#he's peak grit and determination

[sisaloofafump]

DC handbooks are so funny to me. "Batman is in peak physical condition" that man hasn't slept in three days and has broken all his major bones at least twice before. peak physical condition, my ass

[cyberrose2001]

I hate TF One sentinel so much.

I fucking hate him.

I hate him so much I wanna see this mech a whimpering teary mess underneath me after overloading more than he can take.

I want him overstimulated and trembling. venting hard as he is forced to cum again. Tied down and obedient to no one else but me. Him on his knees begging for release.

I hate him so much I wanna see him pathetic and whipped for pussy or spike. Hell make him whipped for both. Go wild.

TF:One Sentinel Prime x Human Reader

okay so i had a couple ideas but this is the one i went with. essentially sentinel using you to make his dick look bigger so he can stroke his ego, but keeps it a secret. to which you find pathetic and of great value (aka to keep living it up rich giant alien robot style)

also go easy on me!! slowly learning how to write for the universe (as alot of people probably are)

Warnings: TF:ONE SPOILERS, Cybertronian/Human, Dom/Sub Elements, Humiliation/Degradation, Bondage, Face Sitting/Cunnilingus, Cream Pies, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation

Word Count: 1707

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

For a species that's so highly advanced compared to your own, you'd think there would be far more disunities. After all, this planet wasn't made for you. But despite this Olympic-sized hurdle, most of the Cybertronians seemed curious about you. A little human, freshly birthed compared to the universe's timeline itself, bought to Cybertron by their ventures.

It's taken a lot to get used to. But the primal urge associated with human nature seems omnipresent, as you have learned.

Sentinel Prime. The lord and master of Cybertron had his curiosity peaked. He initially took you in as a novelty, a mere collector's item to show off as a display of acceptingness between Cybertronians and Humans—a symbiotic relationship between two species.

At least, that's what he tells them. Yet another lie for him to cover up for the masses.

"You're such a fucking sellout, Sentinel."

A liar he may be, but his trembling form and the whines of your name speak truthfully. And with all the queries of your purpose on this planet, one thing is sure.

Sentinel Prime can't get enough of human nature.

And you're determined to squeeze every last drop of that precious information.

In the lavish and very private penthouse of his tower overlooking Iacon City, Sentinel Prime kneels before you on the berth. Though at eye level, the balance of power remains clear. Ropes of golden silk tie his arms behind his back, connecting to the ones adorning his thighs, keeping them embarrassingly wide open. He can't count how often he's been in this position before, but he learns something new about your little fleshy body each time.

"Yeah, I know." Sentinel wriggles against the ropes despite having no intention of escaping from them, "B-But I have an image to upkeep, you know that."

"Oh, an image! I see," Gripping the kibble on his chin, you pull him closer, to which he flinches, "Because the only image I see is you popping a boner over a little fleshy like me. Now, wouldn't that cause a stir, hm?"

Sentinel grits his dentae, his faceplates heating up at the proximity. He says nothing, knowing that he could dig himself a deeper hole. But he's already too deep, so much so that he could be tried in court for inappropriate relations with organic species. Or worse, he could have the title of 'Prime' stripped away from him.

But he can't deny it. He's so turned on by your soft skin pressing against him that it almost makes him sob, spike standing erect right in front of you. Deliciously throbbing and angry, ripe for your taking.

"On your back, I mean it." You push against his chassis, and he flops backward, grunting as the winds knocked out of him. Your little form climbs atop him, but you don't stop at his spike. You keep climbing until you're standing on his chassis.

"Wh- What are you doing?" Sentinel questions, his voice strained. He watches as you straddle his face and push your cunt against his intake, a pleasant surprise to Sentinel.

"I'm gonna put that lying tongue of yours to good use," You moan, wiggling your hips against his glossa, "Ever tasted human pussy before? Because it's about time you did."

Sentinel grunts as you grind your hips against his face. Though tiny, you're still enough to take his breath away. The sweet, earthly, deliciously human scent fills his olfactory sensors, and he dives in with the first lap at your folds. It's new to him, soft and plush against his glossa. He doesn't even need a second taste to confirm that he's already addicted.

A soft gasp leaves you as Sentinel essentially makes out with your pussy, moving from opened-mouthed kisses to flicks at your clit. You sit down further on him, causing his glossa to push into you forcefully. The ridges massage along your walls and make you see stars, filling you perfectly, making it hard to believe you had no trouble taking his spike. But you won't tell him that. It's far too much fun to humiliate him and make him putty between your thighs instead.

"Is that the best you can do, Sentinel?"

The Prime whines into your flesh as his glossa works double time, "Pfflease..." He takes a breath before he laps at your clit again, rubbing and grinding with the help of your hips.

"What was that? I can't hear you." Your dominant side gets the better of you, and you deviously shift your hips up, hovering just shy above his saturated dermas, "Say it again."

"Please- I can't- I need you to fuck me-" Sentinel whimpers, wincing as his spike painfully throbs. It's all getting too much for poor Sentinel, "I need your valve-" He cranes his neck in a poor attempt to lick at you once again but whines when you pull away from him entirely.

"I can't believe you, Sentinel. You can hardly wait five minutes? How disappointing." You lean closer, "But I won't say no. I hope your spike can perform better than that tongue of yours."

You slide back down his frame, smiling at Sentinel's soft, frustrative growls. You straddle him again, his spike standing tall between your thighs. It only reaches past your navel, and a thought occurs as you gaze upon the pretty biolights.

He must have the smallest one on Cybertron; no wonder his ego's so big.

And no wonder he prefers to fuck a human and keep it a secret.

"You're so hard for me, Sentinel, aren't you?"

"Y-Yes. Only you." Sentinel heaves his chest, still worked up from eating you out. He watches tentatively as you line yourself up, the weeping tip of his spike just pressing against the threshold. He arches his back against the restraints as his spike is engulfed in your heat, biting back a sob of relief.

"Good," You press your hips down agonisingly slow, hands pressed against his abdomen for support, "Keep still, or I won't let you finish."

You sink the rest of the way, planting your ass on his pelvis. The unrelenting fullness causes a shaky breath to whistle past your lips, but you suppress a moan. Sentinel whines, already trembling against the ropes. He tries to roll his hips up into you, but a taut squeeze of your walls halts him in his tracks.

"Do you not listen? I said stay still." You growl through your teeth. Rolling your hips forward, you create a rhythm that has Sentinel crying out. He has no control, not with his servos tied behind him, nothing to grab onto as you start to bounce ruthlessly on his throbbing spike. His helm lulls back in pleasure and hopelessness as he's forced inside you again and again.

"Ah- Ah!! Y-Y/n! I'm gonna-" Sentinel mewls, clenching his optics shut, his chest heaving once again on the cusp of an embarrassingly early overload.

You keep bouncing despite your breathing becoming laboured, fueled by the desire to see Sentinel come undone and beg for your mercy, "Yeah? You gonna cum, Sentinel? Show me how much- guh- how much you love human pussy?"

"Y-Yes! Oh, Primus yes-" Sentinel gasps, arching his back struts as you slam down on his spike, "I love it- ohhn- I love your organic valve so much-"

A raw, sinful cry wracks his frame, shuddering as he pumps his transfluids into you. The warm, suspiciously glowing fluid leaks and spurts out, causing a shiver down your spine.

"My oh my, Sentinel, that was fast." You moan softly, slowly circling your hips, "Not only are you pathetic, but you're pathetic and don't last long in bed."

Sentinel whines wearily at the extra stimulation, "Sorry- nghh- I just can't help it- AHhn!-"

You don't let him finish his sentence. Instead, you lift your hips and slam your hips back down, sending transfluids all over his pelvis. You work yourself up to a back-breaking rhythm, determined to keep your promise to make him beg for mercy. You watch in fascination as Sentinel starts to thrash against the restraints, and how he bares his dentae at you, how that disgustingly handsome face belonging to a mech at your mercy begins to contort in overwhelming pleasure.

"F-Fuck, Sentinel-" Double entendre. You keep going, fingers digging into his hip plating to prevent being thrown off. The wet, sloppy noises of metal meeting flesh spark a deep heat within the pits of your stomach.

He keeps thrashing against you as he cries and howls your name, his hips pressing into the berth to try and escape the overstimulation. He tries to form words, but all that leaves him is an incoherent babble of pleads and whines for you to stop. He overloads again, crying and tugging at the restraints, another gush of warmth spilling into you.

"C'mon, Sentinel-" You moan, your thighs trembling from the workout of holding the mech down. Your cunt aches at the prolonged stretch, but you're determined once again to draw one last overload from him. You reach down and start to circle your clit, hoping to breach your orgasm, "G-Gimme one more, and I'll stop."

"P-Primus below-" Sentinel clenches his optics shut as your pussy strangles his spike, his hips stuttering. The tightness of your walls lurches him forward as he shoots another load into you.

"Fuck yes!" You give him a show of your own and arch your back, finally reaching your orgasm. You cry out and clench down, causing more trans fluid to spill out from you. A soft, exhausted whine leaves you once you're left in the afterglow.

What a mess. Layers of sticky trans fluid coat your thighs and Sentinels' pelvis, the dull throbbing of an overworked spike still seated inside you. It's a horrific sight to walk in on if anyone were to, but maybe they should, if only to expose Sentinel for the filthy fleshy fucker he is.

Looking up, you're met with a shamelessly erotic mess of the Prime. His faceplates painted blue, his glossa lulling out of his intake, the heavy heaving of his chest plates—the face of a liar couldn't be more irresistible.

You chuckle to yourself, whipping out a small data pad and snapping a picture.

"How's that for an image, Sentinel?"

[doumadono]

Warnings: smut w/o plot, smut, creampie, fem!reader, rough smut, fingering, semi-public, pro hero Bakugo

A/N: this request got the highest number of votes during the Sinful Sunday poll. Thank you to everyone who voted!

SINFUL SUNDAY MY HERO ACADEMIA & MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

The day had been long, grueling, and sweat-inducing. As a pro hero, keeping in peak physical condition was not just a choice but a necessity. 

The air was thick with the smell of sweat and the faint hint of metal, the rhythmic clanging of weights creating a steady soundtrack to your exertion. 

Bakugo Katsuki, your relentless partner, trainer and one of the top pro heroes, was pushing you harder than ever. His methods were harsh, but you knew they were designed to break your limits and build you up stronger.

"You're slowing down, weakling," Bakugo growled, his voice rough with exertion but tinged with a hint of challenge.

You rolled your eyes, slowly trotting on the treadmill. "I kept up with you for nearly two hours, didn't I? Besides, I think you're just trying to cover up how tired you are."

His eyes flashed with annoyance and something darker, more primal. "Watch your mouth, or I'll show you just how much energy I have left."

Soon, he decided to move to another thing on his to-do list.

You were on the leg press machine, your muscles screaming in protest with each rep. Your tight, grey tank top clung to your sweat-drenched body, the fabric almost translucent against your skin. Every bead of sweat that slid down your nose felt like a drop of fire, a testament to your hard work and determination. Your shorts, snug and form-fitting, accentuated the curve of your ass, catching Bakugo's keen eye every now and then.

"Come on! Push harder!" Bakugo barked, his tone leaving no room for excuses. He stood close, his intense gaze fixed on you, arms crossed over his broad chest.

You gritted your teeth, the burn in your legs almost unbearable. "I'm trying," you managed to gasp out, your breaths coming in ragged bursts.

"Trying isn't enough," he snapped back. "You either do it or you don't. Now give me ten more!"

With a frustrated growl, you summoned every ounce of strength left in you, pushing against the resistance of the machine. Sweat poured off you, dripping onto your décolletage, glistening under the harsh fluorescent lights of the gym. Your body was a study in tension, muscles straining, every fiber of your being focused on completing the set.

"Eight... nine... ten," you counted aloud, finally locking the weights back in place. You collapsed against the seat, your chest heaving, muscles trembling with exhaustion.

Bakugo was immediately in your space, his presence as overwhelming as ever. He crouched down, his face inches from yours, eyes blazing with a mixture of pride and challenge. "You did it," he said, his voice a low rumble. "But you're not done yet. Get up."

You groaned, the thought of more exercise almost unbearable. But you knew better than to argue. Bakugo's training methods were brutal, but they were effective. And you had a point to prove, both to him and to yourself.

He led you to the next station, a set of free weights. "We're gonna work on your shoulders now. I want to see perfect form, or we're starting over. Got it?"

You nodded, gripping the weights with determination. Bakugo's eyes never left you, his scrutiny both motivating and nerve-wracking. As you lifted, you could feel his gaze burning into you.

"Keep your back straight," he instructed, moving closer. His hands brushed against your skin as he adjusted your posture, sending a shiver down your spine. "Good. Now, lift."

You followed his lead, lifting the weights with as much precision as you could muster. Every muscle in your body was on fire, but you refused to back down. 

"That's it. Keep going," he urged, his voice softer now but no less demanding. "I want ten perfect reps."

You lost yourself in the rhythm, each lift a battle against your own limits. The sweat continued to pour, dripping off your chin and landing on your chest, mingling with the fabric of your tank top. 

Finally, you finished the set, dropping the weights with a triumphant gasp. Your body was exhausted, every part of you trembling from the exertion. But there was also a sense of exhilaration, a rush of endorphins that made the pain worth it.

Bakugo stepped closer.

For a moment, you thought he might critique your form again, push you for another round. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, wiping away a bead of sweat. "You did great, Y/N," he said quietly, his voice a rough whisper. "But don't think this means I'm going easy on you next time."

You smiled, a sense of accomplishment swelling in your chest. "I wouldn't expect anything less, Suki."

His eyes darkened, a flicker of something more intense passing through them. "Good.”

Before you could respond, Bakugo's lips were on yours, the kiss fierce and demanding. 

You kissed him back with equal fervor, your hands gripping his muscular shoulders, feeling the strength and heat of his body.

He pulled back slightly, his breath hot against your lips. "Shower. Now."

You nodded, unable to form words, your body already responding to the command. The journey to the locker room was a blur, your mind focused solely on the promise of what was to come. 

The familiar scent of sweat and the sterile cleanliness of the gym's showers greeted you as Bakugo practically dragged you inside.

You stripped off your clothes.

Bakugo was quick to follow, his eyes never leaving your body. “Fucking hot as hell,” he commented, licking his lips. 

There was no shyness between you; the raw attraction was too overwhelming to allow for any hesitation. 

Inside the shower, the steam enveloped you both. The water was warm as you stepped under the spray.

Bakugo couldn't help but steal glances at your toned figure, his eyes tracing the contours of your muscles as they flexed beneath your skin. You, in turn, couldn't resist sneaking peeks at his powerful physique, the water sluicing off his rippling muscles.

Bakugo's body was pressing against yours from behind. His hands were rough, calloused from years of hero work. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his broad chest as his lips found the sensitive spot on your neck. 

Bakugo's lips traveled down your neck, nipping and licking at the sensitive spot just below your ear. 

You moaned, your head falling back to give him better access. 

He took full advantage, his tongue tracing a path down to your collarbone before moving further still. His fingers found your hardened nipples, teasing them into peaks as his mouth closed around one, sucking and flicking it with his tongue. 

You gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Bakugo smiled against your skin, switching his attention to your other breast as his hand slid down your body.

Your breath hitched as his calloused fingers brushed against your clit, the sensation almost too much to bear. 

He began to circle the sensitive nub, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you squirm. 

The teasing motions of his fingers had your legs shaking, threatening to give out beneath you.

Sensing that, Bakugo wrapped his strong arm around your waist to support you, his grip possessive and firm. With his free hand, he guided you closer, your bodies now pressed tightly together. 

The feel of his hard cock pressing against your stomach, made you gasp, and you reached out to gently brush the pads of your fingers against his mushroom tip.

He let out a hiss while his fingers continued their expert ministrations, sliding easily through your wet folds. He increased the pressure, his movements more insistent as he focused on rubbing your clit with his thumb while his middle finger teased your entrance. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice a low, husky growl. "You like this, don't ya, bitch?”

You could only nod, your voice lost to the overwhelming sensations. 

He slipped a finger inside you, then another, curling them just right to hit that sweet, spongy spot. 

Your inner, velvety walls clenched around his digits. “Suki,” his name fell on your lips like a mantra.

The intensity of your orgasm was almost too much to handle, your vision blurring as you were consumed by the release. 

Bakugo's mouth found yours once more, swallowing your moans with a deep, hungry kiss. His tongue danced with yours, the kiss wild and unrestrained.

Finally, he slowed, his fingers slipping out of you, leaving you feeling both satisfied and achingly empty. He rested his forehead against yours, his breath ragged. "You look so fucking beautiful like this," he whispered, his voice filled with awe and desire as he brought his fingers up and tapped them against your lips.

Without hesitation, you parted your lips, welcoming his fingers in. The taste of your own, sweet juices on his fingers was intoxicating, a reminder of the pleasure he had just given you. You met his gaze, your eyes dark with desire as you licked his fingers clean, savoring every drop.

Bakugo's eyes flashed with something primal, his breath hitching as he watched you, jerking his cock with a free hand. "Fuck," he muttered, his voice low and rough. "You're gonna be the death of me."

The hot water cascaded down your bodies, washing away the sweat and grime of the training session.

With a fierce kiss, he lifted you up.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling the hard length of his erect cock pressing against your wet folds. Your core throbbed with need, and you rocked your hips, seeking friction. “Shit.” You looked into his crimson eyes, silently giving your consent.

Bakugo's breath was ragged as he reached between you, positioning the tip of his dick at your entrance, running it up and down through your folds. "You're gonna regret challenging me," he muttered, his voice thick with desire.

"Oh, Suki," you moaned, his name a plea on your lips.

"Say my name again," he commanded, his voice rough with desire.

"Katsuki," you repeated, your voice trembling as you wrapped your hands around his neck.

With a powerful thrust, he entered you, the sensation both painful and pleasant. The feeling of being filled by him was overwhelming, and you clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders.

You gasped out an "Oi!" as he started moving, thrusting into you, allowing his cock to drag back and forth against your sensitive fold whenever he was withdrawing, feeling your hands grip his shoulders and your breath panting against his neck.

The sound of water, mixed with your moans and his grunts, filled the shower. 

Bakugo's pace was relentless, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force. 

"Fuck," Bakugo groaned, his movements becoming more erratic. "You're so tight."

