, and soft. Nothing close to the shine of burning reds, but in the surrounding shade, still holds the same aura of awe.

It’s a hidden gem in a deep cave, subtle and hard to find. It’s not something that makes itself known, it’s something that is found with time, patience and effort. When it’s found, satisfaction sits heavy in one’s chest, as what was once a deep dark mystery, sparkles under the light as a beautiful purple.

Bright and spontaneous, subtle and mysterious. The opposite ends of a spectrum. Burning red and cold purple stood under the eyes of the w-

“Is that your analogy?”

A weight falls on his shoulders, and he leans forwards a little bit as he feels something press behind him. In front of him he sees another hand reach for the pen he was holding, twirling between fingers as he feels the other’s elbows press deeper into his shoulder. He groans a little in pain, but the other makes a sound that definitely sounds like a mocking whine.

“What’s wrong with it?” Roman says, pulling the forearms hanging over his shoulders forward and wrapping them around him, forcing himself in the other’s embrace. His lover, behind him, does not attempt to pull away despite the teasing protests. “I think it’s perfect for us!”

“You’re calling me a rock, Roman.”

“I’m calling you a gem. Get it right” He jerks his head upwards to get the other’s chin off him. “A gem. My gem.”

“Aww.” Virgil mutters as the embrace falls apart and the other’s arms disappear from his view. Roman pouts, a little disappointed. “Sappy, gross. Didn’t expect anything else from you though.”

“Oh shush, you love it.”

“I never said I didn’t, Princey.” Roman finally looks to his lover’s direction, and finds the red cased pen still being tossed and turned, fumbling in the other’s hands. He wonders if he’ll be getting that back anytime soon, as Virgil tucks the pen behind his ear. “You’ve been sitting here for over half an hour, doing what? Making an analogy for our relationship?”

“I was just warming up! I plan to write one of the best scripts any man will ever see, you see.” Virgil snorts and Roman rolls his eyes as he continues, “I just needed a bit of inspiration to get me started. And what better than you my dearest! The only stormcloud I’d let electrify me with your thunderous spark and soak me-”

“Please do not finish that sentence.” 

“I was going to say with the raindrops of your love.” It’s Virgil’s turn to roll his eyes, looking him away, pretending that Roman couldn’t see the tiniest hint of a flush on the other’s face. His attention follows the other as he walks over to Roman’s bed, crawling onto the silk sheets and flopping on his back. The pen promptly flies off where it hung behind his ears after the impact, and neither of them bother to pick it up or even check where it had landed. 

“Whatever you say, Roman.”

Foregoing what he had been working on just before, knowing he could easily work on it again. He gets off his seat, following the other onto the bed to sit next to him, never keeping his eyes off his lover.

He takes a minute to focus on Virgil’s appearance. Nothing really out of the ordinary, except instead of wearing the usual purple patched hoodie, he instead wore a black cotton sweater. The sight makes his lips curl into a wide smile, also wearing a sweater of his own in plain bright red.

“Comfy?”

Virgil’s eyes are lidded, breathing even and a tiny satisfied smile on his face.

“Mmm-hmm”

Roman knows that look

“Oh my- Are you seriously going to fall asleep here?”

“Why are you acting like I don’t do this every other night?” Virgil turns to his side, his cheek pressed into the bed. “I can feel the dent I’ve made in your mattress, Ro.”

Virgil’s fingers crawl towards his’, gentle taps against the bed, barely audible but even more so as they fall over Roman’s knuckles. The pale fingers stop their little dance, sitting comfortably atop the other’s. Roman’s focus falls onto the contact, chuckling to himself as he shifts their hands together, fingers intertwined.

Quietly, they stay that way, satisfied in each other’s touch. Eyes focused on each other as they take turns, gently tugging their hands in a sort of push-and-pull game. Ever so often, he’ll hear Virgil chuckle at the sight of their little game, making tiny, barely audible comments about how silly their interaction was.

“What are we doing?” Virgil mutters.

“Wish I knew” Roman replies, before finally flopping down onto the bed, turning to his side to stare straight into the other’s eyes. Their intertwined fingers laid between them on the bedsheets, a little bundle of warmth laid between warmer gazes, just for the other parallel to them. “I don’t mind it though.”

“Mmm.” The other rubs the side of his face into the sheets, like a cat or dog on a brand new bed, before hiding half his face in his bed. All that’s left is one bright, but tired, eye staring back at Roman. “I’m tired.”

“Oh are you now? My, I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Shut up.”

And then it’s there again, that comfortable quiet. The tiny push-and-pull of fingers and palms, and the little mutters and comments that come with each tug. For a quick second, Roman’s eyes flicker to the writing left abandoned on his desk.

The analogy he had made. 

Roman was very good at being loud and boisterous, he loved the attention of the crowd. It filled him with pride and lit the fire of his heart that burned with the desire for the spotlight. Roman was grand in every aspect he could think of; Every little thing was a bigger part of a whole, and that whole was for the world to see and admire.

He was the type to want the big things in life, and for those who are a part of his life. Virgil knew that being with him meant being ready to see a fireworks display of a person. Grand romantic gestures, over-the-top date ideas, running around seeing everything and anything. It was just so Roman, so him.

