#her teeth to choke back any sound she can as she cries)

[trollbreak]

Btw um. I think dari needs someone to be not normal abt her ‘healing’ again :P like she’s very not secretive abt Not being a troll she doesn’t even try to hide and also. She very much does get ripped apart in an arena like weekly. I think it’d be silly if someone like. Took a piece and watched it struggle to get back home :3

[diejager]

Stepdad!König taking a call from your mother while she’s at work - and while he’s brutalizing your sweet pussy in your room, his hand clasped over your mouth to muffle your moans as he speaks to your mother over the phone like normal 😊

Phone cw: p in v, DUB-CON/NON-CON, STEPCEST, smut, rough sex, creampie, exhibitionism?, tell me if I missed any.

Your heart jumped out of you chest when his phone rang, you panicked, but König looked unbothered, reaching over to pick it up as he kept up his pace, driving his hips forward roughly and ruthlessly. He chuckled lowly, showing you the caller: your mother. Your breath hitched, teary eyes widening and mouth agape with drool rolling down the corner of your lips, you struggled against him, begging for him to ignore the call or to stop if he wanted to answer it.

“You can keep quiet, can’t you, Schatz?”

“No no- please-!”

His hand came down on your mouth, muffling your cries and whimpers, pleading for him to adhere to common sense. Despite your cries, he answered the phone, clicking on speaker - to antagonize you - and your mother’s voice rang out in the room. He greeted her with a normal hi, his tone calm even through the strenuous session, rocking into you, his thick girth and throbbing cock milking your cunt of the load he left this morning after she left.

“I’m sorry for calling so suddenly, hun,” she sounded tired, spending the day working until 7pm.

“It’s okay,” König hummed, placing the phone down beside your head, beside your covered mouth and tear-streaked cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ll be home later than usually,” she sighed, oblivious to your muffled whines. “I’m going to swing by that Italian place, do you want anything?”

Unlike your choked mewls and breathless keens, your stepdad was still, chest puffing up and pressing down on you, shifting your legs over his shoulders as he drove himself deeper. He was rough, thrusts hard and words degrading, cooing in your ear harsh, degrading names. Telling you what a slut you were for you stepdad, how you were a bitch for whoring around him and Horangi in skimpy shorts and baggy shirts, and how your sweet pussy was so wet and loud for him.

“Could you ask (Name) about supper?”

“Give me a second, ja?”

He flashed you a mean grin, putting the call on mute for better acting, playing the scene of him walking towards your room or where ever you were. His hand moved down to your neck, giving you a hard grip and holding you down, folding you in half, knees bent to your shoulders and feet jerking over his head. Seeming satisfied with his manhandling, the wet slaps of his hips hitting your thighs louder and the head of his cock ramming your spongy cervix, he picked up the phone, unmuting it and pressing it to your ear.

“Dear?”

“H-hi mom-” you gasped, the heavy curve of his cock and the bulging veins rubbing your back wall, you spasmed around him, teeth biting down on your lower lip to stop the moan that threatened to slip.

“You remember that Italian place we went last week?”

“Ye-ah-yeah.”

She paused, her silence ringing louder than every slap that made your stomach bulge. You feared that she heard your slip up, the high-pitched mewl and pants you let out; you feared that crooked grin on his scarred lips and that proud and scheming gleam in his eyes. He changed his fast and rough pace for a deep and precise one, repeatedly aiming for that spot that made your eyes roll and back arch, finger thumbing your engorged clit.

“Are you okay?” You hated the worried tone mixed with that exhaustion, it picked at your heart.

“Yes-!” It came out harsher than you intended, pearly tears slipping from your squinted eyes.

König’s manhandling and pointed hits made your walls clench around him, the coil in your navel tightening to a delirious amount, making your head spin and mind dumb.

“Okay… Do you want anything for tonight?”

“Ro-rosé, please.”

“All right, I’ll see you tonight then.”

Any later and she would have heard you scream your mind off, you let moans roll off your tongue without restraint, nails digging into his back and back arched upward. He lowered your legs to his elbows, opening your legs to watch you come, your cunt swallowing him to the base, pumping in and then back out with a white ring around is cock from your shared pleasure. He made a sound of satisfaction, hands wandering down to grip your hips, riding out his pleasure leisurely and yours a fiery white blaze that burned through your body.