The rock of his hips picked up the pace, thrusting in the heat of your pussy as if you had not fucked in weeks, even though it had only been a day. It just felt too good to be inside you, thrusting and grinding, the slap of his hips against your mound filling the bathroom with lewd sounds. Bakugo grunted. “Yeah, fuck.” He thrust in and out, in and out, feeling your pussy stretching to take his cock, getting wetter and wetter with each of his thrusts.

Katsuki pounded into your cunny with a vengeance releasing his pent-up frustrations with each massive thrust. He grunted and panted as he plowed deeper and harder, slapping his body against yours until suddenly he stiffened as an exquisite, convulsive explosion ripped through him. As he exploded deep into your quivering pussy, he felt your echoing response as your body milked the cum from his cock with the force of your own orgasm.

“Katsuki!” you raked your nails down his shoulders, gasping for air.

Soon, the pro hero felt the second load building up, the tension coiling in his body. He gripped your hips tighter, his movements becoming more erratic. Within a minute, he shot another load of thick cum deep inside your quivering pussy. The sensation of his release sent you spiraling into another orgasm, your body clenching around him as you cried out his name.

“Katsuki!”

You were both breathing heavily, the air thick with the scent of sex. 

Bakugo leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a slow, languid kiss.

When he finally pulled out, a mix of your juices and his cum began to drip down your trembling thighs, leaving a trail of slick, glistening evidence of your shared ecstasy.

After you finally stepped out of the shower, toweling off and getting dressed, you couldn't help but steal glances at Bakugo. 

"Don't get too comfortable, Y/N,” he announced with a smirk, catching your gaze. "We're back in the gym tomorrow. No slacking."

[heretek-birth]

A Hard Forceps Birth

Imagine you're deep in labor with your enormous, oversized, posterior baby.

This hasn't come as a surprise. You've known what was going to happen for months now, and you and your partner have planned for this extensively. Still, though, it's one thing to make plans for this in the cold light of day, and quite another to actually endure it.

"Theeeeere you go, just like that for me." He supports you from your side, holding you close while you moan through a punishing contraction. "Just let your body open up. You're doing so good right now." A C-section is off the table, so you're definitely going to need forceps. Still, you don't need them just yet, so, for now, you can labor in your own birth suite before you need to go to the delivery room.

"Nnnnnh- Fuck- Pressure-" You feel your contraction peak as a bowling ball settles between your hips.

"Alright, spread your legs nice and wide for me." Your partner settles himself between your thighs as that weight drops even more, until it feels like your pelvis is splitting apart.

"Now, give me a hard push- I need a hard, hard push, okay?" He presses back on your legs, and you curl forward and scream with the effort as you give in to your body's urges. "There you go. And again for me-" You curl forward again, giving everything you have and then some to bear down on the huge mass in your hips. "And again-" More screaming, more pushing, more of the same desperate struggle through the overwhelming pressure. "Again-" You push one more time, fighting hard to move your baby down just a little more, bearing down with every bit of your strength until you slump back on the bed at the end of the contraction.

You push just like that through the next contraction, and the next, and the next, and the next… You struggle for what feels like hours as he mops your sweat and kisses your forehead and holds your hand and tells you again and again just how well you're doing, that you're so, so perfect like this. You feel the endless pressure crash over you more times than you can count, like your womb is trying to crush you to death, like your hips are so full you're about to crack open, like you're pushing so hard you're going to turn inside out. He presses his fingers inside you over and over again, reporting with excitement on every millimeter of progress as you work your baby down until, finally, he watches your lips start to bulge just a little. He spreads you open with his fingers and-

"Oh my God, I can see the head!"

You fall back against the pillow in relief. This is it! You're doing it! You were so afraid you wouldn't be able to get this baby out on your own, but now- "Alright, push again for me." You curl forward with renewed energy, determined to push as long and as hard as it takes to have your baby right here. "Good! Good! Come on, hard push for me!" You cry out again as you bear down onto the mass in your hips, as you give in completely to the huge pressure deep inside you, struggling as long and as hard as you can until your body forces you to breathe.

"There you go! Push again for me!" You give another huge effort, bearing down with everything you have while he watches the head intently for any sign of movement. "One more, okay? Come on, have our baby!" You throw your head back with the effort, squeezing your eyes shut and gritting your teeth as you try to force that huge weight in your hips just a little farther down. You don't even have to notice the look of sympathy on his face to know you haven't gotten anywhere - you can feel the head wedged deep inside you, stuck, if anything, even worse than before.

Still, the thought of the "delivery room" makes your stomach turn. You know what's in there. Stirrups, drapes, catheters and masks, forceps, scissors, and needles, bright lights and antiseptic and harsh metal. If you give in, you'll be spread-eagled, cut, pried open, and- Yeah, you don't want to go in there. You shake your head to his questioning eyebrow.

"Alright. Get these wide open for me." He presses your legs back as far as they'll go, and you hold them there while you feel the pressure build to more than you can stand. "Give me big pushes now. Hard as you can, okay?" You do. You push long and hard, again and again, struggling through the whole contraction without feeling the head move a bit. You fight to catch your breath and, before you know it, that pressure is crushing you again, taking your breath away as you desperately bear down against the obstacle lodged in your hips. Your belly clamps down and lets go and clamps down one more time as you pull back your legs, pushing with tears streaming from your eyes as you feel every bit of your effort ultimately wasted, as you feel your baby's head stuck hard inside you no matter how much you push.

"Alright." Your partner takes your hand tightly in his. "I think you're ready now-"

"NO! No- Please- I can't-" You can feel tears running from your eyes.

"Shhhhhhh, you're okay, you're okay." He pulls your head against his chest, and you can feel his fingers in your hair. "I'm here for you, but this head's just not going to come out on its own." You choke out a sob against his neck. "I'm sorry. You're going to need the delivery room eventually." Another cry. "But we can push right here as long as you need to. We won't go until you're ready, okay?"

No! It's not okay! It's the opposite of okay! Why can't he see that you don't want- "Nnnnnh-" You're cut off by another surge of pressure as your belly contracts again.

"Come on, hard pushes for me. Let it alllllll out." Your body doesn't give you a choice as you bear down, a feral animal giving in to instinct as you struggle with your stuck baby. You're no better with the next contraction either, giving a huge desperate push down into your hips that gets you exactly nowhere, nor with the one after that while your partner waits patiently, telling you, "Go ahead and push, we're not in a hurry", and "Don't worry, we can take as long as you need."

You hang your head forward and pull your legs back, fighting your way through the contractions one after the other. You feel pain and cramping, then pressure, so much fucking pressure, and then you push, and scream, and push again, and scream again. Then, a few quick moments to catch your breath, to feel yourself tired and soaked in sweat, clinging tight to his hand before it all starts again. You just want the nightmare to end. You'll do whatever it takes to get your baby out, anything to stay out of the delivery room, but there's nothing you can do. You feel the contractions come and the pressure crush you and you pushpushpushpushpush with everything you have, but the head stays right where it is.

Nothing you do seems to help. You try squatting and feel the pressure get somehow even worse as the head rides down in your pelvis, as you push again and again with brutal, uncontrolled fury. For a while it feels almost like you're making progress, so you suffer your way through the endless, punishing contractions, squatting and pushing like your life depends on it- at least until your partner checks you and finds out that all you've been doing is wedging the head inside you even more. You try pushing on your hands and knees, feeling your belly weighing you down like a stone. You try standing to push, and find that your legs can't even support your weight. You try getting on your back again, and find that your baby is just as stuck as before.

You're not sure how long it goes on, the endless haze of cramping and pressure and pushing, growing more and more exhausted with each desperate, struggling effort, but eventually things reach a breaking point.

"Hey-" Your partner nudges you back to awareness. "Look at me." He manages to catch your gaze. "You need the delivery room." At this point, you're too tired to argue.

"I'll call ahead - we'll need a wheelchair, too." Fortunately, there's one nearby for just such an occurrence. You moan with discomfort as he helps you into the wheelchair and you feel it force your legs closer together, and he can see the dread radiating off you as you make the short trip to the delivery room. "Shhhhh, you're okay. You're okay." You sink back in fear as you catch sight of the doors. "You're going to meet our baby soon! Just think of that, okay? You're going to meet our baby." He gives your hand a short squeeze before he wheels you into the room.

It's just like you expected - a large obstetrical table at the center of the room, a spotlight pointed directly between the stirrups, trays of gleaming metal instruments, the doctor and nurses in surgical scrubs, and you the star of the show. "Alright, we'll get you set up on the table here and then we can get started!" The nurses get started on the preparations, and they go just as you feared. Stirrups, drapes, mask, catheter, spotlight, more and more restraints… You catch a brief glimpse of the doctor, an older man beneath his mask and gown, as he runs through your chart. "Let's see here… Significant macrosomia, persistent occiput posterior expected - and confirmed - scheduled forceps delivery, pushed for… how long?" "About four hours since the head came down." Your partner checks the time, and the doctor raises his eyebrows. "This is pretty much a textbook 'undeliverable', but I'm sure you had your reasons."

The nurses finish their preparations, spreading the stirrups wide apart as the doctor approaches. You can feel his gloved finger trail along your lips for a moment before pushing inside, feeling for the position of the head. Apparently satisfied, he reaches for the forceps, and you watch as he takes a moment to coat them in lube before he takes his position between your legs.

"Alright, just take a deep breath in-" You hear your partner's voice beside you as you feel a burning, stinging coldness between your legs. You can feel everything as the doctor levers the hard metal inside you, pushing in deep and sweeping into place. "And let it out, there you go." You feel weak, shaky as you grip his hand for dear life. "And breathe in-" More stinging pain, more hard metal pressing, twisting deep inside, sweeping into position. "And out." You let out your breath, and-

"Oh, FUCK-" You feel the blades lock together around the head, forcing you open somehow even wider inside. "I can't-"

"Shhhhhhhh. Yes you can. I know you can, okay? Just a little longer." Your tear-filled eyes meet his for a moment, until you're interrupted by the cramping in your belly.

"Alright. Hard push with this one." The doctor tugs gently on the head as one of the nurses adjusts the stirrups a little wider. "Hard push for me now."

You feel the fullness in your hips finally overwhelm you as you curl forward and bear down against the crushing, unbearable pressure of your contraction. You don't even have the breath to scream as you feel yourself slowly opening up, as you feel the head bulling forward bit by bit, burning more and more with the doctor's steady pulling.

"Come on. Cooooome on. Have our baby now." Your partner grips your hand tightly, and you do your best to focus on his words, on his touch, rather than what you can feel between your legs.

You can feel the pressure crushing you, making you drive down against the baby stuck inside you with all your might. You push with a fierce, desperate intensity, gritting your teeth through the burn that grows worse and worse as the harsh metal tools drag your baby forward. Eventually, your concentration fails, and you cry out as the head forces your lips apart wider and wider, as you're forced to stretch so unbearably far for your oversized child.

"Push through it, okay? Just push through it! You're doing so good right now!"

As though you could do anything else, with your belly crushing the breath out of you, with the huge baby wedged deep in your pelvis, with every cell in your body screaming at you to push and push and push even more. You scream again as you give everything you have to try to get your baby out, fighting against the stirrups and the straps holding you down as you feel yourself pried open even further before you collapse onto the bed again.

"There you go, theeeeeere you go." Your partner's voice cuts through your weeping as the contraction fades. "Just hold on, okay? I know you can do this." You're not so sure as you fight to catch your breath, as you tuck your head beneath his chin and press your face against his chest, but your body isn't giving you a choice. All too soon, you feel that familiar cramping tightness, feel that same desperate pressure building up in your hips.

"Alright, push just like that with the next one." You can hear the voice coming from between your spread thighs, see the light glinting off the metal wedged so tightly inside you. "That's it, hard as you can. I'm going to pull-" You let out a cry of pain as the burning between your legs flares all at once. "Push. You need to push now."

You grit your teeth as the pressure finally overwhelms you, screaming internally as you feel the forceps steadily prying you open more and more, as you lose any semblance of control, bearing down on instinct as your opening catches fire. All you can do is just try to let it happen, to try to focus on the warmth of your partner's hand, on his words in your ear as your lips stretch and stretch and burn for the head.

"I know it hurts, I know. Just have our baby, I'm right here for you."

You can't make it stop. Can't slow it down. All you can do is hold on and try not to scream. You're almost doubled over with the force of your pushing, with your body's involuntary, desperate effort to force your child out right this second, feeling the relentless, steady pull of the forceps dragging the head out towards the world. You can feel the fire catching between your legs as your most sensitive place stretches wider and wider with no end in sight.

"Little more now, just a little more. I know you can do this."

Eventually, your resolve breaks down. You scream, long and wordless even as you still can't help but bear down with all your might. It's all just too much, the unbearable, agonizing pressure, the brutal cramping in your midsection, the inferno growing worse and worse as you're mercilessly pried open with cold, clinical efficiency. It's just more than you can take as you cry out again and again, as you push and scream and cling on for dear life, feeling the head open you more than you could possibly imagine until your contraction finally lets you go.

"PLEASE- PLEASE- I CAN'T-" You give your partner a wild, desperate look. "IT HURTS- I CAN'T-"

"Shhhhhhhh, you're okay, I've got you. You're going to have our baby now."

The doctor keeps a tight grip on the forceps and stops the head from receding. You fight to catch your breath while you're forced to stretch so wide open, struggling through every bit of the burning those harsh metal tools inflict on you. Through it all, the doctor can see your clit as stiff and ready as ever, standing proud over the stretched-tight circle of your lips around the head.

"Here we go now-" The doctor watches your belly start to harden once again. "You should crown with this contraction."

Relief and dread wash over you in equal measure. One one hand, you're that much closer to the end. On the other, this is going to get worse before it gets better. In the end, it doesn't matter - your baby is coming out no matter what you think. You feel your partner's hand tighten around yours as the pressure builds again, as your belly does its best to crush you once more.

"Alright, hard push for me now-" You start bearing down long before he says anything. "There we go. Let's have this baby."

"BURNING- FUCK- IT BURNS-" You feel the doctor start to pull with the forceps, feel yourself forced open wider and wider around the huge, hard mass of the head, feel your lips stretching more and more and more, pried open mercilessy no matter how much it hurts. You try to fight against the restraints, to squirm away, to buck your hips, but it doesn't matter. You can't stop pushing, can't stop stretching, can't stop screaming- "MAKE IT STOP! PLEASE!"

"You're tearing just a little now. We'll take this niiiiice and slow, okay?"

His words fall on deaf ears as you push with everything you have to just get this over with, to just have your baby whatever the consequences, but the doctor keeps a tight grip on the forceps, easing the head out of you inch by brutal inch. "GET IT OUT- GET IT OUT- GET IT OUT-" You scream, and struggle, and bear down as hard as you can, but none of it makes a difference - you're forced all the way open as the doctor pulls your baby out of you in a textbook medical procedure.

"Annnnnnnd, that's a crown! Nice and slow, just like that."

"GETITOUTGETITOUTGETITOUTGETITOUT-" You push again and again in huge, desperate surges, struggling in uncontrolled, animal panic as you feel yourself slowly splitting open, as you beg and scream and fight against the forceps delivering your baby. The head is barely moving inside you- the doctor maneuvers as carefully as he can, leaving you stuck stretching and burning and crying out again and again at the endless, inescapable ring of fire.

"Come on, just a little more now. Just a little bit more."

"GET IT OUUUUUUUUUT-" You writhe on the bed, frantic and desperate as you bear down like your life depends on it, pushing until your breath fails you, then pushing again, and again, and again. "PLEASE! GET IT OUT!" You nearly crush your partner's hand in a white-knuckled grip as your entire world shrinks down to the searing, blazing circle between your legs, to your frantic, futile effort to just split your lips open and get the head out while your baby is slowly, methodically extracted.

"Almost there now- Allllllmost-"

"PLEASE- PLEASE- PLEASE- PLEASE-" You're reduced to a begging, sobbing wreck, pushing involuntarily with your legs held open as wide as they'll go, a whole roomful of people staring intently at the titanic bulge forcing you open, at the medical instruments making you cry out again and again. "PLEASE JUST GET IT OUT-" You feel the head pulled forward so, so slowly, just a little bit at a time, dragged out of your most sensitive place in an endless, burning agony. You throw your head back and give one long, wordless scream as the doctor pulls again, as the forceps hold you all the way open, as-

"And, there's the head!"

"That's it! You did it! You did so, so good!" You collapse back against your partner, sobbing in relief. He takes you in his arms and you press your head against his chest, doing your best to shut out the world for just a little while.

The world, though, isn't quite done with you yet.

You hear a click the doctor unlocks the forceps, and you wince just a little as you feel him probe a finger around the edge of your opening. "Alright, looks like… bilateral labial tears, then a midline tear as well." You don't want to think about that right now. "They don't look too bad, though." His finger probes deeper, and you wince again. "And, nice rotation from the shoulders- We should be good to go!"

You try to hide from this, to just bury your face in your partner's arms and escape, but your body won't let you. No matter what you want, you feel the next contraction coming, feel the pressure start to crush you again. You just want this over with. With a few fresh tears in your eyes, you curl forward once more as you give in to the pressure.

"This is it! Push, and have our baby!"

You push. You squeeze your eyes shut and grit your teeth and push with furious, desperate intensity. You feel the shoulders shift forward, feel them bulge outwards more and more, feel them stuck there for a single, horrifying moment-

"Alright, let's have these shoulders."

You feel the burning explode between your legs as the doctor pulls down on the head, growing worse and worse as you struggle with the size of your baby. "GET IT OUT!" You feel yourself stretching even more as the upper shoulder comes, forcing you wide open as the doctor starts to pull up. "GET! IT! OUT!" You push desperately as you feel the lower shoulder coming, pushing with everything you have as you feel a fire blazing between your legs. "AAAAAAAAA-" The shoulders come slow as you scream your way through the pain, as you bear down with a huge, final effort. Your body jerks as you give one last push for the hips before you're left shuddering and gasping and so, so blessedly empty.

After a moment, you feel something heavy and warm and wet placed on your chest.

"Oh my God!"

You open your eyes, and look down to see your baby. Neither of you say anything as you stare in wonder at the life you created together, but you don't need to. You're both already counting down the days until you'll do this again.