Yet, it was Virgil who reminded him of the subtle and beautiful things.

Virgil was never one for the grand gestures, never one for fireworks because they were too loud, never one for running around cause it was too much. Virgil leads at his own pace, not really chasing after the spotlight. It was admirable, in a way, how the other needed not to find the bright white center stage spotlight, yet, manages to have a gentle shine of light fall on him anyway.

Or perhaps, Roman was just a fool in love. Perhaps, Roman, who admires the grand and beautiful things could not turn away from the beauty of the subtleness. Virgil was subtle, it was one of the little things he loved about the whole. It was one of the little things he loved about Virgil.

Like a gem hidden in a cave; It’s something Roman missed at first, it’s something everyone misses at first, honestly. It doesn’t show itself to the world, it keeps its beauty hidden so when it’s found it shines brighter.

It’s the little chuckle that forms a boisterous laugh. The tiny shy smile, that leads to a wide toothy grin. The tiny nods and shy gazes that turn into slow nights together in each other’s arms; Bodies pressed together in a warm embrace, cradled under the comfort of the moon’s light. It was the little things, the subtle things, things you don’t see when you’re too busy looking at the big picture. Things the big picture would not be, without.

It’s like a simple tug of hands that turn into…

“Roman.”

Surfacing from the sea of thoughts, Roman realizes that the other has shifted closer to him, their faces inches apart. A sweet smile greets him, before Virgil disconnects their intertwined fingers, and like it was natural, they pull each other into a gentle embrace.

There is no grand gesture of love from either of them today. There is no trophy worthy novel written. There is no moment of spotlight, no fireworks exploding in the sky; Instead, there lays a man who has taken the long trek into the dark cave, comforted by the silence, and the beautiful purple gem shining his arms.

And how fitting, Roman thinks, that hidden in the black cotton fabric of Virgil’s sweater, are purple threads that keep it tied together.

How subtle, his gem.

[metalbuckaroo]

Okay I have an ask !!!!

Mafia!Bucky and BestFriend!Reader to Lovers where she’s been with him through all the bad stuff he’d done , seen him at his worst and is still a comforting constant in his life

Summary// After particularly hard business runs, Bucky always comes to you to talk the guilt away

Warnings// kinda angst, kinda fluff, smut, unprotected sex, brief oral (f receiving)

AU// mafia!bucky x f!reader

Note// mafia bucky is a sweetheart, honestly 😩 also, I'm kinda half asleep so I'm hoping this is decent (like most of my other fics, this isn't proofread)

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

"You okay, boss?" Peter said, looking at Bucky through the rear view mirror. A fresh out of high-school kid he should've never hired. "Yeah, just- take me here. Need to see someone." Bucky muttered, taking a notepad from the pocket in the back of the seat to write your address down. "Can do."

There was always some sort of guilt bubbling in Bucky's chest everytime he'd make a stop by your apartment after a particularly hard and gruesome business run. Always leaving the pain and remorse he felt from the things he'd done behind, telling you everything he couldn't tell anyone else.

When the car stopped, he walked around the side of the brick building, going down the alley to your apartment door.

Feeling for his keys, he let out a heavy sigh when he realized he'd left them in the car before taking out his phone.

"Hey, Buck."

Your sweet voice coming through the speaker made warmth bloom in his chest. "Open your door?" He said softly, hoping you didn't have company.

"I'm in the bath, use your key."

"I-I don't have it, let me in." Bucky didn't mean to sound so demanding, but the guilt was slowly eating away at him. The only thing that could make it leave was if he'd seen you.

"There's a spare under the mat, I'll be done in a few minutes."

Letting out a breath, Bucky muttered a quiet 'okay' before getting the key.

You finished with your bath not long after hanging up with Bucky, securing your robe around your body with the ties at the front as you walked out of the bathroom.

"Everything alright, Buck?" You asked softly as you walked into your living room. Bucky sitting on the edge of your couch with his forearms resting on his knees and hands clasped together. "I did something..."

"James-" you let out a heavy sigh, sitting next to his tense frame. "You come here everytime you 'do something' let me hold you for a few hours and then leave. You can't keep doing this to yourself."

His body relaxed a little when your fingers carded through his hair. "Am I really hurting myself if... I have you to make it all go away?" He murmured, looking down to what use to be his polished black shoes, that were now covered in soot and blood.

"What if one day, I'm not around to make it go away?" Bucky's heart twisted at your words, chin wobbling a little as the thought of someone keeping you from him invaded his mind. "You mean... when you find someone who won't let you around me, don't you?" His eyes started to burn as he swallowed the lump forming in his throat. "No, Bucky."

Your lips curved down into a frown when he looked at you with red ringed eyes, his steel blues dull. "I'll never let anyone keep you from me, you're all I have." He swore, jaw clenching tightly. "I'm allowed to date." You said with a pointed look, Bucky shaking his head with furrowed eyebrows. "That's not what I said. A man who won't let you be around who you want- isn't a man at all. You've got to have trust in your partner. Me scaring someone like that away, would be doing you a favor."

Giving him a soft smile, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Go shower, you smell like kerosene. I'll make us some hot chocolate when you're done."