“You heard her, ja? Looks like we have more time to play.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973

[svtcrus]

unlawful duties || neuvillette x fem!reader

a/n : Im going against myself and ended up writing this big crazy ass smut of neuvillette. I WANT HIM SO BADDDD

disclaimer : dom!neuvillette , extremely sexual descriptions, implications of bondage nd choking , office s3x , slight aftercare

"im sorry but the chief of justice is busy right now madam!"

"really.. monsieur neuvillette? agh are you sure?" the beautiful blonde lady who is well known as the president of the spina di rosula was pestering poor sedene. arguing with the unfortunate melusine whose trying to prevent her from entering. navia completely doubtful at how the chief of justice was busy. when all he does is "stay cooped up in his office, if he's not in his playhouse" she quotes.

and while the madamoiselle is not wrong in some aspects, this very chief was busy with a different case.

"be quiet darling, seems like miss navia is right outside." here you were bent over the desk that is scattered with piles of paperwork, the feeling of a slender gloved hand trailing along your bare back. lips bitten harshly to the point of them bleeding, holding back any noise.

however your efforts are in vain upon the force of another hand gripping onto your neck pulling you up. the feeling of neuvillette's hot breath lingering near your ear, your forced to listen to the inappropriate words of the monsieur himself.

"you wouldn't want her to hear how dirty your moans are now would she?" he licks your neck before his lips find your sweet spot, suckling on your skin making you whimper through red stained lips.

this man who withholds so much power of the nation of justice has you wrapped around his own finger. has you bent over his very desk moaning his name loud beneath him, and it's making him go insane.

he breaks his composure at the very sight of you, feeling his breath hitch as his eyes linger between those crystal eyes and your soft lips.

those same lips which he kisses feverishly as he pounds himself into you, concealing your loud cries which beg him for more.

neuvillette's stamina is unpredictable just as he is mysterious. he could go on for hours of him shoving himself into you sweet cunt that's swallowing him ever so well. your walls which squeeze him so tight as he's pushing you further onto his desk, the court papers now long gone amidst the floor. he simply cannot get enough of you.

the chief's clothes are loosened, his white scarf is now used as restraints for your dainty hands. his own two? they are feeling every crevice of your body up from behind. his hand kneads against the plump of your ass, boldly pushing it to see your wetness engulfing him. your slick intermingling with his as he enters and exits your swollen hole. he could see all his love marks tracing from your neck and along your shoulder line, the sight makes him swell.

neuvillette lets out a breathy hiss as he feels your velvet walls tighten around him once more.

"s-so dirty for me darling. not caring if we..- ahhh, get caught.." low growls are leaving his mouth, the sound of skin touching skin echoing amongst the office. the attempts of being quiet long gone. you're moaning, whining, begging, his honor for more.

"please monsieur..."

"please what my love? I need you to use your words sweetheart." two of his long fingers are shoved in between the plump of your lips, you can taste yourself. all while he pounds one more time with his obscene force, before halting. awaiting for you to beg for his cock for his own pleasure.

"harder-mmf! please.. fuck me!" immediately he's back in his feverish rhythm, snapping into you like it's his last time fucking you.

"profanity is forbidden here sweetheart." he manages to say through clenched teeth, both of his hands now gripping onto your hips harshly.

hah, proper etiquette? the fact that you and the chief of justice are performing such debauchery in his place of work? the mannerful thought was long gone in neuvillettes head the moment you had pushed his buttons. now he's enjoying every second of ramming into you in his open office, where someone could very much catch you two committing an unlawful act at any time.

neuvillettes's ego rises at the sight of your naked back is covered in his slick, his godly handsome face is blushed from his efforts. long silver locks disheveled, his bangs damp from sweat. your cunt is dripping cum onto his hardwood floors, oh how will he explain such a mess to sedene?

"ah.. is sex also forbid-" you gasp at the sudden action of him pushing one leg up onto his table, solely so he can push even more deeper into you.

he's hitting all the right spots inside, nudging against the part you need him most and it's driving you crazy. his length proves it all, and god is he so big. you can feel him pulse within you as you both find release. your lover grunts while his wet fingers begin to fondle your clit. motioning them in the way he knows to make you quiver. all while he's leaning down to kiss you, as his seed makes you feel so full.

you could feel the bruises beginning to form on your lower back, his length now long gone. your legs still shaking upon orgasm.

"I hate you..." you manage to say between heavy breaths, your hands are finally freed from his scarf.

your nakedness is replaced with warmth, his coat being draped over you as situate yourself. your lover is already back in his dress pants, and a buttoned up shirt. you glare at him once reality has struck your head. yet he only smiles at you as he begins to clean you up from his mess.