Inspired by and written for @bulgingpushh

[thirteenheavens]

I want to politely ask for a smut with hoshi where he’s obsessed with readers tits and can’t stop sucking them when he fingers and fucks the reader 🤤🥵

Hope you enjoy I think I’ve done a really good job keep requesting thank youuu <333

Hoshi had always been obsessed with your body, especially your chest. Whenever you were together, his hands were constantly wandering, exploring every inch of your skin with a desperate need.

He couldn't get enough of you, couldn't get enough of the feeling of your soft curves beneath his touch. As he lay you down on the bed, his eyes were glued to your chest, his gaze hungry and possessive. He trailed his hands up your sides, his touch feather-light as he teased you.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. "I could look at you all day."

He leaned down, pressing his lips to the valley between your breasts.

"But I'd rather taste you," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin.

He began to kiss his way up your chest, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. When he reached your nipples, he wasted no time in taking one into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud.

As he continues to lavish attention on your chest, he slips a finger between your legs, teasing your entrance. He can feel how wet you are, and he lets out a low growl against your skin. He slides his finger inside you, slowly pumping it in and out as he continues to suck on your nipple.

He adds another finger, stretching you out as he prepares you for what's to come. He moves his mouth to your other nipple, giving it the same treatment as he continues to finger you. He curls his fingers inside you, searching for that sweet spot that will drive you wild.

Hoshi is completely lost in the pleasure of your body, his focus solely on your chest. He releases your nipple with a soft pop, only to immediately switch to the other one, lavishing it with just as much attention as the first. He begins to move his fingers faster, his thrusts growing more insistent as he tries to bring you closer to the edge.

"You're so tight," he groans against your skin. "I can't wait to feel you around me."

"I can't hold back anymore," he whispers, his voice strained with need. "I need to be inside you. Now."

Hoshi pulls his fingers out of you, replacing them with the tip of his cock. He looks down at you, his eyes dark with desire as he slowly pushes into you, savoring the feeling of being enveloped by your warmth. He pounds into you with abandon, his hips snapping against yours with each powerful thrust.

He buries his face in your chest, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses and bites across your skin. He can't get enough of the way your body feels beneath him, the way you clench around him and moan his name. Hoshi's pace becomes more frantic, his movements growing sloppy as he chases his own release. He reaches down between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing it in tight circles, determined to bring you to orgasm with him.

Hoshi continues to lavish attention on your chest, his tongue swirling around your nipples and his hands cupping your breasts. He's completely lost in the pleasure, his mind consumed by the feeling of your body and the sounds of your moans. Hoshi looks up at you, his eyes meeting yours as he continues to thrust into you.

"You're so beautiful like this," he groans, his voice hoarse with desire. "So perfect, taking me so well."

Hoshi's breathing grows more ragged, his hips stuttering as he nears his peak.

"I'm so close," he pants, his voice strained. "You feel so good, I can't hold back much longer."

Hoshi grits his teeth, his eyes darkening with lust as he slams into you even harder. He lifts one hand from your hip and brings it down on your breast, the impact sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body. He slaps your breast again, the sound echoing through the room.

"You like that, don't you?" he growls, his hand coming down once more. "You like it when I take control and make you mine."

Hoshi's grip on your breasts tightens as he feels his release approaching. His thrusts become more erratic, his body tensing as he nears the edge.

"I'm going to fill you up," he gasps, his voice barely above a whisper. "Gonna make you mine in every way possible."

With one final, deep thrust, he lets out a guttural moan and spills himself inside you.

Hoshi collapses on top of you, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm. He buries his face in your neck, his breathing ragged as he comes down from his high. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as he tries to catch his breath.

"That was... incredible," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin.

[williamsonarssnal]

𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | L.W (part.1)

SILVER SPRING ⸻ leah williamson x swimmer!reader.

warning: angsty, mentions of marriage, heartbroken (L & R), confused (R). English isn't my first language!

In London, the vibrant city that pulsated to the rhythm of football, Leah Williamson shone like the Sun, illuminating the Emirates Stadium with her grit and talent. Y/n, on the other hand, an Olympic swimmer, was the Moon, gliding through the crystal-clear waters of the pool with the grace and strength of a celestial body.

Leah, the fearless captain of Arsenal, was admired by crowds, her radiant smile and unwavering leadership making her an icon of the sport. Y/n, on the other hand, conquered the world with her perseverance and discipline, each stroke bringing her closer to Olympic glory.

Though Leah and Y/n admired each other from afar, their worlds seemed to coexist in different orbits, like the Sun and the Moon. Leah, always surrounded by spotlights and applause, craved a quiet and cozy love. Y/n, dedicated to her passion for swimming, saw marriage as an obstacle to her freedom and dreams.

One day, fate brought them together at a charity event. Leah, enchanted by Y/n's beauty and determination, approached timidly. Y/n, admired by Leah's strength and humility, felt an unexpected connection.

"Hi, I'm Leah," she shouted over the loud music.

"Y/n, nice to meet you, England captain."

"The pleasure's all mine, gold medalist."

Over conversations and secret meetings, Leah and Y/n discovered a deep and sincere love, a feeling that transcended societal expectations. But, like the Sun and the Moon, they also carried their own dreams and ambitions.

Leah, wanting a future with Y/n, proposed marriage. Y/n, overwhelmed by the love she felt, found herself in a dilemma. Her heart belonged to Leah, but her soul longed for the freedom of the water.

"I can't, Leah."

"What?"

"I can't focus on starting a family with you right now."

Leah was still in shock by the woman in front of her's response. She was sure Y/n loved her with the same intensity. She was sure she was doing the right thing, the woman just got up and walked towards the door, since clearly the movie had been ruined. Y/n, on the other hand, sat on the cold living room floor while her shared dog lay on her legs trying to comfort her. Marvin was a Golden Retriever that Leah had given her for her birthday after finding out how much she loved the breed, he was a constant reminder of how much Leah cared about her and how they were already a family. This crazy decision of hers was already affecting their son.

She was already regretting her actions and how she was being arrogant putting her career above her perfect relationship, but now it was too late and Leah was probably at Lia's or some teammate's house. Tears streamed down her face, she was feeling so stupid for letting the love of her life walk away.

Days went by and Leah still hadn't spoken to her or even sent a message, she was living on autopilot. She entered the club without greeting any teammates and just changed in silence, training non-stop. In addition to taking advantage of the times when Lia asked to pick up Marvin to stay with Leah for a week and since the dog was shared she agreed immediately starting to accept the end of her relationship. Lia was angry at what she did to her best friend, but sad to see her state as she packed the dog's things.

"You're an airhead, girl," she said, and you just shrugged, trying to ignore the woman's words, just smiling faintly when your dog barked trying to get your attention. "Don't ruin your family, he needs you two together." You looked at her a little surprised, not knowing what to say, just lowering your head as you both walked away.

It was exactly a week after Marvin left and without the dog at home you spent more time training until the peak of exhaustion, doing several laps of different strokes each time wanting to break your record. Your cell phone was on silent so no one could disturb you, you were swimming butterfly and it was clear how much you liked the stroke, your favorite, you had such a great facility. The adrenaline was pumping through her veins, pushing her to surpass her limits. But then, a sharp pain shot through her calf. A relentless cramp seized her, paralyzing her movements.

Panic took hold of S/n. She tried to fight the pain, but it was futile. Her arms grew heavy, her legs refused to obey. She began to sink, the crystal-clear water turning into a suffocating nightmare.

In her last moments of consciousness, images of her life floated through her mind: the Olympic glories, Leah's love, the promise of a future together. Anguish and regret gripped her. She had sacrificed everything for her dream, but now, with death lurking, she realized that Leah's love was what mattered most.

[simp-ly-writes]

A Chance Encounter

─────── · · A Doctor Who FanFic

─ · · PAIRING: 11th Doctor x F!Reader, Rory Williams x Amy Pond

─ · · SUMMARY: One day you walk right into an invisible wall and out comes a stumbling tall alien that you pass out on top of. When you reawaken, said alien you now know to be the Doctor is determined to get you home safely (if you'll let him, of course) and now that you think about it... he's good looking for an alien...

─ · · TAGS: female pronouns used, second person perspective, canon divergence, coarse language, meet-cute, suggestive themes, fluff, not beta read.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 2,830

─ · · A/N: been on a Matt Smith binge recently... if you seen a sudden influx... don't question it...

─────── · ·

It was a Tuesday afternoon, the sun had started to peak out from the morning onslaught of rain and you had just started your lunch break and were taking a shortcut through a short alleyway to escape the foot traffic of the city as you had done so dozens of times since starting your job. 

Tugging your coat tighter to yourself as a gust pushed you down the alley you found yourself slipping forwards on the wet pavement. Bracing for impact with the ground you were beyond shocked to feel your face smash into an invisible wall. 

Gritting your teeth together and feeling tears start to well in your eyes. You bring your hand up slowly to check your face, pulling away to see blood dripping off your fingers and suddenly your nose feels like it's drumming with nauseating pain. 

You whimper pitifully, eyes casting back to see that there was nobody nearby to help you. Cursing to yourself now you feel around the pockets of your coat in search of anything to absorb the blood while you think of your next plan of action. Your gloves were all you found and would be the sorry cloth to absorb all your blood. 

You wince at the prickly cotton against the scuffed sensitive skin and look around for your phone dropped just ahead. Standing up with a bit of a wobble, you walk slowly and crouch down to retrieve it yet feel yourself bumping at the corner of whatever invisible wall caused you all this pain. 

“Fuck!” you curse aloud in partial hope that someone would hear as you white-knuckle your phone and try and type in one of your co-workers numbers into the cracked screen with one hand. Yet before you can ever reach the fifth digit a male voice calls out from behind you. Their tone is soft yet confident, “are you doing, al’right ma’am?” 

You turn around to hear their audible wince as they rush over to your side, bringing the glove away from your face to observe your injury. “Looks bruised, not broken, just missing a bit of skin yet nothing too severe. The bleeding should stop soon and the cuts on your palms will need to be disinfected… Did you fall?”

You blink slowly at the man as he claps a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Yes… I fell into something I just…” your sentence trails off as you bring your hand to knock on the invisible surface, it feels solid and by the sounds of it is made from wood. You furrow your brows in confusion, you had seen space ships, aliens in parliament, and ray-guns yet this invisible object had you stumped. What are you? You think to yourself and answers would be quick to come as in the blink of an eye a blue box appeared before you. 

You gasp, not believing your eyes, “did you see that?” you ask the man beside you, looking at him with wide eyes and a slight shake to your hands yet he just shrugs mumbling something about ‘it doing that sometimes.’ 

Your brain starts running at a mile a minute and burning through your initial rush of adrenaline as you begin to panic. “I mean, I just wanted lunch, wait… you’re not an alien right? Please don’t take me- I promise I don’t taste good! I am a very average human that does very average-ly human things!” you begin to ramble, trying to stand again as the man tries to support you yet you pull yourselves crashing back to the ground as you slip on the icy pavement once more. 

“I assure you, ma’am, I am not an alien. I am nurse Rory Williams, also human, and I’m here to help, oka-” Rory tries to calm you down seeing as your tears start to mix in with the dried blood across your face, not the most charming sight, but before he can finish his sentence, the doors to the mysterious blue box fling open as you curl yourself into a ball and peek out from between your fingers. 

“RORY?!” a new male tone calls out, the door slamming closed behind themselves as you watch the head of their shadow cast left to right before turning around suddenly and faces you both with a smile. 

“Ah! There you are and you’ve made a friend!” their movements are quick and a bit wobbly as they crouch down, “why are we all huddled up here? Are we sharing secrets? I promise to share one if you both tell me a good one first.”

You are at a loss for words, “Nurse Rory… I think I have a concussion,” you mumble, feeling yourself starting to fade, brain too overwhelmed by the series of events. Rory hastily grabs your head and starts to feel around, “no bumps or bruising I feel, are you seeing spots? Feel dehydrated?” 

You just blink slowly, your breathing ragged, “feel lightheaded,” you whisper before falling forwards and into the lap of the mystery man. The last thing you hear is a panicked shriek before the world fades to black. 

─────── · · 

When you reawaken you don’t recognize the room you rest in. It’s no hospital cot but a queen size bed fit with fluffy sheets and filled with plants. The paint colour on the walls is your favourite shade and the window appears to be a light box and not the outdoors as you squint between the shades. A knock at the door suddenly sounds and you feel across the bedside table for some form of defence. 

Lamp in hand, your muscles tense as the door clicks open and you relax seeing as its nurse Rory with a tray in his hands. A tall glass of water and a few simple cut fruits in a bowl are gently rested on your bedside table as you place the lamp back down to join the display. 

“How’re you feeling? Gave us all a shock when you passed out suddenly,” he comments before staring at your nose, mumbling something to himself before reaching into one of the drawers and presents gauze, “for your hands,” he explains as you look down to see the dirty bandages with a wince. 

“It's not as bad as it looks, these are just all we have aboard,” Rory explains as he begins to unwrap your hands, you nod your head slowly before stilling at his odd choice of words. 

“Aboard?” you whisper, eyes squinting to reanalyze the seemingly human man before you as he treats your small cuts. 

“We’re on Earth, It’s Wednesday now of the same week and we’re near the alleyway,” he reassures you before placing the tray in your lap and disposing of the old gauze. You stare down at your food and then back up at the nurse with a raised brow. 

“It’s not poisoned either,” he sees your anxiousness yet you still don’t move, finding yourselves in a standstill until a ginger woman knocks at your door, smiling at Rory as he does the same to her. “Hello you,” he waves her over to his side as the woman glides over, pulling him into a hug, “and what would we do without you, Rory?” she teases. 

Rory blushes before pulling away, eyes flickering over to you and then back to her. “Oh, yes, hello,” she fully faces you now, walking over and extending a hand, “Amy Pond.” You grasp her hand gently and shake it, introducing yourself.

“Thank you for helping me,” you look between the couple. “Anytime,” Amy responds, taking a seat at the foot end of your bed as she extends her hand, silently asking for a piece of fruit. You push the tray forwards, eyes watching closely as she swallows the food and pushes the tray back to you, “I’m still alive and yes, I am human too.” 

You close your mouth, deciding to just awkwardly smile as you pick at the bowl, “do you by any chance know where my phone is?” Amy leans forwards, feeling between the pillows on your bed before fishing the device out and passing it towards you. 

“Someone called Steve tried to call you a few times and left a voice message,” you grit your teeth together, well let’s hope Steve doesn't fire me, you think to yourself and call him back only to receive no response seeing as it's the end of the next workday already, I was out for awhile…

“Oh they’re up!” you fling your sore neck over to see the man that emerged from the blue box that caused you all this pain sauntering up to the foot of your bed with a smile. “So what's the census Rory? They gonna live?” their tone is light, eyes sparkling- already knowing the answer- just waiting for their knowledge to be confirmed. 

“Clean bill of health, just a little bit dehydrated still but should be cleared to leave later today,” Rory nods at you as you smile in thanks. A cough has you looking back at the mysterious man before you as you observe their bow-tie, suspenders, and tweed jacket with piqued interest. 

You watch as they lean forwards, gripping the bottom of the bed to whisper quite loudly into Amy’s ear, “you know it's not everyday a pretty lady falls into your lap but it must be the universe’s way of telling me something,” they wink at you and you quickly divert your eyes to the ceiling, feeling an oncoming blush starting at your neck, trailing up towards your cheeks and ears. 

Amy scoffs, pushing the mysterious man away, “has no one taught you how to whisper properly, Doctor?” she grumbles before standing, Doctor? You question not realizing you had said your question aloud. 

“That's me,” he stands up that bit straighter, hands behind his beck, smiling down at you, “and you?” 

You say your name and question again, “But Doctor… who?” 

“Oh they said the thing!” He looks between Rory and Amy, judging their nonchalant expressions before deflating his own, “I’m just the Doctor.” 

“And is ‘just-the-Doctor…’ human?” you press yet by the way your hearts beating and seeing as their eyes crinkle with that familiar all-knowing look, you know that he is most certainly not. 

“I’m afraid I’m not-” and you scream. The Doctor quickly covers his ears, gritting his teeth as he spins on his foot, yelling something incoherent to your fellow humans and you panic louder, jumping out of your bed, glass clattering to the floor and rushing towards the door and down the hall. 

The Doctor is quick to rush after you, “please, slow down! The floors are uneven and you might-” you hear the alien wince as you stumble forwards, “-trip.” catch yourself this time and continue to race down the hall until it opens up into a larger domed room.  

At its centre sits a large machine with various buttons, knobs, and levers that lights up and spin on their own volition. Your voice is dead from screaming as your jaw hangs open like a fish out of water as your eyes quickly try and drink in the foreign technology that surrounds you. 

Hearing as the trailing footsteps near, your eyes dart around in search of another door, one coincidently labelled ‘exit’ in big red, glowing letters. You almost cry out in relief as you rush towards the exit, hand just grasping the handle before long arms scoop you up and pull you back inside the room, gripping you gently but firmly in place. 

“I need you to calm down before-” the alien behind begins to explain yet on another rush of adrenaline you bring your bandaged hand up to their face and throw a punch to their chin. They are quick to drop you, reeling from the impact as they curse, rubbing their reddening skin as you make your escape out onto the busy city streets barefoot and shivering from the cold night air yet you are determined not to be whisked away to be some alien’s slave. 

─────── · · 

You think the coast to be clear as you had run about fourteen blocks away from that original alleyway… the only problem is that you had no idea where you were and the streets were becoming dark as the streetlamps fizzled out. 

Turning around a corner without looking you start to scream again when arms move to stabilize you and feel as a large warm and calloused hand clamps over your mouth, muffling your sounds with a pointed look, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Done screaming yet?” They slowly start to remove their hand yet you shake your head, screaming again as they nod, hand returning as their arm drapes around your back, pushing you both closer together as the Doctor swings his head side to side counting the seconds before you rip his hand away, breathing deeply. 

 “I think I’m done now,” your voice hoarse. 

The Doctor hums in reply, “Good. Done running now?” their grip tightens, squishing your chests together. 

“Do I have a choice?” you scoff, trying to wiggle your way out of their touch but ultimately fail to. 

“Nope,” he answers, “Can we talk now?” You remain silent, “I’ll take that as a yes then. I am the Doctor, yes I am an alien, no I don’t take strangers without their permission, no I am not a warlord, no I do not take slaves, and yes, those humans you saw are voluntary companions who are happily married to each other and before you have any wild ideas- I have not been in same bed as them.”