By the time Bucky had finished showering, you had packed his soot covered clothes into a duffel bag for him to take with him when he left.

"Here's that hot chocolate I promised." You said with a light smile as he sat on your couch again, holding the mug out to him. "Thank you, darling." He murmured, letting his eyes wander up the bare skin of your legs until they met the hem of your robe just above your knee.

He spent nearly an hour talking the intrusive thoughts away-planning out the next time he took you to lunch, when you would be coming to visit him at home, all of the things that put his mind at ease. A blanket laid over your lap as he laid on his front between your legs with his head against your chest; one of his long legs off of the side of the couch.

A comfortable silence settled in the air, Bucky shifting around a little to nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck. His arms tightening around your waist.

"I'm scared that one day, I'll do something that will scare you away. Promise you'll never be scared of me." His gruff voice vibrated against your skin when he spoke as you twisted a piece of his hair around your finger. "You could never scare me, you're a big baby." You said with a light laugh, his head lifting to look at you. "You're smile is so gorgeous."

Bucky wasn't sure what took over as he slotted his lips over yours. Whether it was the fact that he needed to act on things before someone else stole you from him, or how your eyes looked at his lips every time he talked- he needed it.

He groaned into your mouth when your fingers laced in the back of his hair to pull him closer, his bionic fingers working at the knot that held your robe together.

"Let me take care of you, darling." Bucky whispered, the anticipation sending a shudder down your spine as he kissed down your neck and chest. Elicitng a moan from you when his lips latched around your pebbled bud, flicking his warm tongue over it a few times before continuing his patch lower.

You watched with eager eyes, swallowing hard when he started to drag your underwear down your legs. Glancing up at you one last time as he leaned closer to your heat.

"Oh, hell-" you choked out when his lips locked to your clit and he worked a long finger into your cunt. The vibrations of his low groan causing your hips to buck up against his mouth.

Your hands pulled and scratched at his scalp, his gentle licks and sucks to your clit quickly turning into head shaking and harsher nibbles as his finger curled up against your spasming walls.

"Buc-" his name died out with a sharp gasp as your orgasm crashed into you, Bucky moaning when your shaky thighs closed in on his head.

He didn't expect your hands to take hold of his cheeks to pull his lips back to yours, tongue slipping into his mouth to press against his. So hungry with want as he pulled you to straddle his lap, lifting his hips to shove his sweatpants down as you let the robe fall down your arms. Lips never parting as he eased you down on him.

Bucky threw his head back in a loud moan at the quick pace your hips met his in. Taking every inch of him as you panted and whimpered his name, holding his shoulders for stability.

"S'good to me, baby. Feels so goddamn good." He grunted, chest heaving as he watched your breasts bounce with your movements. Working yourself to your next high with a craving that burned deep in your core, nearly overpowering the twist of another knot forming in your lower abdomen.

"M'close, Buck-" you whined, Bucky's hands gripping your hips to push you up and drag you back down at a rough pace. A blissed out giggle passing your lips as your head lulled back, feeling so full as his cock dragged against every sensitive spot of your velvety walls.

"Squeezin' me so tight- make a fuckin' mess, sweetheart." The look on Bucky's flush face sent you crashing over the edge with a breathy whine, nails dragging down his firm chest as you released around him.

Bucky's hips rolled up to meet the tired bounce of yours, gripping your waist as he watched himself disappear into your cunt again and again.

"Gonna make me cum, sugar. Wanna fill you up, s'bad." He panted, slipping a hand up to squeeze the supple flesh of your breast. "Need it, Bucky- please," you whined, hips slowing into a grind as he held you down on him. A gravelly moan tearing from his throat as his face scrunched up, coating your walls with thick spurts of his spend.

Bucky lifted his hands to hold the sides of your neck, pulling you down to nip at your lips with his. Stopping you when you went to move off of him, not wanting the moment to end. The feeling that surged through him that he hadn't found in another woman.

"Just a few more minutes, don't wanna move yet." He muttered through a series of brisk, loving kisses. Your heart fluttering ad metal and flesh thumbs brushed against your jaw.

A cheeky grin creeping across your face as you pulled away slightly to look at his half lidded eyes. "We should've done that years ago, Buck."

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

Taglist: @likeahorribledream @cxddlyash @iwannabekilledtwice @bookstan0618 @glxwingrxse @yliumy @pineprincess @makbarnes @cupcakehinch @doasyoudesireandlive @magicwithinnightmares @preferredrealty @andy-is-gay @stucky-my-ship @marvel-3407 @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @i-l-y-3000 @avoxzy @impala1967666 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @supernaturalbaesduh @bucky-hues @suchababie @an-adult-fairy @ju5tyna20 @hallecarey1 @jxlystan @elizabeth228 @secret21121 @strwbrrybucky @busybeingtrash @harrysthiccthighss @everything-burns-down @ynsdiarys @sunnynapp @bucky-harrymybfs @sylleblossomstar @winter-soldier-101 @smokeinherperfume @andreead @amalfoyandariddle @mal-edictions @doll1917 @samhainduchess @commonintrest

[xxlost-cityxx]

ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS

Ship/Characters: Kirishima Eijirou, Bakugou Katsuki

TW/CW: Rough anal sex, virgin Katsuki Bakugou, slight choking, slight piss kink/bladder control, brief spanking, rimming, bottom Katsuki, dom Kirishima, begging, crying, anal fingering, degredation and praise

I posted this on Ao3 literally last night, so enjoy.