"are you pressing charges on me now after you begged for my cock so well?" neuvillette whispers, those purple orbs are looking down at you. displaying how much lust he still has in him.

blushing at his sudden remark, he lets out a low chuckle.

"you love me sweetheart, lying is a crime you know?"

@svtcrus || 08.16.2023

©️ all rights reserved. do not copy / plagiarize my work.

[adverbally]

Conversations with Dead People

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “Ghosts” | wc: 1,159 | rated: T | cw: past major character death, brief passive suicidal ideation | tags: grief, not a fix-it, Eddie is Dead | title from the Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode that inspired this fic (season 7, episode 7)

This takes place in an AU where Steve and Eddie have been together since shortly after the events of season 3. The events of season 4 happen as they do in canon.

———

He’s not really a ghost, Eleven had explained. It’s more like residual psychic energy that Eddie left behind when he died. An echo, lingering, a telepathic reverberation of his soul or brain waves or whatever made him Eddie. Him, but not. It’s a distinction that Steve can’t seem to make, not when he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor of his living room in front of El, waiting for her to make contact.

“Eddie?” Steve asks tentatively. “Are you there?”

El is quiet behind her blindfold for a moment. “He says, ‘Hey, Stevie.’”

He doesn’t know what he was expecting but shock forces a laugh out of him, too loud and a little wet. “Hey, Eds.” He hasn’t said those words in months but it still feels natural, like a reflex. “I miss you.”

“He misses you too. He sounds sad but he’s smiling,” El reports matter of factly.

“You can see him?” Somehow this might be the thing that breaks Steve, the longing and the fear of seeing him again twisting in his gut. “Is he– does he look–”

“He looks normal. Not hurt. But he says you look like shit.”

Eddie can see him, Eddie is okay, Eddie is trying to joke around to make him feel better, Eddie is so close but out of reach and… Steve’s face crumples.

He can’t do this. Why is he doing this? Hope and despair are warring in a sticky lump in his throat, choking him until he can’t speak. He’s wasting his chance to talk to Eddie again. He doesn’t want to talk to him, he wants to feel him, cold hands and strong arms and sharp teeth and soft lips. He wants him back. He wants to be with him.

“‘Don’t cry, baby.’” The words are soft and clunky coming from El’s mouth but Steve knows exactly how Eddie must sound on the other side.

The sob he was suppressing rips its way out of him. “I miss you,” he says again, stupidly, but he can’t think of anything else. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes like they can stem the flood of tears now that they have begun. “I miss you so much.”

The static on the radio is the only response for long seconds before El says, “He’s crying now. He says he’s sorry. Not sorry he did it but sorry it turned out like this.”

Steve shakes his head. Any real anger he felt toward Eddie had been short lived, but the reminder stings. “You had to be a hero, huh?”

“‘It was worth it to keep you safe.’”

He tries not to think too hard about how much he wishes he could’ve switched places with Eddie. Eddie wouldn’t have let him, of course, stubborn as he is. Was. Is? Steve clears his throat before asking, “Are you… okay?”

It’s a stupid question. How can Eddie be okay? What could Steve do about it anyway? Thankfully Eddie seems to understand what he was trying to ask.

“‘I’m still dead, sweetheart,’” Eddie-El says, almost apologetically. “‘But I’m okay. I’m not in pain, I’m safe. It’s not like being in the Upside Down. It’s peaceful.’”

“Okay. That’s good,” Steve says, almost to himself.

El tilts her head like she’s listening. “He says he watches out for you.”

God, what must Eddie have seen over the past three months? How many nights had Steve sobbed himself to sleep, clutching Eddie’s pillow and trying to memorize its fading scent? How often had Steve put on a brave face to comfort Dustin and reassure him that Eddie’s death wasn’t his fault? How many times had Steve gone to visit Wayne, both of them sitting at the kitchen table while they cried into their cups of coffee and silently mourned the way that the trailer seemed so damn empty without Eddie there to fill it?

“‘Are you okay?’” El asks on Eddie’s behalf.

“We’re just trying to keep it together. It’s…” Steve wipes his nose on the sleeve of his hoodie. It was Eddie’s hoodie, actually, but Steve kept stealing it. It’s soft and it smells good! You’re never getting it back! he had laughed. Now it smells more like Steve than Eddie and he couldn’t give it back even if he wanted to. “It’s really fucking hard without you.”