You open and close your mouth on his last point before laughing at the absurdity of the situation you find yourself in. “So… why did you run after me again if not to take me prisoner?” 

The Doctor tips his head down, voice softening, “you forgot your phone.” He finishes around in his chest pocket before presenting the device to you with a smile. You cautiously take it from his outstretched hand and remove yourself fully form his touch. 

“Thank… you?” you reply yet it comes out more like a question. 

“You’re… welcome?” the Doctor replies with a tease of a smile. You roll your eyes in response before turning around and going back down the street. “That ways a dead-end!” he calls out, adjusting his suit jacket and hair as you pivot on your heel to face him again. 

His head tilts to the left, “that ways to the main road.” You nod, marching past him whilst opening your phone and typing your address into your maps app for directions. The Doctor trails a few steps behind you wanting to make sure you make it home safe, when trying to follow you here he had seen the various stares you were getting from late-night city-goers that disturbed him. 

Pausing suddenly the Doctor walks into your back, lost in his thoughts as he looks down at you with a smile, “where are we headed?” 

“I’m headed home,” you respond, “you’re free to do whatever…” you look him up and down, lingering on his rather handsome face, you shake your head of these thoughts, forcing a frown onto your features, “...whatever alien stuff that aliens do.”

The Doctor throws his head back in laughter, joining your strides beside you, “well this alien is walking you home… unless you want a quicker way?”

“What, you going to hail us a cab or something?” you scoff, turning another blind corner as the Doctor is quick to grab your shoulders, pulling you away just in time from a cyclist. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, cheeks warming as you think it just to be the cold seeing as his eyes well with concern.

“No, that would be too human of me, right?” he teases, knocking his shoulder into your own and managing a short laugh out of you that has both of his hearts racing at the sound of it. 

“Right,” you agree, looking down at your screen to follow the next green arrow. One hour walk with an alien, they’re never going to believe me at work, you think to yourself. 

“But I could… take you there in other ways,” the Doctor walks ahead of you to stand and block your path, hand extended in an offering as he bows down, a piece of long brown hair dropping over his right eye, “if you’ll let me?”

You look between his hand and his face cautiously, gripping your phone closely to your chest, debating his offer, “and how would you travel?”

“I’d have to show you for it to make sense, time-y wime-y stuff,” he explains or rather fails to yet his eyes and tone appear so sincere as they glance at your shaking shoulders and slippers you bought from a convenience store on your way.  

And so you grab his hand and from that day forwards had remembered to not let go. 

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: hope you all enjoyed! this is my first 11th doctor fic so please be kind!

─ · · ELEVENTH DOCTOR TAGLIST: @smallerontheoutside

[kryptonian-outlaw]

Crown of Shadows

Author: Ultimate

Series: Crown of Shadows

Chapter 1: Fallen Robin

Rating: Explicit (18+) Smut

Summary:

*Time skip of eight years. Damian is 21 years old.*

AU Bruce Wayne remains dead after the events of Final Crisis, leaving a young Damian Wayne lost and seeking solace from his mother, Talia al Ghul. Instead of comfort, he is met with a ruthless tyrant and is ultimately forced to kill his grandfather, Ra’s al Ghul, to seize control of the League of Assassins. Eight years later, Damian operates as a rogue, spreading chaos across Gotham, long abandoned by those who once cared—except for Jason Todd. Refusing to give up on him, Jason disrupts the League’s operations, determined to track Damian down and pull him back from the edge. But Damian has no intention of being saved—he intends to stop Jason personally, ensuring nothing interferes with his ruthless mission to rid Gotham of its criminals.

// WARNING \\ Non-con, trauma, abuse, child abuse, violence, and PTSD in this chapter.

* SNEAK PEAK *

Damian's eyes sparkled with amusement as he sucked on Jason's nipple, his voice husky with desire. "Damn, you have such a lovely voice, Jay." He nuzzled at Jason's chest, inhaling deeply as if savoring the scent of his skin.

Jason managed to grit out a response, "Fuck off, Damian!" But it was too late; his body had already betrayed him. His cock throbbed in his pants, straining against the fabric as the friction from Damian's touch sent him into a desperate frenzy. As Damian continued to suckle at his nipple, Jason discreetly felt for the small needle he had hidden in the waistband of his pants. His fingers closed around it like a lifeline, and he began to work on loosening his restraints while keeping Damian distracted.

Damian pinched Jason's nipple again, making him wince. "Scarecrow got me with fear gas, and— wait you don’t remember?" There was a hint of disappointment in Damian's voice as he gazed up at Jason. Jason shook his head in denial even though memories were beginning to resurface - fragmented images of that fateful night when Scarecrow unleashed terror on Gotham City. But he refused to give in to them now not when there was still fight left within him still chance escape grasp break free get revenge.

"Crap! Give me a sec, will ya? I need to...I don't know, get my head straight," Jason gasped, his words tumbling out in a frantic rush as Damian's fingers closed around his other nipple, pinching it with precision. The shock of pain mingled with the simmering arousal, leaving Jason breathless and disoriented.

Damian's voice was low and husky, his words dripping with amusement. "Well, I guess it's not a concern right now, Jay." He began to unbuckle Jason's belt with a deliberate slowness that made Jason's heart skip a beat. The sound of the leather sliding through the loops was like a countdown to Jason's undoing.

Read the full chapter here.

[mehiwilldoitlater]

@itsabouttimex2

Fang Zhi, mistress of Rainbow Cloud Peak, a notorious and well-known cultivator sect, sitted there quetly, sipping a tea that she had made appear from her scroll and the water ink. Mk gasped in surprise, but her eyes were sinoed in your almost ashamed frame. You weren't surprised by her ability, since she knew that you could use them too, but what you didn't expect was from her to be so direct with her request to your parents.

Wukong, one of your fathers, was quite nervous by her presence in his house. Well, maybe not exactly that nervous; he was more annoyed. He never liked when some strangers were in his house. That's the main reason why you couldn't bring any friends at home, especially when they had certain demands with them...Just like the lady in front of Wukong.

At least he seemed calm, because your other father, Macaque, was less than happy to have her around.

"Your request is absurd."

"It's absurd to not consider it, oh great sage."

She had this time... She wasn't crossing a line, but clearly she knew how to move around. Wukong cleared his voice, trying to keep his composure.

"My child-"

"Y/n, yes."

"As I was saying, they have duties here. They can't just leave because they can...what they can do again?"

She puerced him with an ICE glare from her eyes, clear as a pond. The porcelain of her cup gritted between her fine nails while she processed the fact that your parents, like you had mentioned her, not only ignored every aspect of you, but they even were unaware of your great talent.

"They can use the power of creation. A rare ability, known to a few to be fair. They're young, but they got potential. I desire nothing more but to take them as my disciple."

She looked at you with a kind smile—one that even your parents weren't able to share with you. You felt uneasy, not because of the tension of the room but because a stranger gave you some hope.

"What does it mean to be your disciple?" MK inclined his head, curious about this strange person. He had always known that their older siblings were special, even if they always shooed him away or ran somewhere else where he couldn't reach. 

"It means," said Fang Zhi, making the pot and the cup disappear in the air, "that if they want, they can follow me to my home and learn from me."

The two older monkeys looked at the small one with fear, knowing what was going to happen. His little face started to contort in a pained expression, his eyes started to water, and his little lips trembled. You looked at the woman, knowing that this was the end of it.

"NO!" screamed your little brother. "Y/n, have you stay here! They have to! I don't want them to leave!"

"Of course they won't leave!" Macaque rushed in, holding the small bundle of fur in his arms. "They'll stay here with us!"

"Y/n, Look at your brother! You can't leave knowing that he gets like this!" Wukong gestured towards the screaming baby that kept on demanding you tò not leave. 

You felt ashamed; you felt like you were the bad one there because you hoped that this woman could set you free from this damn family and from this painful situation you were born into.

"So you rise brat now?"

Her voice was calm and collected, like a river, despite the heavy words she had spoken. The two older monkeys looked in shock and amused the woman, while she calmly fixed her long sleeves and silk of her robes.

"How dare you to-"

"Please, spare your breath. I came in because I just wanted to inform you, but in the end, it was never yours to decide."

She then reached her hands towards you, looking you with a soft and silent determination in her eyes.

"It's your to make, y/n... Will you become my disciple?"

In a few hours, the two of you were already on the road. And while the screams of your little brother were slowly disappearing behind you, the weight in your chest slowly started to disappear.

///

At Rainbow Cloud Peak, everybody is threatened like everybody else. No one is better than the others, not for their ability, and, despite that, there is not favoritism between students. Everybody had to wear the same robes; everybody had the same instruments and materials. Rules had to be followed by everybody, and if someone broke them, they had to be punished.

There's equality there, and you loved that.

For the first time, you weren't treated differently; you were just like the others; you weren't treated like the second-hand choice, like a disappointment to just exist. 

Your works were valued; your efforts were seen by your peers and youngers. Without you having even noticed, you were one of the top disciples in the cultivator group.

"You're the best one in all of our activities! It's incredibile that you were just here for a few months!" Mùchén, one of your peers, a young man with quite some skills with the poetry but lacking in the painting arts, was looking at a few of the swallows that started to fly away from your scroll.

"I'm not that great! Calligraphy is a pain in my ass, and my sword skills are good only when those are painted."

"Nonsense!" Dai Lu, a young girl that started to follow you, and Mùchén, the best one in the use of the sword around there, almost screamed, jumping down her small spot. "Those skills are just small things! You're the great next master of the cultivators of Rainbow Cloud Peak! Everybody say that!"

"Except Jun Hie, remember?"

"He's just an idiot!"

Jun Hie, were either of the top students or your rival? Well, you never had a rival before—at least one that you could match at least. Despite the name, you were on some good terms with him; he had made you go beyond your limits, made you think somehow, and you were glad you had met him.

Maybe there was something more than just rivalry between you two...

You were glad you had found some piece, some happiness...

And you knew that everything was supposed to end someday.

Your master knowledge would end, you would be ready to leave, and the idea to go back there was that your brother was suffocating, a torture. You didn't want that.

Every day nearer the end was more painful than the others before; you couldn't stand that.

No, you didn't want that to go back! 

"Please!" Your sobs and cries were intensified by your sleeves, your head deep in the ground while you were kneeling in front of your master. "I beg you! Let me stay here! Don't let me go back there! I can't stand it! I refer to the lineliness rather than being a prisoner like that before."

Every day, a new letter had come, informing you how much Mk had missed you and that he wanted you back. The training was, for your parents, just a silly little thing that was taking a toll on you, and you needed to go back for your little brother that loved you deeply!

They wanted you back in the cage for the little prince; they didn't care for you at all! Just because you weren't a monkey like them! 

And while you were begging, the kind and gentle hands of your master rose your face, holding you with a kindness that no one in your family ever showed you.

"The power of creation...my dear, it holds not only to bring life but change itself! And what kind of master have I not given you the chance to break through a destiny such as this one?"

From the first time. In your life, you saw the light in her words. Like that day, she was setting you free.

"Choose the destiny that you want, away from the cage."

[dellovestorant]

Pecco fell short of expectations primarily because he has always accustomed us to better performances on Sundays as opposed to Saturdays, but also because of the grit and determination he displayed on a spectacular first lap: in the race pace, however, he lacked the sharpness that we all were expecting, as well as those peaks that are needed to bring him back to challenging for the top. From the championship perspective, however, he scored a valuable third place to add to his tally, but the fact remains that it is imperative for us to improve.

What can I say about Marc... unfortunately his was a mistake that occurred too early, well before the GP took shape and the values on the track became clear. We had better start thinking of our next commitment, without harbouring doubts, but keeping all this in mind... we can certainly add, and always appreciate the rider's grit in wanting to return to the track, bringing a badly damaged bike to scoring points and considering the circumstances, to an amazing final 12th position.

- Gigi Dall'lgna

Oh man is DISAPPOINTED in his riders

Didn't even post a pic with Pecco who got a podium just a pic of his disappointed face lol

[therhythmafterthesummer]

hard thought :

chris feeling his rut coming, his girl coming home with her male coworker’s scent on her, chris fucking her brains out and painting her cunt in his cum, breeding her to bits, fluffy aftercare.

HELP THIS IS GONNA BE ON MY MIND FOREVER!!

anon i hate you (i love you) because this ask.... THIS ASK.... i couldn't stop thinking about this ask. it literally made me black out and next thing i knew there were words in my google docs and.... yeah. again, might as well share it JKSDFHSKJDFH (this is barely proof-read, sorry, i was literally possessed writing this sdfhsjkdf)

Pairing: Werewolf!Chan x Human!F.Reader (one of the main pairings of my WereRoomies series, but you don’t really need to read any other instalments to understand/enjoy this one). | Word Count: ~2k | Warnings: smut · established relationship · chubby/curvy MC · Chris’ POV · mandatory Christopher is Intense™ warning · pet names · possessiveness · unprotected penetration (no barrier method, but BC is used) · praising · creampie · breeding kink · copious amounts of fluids (concerningly so. but this is some monster fuckery, what else would you expect?)

It wasn’t enough. Nowhere near enough.

“C–Chris, b–baby…”

“Hm? What is it, pretty? Want me to stop?”

You shook your head, nuzzling your face on the bed sheets. Chris could feel his heart swell in his chest, you were just how he wanted you to be… moaning, whining, saying his name and only his name.

But, still, it wasn’t enough.

Whenever you came home from work, with the smell of your coworkers all over you, he typically didn’t mind. It was only natural for you to smell like other people after spending all day with them, just like he probably did, too. But today, the smell of your male colleagues on you triggered something in him, something primal that was usually perfectly kept at bay.

You didn’t even question it when he wrapped his arms around your waist and held you from behind while you washed a pot in the sink. After all, it wasn’t uncommon for him to cling to you.

‘Are you a wolf or a koala?’ you’d ask him sometimes, which always made him chuckle.

Today, Chris didn’t chuckle at the question. He simply buried his face deeper in the crook of your neck, kissing and licking your skin, trying to get rid of any traces of foreign scents–or rather, trying to leave his behind.

Sneaking a hand under your shirt, he held your soft belly, squishing and kneading your flesh while his other hand was too busy caressing your hips. ‘…Right now? I’m a wolf, pretty. A very horny wolf’.

Which was how you both ended up here.

With a hand between your shoulder blades, Chris kept your upper body pressed to the mattress, while the other diligently rubbed circles on your clit, making you clench harder around his length, ripping a low growl from deep within his chest. The sound was barely audible, but it was certainly there, mingling with the slapping of skin that seemed to bounce off of the walls as he kept fucking you from behind.

The feel of the soft, supple flesh of your bum against his skin was absolutely delectable, and the squelching sounds coming from where your bodies met were starting to make Chris lose his mind. How many times had he come? Two? Three? He wasn’t sure. The only thing he was sure of was that it wasn’t enough. 

“You’re so fucking perfect, baby. Perfect”, Chris’ pace picked up, eliciting a desperate whine from your lips. “Perfect and mine. Right? Just mine?”

Tightening your grip on the bed sheets, seeking his forearm with your free hand, you simply nodded, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts.

“Say it”, Chris spoke between gritted teeth, speeding the movement of his fingers on your clit, determined to get you to your peak. Well, to another peak…

How many times had you come? Three? Four? He didn’t know, and at this point, he didn’t care. Once again, all he knew was that it wasn’t enough.

“Y–yours”, you could barely speak, and had Chris been a bit more coherent he would’ve probably slowed down. But as it was now, he simply couldn’t. If anything, the faintness in your voice made him go faster, chasing not only the feel of your skin hitting his, but also the delicious feel of your tightness dragging back and forth around him. “Close…”

“Close?” Chris could certainly tell you were close. The smell of your arousal wrapped around every single one of his nerve endings, your heart was beating so fast and loud in your chest it was mingling with his own heartbeat in his ears.

The vice grip of your cunt clouded his mind, the feeling of you around him had him salivating, grunting, groaning… Tingles of pleasure ran up and down his spine, and he could feel his own orgasm nearing increasingly fast. 

“Can you take another load, pretty? Hm?”

He knew you could. After all, you’d already taken everything he had given you so far. But still, he desperately wanted you to say it, he needed you to say it.

You nodded again, whining, and something akin to the word ‘please’ left your mouth. That simple sound got him so incredibly close, so close he was starting to lose the little composure he had left in him.

“Need to…stuff you full, baby”, you didn’t say anything after the words left his mouth. You honestly didn’t need to, he could feel how hard you clenched as soon as he said it. “You like it, don’t you, love? When I fill you up? When I fuck my cum back in as deep as it can go?” 

You nodded, so eagerly he could feel his head start to spin.

That was exactly what he’d done this entire time, shoot his load into your warmth, only to keep fucking you even when you were already filled to the brim. It didn’t matter, though, because doing it once, twice, thrice, just wasn’t enough. Chris needed you to be as full of him as you could, he needed to give you more, as much as his body was capable of. And judging by how he’d not gone soft once the entire time, he just couldn’t stop until that primal need was fulfilled, until his inner wolf was satisfied.

Finally, you moaned his name, so prettily he almost felt blessed that he was able to hear you over and over again. With an assortment of loud swears, your whole body trembled with your release, and Chris finally removed his fingers from your sensitive nub. Instead, he brought both of his hands to your hips so he could pull you back to meet his thrusts when you clearly couldn’t do it on your own anymore.

He vaguely registered praising you for it. He could feel his heart swell with pride, not only because of how good he’d made you feel, but also for how well you’d done for him, for how well you’d taken it all. Satisfied mate, perfect mate, mine, just for me, soft mate just for me…

“Gonna–Fuck, pretty, gonna stuff you so fucking full…”

With a low, drawn out growl, Chris finally let himself go. The undeniable satisfaction of an orgasm always seemed to triple whenever he got to pump you full of his cum, and today, at this very moment, nothing had felt quite as fulfilling as this did.

Even when he came, though, he didn’t stop moving. He vaguely registered the sting of overstimulation, but he just couldn’t stop. All you did was take it. Take anything and everything he had to give as quiet whimpers fell from your lips and your nails dug on his forearm. 

“Need to…” He was panting, groaning, and he could barely hear anything over his beating heart in his ears. “Need to make sure it sticks….”

Chris was delirious, for sure. Nothing would stick. It never did, you were protected in that regard, but his numerous orgasms had his logical, human mind completely disconnected from reality. All he had left were his wolf instincts, those instincts that urged him to claim you in the utmost primal way possible, those instincts that urged him to give you a part of himself, that urged him to breed you.