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

Stupid fucking Kirishima with his stupid fucking face and stupid fucking body-

Again. Once-a-fucking-gain. Katsuki was hard at work. Kirishima had simply aided Katsuki in a surprisingly powerful villain attack- even though everyone knew Dynamight had it under control. But Eijirou's help...made it easier to take down the villain- NOT that Katsuki needed his help in the first place. 

The villain landed a hit on Katsuki and he flew into a pile of concrete and wooden rubble, and the next thing he saw was Red Riot, unhardened, nearly body slamming the guy into a wall, digging his forearm and elbow into his neck and his knee between his legs. It looked painful for the villain and it looked like Ejirou was definitely holding back from completely crushing the dude's balls...But. The way Kirishima was looking at the guy, a stone cold face, a deadly glare he hasn't seen since the last time Eijirou had heard Monama talk back in U.A. He was mad. And Gods if that sight didn't make him pop a boner-

So now here he was. Virgin Katsuki pretending he was too good to be around all his druken friends who were surely getting laid tonight, meanwhile, all Katuski would do tonight is ride his dildo until the sun came up. 

Bakugou couldn't jack off. It wasn't really a fact, but he's pretty sure that any man would avoid jacking off with even a small risk that you might blow your own dick off, especially if you were gay. Gods bless the prostate. And really, it takes forever to cum riding 6 inches of colored silicone without touching your dick, but the point was, it got the job done and no one knew his secret to having 'thunder thighs' or some shit. He still remembers the first interveiwer who asked about his leg day routine, stating that he had entranced everyone with his thighs or some shit. He never thought he'd be referred to as 'thick' or whatever it was.

He took another shot of vodka, ignoring the pestering jealousy as he watched Kirishima dance with Denki. It was obviously platonic, not only did they repeatedly state in multible interviews that they were 'strictly bromance' and that they liked fucking with their fans's minds, Denki was dating Dead Eyes and Earphones. 

Bakugou wasn't even a little tipsy really, it took a lot to get him drunk. It took a lot to get any of them drunk, but that didn't stop anyone from trying. But Bakugou wasn't going to go home drunk and have drunken masturbation for 5 hours, never was his thing. So he'd stick to being sober for tonight. 

He growled as Kirishima's hand was on Denki's hip, Kaminari's back against Eijirou's chest. The much smaller blonde wiggled his hips against Kirishima's surely soft dick. Sero and Mina were laughing their asses off from their seats, Denki smirking and trying to be as dramatic and intimate as he could, a few phones recording them. 

Katsuki growled to himself, slamming the shot glass on the bar top so hard it slightly cracked. He stood up and grabbed his coat, oblivious to how red eyes quickly switched from watching the smiling and laughing faces of his friends to laser focused on the ash blonde in a split second. 

As Katsuki left the bar, he grumbled to himself until he was outside his place. 

An hour later, he was panting. It felt like his entire body was covered in lube by the time he was bouncing on the silicone properly. He frowned, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt the head bump into his prostate with practiced movements, usually a feeling that would have him gasping and shuttering, but he wanted this cock to be Kirishima's. He was sick and tired of riding an inanimate object that didn't praise him, didn't make noise, didn't cum. He wanted to be pinned and fucked so hard he would have to call off work the next day.

He whimpered as his toned thighs easily let him travel up and down the silicone. Silicone. He couldn't even get himself hard, he was soft, even with his ass stuffed and his prostate stimulated, he was soft. There wasn't a twitch, and even his prostate felt dull. 

He groaned to himself, sliding off the dildo and reaching for his phone. He quickly unlocked it and pulled up his gallery with his singular 'clean' finger, quickly going to his hidden folder and clicking on the picture that always got him hard. Kirishima did a photoshoot nearly 6 months ago, he was in a kimono that was completely opened with white pants that banded to his stomach. He stared at Katsuki through the picture, a belt in his big, tanned hand. He already felt his cock harden slightly, a small frown painting his face as that was like a weak attempt at mimicking his usual reaction to the picture. 

He slid back on the dildo propping his phone against his wall and started bouncing. He imagined those toned hands sliding against his back, barely touching him, and it was almost like he could feel it, his body twitching with slight interest. He imagined his voice, telling him to ride the dildo, training his hole for what was surely a monster cock, Eijirou too nice to let Katsuki destroy himself on his cock right off the bat...unless… What if he would just fuck him? And that got his reaction. His dick was fully hard now, but it wasn't aching with need like usual. 

What if Eijirou would slam into him as soon as the dildo was out? Would he let Katsuki adjust, or would he pound him into oblivion with the raw power his body held? 

He let out a moan, but the pleasure didn't last long as his phone started ringing. He nearly flinched, scowling at his phone for ruining what he worked hard for, but his face sofened as it was Kirishima calling him. 