“‘You’re always looking out for everyone else. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself?’” The inflection of it sounds like goodbye, like all those mornings of Eddie gearing up to head back to the trailer before Wayne noticed, like Steve begging for just one more kiss before Eddie left.

But there’s something final in it this time that makes panic surge in Steve’s chest.

“Nonono, don’t go, you can’t– you just got here, you can’t just leave,” he babbles, wishing Eddie had a physical presence he could hold on to. The logical part of Steve’s mind knew that this was only temporary, that any echo will eventually fade, but he hadn’t realized it would be so soon.

“‘I wish I could stay.’” El sounds so sad when she speaks for him.

Steve presses his hands to his mouth, tries to hold in the terrible sound of his grief until Eddie isn’t there to hear it anymore. He takes a deep breath and tries to keep his voice level despite the tears streaming down his face. “Will I see you again?”

“‘Hopefully not for a long, long time.’”

He thinks of the past three months, thinks of going through that three more times to make a year, then all of that over and over for as many years as he has left… It sounds like pure torture.

“‘Promise me,’” Eddie-El insists.

“I promise.” Steve’s voice breaks, but he tries to crack a smile when he remembers Eddie can see him. “Stay out of trouble?”

Even before El says, “He laughed at that,” Steve is picturing Eddie’s head tossed back with the force of his guffaw, his dark eyes glimmering with amusement. It settles something in him.

“I love you,” Steve says, snotty and shaky but as solemn as a wedding vow.

The radio stutters then, sounding like it’s flipping through frequencies on its own. When the jumble of static and indistinct speech stops, Steve hears Eddie’s voice, loud and clear, for the first time since March.

“I love you, Steve Harrington,” he announces. Soft and warm like spending a lazy morning in bed. Bright and smiley like adoring someone in a way that can’t be hidden. Exhilarated and awed like collapsing together in a sweaty, spent heap. Bittersweet like a kiss goodnight, like a little white lie, like a promise that has to be broken.

Steve feels that voice surrounding him, crashing over and through him. He shuts his eyes and hugs himself, tries to hold himself together, until the radio shuts itself off.

Then, in the echoing silence of his living room, Steve lets himself fall to pieces.

[gurugirl]

can you write some sort of blurb where any version of harry is hitting it so hard he’s practically bruising her cervix (totally unrealistic but yk 🤪)

OH MY!! Well, you know I can, hon! Sounds painful but maybe Y/n likes that kind of thing?

And I've got no time to be doing this but I did it anyway 🙈 NOT PROOFREAD NOR EDITED SORRY. Enjoy this filthy, plotless blurb of Harry ruining you with his big cock. 460 words

Warning: SMUT, Reader getting her cervix bruised by husband!harry, rough sex

★★★

There was nothing like it when Harry would come back from long stretches of being away at work. You hated that his job meant you couldn't see him for days or weeks at a time but he always came back to you and absolutely railed the shit out of you until you were drooling and crying and left with a sore pussy and bruised cervix.

Like in that moment. He'd come home an hour ago and he already had you spread out under him, bed creaking and clanking against the wall, and he was groaning in time with his punishing strokes. Filthy words falling from his mouth, "You knew what you signed up for when you married me," he spoke through gritted teeth. "But you want it, don't you baby. Need my hard cock splitting you in half and making you scream."

You cried out and yelped when he punched his cock into you again, roughly pressing in further than he should be, the pinch and crawl of pain that spread over your tummy when his thick crown beat into your cervix. It hurt. It fucking hurt but you wanted it to hurt. You wanted him so bad and you needed to feel that bite of pain so that you knew he was really there. Was finally home with you again.

Sloppy presses of his thick cock sliding into your clenching hole... it was depraved. Dirty.

Harry gripped your neck and pressed you down harder into the bed as he thudded into you, "Filthy girl soaking the comforter because she likes it hard. Likes getting her pussy pounded and her guts rearranged doesn't she?"

You couldn't answer him as you tried to pry your eyelids open, tears filled your eyes as you opened your mouth to respond but only the most pathetic whimper fell from your lips when he gave you a brutal thrust that made your body jolt upward and you felt the snap against the neck of your uterus.

Harry hissed as he felt his cock begin to throb. You gripped him like you were made for him and he could tell you were spent after you'd already come on his cock once.

"Fuck!" He choked out his words as he rammed himself in, holding your body down so he could pump his come deep into your tummy and coat your delicate cervix.