One, two, three, four thrusts, and he finally stilled, groaning. A shiver ran up and down his spine, and before he could even stop himself, he collapsed, squishing you between his body and the mattress when your knees finally gave out under his weight.

Even through the haze, he couldn’t help but wonder if you could feel how hard his heart was beating against your back.

“Fuck, baby, you okay?” Chris was panting still, his mind foggy, oscillating between this moment in your shared bedroom and somewhere deep within himself.

You laughed. A hearty laugh, albeit a bit strained. “Are you?”

The sound brought to the forefront of his heart all that undeniable love he felt for you, dissipating some of that fogginess in his brain. Chris couldn’t help but laugh as well. 

Carefully, he peeled his body away from you, leaving the warmth of your inner walls in the process, which honestly shouldn’t have made him feel this irrationally sad. His erection was finally going down, he’d been hard for so long, but only now did he register how sore he was.

As soon as he kneeled on the bed, with his hands on your bum, spreading you open to see bucket loads of his cum trickling out of your abused hole, he felt himself twitch, and for a microsecond he feared the cycle would start all over again.

Thankfully, it didn’t.

Chris simply heaved a sigh of relief, absentmindedly staring at your centre, at your mixed fluids oozing out of you and soiling your bed sheets in the process.

It dawned on him then just how desperately needed this, which puzzled him a bit. Sure, he’d be the first to admit he loved to be all over you, but he genuinely felt like he couldn’t breathe until he stuffed you as full of his cum as he possibly could.

“Baby?” Your voice snapped him out of the daze he was in, making him blink. 

Looking back at your face, he was met with a teasing–yet a bit tired–smile on your lips. “Hm?”

“You weren’t listening were you?” 

Chris felt himself flush. Had you spoken? He hadn’t heard a single thing. Was he that pussy drunk? He supposed he couldn’t blame himself for it. Not when you were the girl of his dreams, not when you were almost glowing in your post-orgasmic bliss, not when he was this unequivocally in love.

He simply shook his head in response, ignoring the heat he felt spreading from his chest to the back of his neck. 

“I asked if you were enjoying the view, Christopher”, you chuckled, and it made him smile.

He licked his lips, returning his eyes to your drenched folds, just in time to see more of him coming out. You totally did that on purpose, and he couldn’t help but scoff a chuckle, finally letting go of your buttocks so he could land a smack on one of them, right before he laid down next to you and pulled you into his arms. 

“I was”, he admitted, because what would be the point of lying to you? If there was one thing he could be with you, it was being honest. Chris pressed a kiss on your forehead, holding you tighter. “I love you”.

“Mmm… Love you, too”, was all you mumbled back, tucking your head under his chin, and draping a leg over his hip, pulling him closer to you. “I’m okay, by the way”.

“Good”, with his index and thumb on your chin, he pulled your face up, enough so he could kiss you. Probably the softest kiss he’d initiated since this all started. “I’m okay, too. More than okay”.

You both stayed there for a while, just kissing, cuddling, sharing some warmth, until Chris asked if you’d like a bath, to which you immediately agreed.

Now, with his back against the tub, and with you between his legs, your back against his chest, he simply held you close as you told him about your day. Chris listened intently, massaging your soft body under the water in an attempt to soothe your achy limbs while you spoke to him. 

In here, all he could smell on you now was your floral scent and the smell of your shared home, which probably meant you also smelt like him. The realisation, along with the sound of your voice, helped his muscles relax. Finally, he was at ease.

Chris told you about his day, too. Nonessential information about things he’d done, or office gossip that he knew you’d enjoy listening to. Even when you eventually turned to face him, grabbing his shampoo and lathering your hands.

“Babe”, your fingers glided through his hair, massaging in his shampoo on his scalp. Chris would admit he enjoyed this more than he thought he ever would. Just looking at your face this close, feeling the soft movement of your hands on his head… It always felt incredibly intimate and soothing. So much so he was sure that, had he been in his wolf form, his tail would be wagging right now. “I think your rut is coming very soon”.

His eyes widened. He started doing the math in his head, had that much time passed already? “Shit, you might be right”.

“Might?” You chuckled, using a cup to gather water from the tub so you could rinse the shampoo out of his hair. “I am right, baby. You don’t just pump me full of your cum four times in a row for no reason”.

A smile made its way onto his lips. He looked you in the eyes, relishing the galaxies he could see in them, ignoring how fast his heart started to beat at the sight. It wasn’t the feeling he needed right now, not when he wanted to tease you effectively. “You were begging for it, too, though”.

Finally done with his hair, you cradled his face in your hands, staring right back at him. “That’s ‘cause I love it when you stuff me full of your cum, Chris”.

The fine hairs at his nape stood on end, and he had to make the conscious effort not to shiver. Bringing his hands to your waist, Chris pulled you closer. “Pretty, if I fuck you again today I’ll have to be hospitalised for dehydration. Don’t just casually drop that on me, God…”

You chuckled, leaning in, kissing him tenderly, and he simply melted under the soft movement of your lips on his.

You were right, though. His rut was surely coming soon, probably sometime next week… He’d have to start making arrangements soon, just like you had to, too.

Food had to be prepared, drinks had to be bought, PTO had to be confirmed, and any sexual activities had to be stopped to make sure your body was well rested enough for what was to come. Chris couldn’t let himself go like he did today, he didn’t want to inadvertently hurt you later because of his idiotic wolf urges…

Everything else could wait until tomorrow, though. Tonight, the only thing that mattered to him was enjoying your company and your warmth.

© therhythmafterthesummer 2023. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my stories.

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[pursuitseternal]

“More Than Just A Little Death:” Heavy Angst with a “glimmer of a happy ending”Dark Lord Astarion x Enemy Tav

Ascended Astarion x Tav | E | 4.5K of angst with a glimmer of a happy ending

Screen grab from @venenum-cadaverinus 🖤

Summary: Centuries of darkness under the rule of the Vampire Ascendant come grinding to a halt. The one being who knows him is bound in his dungeon. What unfolds will hurt, with a glimmer of hope at the end. Mind the tags.

CW: This one will hurt, Heavy angst with a glimmer of a happy ending, Major Character Deaths, Tragedy, Hate Fuck, Sworn Enemies, Regret and True Feelings.

Ao3 link | Astarion Fic Masterlist

Centuries of darkness. Of soot and ash spewed into the sky to blanket the lands in thick, acidic shadow.

Lands coated in constant shadow at the command of the great mountains of fire he has constructed, a matter of dedication to his desire for power, his ambition to rule. Even diverting magma and sulfur from the Peaks of Flame was but a small step in his plans to darken Faerûn, to bring it to heel as he deserved.

These were the lands of the Ascendant, the lands made perfect for his rule, and the heart of his ever-reaching empire. Cities, empires, nations all fell before his strength, his armies of undead vast and allconsuming. Not even Lathander’s Blood or his Light or He himself could touch the forces and power of Lord Astarion. He was brutal, bloodthirsty, ruthless….

And always victorious.

His lands were a breeding ground of spawn and red dragons and other terrifying creatures of the dark. Legends recounted tales of blood and destruction and domination, that the Vampire Ascendant had a heartbeat but no beating heart.

The only one who knew that his heart really did once beat beneath his ribs was just brought to his dungeons, roaming in the shadows of his dark tower. As if he didn’t smell her, knowing that scent even after centuries. As if he didn’t know the dance of her pulse in moments of fear or determination or arousal…

Lord Astarion adjusted the clasps of his armor, for he knew better than to approach her unprotected and unarmed. Given the amount of weapons found on that still supple, lithe frame of hers, it was clear she had come behind enemy lines with one goal in mind.

To finish what she would have centuries before when she left his side.

Stepping into the barred cells and depths of darkness of his dungeons, his eyes fixed their gaze on her trembling in her chains. He let his feet fall loudly, let his breath sound a little louder than he was accustomed to in his own vampiric domain. But it was enough to draw her attention.

Enough to have her stare at him with all the vitriol and hate in her heart he remembered.

And it made him flash a toothsome smirk. “Come to kill me again, darling?”

She said nothing, her breathing just more ragged as he entered her cell, the rusting hinges shrieking as he pushed them open and shut them in his wake. Her nostrils flared, her arms jerked against the chains that hung her arms out wide from her shoulders.

“No warm words for your ancient lover?” he crooned, eyes glowing in the darkness as he rounded behind her. “Hardly like you to not use your tongue in my presence… for speaking or other things…” He ran his fingers lightly up her arm, the thin, dark material of her shift torn from the rough treatment she had already received just being thrown in here. His touch danced harder in the spots where her flesh poked through.

She held her mouth shut firmly, shuddering under his touch, eyes fixed on the cracks in the ceiling so as not to catch a glimpse of him.

“Afraid you’ll fall for me all over again, my dear, if you look at me?” he rasped just beside her pointed ear. A snarl in his throat, he pulled her by her chin, chains rattling as he forced that still beautiful face to meet his stare. She was fury incarnate, eyes dilated with hate, teeth grit to feel his touch on her skin, nostrils flaring with every enraged breath. Shaking herself free she sneered up at his smirk of victory. “Ah, that’s better, just like old times,”

“Unhand me,” she hissed with a snap of her teeth.

“And why would I do that?” Astarion purred, leaning closer to stroke her filthy cheek with the back of his knuckles. “I have you right where I want you, right where you always have been meant to be.”

“Your slave, your prisoner?” she spat, flinching again, eyes like coals burning with hate in the dungeon’s dark.

“At my side, under my touch, commanded by my control,” he looked at her, face lifting in an expression of pure sincerity.

“You mean trapped in the darkness you’ve brought over this beautiful realm…” she made herself reply.

He went silent for a moment, something in his crimson eyes hardened at her accusation. Something shifted in the way his fingers brushed her skin. The way they clamped onto her shoulder to pull her shaking body flush against his armored frame. “You left me in the dark, Tav, you took my sun, my stars and moon when you left me… I took the same from this precious realm you saved just to make it even.” His grip pinched harder, making a gasp unwillingly escape her chapped lips. “I’ve made this world almost as shadowed as your heart, darling.”

Summoning her strength, she resisted his clutch, making herself stand up all the taller despite his force. “You only remade the world in your own image, Astarion… Only doing what you most desire.”

“Oh, perhaps you’ve forgotten after all these centuries,” his touch suddenly wandered over her collarbone, caressing in its warmth as it stole around her neck. “If I allowed myself to do as I desire, you wouldn’t be in some dungeon dangling from chains, covered in grime or clothing even…”

That got her hissing in her breath and pulling at her chains. “You had your fun with my body before I realized how much you deceived me, Ast…” she shut her mouth, almost clipping her own tongue.

The Vampire cackled, low in his chest, a sound so foreign even to himself. “What’s the matter, Tav? Can’t bring yourself to mention my name?” He kept laughing at that low pitch and staccato tempo. He drew up behind her body instead, a fist in her hair to pull that gorgeous neck to the side so he could hiss right in her ear. “Afraid I’ll make you cry it from your lips again as you used to?”

She crammed her jaw shut, tugging her hardest to break from his ironclad hold. A warm, wet tongue lapped up the direction of her artery, and her body shivered, even as her face contorted with disgust. “You have power over the whole world now… all because you lost power over the one thing you wanted more.”

“And what was that, darling?” He hissed against her rapping pulse before dragging his fangs across that alabaster skin.

“Me,” she snipped her reply.

And it just made him give that low, staccato laugh of purest malice. Her words slammed against that darkness in his soul, but he ignored it. Yanking her head back, he made those piercing eyes look into his wicked smirk. “Oh, my delusional darling…” he tutted his tongue, chastising her like a naughty little schoolgirl. “Let me show you the extent of my power, and you tell me if you think it’s truly an equal replacement for you.”

A snap of his fingers, a spell muttered under his breath, and they vanished into thin air.

Winds raced around them, no more than mist, hot and cold, racing through light and dark until he stopped at the top of his grand tower. Tav gasped as her body reformed, freed of her shackles, but crouching on hands and knees as she tried to catch her breath. He stood over her, crowding her so closely, the edges of his scarlet cape fluttered in her face. The hot winds whipped around them both on the parapet, stinking of volcanic sulfur and blood… and she tried not to gag. Panting, it took all her effort to keep her stomach from hurling. And then, his hand slipped into view, offering her aid to get to her feet.

A breathless, disparaging laugh managed it way out from her burning lungs. A sound he did not take kindly to. That pale hand slipped almost invisibly into her hair, yanking her to her feet. “As much as I love the sight of you crumpled and kneeling at my feet, there is something I wish you to see…” he growled.

His other hand framed her chin, forcing her to survey his lands, the shroud of his darkness extending as far as the eye could see. And her eyes flared wide. Not one beam of sun pierced his cover of darkness, not one tree grew in the mud slicks and shadowed city that spanned his domain. All was black and scarlet and golden, refracting the fires of a million torches and bonfires and the fire mountains themselves that burned in the distance.

“Tell me it’s not awe inspiring, the magnitude of my power. Hordes of dragons at my command, legions of spawn and soldiers, an army worthy of the Ascendant…. There is no realm I cannot take, no land I cannot claim under my rule.”

He released her hair, her face, drawing back step to survey her reaction. “And it could have all been yours too…” he sneered. “Tch, what a waste.” Those crimson eyes scanned her body, her frame shaking and weak, her skin dirtied and scratched from his warriors’ rough handling. “How far you have fallen, Hero of Baldur’s Gate. Instead of this.. weak being you are now, I would have made you my queen, my own vampiric bride, with all the right to rule and command at my side.”

“All I see is desperation, Astarion. A man so insistent on chasing power and domination he denied himself two things he loved most.” Tav leveled her clear and shining eyes at him. “Freedom… and sunlight.”

She heard his fangs snap, a growl in his throat.

She continued, “And why would I choose to be with someone so desperate for power, he turns his beautifully scarred back on burning that which made him… happy…” Breath froze in her lungs, she could feel it. That creeping, ancient longing that never quite disappeared over centuries. That haunting that still plagued her mind and heart of times that were simpler and loving.

Times brimming with freedom and sunlight.

He bristled, pulling her roughly to spin, to land against his chest. “I’ll just ignore the fact that you still think of the scars on my body…” he sniggered. “I’ll take it to heart you once cared for my happiness… and not that you probably still touch yourself to the memory of my skin on your skin, the feeling of those scars under your nails as I fucked you…”

Her muscled frame thrashed to be free, to loosen the bonds of his arms around her waist. “I do no such thing…” she hissed. “Don’t you dare accuse me of something so heinous.”

“Yes… I am heinous, fucking me would be totally… heinous…” he snarled the word into her ear, the heat of his breath bathing her skin hotter than the volcanic blasts in the distance. “Fortunately, I still remember the heroine who once was more than willing to do such… heinous things… I wonder if those same things would make her skin crawl now.”

His lips caressed her neck, making her shudder in hatred and fight to breathe. “Let me go,” she hissed and thrashed. “Monster… villain…”

Fists locked around her upper arms like a vice. “Oh, you always knew just how to talk so sweetly to me, darling.” With that, he held her firm, like irons and tighter than chains. “You really do hate me, don’t you?” He hissed, gripping her chin and bringing her lips just to the precipice of his own. “And here I was, ready to offer you one more chance to be mine, my own consort… my right—“

Her lips pressed hard against his, all hatred and teeth and heat on her tongue as she closed that hair's width of a distance. Choking her with his tongue, Astarion couldn’t get enough of that taste. Centuries of deprivation, she clearly craved it too. Her hands struggled beneath his grip, a grip he eased once he realized she was removing his armor, piece by godsdamned piece. He would help if he wasn’t too suspicious.

But his need and desire considered those centuries of command and restraint. He pulled off plate after plate too until there were none left. Then, he took the rest of that feeble linen of her shirt in his fists and tore it full open.

Her flesh was bruised and scarred, centuries of fighting had hardened her, marking her with her own brand of dark obsession. Glancing down at Tav, he broke away from their kiss, both of them wild and panting. For an instant, she looked so soft in the glow of his domain. That dead ember in his core wavered with a hint of life, that longing and vulnerable need… but he snuffed it out. Shoving her hard and fast with all his vampiric speed until her back hit the outer wall of his grand tower.

That same softness was gone behind her eye too. Teeth bared, she gripped his cock painfully hard through his leathers. “Same old spawn. So easy to still reduce you to nothing but whimpering need,” she hissed.

“Enough,” he ordered, hands pulling her torn breeches to shreds until he sank his fingers inside her folds with a satisfied groan. If he closed his eyes, it could have been a tree in the middle of a secret grove that he shoved her against, but he kept his eyes wide open, watching the looks of hate and lust and agony bloom on her sullied face. He watched her head get thrown back against the wall of his fortress, watched her cheeks burst into a deep scarlet blush from desire and shame.

“Fuck… you,” she gave a feral hiss as he freed his cock and sank it inside her one last time. Her thighs wrapped tightly around his waist, and he showed no mercy, biting the air in his jaws as he fucked her.

Her head bangged against the stone walls, her back scratched against the rough black stone; it made her whimper, her voice such sweet music to his pointy ears as he rammed home deep inside her. Her hands clawed at his hair, yanking it at its roots to keep his fangs off her. It only made him chuckle low and villainous in his throat. As if she could stop him from biting. “Just couldn’t get enough of our late night trysts, could you, darling? Just couldn’t stay away from seeing my power? Now,” he hissed with venom in his voice, “now… I have… everything I wanted.” He gave a particularly brutal snap of his hips, making her clutch his body and scream in his ear. “Companionship and a little death…”

Tav laughed—laughed—-full throated and musical as he rode her into the wall. Astarion sneered, raising his head to look into those pricing determined eyes. “This is your everything… this?” she rasped, growing breathless with her own pleasure.

Strong, skilled fingers slipped between their bodies so he could claw and squeeze her breast. “Yes, this. My kingdom, my power, my enemy laid low… or just laid.”

She snared at the barb, every muscle in her body shuddering in consuming, blinding pleasure as she came. Her body had already given her away, though, she panted and moaned, her hands hugging at his neck instead of throttling or yanking.

If he only just closed his eyes… he could feel it again. Feel it too.