His mouth went dry, his eyes slightly wide. He doesn't know what really compelled him to answer the phone, but as Kirishima's voice rang through the other end, he couldn't help but bite his lip and shift on the dildo. "W-What do you need, Dumbass?" He asked, cursing himself for starting his sentence off weak. "Haha- Hey, Kat! I just wanted to made sure you were okay. You hit that rubble pretty hard today, and you left earlier than usual." His cheery, sober, voice said. Katsuki closed his eyes, slowly rolling his hips up the dildo, the familiar arousal burning in his stomach, finally. 

He stifled a whimper, "M' fine, Shitty Hair…." He pretended to grumble out, desperate to think of something to keep him on the line as long as possible. "That's great! I was a little worried, y'know. Didn't want to lose the manliest man I've even known since highschool!" He said, and Bakugou's heart did a mixture of dropping and fluttering. He felt guilty for trying to get off to his voice, clearly ignorant and innocent, but he couldn't help but acknowledge that he didn't refer to him as his best friend which would usually put him down. He squeezed his eyes shut and rolled his hips, gasping as he accidentally his his prostate. He dropping the phone, slapping a hand over his face. "Katsuki!? What was that?" Kirishima urgently called. Bakugou's dick was on fire, his body was alight with arousal, if only Kirishima knew. 

He hesitantly picked up the phone. "I'm f-fine~ Shitty Hair!" He replied, cursing himself for not stopping himself from slowly bouncing on the dildo again. 

Silence. 

He slightly wondered if he accidentally hung up, but there was still static. "I'm not stupid, Katsuki." Kirishima suddenly said. Bakugou froze. His voice was lower but soft, almost like he was hesitant to say it in the first place. "W-..What the hell are you talking about?" He asked, not daring to move on the dildo, even though he wanted to take advantage of Kirishima's tone so fucking bad. 

"Are you getting off right now?" Kirishima asked, Bakugou suddenly became aware of how slick and schelchy the lube was. Bakugou's throat closed up, his mouth too dry to produce words. "Fuck…" Kirishima whispered, the sound making Bakugou's eyes widen. "Are you trying to fuck with me…?" He asked, but Bakugou wasn't deaf to the distant sound of Kirishima nearly break checking himself. 

Bakugou whimpered quietly, but a part of him prayed that Kirishima heard him, and as his breath hitched over the phone, he knew he did. 

"Fuck-" Kirishima groaned. Bakugou gasped at the sound, bouncing on the plastic lightly once again, the lewd noises surely reaching the phone. "C-Come over." Bakugou's stern voice said, once again sounding weak in the beginning. "Already on my way." Kirishima nearly whispered back. 

Bakugou's body was on fire, every part of him was twitching. The call ended only a minute ago, and suddenly Bakugou's night was going to change who he was. He was hard, nervous, excited but horny above all else. As soon as he heard his front door open and nearly slam shut, Bakugou gasped, trying to let out his nerves. Heavy, fast footsteps made their way down his halls, and suddenly Bakugou was conscious about how he should present himself. 

He didn't have time, and so he let himself be cocky, leaning forward on his hands, arching his back and rolling his hips on the silicone gracefully, and it probably looked a little too good based on how smooth the action felt. But he didn't have room for his usual pride, Kirishima was stuck in the doorway with his mouth slightly open and wide eyes. Bakugou looked at him in the mirror to his side, and his eyes were staring at him. 

"Holy fuck.." He groaned, his hand slowly moving to his crotch, but he gripped the inside of his thigh. Mid. Thigh. 

Bakugou's eyes widened as he finally had the rough sketch of Eijirou's cock in his mind, and fuck he wanted to go stupid with cock. 

"C'mon…" Bakugou nearly whimpered, rolling his hips a little more dramatically. Kirishima groaned in the doorway, slowly walking into the room, Bakugou's position giving him the perfect view of his pink, glistening and stretched hole swallowing the silicone easily, the dildo's girth seemed pathetic to what Eijirou knew he had. 

Eijirou knelt down behind him, and as Katsuki smiled, expecting him to caress his body, that didn't happen. 

Kirishima quickly wrapped his hand around the smaller man's throat, yanking him back to meet his still clothed chest. Bakugou wheezed at the unexpected and sudden movement, but fuck if his own cock didn't love it already. 

"Riding this pathetic dildo while I was out there concerned about you, hm?" He darkly whispered, his finger tips lightly digging into his neck. Bakugou whimpered, wiggling his hips back, trying to get a feel for the man's clothed cock for himself. Kirishima sighed, almost in disappointment. "Tell me.. What were you thinking about? Riding this pathetic excuse of a dildo." He asked, talking right into Bakugou's ear. Bakugou let out a stuttering breath, squirming in Kirishima's sturdy grip. 

"Tell me." 

Bakugou gasped at his dark tone paired with his hand gripping his entire neck roughly. He wasn't used to feeling so small compared to someone else, but fuck he was loving it. 

"Y-You…" Bakugou gasped out as Kirishima loosened his grip just enough. "What about me..?" He asked, only slightly softer. 

Katsuki's cock was aching, begging for the same attention Eijirou was giving his throat. "H-How hard you would fuck me- How big your cock is…" Bakugou finally admitted, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Kirishima hummed in his ear, his hand moving to the back of Bakugou's neck instead and pulling him up to his feet. Bakugou let out a guttural moan as he was ripped off the dildo still suctioned to the floor. 

Kirishima hummed, noting how the dildo really did look like a pathetic version of himself. 

Kirishima dragged Bakugou to his bed, glaring at the blonde when he tried to move. He pulled off his own shirt and pants quickly before joining him on the bed. Bakugou's eyes quickly widened at the sight, his mouth slightly open and his face slightly filled with fear and shock, but quickly replaced with determination. "Better fucking prep me, asshole." Bakugou spit out, laying on his back. 

He didn't expect Kirishima's rough nature to continue though. Eijirou glared at Bakugou before swiftly gripping his neck and pinning him further into the mattress. "Excuse you? Who the fuck do you think you're talking to right now? Order me around again, I fucking dare you." Kirishima spit out a look of fake disgust on his face. Bakugou was shocked by the moan that left him, more than happy with his decisions from tonight, at least so far. 

He yelped as Kirishima's hand left his neck and grabbed his hips instead. Kirishima pulled his ass into the air, Bakugou's legs spreading automatically, falling to almost meet his chest. "W-What are you gonna do?" Bakugou asked, eyes wide with arousal. "None of your fucking buisness." Kirishima spit out, digging his thumbs into the stretched pink muscle. Bakugou gasped as Eijirou pulled his rim apart, testing just how stretched he was. 

Bakugou saw his cock when he took off his pants, the way it weighed itself down, how his fingertips would definetly have trouble touching each other, and the fucking length- he wondered if Kirishima would actually show through his stomach…

As Kirishima added a finger to stretch and play with his rim, he decided to take down the roughness, only for a couple seconds though. "Use the traffic light system, okay?" He almost ordered, wanting to keep the same sexual energy but also let Bakugou know there was a safe way out. Bakugou's breath stuttered and he quickly nodded, having read enough fanfiction about being fucked by Kirishima and having done enough research to know something as simple as the traffic light system, and he's so fucking green.

Bakugou didn't expect a tongue to enter him though.

Bakugou nearly shouted, gripping at the sheets before pathetically trying to reach for the other man's head. "N-No!" Bakugou shouted, but it was moan filled and an empty request. Kirishima's eyes shifted to Bakugou, lapping his tongue over the blonde's rim before softly shoving it inside as far as he could. 

Bakugou was squirming around at the foregin feeling, gasping every time he moved his tongue, it felt so warm, soft and perfectly wet. 

Kirishima took his mouth away, licking his lips as he roughly slammed 3 fingers into the unsuspecting hole. He quickly spread them as far as he could, Bakugou's gasp turning into a pained moan. As Kirishima softly stroked his slightly pulsing insides, Bakugou was panting with wide eyes. "Beg." Kirishima ordered darkly, jamming his fingers into Bakugou as far as he could, hitting his prostate hard. 

Bakugou moaned out, caving in on himself because of how Kirishima held his ass up. But he wouldn't beg. 

After a few seconds of soft finger thrusting and no begging, Kirishima picked up the pace, slipping one of his fingers out, knowing Katsuki won't like the lack of fullness anymore. He jams his fingers into his prostate every time, Bakugou's eyes nearly crossing as he tries to arch his back but just keeps caving in on himself. 

"Fucking. Beg." "F-Fuck you.." Bakugou responds, his voice shakey, the defiance fake and fragile. Kirishima's eyes narrow, a frown forming on his lips. "Fine." He replies, shifting one hand to Bakugou's abdomen and pressing, pleased with the slight fullness under a specific layer of muscle. He continued to slam into his g-spot, Bakugou's eyes widening and getting slightly watery. "W-Wait-!" Bakugou moaned out loud, slight panic coating his oh so beautiful face. The tip of his penis kept rubbing against Kirishima's arm, and he knew so much stimulation was working against him. He was either going to beg or piss himself. 

"S-Stop! Too much- T-Too fucking much! I have to go you f-fuckkk-ing lunatic!" He moaned out, grabbing at Kirishima's arms. "Beg. Beg for me to fuck you, or you're going to piss yourself, get your clean sheets dirty, all unsatisfied and embarrassed. Poor little Katsuki couldn't hold his little blatter while I fucked you with my fingers." Eijirou cooed, tiliting his head a little before bending down and licking along the back of his thigh to the crease of his ass. He travels up to his sack and licks him firmly with the flat of his tongue. 

Katsuki screams.

His clawing becomes frantic, and he's sure he's sobbing, but he's no match for even Kirishima's strength. "N-No! Ei- Stop! I-I'm gonna pee!" Katsuki cries, thrashing around as much as he can. But as Eijirou gently sucks in one of his balls, his resolve snaps. "Please! Please, please, please!" Katsuki finally cries, Eijirou's fingers slowing down and his hand letting up on his blatter. He moves away from Katsuki's cock and smirks down at the red and teary face below him. 

"Please what?" He asks, Bakugou's eyes widening. "P...Please… Please fuck me… I want you to fuck me with your fat cock!" He cries, tears falling from his eyes. 

Eijirou sighs, content with his work. "Good boy~" He coos, swiftly plunging 2 more fingers inside and spreading them. Katsuki gasps, looking up at Kirishima who refuses to look away from his face. 