With a grunt, he shuddered, biting into his own arm so as not to pierce his skin, to give her that poison of his power and his venom to turn her into his. Not yet. Not until she was begging for more, for more of this, of him. Finally, his heart slowed, the pounding inside his head grew gentler. And he kissed her sooty cheek. “I’ve missed this…” he let the words that had reverberated in his mind since he laid eyes on her again out from his lips.

Pulling away, he gave a little smile, the kind where just his lips turn, equally and softly. The kind of smile he had given her centuries ago in his tent, on the road, before all… this. Turning his back, he looked out over his lands, tucking his cock back inside his trousers, savoring that scent of their coupling, faint as it was over the stench of volcanic air. He took a deep breath, that smile creeping across his face wider. “You know, darling, I—” He turned sharply, his hand twisting in a flourish….

Something long and sharp and metal sank into his chest. Tav’s eyes were wide, her hand firmly gripped on that long metal weapon. A stake. Summoned by magic, must have been.

“I…” she faltered, watching the lights in his eyes flicker, that haunting crimson glow starting to dim back to the dull and deep red she had once fallen in love with.

“You think I haven’t been staked before,” he gave an effort to laugh, that deep and sinister chuckle, but now it ended in a burst of coughing. Crumbling, he sank to the stone floor of the wall.

Two arms caught him, holding him on her knees as his body registered the pain in his chest. The numbness. Tav looked down at him, her face hard but not unfeeling.

Something warm and wet slipped from his lips. His fingers trembled as he touched it, pulling them away, their pale tips covered in blood. “You always knew how to make such grand gestures of love, darling, especially after such a rigorous… reunion.” He gave her body another long scan, her chest heaving and her skin blushing with emotion and exertion.

A bitter smile turned one corner of her mouth. “How else was I going to get you out of your armor, Astarion, aside from sex. You haven’t changed all that much.” She twisted the metal in his chest a bit deeper, blood soaking to the stones beneath them. “You may have burned the world, Astarion, but you burned my heart to ashes first. You called me unworthy, an ingrate, a waste and disappointment…” Her face leaned in closer to his. “You said I would regret leaving you more than anything I lived to regret when in reality… I only regret not coming for you sooner.”

“I said many things, including that the greatest crimes in this world are committed for love…” he tried to sweep in arm to gesture to his domain. But he hissed in agony. “I lied before, you know… I did this for you, to sate my hunger for you, to replace my lust for you with bloodlust for the world.”

“What…” Tav replied, taken aback. Her voice sounded eerily similar to words that still haunted her from their past. “Why? Why would you ever speak of… love?” she sneered.

“Because, I never stopped loving you… whatever version of love this dark and beating heart is capable of, that is…” he burst into another fit of coughing. His hand tried to grip the metal in his chest, even as his legs began to grow numb. He knew, as he brushed his fingers against it, this was no ordinary stake. But he was the Vampire Ascendant, even magic had its limits…. Surely.

He reached a hand for her trembling cheek. “Nothing is too late you know, not when a being like me… like you… can have eternity.” He sighed, feeling her warm, wet tears starting to leak from her clear eyes. Gently, he dried them with a soft sweep of his thumb as she leaned into his touch. The first time in centuries. Since his Ascension. “Stay. Be mine,” he whispered, voice thick with gravely need and wet with pain. Blood dripped from his chin.

“I’ll never be your spawn,” she looked down to the space between their bodies, both their chests heaving.

“Queen then,” his hand shook as she held her cheek tighter, trying to pull those quivering lips to his. “Think of how much fun it would be, darling. You can try to kill me every day…” he smirked weakly, “why not a little more death, everyday.”

She gave him a cold smile, watching as he noticed how his hand shook, the taste of blood thickening in his mouth. “I’m afraid I’ll only ever need this one attempt to kill you, Astarion.”

Those eyes forced themselves wider, the metal in his chest thrumming with magic.

“Infernal silver, a gift from our old friend Raphael,” Tav’s lips turned down, her eyes unable to meet his again, even as her tears flowed freely now.

He gave a laugh, a bit more blood coming down his chin. “That must have cost you more than a pretty piece of gold, darling.”

“My soul,” she jutted her chin out. “You’re not the only one to take a deal with a devil.”

He laughed, much weaker now. “Then this is it… you did it, my darling. And I have one last chance to ask you for a chance to talk…” He smirked, pulling her lips against hers just to feel her breath. “I just feel… awful. Nothing about this was simple or easy or meant to be, but I wish it was with all that’s left of my heart.” He winced, a wrack of pain shaking his body as he laid on her lap. “All I had to do was forget just how deeply I had fallen for you…”

He groaned as the pain grew too much. Only to feel her hand on his face now, her warmth steadying him, focusing him. “Which is where your dark and sinister plan fell apart, hmm?” She placed a kiss on his lips as they grew pale. “Same for me… I… I wish I didn’t come. I wish you had told me of your love before I…”

She choked on the words, readying her fist to pull the stake out. But he stopped her. “No leave it,” he ordered. “It will buy us a few more precious moments so I don’t simply bleed out all over your beautiful legs.”

Tav wished she could laugh, wished she had done things differently. “Now I don’t deserve any of these words, Astarion…” she let a sob escape from her lungs. “I have given you nothing…”

“No,” Astarion interrupted with a sudden and frantic burst of strength. “I am nothing without you… I never have been, darling. Even with power and realms on their knees. I only ever… ever wanted you. You… complete me.” The smile on her face was balm to his mortally wounded soul—a soul that would soon end up in the hells for all he had done. But for now, he would bask in the heavens of her arms and sun himself in the light of her smile. “I would have been worthy of you… or at least tried harder to be.”

Tav watched as her tears fell on his own pale face, his skin growing corpse-cold slowly but surely the longer she held him. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” She began to choke on the slick of tears in her throat. “Why didn’t you say.. something when you first saw me?”

“Because all you saw… all you knew was the monster you believed me to be. And so… that’s what I was for you. You wouldn’t have listened to words of love from a monster. At best I thought you’d say no again. More likely…” he hissed, holding the silver stake in his chest, “you’d run… a stake through my ribs…”

Tav gave a single, tear-soaked laugh, “You… foolish vampire.”

“You leaving me was… the thing I regret… more than any other thing I lived to regret…” A piercing cry, from his slacked mouth and he pulled the stake from his chest, blood gushing and flesh rending, wet and gory. “Looks like… I won’t be living to regret it for much longer…”

The ground shook, the wavering orange light in the distance from the volcanos began to burst brighter. Erupting with blistering heat, rocks and ash spewed into the air. And yet, above them, the shadows parted, the faintest beams of light from the sun began to seep through the cover of darkness.

The power of the Ascendant faltered as his breathing grew shorter, as his heart began to slow.

“I can’t, Astarion,” Tav held him tighter. “I can’t live with this regret now either.” Her chin shuddered as she sobbed. “I shouldn’t have killed you.”

“You should have,” he smiled weakly. “You gave me back what I denied myself… freedom and sunshine…” He looked up into the streaks of pale blue and golden beams that crept through more and more. “And you gave me that feeling of love once more…”

He pulled her face against his, his hand and lips cold once more against her skin. “This is a gift, I won’t forget it.” He began to close his eyes.

“Wait,” she shook him, clinging tightly so as not to let go. As if she could keep his soul bound to his bones. “Take me too. Poison me. Bite me.”

“Why?” Was all he could manage to croak.

“I’m bound for the hells too.” That silver stake in the blood beside them was more than enough damnation for her, too.

He gave a single, feeble laugh. “I was going to go this alone… but…” he hissed as the pain began to take him. “Come here then, darling.”

She placed her neck against his lips, those ancient scars from his fangs still tangible against his tongue as he licked her first. As he always had done. With one final grunt, he bit, letting his poison fill her veins as he managed a mouthful of her blood.

Rich and intoxicating, familiar and simply the best. The stuff of his dreams and nightmares. His world dimmed, his body too numb to taste her anymore. He took one last breath, gave her one last smirk. “You’ve never tasted so sweet… darli—“

He was gone, limp in her arms.

Not that Tav noticed, her own body numb and limp as she lost herself to the poison in her veins.

The earth cracked open, the clouds dispersed, and centuries of darkness and blood turned to mist in the light of the sun once more.

Light and sun and wind felt good on his essence as Astarion’s soul bound for the hells, ready to pay its price of 7000 for centuries of empty power and loneliness. But as his spirit flew, it tingled with recognition… the touch of another soul tangling with it.

One that knew him, that reverberated with pain and loss, with affection and connection—soul to soul.

No longer left in darkness as embers.

A spark of love that had laid dormant between them flamed back tenfold, as these souls streaked across the sky to their fates. Together.

Author’s Note: IM SORRY!! Sometimes you just need to purge the angst as a writer. Write some hate fuck and have a good cry

The next one will be toothrotting fluff to overcompensate 💞💞💞

Out of curiosity: scale of 1-5 🗡️, how badly did it hurt?

[darkshelbyfiction]

An Unusual Proposal

FOR: THOMAS SHELBY X FEM! READER

WARNING: DUBCON SMUT, NAME CALLING, ROUGH HANDELING

The sun was beginning to set when Thomas Shelby summoned you to his office. As you entered the room, you couldn't help but notice the sheer power radiating from every inch of the place. Your heart raced, as your gaze swept across the austere space bathed in harsh light. High ceilings adorned by intricately woven tapestries reflected the family's past glories, casting an air of authority around the room.

As you approached the large wooden desk, it felt like walking into a lion's den. The sharp gleam of Thomas Shelby's piercing blue eyes bore into your soul, chilling you to the core.

"Come here," he growled, beckoning you closer. You obeyed, feeling a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through your veins. Stepping nearer, you couldn't help but note the sheer size of Thomas, towering above you like a colossus.

The raw intensity of his presence seemed to envelop you, leaving no part of your body untouched. His strong hands grasped your hips, pulling you even closer, until you were just inches away from the massive wooden desk.

With a sinister grin, Thomas whispered into your ear, "Do you remember what I told you earlier?" His words sent shivers down your spine, as they reminded you of his promise – one that left you both thrilled and terrified.

Unable to control yourself, you began to tremble under his fierce gaze. With an authoritative tone, he commanded, "Bend over the desk."

You hesitated for a moment, your body refusing to comply with his orders at first. But then, something snapped inside you. You could feel the anger boiling beneath the surface, transforming into an explosive mixture of resentment and desire. As you lowered yourself onto the cold wood, you fought back tears, knowing full well that your submission would only fuel his appetite further.

He gripped your hips more firmly, guiding your body to the exact position he desired. Your legs were splayed wide apart, baring your most intimate parts to his hungry gaze. Thomas stood tall behind you, a predatory smile playing upon his lips.

"Fucking hell, Love. You will never learn, eh?" he growled. "Now spread those legs for me. You will take my cock, whether you like it or not," he said, his voice dark and commanding. Reluctantly, you obeyed, feeling your cheeks flush with shame. Your thighs trembled as you parted them, exposing your wetness to his view.

Thomas stepped closer and unbuckled his belt, followed by his zipper.

His hardened manhood jutted out, standing proudly before you.

As if toying with you, he teased your entrance with the tip of his penis, gently circling your rim before swiftly thrusting inside.

You cried in pain as he bottomed out against your cervix, making sure to push deep into your tender flesh. Each time he pulled out, it seemed like you were torn apart all over again. His relentless assault continued until you were drenched in sweat, your body begging for mercy.

Despite your pleas, Thomas' only response was to increase the tempo, hammering your tight walls with relentless determination. Every thrust echoed throughout the room, driving you towards the brink of ecstasy and agony simultaneously.

"Flirting with another man is fucking unacceptable, eh," Thomas muttered, gritting his teeth as he plunged deeper into your depths.

A mixture of pain and pleasure danced across your face, betraying your feelings to him. In spite of the intense discomfort, you found yourself craving his touch, the need for release taking hold of you.

Your breath caught in your throat as you reached your peak, the wave of sensation crashing over you. As you climaxed, Thomas' own release exploded inside you, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body.

"That's it you fucking whore, take my cum," he growled, a mix of triumph and possessiveness in his voice.

You could feel the warmth of his seed pooling inside you, claiming your body as his.

The weight of his body pressed down on yours, crushing you beneath his might. You could taste the saltiness of his skin as he held you close, the scent of his musky arousal filling your nostrils.

For a moment, there was silence, punctuated only by the sound of your laboured breathing. Then, as you regained some semblance of composure, Thomas spoke once more.

"You know what? You are quite the piece of work, aren't you?" He let out a sigh, his breath caressing your neck as he moved away from you.

"Don't you ever think about how we could make this work?" he asked, his voice laced with bitterness. "We have been friends for so long. We've been fucking for years and still, you go off and look at other men," he spat, his breath hot against your skin.

His words cut deep, bringing up memories of a time when you two had shared laughter and confidences.

"Then fucking marry me already, Thomas!" you blurted out, frustration getting the better of you. "Or at least stop treating me like this!"

Thomas paused, considering your suggestion. His eyes were hard, yet a spark of curiosity flickered within them.

"Alright Love, let's get married, eh?" Thomas responded coolly, his eyes gleaming with interest. "But let's do this properly, shall we? No more fucking around, only respectful love-making."

You swallowed hard, your heart racing at the thought of what such a marriage might entail. "What does proper mean to you, Thomas?"

"Proper means, no more fucking around in this dingy office after you have gotten on to my nerves simply to prove a fucking point." Thomas exclaimed, his eyes blazing with passionate fury. "From now on, you will give me complete loyalty and commitment, do you hear me?"

You nodded, your cheeks burning red with embarrassment. Deep down, you knew that this arrangement wouldn't last. However, the prospect of living together, married to a man like Thomas Shelby, was something you couldn't resist.

[dipplinduo]

Had a funny dream last night that Juliana/the player had four options to pick from prior to the cafeteria scene in Indigo Disk that inadvertently determined how you'd "sneak up" on/reunite with Kieran.

I have no idea what the other three options were but dream me apparently picked to have Carmine dress up as Drayton in a bear costume, because she was for some reason convinced that it would be a good distraction to ward off Edgy Kieran™. Only...this plan miserably failed, as real Drayton & Kieran happened to be walking together. Much to Carmine's horror, Drayton immediately just starts losing it to the point where he's inconsolably laughing and hacking up a storm.

Kieran on the other hand is entirely flabbergasted at the sight of Juliana and yet he is surprisingly embarrassed at the whole unfolding fiasco because he wants his school to seem serious and elite to her, so he grabs Juliana's wrist and drags her away while gritting his teeth.

Drayton and Carmine are immediately suspicious and follow them despite their quarrelling, and Kieran gets 10x more flustered because he only realizes he never let go of Juliana because he saw their not-so-subtle heads peaking out of the corner of the hall. Oh, and the rest of the Elite Four had also apparently became nosy and trailed them, too. xD

[rollingsins]

all hers, part xxii

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi | part vii | part viii | part ix | part x | part xi | part xii | part xiii | part xiv | part xv | part xvi | part xvii | part xviii | part xix | part xx | part xxi | part xxii | part xxiii | part xxiv | part xxv | part xxvi | epilogue

summary: Ghostface has you. Sam and Tara hurry to find you before it's too late.

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, graphic violence.

word count: 5.3k

a/n: hi bbies, pls peep the warning for this one, not for the fainthearted. as always, appreciate all the love and let me know your thoughts on the chapter :))

“Drive, Sam, drive!” Tara all but screams.

Her hands are pressed firm against the dashboard of the car, heartbeat in her throat. Her eyes are wide, red, but no tears spill over. She’s focused. Determined.

Her body is thrumming, wild, as she feels a familiar force take over. Her eyes blacken.

“I am driving, Tara.” Sam says back through gritted teeth. Her hands are sweaty, pressed firm against the wheel, her foot on the gas.

The car blows through a red light, tires screeching against the tar of the road.

“Drive faster.” Tara growls.

Her seatbelt is unbuckled. She looks wild, as if she’s about to launch herself across the car and shove Sam out of the way.

“We go any faster and we’ll spin out.” Sam tells her. She’s hunched over like a formula one driver, racing through the familiar roads of Woodsboro.

She flies past a stop sign, almost crashing into a nearby car. The car honks, but Sam’s gone before he can even make out her license plate.

Tara turns her attention to the backseat. It’s a mess of kids hockey gear and empty fast food wrappers. This isn’t Sam’s car - they’d left it at the house and commandeered it the moment they’d figured out the truth.

Tara clutches a children’s sized hockey stick between her fingertips - the only viable weapon she can find, and turns her attention back to the road.

In the distance, she can make out the house.

Just a few more feet and she’ll be there. With you.

“Let me take the lead,” Sam commands. She grips on tighter to the wheel as she launches it into the drive, “She’s dangerous, Tara, don’t do anything stupid-”

But Tara’s out of the car before it even stops. Charging into the house with her hockey stick drawn like she’s about to go to battle.

“Shit.” Sam says. She hits the brakes, drawing up the parking brake and clambers out of the car, hot on her sister’s heel.

The house is still. Silent.

Broken glass mars the lawn. The front door is wide open, an alarm blaring loudly in its wake. The noise has drawn a small crowd, near the end of the road. Neighbors peer over, their interest peaked. But Sam pays them no mind.

“YN!” Tara calls loudly. She rushes through the front door, “Baby? Are you here?”

They both hear it at once - a moan, weak, coming from the living room.

Tara doesn’t hesitate. She surges forward, and into the living room, Sam hot on her heel.

Your Mom is on the floor, eyes bleary. She can’t move, her blood oozing deep red onto the carpet.

Sam’s breath catches in her throat.

Tara leans down, eyes wild.

“Where is she?” She asks, voice desperate, “YN. Where is she?”

Your Mom gurgles.

“Ghostface…” She gasps, “Ghostface… he took her.”

“Took her where?” Tara asks, hyper-focused, “Where did Ghostface take her?”

Your Mom’s chest rises, her vision spots, eyelids drooping slightly. She's loosing consciousness. 

In a panic, Tara takes her by the shoulders and shakes her, somewhat violently.

“Took her where?” She yells.

Sam reaches forward and grabs Tara by the shoulder.

“Tara,” She says, voice a hiss, “Stop it.”

But Tara isn’t listening. She stands, grabs her hockey stick and looks over at Sam, look in her eye determined. Your Mom moans out, but Tara ignores her. Her feet shuffle in a wild pace around the living room, her eyebrows furrowed together in concentration. 