As Kirishima slowly pulls out, he bends over and grabs the lube from the floor, popping open the cap and pouring it into Katsuki. He flinches and wines at how cold it is, and Eijirou just travels the bottle to his cock, rubbing his hand over it and coating everything with lube. 

As he sloppily closes the bottle, he moves Katsuki onto his stomach, Bakugou groaning as he was finally out of that horrid position. 

Kirishima places the tip at his entrance, kissing Bakugou's nape, and right as Bakugou prepares for a dreadfully slow slide. Kirishima slams into the hilt. Bakugou's eyes shoot wide and his thrusted up further into the bed with the force, his mouth dropping open as a horrid moan filled scream leaves him. 

This is it….he's not a virgin anymore…

He feels nothing but cock, painfully perfect cock that makes it hard to breathe.

Kirishima groans at the tight feeling, his body shaking as he convinces himself not to fuck Katsuki into oblivion. 

Eijirou starts off slow, dragging his cock out halfway before pressing in again, the pace making them both groan. God, Katsuki's back tooks so fucking pretty all arched like that, delicate but strong all in one. He always knew Bakugou would look so pretty with his face burried in sheets, his ass high in the air and filled with his cock. 

He feels himself slipping, his thrusts slipping into violent, angry lust every so often before he catches himself quickly. 

But as Katsuki's sweet moans keep reaching his ears, he finally gives in, grabbing Katsuki's wrists and pulling them back, lifting Katsuki off the bed and using his wrists as leverage, pulling his weak body back onto his cock as he slams his hips into the man's ass. 

"Holy fucking shit~" Bakugou's voice calls out as Kirishima's thrusts get rougher, violent. His voice bounced with the thrusts, his moans cutting each other off as Kirishima no longer cares about hitting the man's prostate, pounding into him purely for selfish pleasure Bakugou didn't know he was capable of. 

"Fucking pathetic cocksleeve- Such a fucking whore for dick, huh? You fucking-love! -taking my fat cock like this!" Kirishima spits out, pulling on Katsuki's wrists harder. Bakugou's eyes are crossing, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. 

'Ruining me-'

"Not a single thought going through that head of yours, huh? Just taking my cock so good like this, loving how I ruin every other cock out there for you! Only my cock can make you cum, can make you feel so fucking good!" "Y-Yes~" Bakugou's broken voice cries out, tears sliding down his cheeks. 

The bed is slamming into the wall so hard the pictures are rattling, and Bakugou can't register anything but cock, pleasure, Kirishima and cumming. 

"So fucking good, so~ fUCKing go-od~" Bakugou sobs, not caring of the searing pain in his arms and shoulder blades. But as Kirishima angles his hips, he starts slamming into Bakugou's prostate, and as Bakugou tries to arch in Kirishima's hold, he cums. He clamps around his cock so hard Kirishima moans, letting go of Katsuki's arms and letting him fall face first into the bed as his entire body rocks with unbroken thrusts, shaking with the ongoing orgasm that never seems to end. Eijirou hears the sobbing and groans with pleasure, swinging his hand down to Bakugou's ass, growling as he watches the muscle and fat ripple with the perfect impact. 

Kirishima puts his hands in the curve of Katsuki's spine, pressing him down and shifting forward, slightly sitting back on his calves as he jackhammers into Bakugou's swollen, red and oh so fucking soft boy cunt. 

Katsuki is screaming but it's so distant to Eijirou, all he can hear is the squelching of his ass and all he can think of is cumming. 

"FUCK- EIJIROU~" Katsuki screams, sobbing and begging for him to slow down, not to thrust so hard, not to be so brutal. He can't feel his limbs, all he can feel is the overstimulation as his body is pounded so hard he inches forward on his bed, only to be pulled back just as quickly. He feels like a cocksleeve because he is one. 

Kirishima groans, finally slamming into Katsuki with all he has, his cock pulsing inside Bakugou almost like a slow vibrator. As Kirishima completely fills Katsuki's intestines with cum, his own cock spurts out a pathetic amount of it's own cum, his balls drawing up tight and his cock twitching with painful interest. 

Kirishima and Bakugou are panting, and as Eijirou gives another overstimulated thrust for good measure, the both moan out. 

"F-Fuck…." Kirishima groans, Katsuki panting into the sheets with wide, tired eyes. 

He really did ruin Katsuki's chances at fucking anyone else. There's no way he can go back to toys, and there's no way he can fuck anyone else.

[pleasantanathema]

Eren Yeager | Salt in the Wound

Pairing: Eren Yeager x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only)

Warnings: Dacryphilia, Degradation, Slapping, Daddy Kink, Eren is fucking mean

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: This is part of my Nine Muses Event to celebrate 9k! Follow the link to read more fanfics I am writing to celebrate. Heed the warnings; I like a very mean, god-complex kind of characterization of Eren. 💕

          Nothing made Eren feel more powerful than seeing you cry, not just from cruel words, but from being so wholly overwhelmed by the sin he poured into your body. Your tears were always so warm, so pretty, spilling over your cheeks and getting caught in your lashes like dew droplets in spring.

           Sometimes he couldn’t help but kiss them away, just another part of you to swallow and devour.