“Where would she go?” She asks, “Sam, think. If you were the Sheriff, where would you take her?”

Sam blinks.

“Sam.”

“To her house, maybe,” Sam says, mind whirling as she tries to think, “Think about it, Tara, she doesn’t know we know.”

Tara shakes her head, “No, Sam. She isn’t stupid. She’s thought about this. Planned it. There’s no way she’s dumb enough to kidnap someone and take her home.”

Her chest heaves. 

"It's somewhere remote. Somewhere she knows she won't be seen." She deduces. 

Sam presses her hands to your Mom's neck. Her pulse is still there, slightly faint. 

"The police will be here any minute," Sam tells your Mom, not unkindly, "And the ambulance. And the fire department. We called everyone." 

Your Mom murmurs, her eyes closed. 

Tara's head jolts up. She looks over at Sam, as if she's just had a brainwave. 

“Millwood. There’s a house in Millwood.” She says, voice urgent, “Wes used to live out there. The Sheriff still owns it. Wes used to drive out there sometimes to think.”

“Millwood’s thirty minutes away,” Sam says, sounding doubtful, “Tara, are you sure? If she’s not there, we’ll never get back in time.”

Tara blinks. Sam watches as the cogs spin in her head.

“I’m not sure,” Says Tara. Her voice shakes, “But there's no-where else.”

-

There’s a gentle hum that buzzes throughout the basement.

It’s an old refrigerator, you think mindlessly. The hum is a welcome noise. Steady, almost peaceful.

The complete contrast to the emotions you’re feeling right now.

The blood on your neck has dried, prickling uncomfortably against the hairs on the back of your neck.

The Sheriff has her back turned to you. Her dagger rests on a small table, only feet from you, police scanner in her hand.

The hum of the refrigerator is suddenly drowned out by the crackle of officers on the radio.

“Ten twenty Park, two victims down and unresponsive.” Says one officer, “Sending units, over.”

The Sheriff clicks the radio off and turns back to you.

You press back against the seat of your chair, tears leaking from your eyes.

She hasn’t said a word since she took off her mask, ignoring your desperate pleas and wild attempts to unseat yourself. She’s calm, too calm, as if she has you right where she wants you.

She blinks over at you, and suddenly something new washes through her features.

Regret.

Your heart pounds.

“I’m sorry about your parents.” She says, voice dropping, “I didn’t intend to have collateral damage.”

Your heart thuds.

“Is my Dad alive?” You ask, desperately. Your voice shakes, “Did you kill him? Did you kill my Mom?”

She stares.

“I don’t know,” She says, and it sounds honest, “They both took a few pellets to the legs. It’s just what I had to do.”

She hums, as if she’s just convinced herself of this.

“But I didn’t intend it,” She says, almost hurriedly, “It wasn’t the plan.”

“And what was the plan?” You ask, voice hoarse, “To drag us all down to the station and have your cop buddies tag team us?”

The Sheriff purses her lips.

“I was going to bring you all here,” She says, eyes sparkling, “I recorded a message. Richie. He’d been sighted, the call said. At an old house in Millwood. I’d bring you all here, get you downstairs and then-“

She closes her eyes, as if the thought of it is ecstasy.

“Boom. Boom. Boom. Sam first, she’s the strongest. I’d shoot her in the leg, handicap her.” She freezes, voice sharp.

“But not kill her. Not yet. Not before she knew all about what her precious baby sister got up to in her spare time.”

She leans in, eyes flickering.

“Not before I gave you what you both deserved.”

You swallow.

“And you were in it with Richie? This whole time?”

The Sheriff shrugs.

“Richie had a score to settle. So did I.”

At this, you blink, a little surprised.

“What did we ever do to him?” You ask.

Tara had been a brat, that you can admit. But a couple of tantrums over a game of Uno was hardly motive enough to don a Ghostface suit and attempt to kill you both. 

“Tara murdered his girlfriend.” The Sheriff sneers.

You blink up at her, eyebrows furrowing. The last time you'd seen Richie's girlfriend was less than an hour ago; alive, well and climbing into the Sheriff's car. 

“Sam?”

“Amber Freeman.”

“Amber?”

Your mouth is dry. You hadn't thought about Amber in months. You remember the force in her voice as she'd thrown herself at you. You remember the quiet confirmation she'd been punished for it. You feel her now,  like the ghost of her is here, taunting you in your fibred shackles. You can see her sneer in the Sheriff's face. 

"They met online, he said," Says the Sheriff, "They had plans of their own. Plans for Sam." 

You swallow as she twirls the knife in her hands. 

"Sam's related to Billy Loomis, did you know that?" The Sheriff says, "Richie and Amber had worked it out. They devised some half-baked plan to bring Ghostface back to Woodsboro. But someone beat them to it."

She blinks. Her grip on the knife tightens. 

"I guess the rumors were true, after-all. Carpenters. They're no good. Related to Billy Loomis or not."

"So you decided to what?" You ask, voice thick, "Join in?" 

The Sheriff purses her lips. 

"Richie was devastated." She says, quietly, "He attacked you at the house, that first time. An eye for an eye, he called it. A girlfriend in exchange for a girlfriend.” She laughs, “God, he was so sloppy. I had him pegged within minutes. I was going to offer him a deal. A lighter sentence in exchange for his testimony against Tara.”

She leans in, eyes glinting dangerously.

“But then I had a better idea.”

She’s so close you can see the pores on her cheeks. Your heart hammers. If you can headbutt her just hard enough…

But then she’s retracting before you have the chance.

“And, well, you know the rest.” She says. She reaches for the dagger, grips it firm within her hands.

You swallow, desperate to keep her talking. 

“How did you find out?” You ask, voice shaking, “About Tara?”

She looks over at you.

“It wasn’t difficult,” She sneers, “Tara’s not as smart as she thinks she is. She left a breadcrumb trail of bodies that all led back to you. Aaron, your first kiss? Sadie, your first girlfriend? Chad Meeks told me Amber Freeman openly hit on you just hours before her murder.”

Your head is swimming, but all you can think is: Damn it, Chad.

The Sheriff’s hand tightens around the blade.

“And then there was my son.”

Her entire demeanor changes. Gone is the taunt in her voice. Her shoulders draw tight, like a weapon ready to be fired. Her eyes flash, filling back with violence and hatred and vengeance.

“He figured Tara out, didn’t he?” She asks, stepping closer.

Fruitlessly, you tug against the binds around your hands.

“He worked it out. He was smart, he was always so smart.” Her voice wavers. There are tears behind her eyes she doesn’t let fall. Her face is hard.

“And he came to you. Not me. Not Tara. You. Witnesses had him at the house. They didn’t see Tara, they said you let him in.”

She takes in a sharp breath.

“And I want to hear you say it.” She says, voice barely above a whisper.

You gulp.

“Say what?”

Her lip curls.

“You killed him, didn’t you?” She asks, “It wasn’t Tara, not this time. He came to warn you and you killed him for it.”

She grips the knife so tightly it looks as though it might break.

The refrigerator hums loudly, once more.

This is the end, you think, briefly, no matter what you say this only ends with her knife buried in you.

And all you can do now is hope she doesn’t make it too painful.

It’s what you deserve.

It’s Wes, you see him clear as day. That little version of him that lives in your mind, popping up every so often to taunt you. He’d warned you this day would come and now here it is.

His mother in front of you, the very hands that had killed her son tied taut around your back.

It’s justice, Wes sneers.

You could play dumb, but you have the feeling it might make her angrier than the truth. It hardly matters now. The Sheriff, proof or no proof, has herself convinced you’re guilty.

And you are.

“It was me.” You say, voice strangled, “I did it.”

The Sheriff lets out a sigh. She closes her eyes, like her entire body is filled with relief. She has you now, the person who took her son from her. But it doesn’t last long.

Grief floods back into her face.

She has you but not him.

And she’ll never have him again.

Her hands reach out to grip your throat.

You let out a cry.

“Tell me what happened,” She growls, “Tell me every detail. Every word. I need to know.” Her voice breaks, “Did he suffer? How did you do it? Did he see it coming? Everything.”

“I don’t think-” You choke out. Her fingers on your throat loosen slightly. She replaces them with the blade of her knife, “I don’t think you want to know, Sheriff. I don’t think it’s good for you to know.”

“You’ll tell me every detail or I’ll slit your throat ear to ear, right now.” She snarls.

You swallow. The blade breaks the skin of your throat, only slightly. You flinch at the sting, feel a trickle of blood stream down your chest.

“It was quick,” You say, voice quiet, “He didn’t suffer. He told me he knew about Tara. He didn’t know I knew. He said he was going to tell everyone and I had to protect her.”

It sounds pathetic, when you say it like that.

You know it’s pathetic. Any sane person would have you drawn and quartered for your admission. You deserve to be locked in a cell for the rest of your life.

Your girlfriend had murdered six people and you’d protected her.

Because you love her. Because you’d do anything for her.

You’d watch in silence as she murdered them all again.

Because you’re hers and she’s yours and nothing else matters.

Not Sam, nor Dan. Not Aaron or Amber. Not Sadie, not Chase.

Not even Wes.

And she can see it in your eyes.

“Well you failed.” The Sheriff sneers, “When I’m done with you I’m going back for Tara. I’ll bring her here, let her wail over your mutilated body. And then I’ll do the same to her.”

A gasp catches in your throat.

She would kill you, that you were convinced of. You’ve relinquished yourself to it now. She’s bigger than you, stronger. She has a weapon and no matter how hard you tug on the binds around your hands, they wouldn’t break loose.

You’re at her mercy, to which you can see she has none.

If you’re lucky, she’ll slit your throat. If you’re unlucky, she’ll make it painful. She’s likely to make it painful.

But you don’t care about that. You don’t care about anything but her.

“Please,” You beg, “I’m the one you’re angry with. I’m the one who killed your son. Tara didn’t do anything to him. She loved him. She was his friend.”

The Sheriff moves away from you. She’s poised again, calm. Gone is the anger. You don’t know which is scarier. She reaches for her dagger, grazes the tip along the tabletop.

“She’s the reason he’s dead,” Says the Sheriff, “You said it yourself. He died so you could protect her.”

“But it was me who did it,” You beg, “Do whatever you want to me. I deserve it. But please don’t hurt Tara.”

She looks over at you, and you immediately know you’ve said the wrong thing.

Her eyes flicker, like there’s something she just realized.

Something she can use against you.

She grips the knife between her fingertips and leans in again, blue eyes cold.

“I was going to kill you first,” She says, voice like ice, “It’d be better that way, I figured. Safer. So you couldn’t run. But now I’m not so sure.”

You hold in your breath as she grazes the tip of the dagger along your neck. It’s so cold it burns.

 She smiles.

“Maybe it’s better if I kill her first. In front of you, so you can know just what it’s like.” Her jaw tightens, “So you can feel what it’s like to lose someone precious to you.”

It happens in a split second.

She’s close again. So close you can feel her breath against your cheek.

There’s something in the back of your mind, someone, like she’s there with you, holding your shoulders and begging you to fight for your life.

“Fight, baby,” Tara begs, and you close your eyes, willing her close, “Fight for yourself. Fight for me.”

You think of her. 

Her smile. The way her hair catches sometimes against the smear of her lip-gloss. Her freckled nose. Her deep, pretty brown eyes. You know what she’ll do if you die. If you die, a part of her will too.

You know she’ll never forgive herself.

And so you do it for her.

You launch your head forwards, as hard as you can. Your forehead crashes against the Sheriff. The sound is sickening; like a hammer against a ton of bricks. Immediately, your head throbs, painfully. Bright light careens behind your eyes, and a wave of nausea rips through your body like a storm.

But you ignore it.

The Sheriff cries out, stumbling backwards and careening into the table with the force.

Your legs wobble, and it takes all the strength you have left in your body to stand, bringing the chair up with you, your hands still bound to it. You stand, almost collapsing as you blink the room back into vision.

The Sheriff is on the ground, clutching her head, the knife discarded on the floor. You swing around, using all your might to thrust the chair behind you forwards onto her body.

She shrieks as the wood of the chair catches around her leg. Shockwaves flood through your body at the force. You press down onto her once, then twice, but the binds don’t budge and the chair doesn’t break.

The adrenaline flooding through you makes you feel like the hulk, but the reality is - you’re too small for this. You panic as she writhes, trying to grab at your leg and spring forward.

Like a lamb running from a lion, you do the only thing you can think of.

You run.

Fast. Towards the stairs and up to the basement door.

You must look ridiculous.

The chair catches the sides of the staircase every second step, and you almost trip trying to reach the top. You don’t look behind you, you don’t want to know how close she is. You reach the top step and use all your might to ram at the basement door.

You grunt.

Your shoulder hits the middle of the door, almost barreling it open.

But nothing happens.

The door is locked, because of course it is.

What kind of person kidnaps someone, ties them up and doesn’t lock the door to their cage?

You cry out, panic flooding through you. Your cheeks are red, stinging with the pain of the attack and the flurry of tears spilling out from your eyes.

You ram at the door once more, but it doesn’t budge.

“HELP ME.” You cry out. You smash your shoulder against the door frame once more, “PLEASE, SOMEONE, HELP ME.”

But no-one answers.

And after several moments of banging, and screaming and fruitless attempts to pry the door open, you feel a heavy hand on the base of your calf, and then you’re being tugged, hard, down the staircase.

You gasp, crying out as you hit the staircase, face first. You feel blood smear your cheeks, and a sharp, stinging pain near the top of your forehead. You scream, writhe, with everything you have left in you.

The Sheriff drags you down the staircase, her forehead red, bruised where you hit her.

And she looks angrier than you’ve ever seen her.

She tugs you back down into the basement and you feel the chair beneath you crack with the sheer force of her pull.

Blindly, with your vision spotted with your own blood, you untangle your hands from its ruins, but she’s too quick. She climbs atop your body, pinning your hands above your head. She looks crazy, possessed, like she might kill you right there on the spot.

Madly, you launch your knee up between her legs.

She growls out in pain, but her weight doesn’t move.

Instead, she frees one of her hands to clutch at the knife, and brings it up to your neck.

Immediately you still.

The room is cool. It smells metallic, of your own blood. You can’t hear the refrigerator, not anymore. Blood pulses through your ears. The Sheriff on top of you feels claustrophobic, like she’s leaning onto your torso so hard she might crush you with the sheer force of her weight.

Her eyes are black. Gone is the blue.

She chokes on her own tears as she says it.

“This is for my son.”

And then she lifts her knife, and with all the force of a mother scorned, launches it down and between your ribcage.

You scream.

Your cheeks flush red and the knife sinks deep into your skin. It’s the worst pain you’ve ever felt. Every inch of the knife feels magnified, like she’s sinking a hundred feet of steel between your ribs. The blood in your ears dulls, replaced by the sheer force of endless, mind-numbing pain that bursts from the broken skin of your stomach and out to every part of your body.

The Sheriff heaves, her grip on the knife loosening.

You furrow your brow, blood and sweat glistening from your forehead as you bring yourself to look down. The nausea brimming in your stomach almost blooms as you look down to see her knife, lodged deep into your body.

Your mind fogs, shock permeating through your body.

You feel dizzy, like you might pass out.

The nausea, the pain, the blood spilling out all at once.

Your scream dies in the back of your throat, replaced with a gentle, quiet, murmur. Sobs that can’t quite metamorphize. Quiet, strangled, blubbers as you realize the last moments of your existence.

You’re going to die here, under her.

You’re going to die and then she’s going to kill Tara too. You gag on your own saliva, choking slightly as you writhe under her, desperate for a few final moments of strength.

But it’s too much.

Your body has taken all it can. It’s failing on you.

You’re dying.

The Sheriff watches, her own blood trickling down her forehead. She blinks, satisfaction flooding through her features. Her vengeance, realized.

Her justice served.

You’re going to die and she’s going to sit here and watch.

Your eyelids fall, heavy.

Suddenly, you feel weightless.

The pain lessens and lessens and lessens, until you can barely feel it.

You feel like you’re floating.

You hear Tara’s voice again. Distant, like she’s shouting at you to stand up and fight. You want to do it for her. But it’s too much.

There’s nothing left in you.

You squint, vision hazy.

You’re on the cusp of passing out, you can feel it. Inches away from death.

But then you hear it.

A thud, quiet at first. Then louder. A distant ramming, like droplets of thunder that are getting louder and louder.

And then a crash.

Your eyes jerk open.

The Sheriff scrambles off your body, falling backwards onto the floor with a thud.

Her eyes are wide and round, but she’s not looking at you. She’s looking up the staircase, towards the basement door.

You hear Tara’s voice again.

But this time it’s not distant. It’s not in your head.

You whirl around and see her standing on the staircase, her face contorted in rage. Her dark hair is swept from her face and her eyes are an inky, jet black.

It’s not Tara, you realize all at once.

This is The Rage.

“Get the fuck away from her.”

She’s holding something, something you don’t recognize. It’s a children’s toy, some sort of bat. Sam’s at her side, your Dad’s shotgun in her hands.

“Back up, Sheriff,” Sam says, voice fraught, “Backup or I’ll shoot.”

You’d weep, if you had the strength.

She’s here.

Tara came for you. Against all odds, she’d found you. Bound in the basement, god knows where, moments from the Sheriff taking the knife in your stomach and ripping it up to your chest.

You try to call her name but it gets lost in your throat. Your fingers throb, like there’s needles inside them, all the blood that should be there is pooling around the knife buried deep in your stomach.

The Sheriff is on her back, helpless. Vulnerable.

Tara steps a little closer. Her shoulders are tight like she’s brimming with unbridled fury.

“Sam,” Tara says, voice quiet, “Do it.”

Sam lifts the shotgun, only slightly.

And then lifts the barrel and fires directly at the Sheriff’s chest.

You blink, waiting for the bang of the gun. For the Sheriff’s scream.

But nothing happens.

Only the sound of your heavy breathing and the steady hum of that damn refrigerator.

Sam wrestles with the gun, panic overtaking her features.

“It’s stuck.” Sam says, her voice frantic, “God, Tara, it’s filled with blood.”

The Sheriff takes her chance.

She launches forward, back atop your body.

Tara isn’t quick enough.

She swings the stick out behind her head, ready to launch it forward. 

“If I pull it out, she dies,” The Sheriff pants. You gasp at the pressure of the knife as she seizes it, “Stay the fuck back or I'll kill her right here." 

“Tara.” You murmur. 

There's so much you want to say to her. You want to tell the Sheriff to give you a moment to muster the words. You want to pause the world, like a real life slow motion so you can kiss Tara and hold her and tell her the breadth of what you feel for her in broken, mindless, babbling paragraphs. There isn't an encyclopedia in the world that could do it justice. 

But you can't. 

The Sheriff's grip on you is too tight. Your mind is dizzy, and you know even if you tried, you couldn't form a coherent sentence. 

So you settle for three little words. 

"I love you." You hum. It comes out in a slur. Like you're drunk. But she hears it. She looks to you, stricken. 

“It’s okay, baby-girl,” She says it soft, her voice fraught, “I love you, too. Don’t move, you’re going to be okay.”

But you’re not, even you know that. There’s a six inch knife in your stomach and you can’t feel your fingertips. Your would-be killer lingers over you, like her only purpose left in life is to take yours. You’re minutes from death, you can feel it from the flare of your broken skin to the settling realization deep in your bones.

You’re dead. If not now, you will be within minutes.

You can’t do anything about that.

But you can still save her.

The Sheriff has a knife. Tara has a children’s toy. Tara’s fiery, and she’s killed before but she's so little. 

The Sheriff is bigger. Stronger. Her weapon has a blade. 

They'd fight like a Doberman against an angry, yapping Chihuahua. The Sheriff would have a knife to her throat in seconds. And in your final, fleeting moments, you can't bear the thought of her taking Tara too. 

It should be hard, what you’re about to do, but it isn’t. You don't think about yourself. You don't think about the pain. 

You think about Tara. 

It’s the easiest decision you’ve ever made in your life.

You jerk your body upwards, startling the Sheriff slightly.

And then you’re reaching down with both hands to steady your grip around the handle of the knife buried inside you and tugging it up and out of your body.

It had hurt going in, but this feels a thousand times worse.

It hurts like you’re tearing your own flesh from your body. It hurts like you’re swallowing sandpaper, or eating an open flame.

Pain and shock roar through your body. You cry out in anguish, but your hands don't falter. 

Tara is the only thing on your mind.

Tara screams out your name.

The Sheriff turns to face you, wide-eyed.

And then you tilt the knife and shove it hard as you can through her throat.

Whatever energy you had left is depleted. The Sheriff gurgles, wide-eyed, hands fumbling to grasp the hilt of the blade buried in her throat. 

You collapse backwards onto the ground.

Tara’s running, you think, the dull thud of her boots against the ground as you try to blink the world into sight.

You can hear the Sheriff spluttering on her own blood, but the tips of your ears go numb, muffling your hearing.

Your eyes droop. Your legs feel numb.

You don’t see as Tara launches herself at the Sheriff, thudding her weapon down against her with the force of a two ton semi-truck.  You don’t see Sam hurry in after her, tossing the shotgun to the side and skidding down to press her hands against your wound. You don't hear Sam call out your name, desperate to keep you awake. 

You don’t hear Tara’s screams. Carnal. Full of fury and grief and desperation.

You don’t see as she pries the knife out of the Sheriff’s neck and rehomes it.

First, into the Sheriff’s gut. Not once, not twice. Three, four, five, six times.

You don't hear the Sheriff scream. You don't hear the wet, bloodied sounds of Tara carving her way through the Sheriff's body, puncturing every span of unbroken piece of skin she can find. 

You don't hear her sob as she does it. 

Until the Sheriff is limp on the ground, eyes glassy, blood sprayed over the ceiling, over the floor, all over Tara.

Like Tara’s very own Jackson Pollock.

You cough. Gargle slightly on your own blood. Sam’s screaming, you think.

You narrow your eyes, trying to make out her words.

Her eyes are on Tara.

You shift. Your hands are shaking. Your face white. You try, with all your might to listen to what she’s saying.

“Tara!” Sam screams. She abandons you a moment, and you gasp as the weight of her leaves you.

“Tara, she’s dead, stop.”

But it’s not Tara she’s talking to.

You hear it again. Low, vengeful grunts as The Rage takes out all its anger on The Sheriff’s mutilated corpse.

“Tara, YN needs you,” Sam says, her voice urgent, “Tara, she’s dying.”

You try to sit, but the stars behind your eyes take over.

You slump back into the floor.

There’s a flurry of movement.

Someone’s reaching back across your body. You feel the press of someone against your thighs. You wince as a pair of hands reach over to press against your wound.

For a moment, you think it’s Sam. You can barely see, your vision is so dull. This person has dark hair and wide, brown eyes.

A smattering of freckles across her nose, under a thick coating of blood.

And you realize it’s your girlfriend.

“Tara.” You murmur.

She ducks down, presses her lips against yours. Her press is firm, but you barely feel it.

“It’s okay, baby,” She says, smoothing your bloodied hair back across your forehead, but her voice is shaking. She looks scared, “I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re going to be okay.”

She looks like an angel, you think, briefly, she’s heaven-sent.

Even like this, a mesh of tears and blood that isn’t hers.

She’s perfect.

She says something, but you don’t hear it.

The lack of blood takes over. Your eyes flit as you try to fight it. But it’s no use.

The last thing you see is the tremble of her lip before a flurry of tears spill thick and fast down her cheeks and onto your own.

“YN,” She murmurs, voice high. Desperate, “Baby. Stay with me.”

And then everything turns white. 

[inkmonster21]

Hearts Across the Divide

2.) A Close Call

Noa x Fem!Human!Reader

Series Masterlist

~oOo~

You hoist yourself up on the tree branch and begin the climb, going from the grip of the bark on the trees to the crumbling concrete of the fallen city. You swing from one of the overgrown buildings landing perfectly on the other side. You smile to yourself proudly. Father's words always ring in your ears as you venture out into the overgrown city. “Too small… too weak… be taken… or killed… safest for you… At home. At village.”

You climb into an old crumbling building, the archways barely holding the ceiling up. You walk in carefully walking through the endless corridors. You walk into a large open space, one, two, three floors!

You wrap your hand around a vine of ivy, sliding down until your feet meet the concrete surface of the bottom floor. You walk down the bottom floor, many many rooms. Most were filled with junk, some filled with few valuables. A shimmer of something catches your eye. You bend down in the growth, retrieving a gold shimmering chain. Dangling at the end was a blue gemstone. You gasp with a smile. Mother would love this. You go to stuff it in your bag, seeing a shuffle as you turn your head.

You freeze at the sudden sound of movement. It could be an animal. It could be an ape. It could be another human. All three alike make the nerves on your neck rise. A rock suddenly flies at your head, only missing by an inch. You gasp and waste no time running in the opposite direction. You duck behind a fallen tree, begging your heart to still.

The shuffling becomes louder, rummaging around in the ruins. You lean over slightly, just a peak, to calm your nerves. One single Ape walks in slowly. His eyes are wide as he looks in every direction.

Noa continued through the old remains, keeping an eye out for any relics that might help him understand more about the human ways. He knew from Raka that human civilization had left behind knowledge, and Ceaser was one to know of this knowledge, it was just a matter of finding it among the overgrown buildings and rubble.

As he walked, Noa occasionally paused to examine an old sign or bit of debris, hoping to uncover a clue about the past. As Noa passes by a dark entrance, he hears a soft scuffle coming from the shadows.

His ears immediately perk up, his senses on high alert. He stops, his eyes scanning the darkness in front of them. A low growl rumbles from the darkness. You sit from behind the tree with fear.

Noa tenses, his attention immediately focused on the source of the growl. He slowly moves to stand strong, his body positioned protectively. He scans the shadows, trying to see through the darkness and identify what’s hiding in the entrance.

Noa barely has time to react as a cougar pounces upon him, its weight knocking him to the ground. He hits the concrete hard, the wind momentarily knocked out of him. He tries to push the cougar off of him, but the animal is strong and fast, its claws digging into his flesh.

You watch as the young ape struggles against the wild cat attack. Noa reaches for his spear and lodges itself into the side of the cougar, causing it to yowl in pain. But the cat is not deterred, its attention is still fully focused on Noa. It continues its attack, its claws digging deeper into his flesh. Noa grits his teeth, doing his best to hold the cougar off. But the animal is strong and determined, its weight pressing down upon him.

You huff and stand quickly, sprinting at the wild animal. You run into the predator, knocking it off the ape.

Noa’s eyes widen in surprise as he watches you roll to the ground with the cougar. The cougar growls, its attention shifting towards you. It snarls and readies itself to attack.

The cougar snarls at you, its eyes narrow as it sizes you up. You smile, confident in your abilities. Noa watches from his position on the ground, a mixture of awe and concern on his face.

You don’t waste any time attacking the cougar, your movements are swift and calculated. With a well-aimed kick, you knock the cougar leg off balance, causing it to stumble. You move in, grabbing the fur on its neck and using your body weight to bring it to the ground.

The cougar struggles, its claws scratching at you. But you hold it firmly, your grip strong and secure. You quickly pull off a small knife that’s attached to your waist, your eyes focused on the cougar. You stab it into its side. It’s thrashing and struggling, it’s eyes full of anger and fear. But you don’t waver.

The cougar’s body goes slack, it’s the final struggle over.

You roll off of it, your breath coming heavy from the effort. You look down at the lifeless body of the animal, a mix of triumph and satisfaction in your gaze. Too weak, huh?

As you turn to look at Noa, you see he’s sat there eyes wide watching you with a mixture of awe, shock, and fear.

You watch him warily, not quite sure what to expect. He is not from your village, and the way he looks at you shows a clear interest.

But you can’t shake the feeling of caution. He is an outsider, after all. You don’t know his intentions or what motives he may have. Father’s warning words ringing in your head. “Any Ape outside… will hurt you… they are not fond of humans.” Your gaze flicks back to Noa, your eyes studying him carefully.

Your gaze travels down to Noa’s arm, noticing the gashes on his wrist. The cloth wrapped around his arm is bloodied and torn, clearly from the attack from the cougar. You take a step closer, your concern trumping your caution for the moment. “You’re hurt.” You raise your hands showing innocence.

He winces slightly as he looks down at his injured wrist, the gashes on his skin still bleeding. "not bad," he tries to dismiss, though the pain in his expression betrays him. Downplaying the wound. You stare at him with worry. “Can I help?”

Noa can see the concern in your eyes as you ask for help. He hesitates for a moment, reluctant to show any weakness. But the pain in his wrist is gnawing at him, and your offer seems genuine. He finally nods, a small but unmistakable acknowledgement. "Yes," he manages.

You slowly take a seat beside him, your focus shifting to the cuts on his arm. Your movements are firm yet careful as you inspect the wounds. He winces slightly as you touch the gashes, but he doesn’t move away. You then dig into your bag and pull out a proper dressing, which you begin to carefully apply to the wounds.

As you tend to his wounds, Noa can’t help but be distracted by your closeness, the way your touch sends tingles through his skin. He watches your face as you work, his gaze focused on your every movement. There’s something about you, something he found captivating and unfamiliar.

Your eyes meet Noa’s as you finish securing the bandage on his wrist. He looks at you, his gaze intense and appreciative. He can’t help but feel a sense of gratitude towards you. But there’s something else there as well, a feeling of curiosity and attraction that he can’t quite explain.

Suddenly aware of the fact that you were still holding onto his wrist, and the warmth of your touch seeping into his skin. You quickly dropped his arm, your blush deepening as you realized how long you had been holding on.

But Noa doesn’t seem to mind, his gaze focused on your face. He can see the blush on your cheeks, and it only serves to enhance your appeal.

He wanted to say something, anything…

But you both suddenly snapped out of the moment by a commotion. Noa turns in the direction of the noise, seeing Anaya and Soona bursting through the brush. Whatever moment you had been sharing was now broken. Before Noa could even turn back to you, you were gone. Disappearing into the trees.

Noa watches for a moment, his gaze following your form as you disappear into the foliage. He can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment, the moment between you and him now broken by the sudden arrival of Anaya and Soona.

Anaya and Soona approach Noa, and their eyes are immediately drawn to his injured arm and the dead animal on the ground. Anaya, the more outspoken one, grins at Noa. "Looks like you got…into some trouble," he teases.

Noa can't help but stare off into the distance, his heart yearning to follow you. The sight of you rushing away is still fresh in his mind, and the feeling of your touch on his skin still lingers. “Echo helped… Echo saved… me.”

Anaya and Soona's eyes widen in surprise at Noa's words. "Echo?" Anaya echoes, a mix of disbelief and intrigue in his voice. Noa looks down the path again. “she ran… heard you coming.”

Noa couldn’t explain what was happening. There was something about you, something that drew him in, that made him want more. The memory of your touch, the feel of your hands on his fur, was burned into his mind and left him yearning for more.

You finally slow your pace, stopping to catch your breath. You were now a safe distance away from the ape and his companions, far enough that you doubted they’d be able to find you.

You think back on the encounter, your mind racing with conflicted thoughts. The young ape didn’t seem malicious, he had even allowed you to help him when he was hurt. But you knew how Apes behaved around humans. They were protective, they were dangerous. You lean against a tree, your heart still racing from the adrenaline.

“You are far… from the river's edge, sister.” You jump slightly at the voice of your brother. Loui hangs upside down from a tree branch. He wears a sly smile on his face, seeming amused. You release a shaky breath. “don’t tell father, please.”

Loui gets down and stands in front of you. He sees the scratches from the wild cat. “Trouble?” You shake your head. “Just a cougar.” Loui rolls his eyes at your words. “Don’t let mother see.”

You and Loui make your way back to the village, the setting sun casting a warm, golden glow over the surrounding landscape. As you walk, you notice the other apes going about their evening routines, making dinner, tending to their young, and sharing stories around a fire.

You keep walking, the conversation between you and Loui light and teasing.

“Children.” You and Loui look up as your father’s deep voice rings out, the leader of your village standing tall. Loui immediately straightens up, knowing that when your father spoke, it was best to listen. Your father nods at Loui, acknowledging his efforts for the day. Then, he turns his gaze to you. His expression is stern, his eyes sharp.

Your father's eyes narrow as he takes in the sight of the scratches on your skin. He steps forward, examining the injuries on your arms with a frown. It's clear that he's not happy to see you hurt. “What happened?” His tone was gruff but filled with care. You hesitate for a moment, knowing that your father wouldn’t be happy with the truth. "I… I slipped," you say, avoiding his gaze.

Loui chimes in, helping to back up your lie, “At the river… rocks get slippery… hard for her to balance.” Your father looks at Loui, then back at you, his expression still stern. He doesn’t seem completely convinced by your story. Your father sighs, still not completely satisfied but deciding to drop it. "What matters is that you're both home," he says, his voice gruff.

You and Loui watch as your father walks away, his broad shoulders stiff and tense. Once he's out of earshot, you nudge Loui playfully. "Close one.” He rolls his eyes before pushing you, “You need to stop… getting me into trouble.” You laugh as Loui rolls his eyes at you, playfully pushing you in response.

"Me? Getting you into trouble?" you retort. “Yes… you, my dear.” Your mother’s calm voice rings out as you near the fire. You and Loui both turn at the sound of your mother’s calm voice. She sits by the fire, a soft smile on her lips.

"Oh," she says, shaking her head at your appearance. "What you… gotten into…this time?" Your mother stands, concern etched on her face as she moves to examine the scratches on your skin. She gently takes your arms in her hands tenderly as she inspects your injuries.

“Nothing. It’s not that bad.” You pull your arm away. Your mother tsk-tsks at you as she inspects your arm.

"You say nothing. But it looks… painful…" she says, her tone scolding but gentle. You try to pull your arm away, but your mother firmly holds on, continuing her inspection. Your mother continues to examine your arm, her expression growing more and more disapproving.

"Looks like… claw marks," she mutters, her eyes narrowing. "Where did this come from?" You look away from her gaze. Your mother’s eyes narrow as she leans in, her voice dropping lower. “Are you going into the overgrown?” she asks, her tone serious.

You feel a pang of guilt, knowing that you had indeed been sneaking into the overgrown areas, which was strictly prohibited for you specifically. You look away not wanting to lie. “Nothing happened.” Your mother's expression softens slightly at your words, but there's still a hint of admonishment in her gaze. She understands your desire to explore, but she worries for your safety.

"Maybe not this time… but could the next time… you sneak off… You know it’s dangerous…" she starts to say, her tone a mix of concern and reprimand. You roll your eyes “I can handle myself. I did just fine today.” Your mother frowns at your response, her eyes narrowing again.

"Just fine, hmm?" she asks, her tone now disapproving as she holds your arms. "You come home… scratch marks all over your arms…and say you were ‘just fine’?” You let out a sigh, knowing that this was a discussion you and your family had had many times before.

They didn’t understand your need to explore, they didn't understand your thirst for adventure. And every time you tried to explain, it ended in the same argument.

You feel the familiar mix of frustration and loneliness well up inside you. You would always be an outsider, a lost cause.

Your mother sighs, her expression a mix of worry and resignation as she watches you turn and move away. "Bandage it up," she says sternly. "And stay away… from the overgrown." But you’re already walking away, her words falling on deaf ears.

You enter your small hut, a sense of weary resignation settling over you. You place your bag on the small table, the sound of it hitting the wood echoing in the silence. The space is cozy, yet feels empty, lacking the warmth and comfort that should come with a home. You sit on your makeshift bed, piled with pelts and handmade pillows, feeling the weariness from the day's events settling into your bones.

As you sit on your bed, your mind drifts to the events of the day, specifically the ape you had rescued from the wild cat. You remember his eyes, the way he had looked at you with both caution and curiosity. The image of him burned in your mind.

Your mind fills with questions as you consider the ape. You wonder if he was nearby, if he was part of a different tribe, were they friendly, would see him again? The endless cycle of questions swirls in your mind, mingling with confusion and a hint of longing.

Miles away Noa lay in his nest, his mind consumed by the thought of you. His fingers traced the cloth you had tied around his arm, the touch of the fabric sending a shiver down his spine. His thoughts were filled with your face, your voice, everything about your brief encounter playing over and over in his mind.

In the silence of the night, he wondered about you. Who were you? Where did you come from? Why had you helped him? The questions swirled in his head, adding to the whirlwind of confusion and curiosity that had gripped him since your encounter.

As Noa lay there, the thoughts of you continued to swirl in his mind, until finally, exhaustion took over. His eyes began to grow heavy, his mind slowly drifting off into the realm of sleep. But even in dreams, he dreamt of you.