           He enjoyed taking you because you weren’t just some subservient little devil, no, you were good, you were strong, and overpowering you was like an addiction, something he had to have whenever the urge hit. It didn’t matter where you were, what assignments you’d be given, Eren would find you, push you down onto your knees, your back, and he would take you. You were just another thing to conquer.

           “Gonna bruise your insides tonight, fuck,” your tight pussy had him panting above you, hips brutal and sweat dripping through the rolling sinews of his back.

           You were already babbling nonsense, the euphoria of his cock spreading up your nerves and making you lightheaded. Dull green eyes were observant of your reactions, the judge and jury over your fate as he watched the pulls in your pretty face.

           He’d been edging you for so long, bringing you closer and closer to orgasm only to pull out and slap the head of his cock against your aching clit. He just liked the sounds you made, sweet little whines and pleas that made his pointed ears twitch.

           But it wasn’t enough; he wanted more, deserved a more visceral action for allowing you the pleasures of the flesh.

           Propped on one elbow, weight sinking into the mattress, Eren gripped your jaw, pushing your head back. “You’re fucking disgusting. You don’t deserve my cock, you’re just easy to control.”

           Words were forming in your mouth, he could feel them under the press of his fingers. But you choked them back, the stupid little emotions running through your head starting to bubble over.

           Good. Whenever you got choked up, your cunt only clenched harder around him.

           You swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath before parting your lips, “Ere—”

           Your skin flushed so hot when he slapped your cheek, hard, quick, like a cat swatting at easy prey. The sound you made was too perfect, a painful gasp bleeding into a shrill little sob, like he’d actually hurt you beyond just the sting of skin. Like he’d put a wound in your pride.

           “That’s not what you call me.”

           There was fear in your eyes as you looked up at him, irises tracing over the lines still etched in his face from his titan transformation. Less than an hour ago he’d been a monster, waiting in the seas and capsizing ships, and now he was just a new kind of predator, one that received pleasure from bending your legs too far back and breaking you down in anguish.

           Eren slapped you again just to encourage those tears he loved so much. He was successful, holding back a grin you whimpered, nose scrunching, salty tears streaming down your temples and staining the pillow.

           “I-I’m sorry, daddy.” Oh you were so far gone, hands reaching up to twist in his hair, bringing his lips to brush against your swollen ones.

           He smirked as he licked against your teeth, mirthful and wild as he started to thrust deeper inside of you, curling your hips back and as the meat of your thighs began to shake. He pinched your flushed cheek, laughing at the poor little coo that left your throat.

           Your abused, gummy walls were sucking him in deeper, fluttering as your belly tightened from the coil of pleasure he was building inside of you. He groaned at the feeling, shoving his head in the space between your neck and shoulder, teeth nipping at sweaty skin. Your hands were slipping in his hair, fingers catching the tie that held his hair back and making mousy hair spill over his face.

           Frustration split down his psyche at the feel of long hair sticking to his skin, getting in the way of sucking marks into your neck.

           “You better start begging,” he warned, sitting up higher on his knees so he could press his cock a little too roughly into your cunt, his toned stomach rhythmically slapping against your clit, “beg your daddy to let you cum.”

           The cry that met his ears was delicious. You hated this part, hated having to grovel, hated how you felt so good that you just couldn’t stand it. He felt your nails against his scalp, clawing, burning, egging him on. He pawed at one of your bouncing tits, twisting your nipple between his fingers until you screamed.

           “Please! Please, daddy, w-wanna cum so bad,” he kept pressure on your nipple, pistoning his hips a little harder, getting into a solid rhythm that had your teary eyes rolling back.

           He loved how your pussy felt sculpted to him like this, like every vein on his cock had carved a home on your walls, the texture of you so perfect that he hated to admit it took strength to hold himself back from finding that heaven inside of you.

           “You can do better, just a little more.”

           “Fuck,” you whined, the floodgates letting loose now. He lifted his head to watch you, your crying face like a beacon between the unruly curtains of his hair. Something inside of him wanted to praise you, tell you looked so pretty when you cried, that you were being so good letting go for him, but he didn’t want to ruin the show. Praise could be a balm.

           “Pathetic.”

           He gripped your thighs, sitting back so he could watch his cock be wrapped by your swollen, wet pussy, lips dragging along his length with every quick push and pull.

           “DaddyDaddyDaddy, f-fuck, please, so c-close, hurts.”

           That tickled him pink, had his eyes lighting up as he felt some sick pride awaken and crawl out of his chest. It truly was pathetic how quickly you came when his thumb touched your clit, just a few measly swirls and you were a blubbering mess, cunt squelching as slick gushed from your tight hole. He pulled out of you as you orgasmed, leaving your pussy to spasm around nothing, your arms crossing over your eyes as you fell into hearty sobs.

           He ripped your forearms away from your face, stroking his cock hard and fast as he straddled your body. He swore that he’d never come so hard before, cum spurting from his pulsing cock and painting your face, dripping down your cheeks. He felt relief deep in his balls, over all his muscles, strings of cum still pouring over you, mixing into your tears.

           And he left you there, sniffling, wiping away salty cum and even saltier tears, not knowing when he’d come for you again.