You scrunched your face and tried to wriggle out of his grip but his hands were holding you down as he throbbed inside of you in his release.

A soft smile drew your lips up when he pulled back the slightest to give you relief, his chest heaving.

And it was true. There was nothing like hot welcome home sex with your husband and a bruised cervix after he was done with you. Nothing like his soft kisses and doting attention afterwards. There was nothing like it.

Tags: @michellekstyles @yousunshineyoutempter @tenaciousperfectionunknown @golden-hoax @swiftmendeshoran @luvonstyles @tiaamberxx @lukesaprince @closureesny @justlemmeadoreyou @itsgigikay @angelbabyyy99 @lanadelharry @novasblogofstuff @gills-lounge @damnasstyles @malwtilda @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @0oolookitsme @babybunharry @anothermannharry @love-letters-to-uranus @itjustkindahappenedreally @kelly-fushiguro345 @ssaama @onlyangellucifer @harryistheonlyoneforme @butdaddyilovehim-hs @reveriehs @lc-fics @mema10 @carmenxharry @hannahdressedasabanana @babegoalsreads @icumforbaldrry @lightttt @harrrrystylesslut

[daydreams-after-dark]

You are dressed up in your short, tight, stretchy black dress and the sluttiest shoes you own. As you finish your makeup in the bathroom of your shared apartment, you decide last minute to shimmy your panties off. You step out of them, kick them to the side and then smooth your dress down over your bare ass. You want to give Minsung easy access because you are in a mood - a horny mood.

Actually, you realise you don’t really feel like going out. You’d rather have yourself and your two lovers stay home and fuck. But the boys had insisted, apparently it is going to be an important social occasion, or something.

You try your hardest to be a “good girl” and bite your tongue and not nag to go home, but you just can’t help it. You complain about your shoes hurting. You complain that they aren’t trying to feel you up like they normally do. You complain that they keep looking at other women too much.

“Will you just fucking give it a break?” Minho hisses, tugging your hair to bring your ear close to his mouth.

Later on, when you are sitting next to Han at a table, he slides a hand up between your legs, discovering you aren’t wearing any underwear. He is livid. “Baby! Where the fuck are your panties?How many people have you let see up your skirt tonight, hmm?” He growls.

You shrug “I don’t know. Maybe they’ll give me some attention if they catch a glimpse, instead of pretending I’m not here, like you and MInho have been doing.” You pout.

That’s it. You’ve gone too far. They are fucking PISSED! They can’t you out of there quick enough. You sit in the back of the car as they drive home wordlessly. You can feel your wetness sticking to your inner thighs in anticipation.

They pull you into the apartment and drag you into the bedroom.

“On your knees. Leave your slutty shoes on.” Minho says sternly.

You drop to your knees as the men unbuckle their belts and remove their clothes entirely.

“You just couldn’t shut the fuck up tonight, could you, baby?” Han sneers as he tilts your chin up. “I think we need to make sure you can’t speak for the rest of the night, don’t you agree, Minho?” He adds.

“Yep! She needs her mouth stuffed with cock. That’s what she needs.”

They both move in towards you, their fully erect cocks aimed at your face, and you can hardly wait.

“You know, MInho,” Han whispers. “Our little slut isn’t wearing panties. She thinks we’re gonna fuck her desperate little hole.” He laughs.

Minho looks amused. “Really?” He raises and eyebrow. “Show us.”

You slowly hike your dress up so it resembles some sort of tank top, exposing your lower half.

“Fuck, you’re a needy brat.” He shakes his head.

Han prods your lips with the tip of his dick. “Open up for me, baby.” He sucks a breath through his teeth as you take him into your mouth. He doesn’t let you adjust to him, he just grabs the back of your head to hold you still as he fucks into your mouth. You splutter and gag. He is moving too rough and too deep. You love it though. He pushes all the way into your throat, holding your head against his pelvis. When he can sense you need to catch your breath, he pulls out just enough for you to take another breath and then he slams right into your throat again. But Han being Han, he starts to lose himself to the moment and starts to fuck your face erratically, almost manically.

“Yeah, fucking take it baby….You sound so sexy choking on me like this… Look at all that drool running down your chin…. Your mascara looks so fucking slutty running down your cheeks like that. Such a filthy mess.” He throws his head back as he shoots his cum down your throat.

“Show us the cum on your tongue.” Minho instructs. You open your mouth showing them all of Han’s cum.

“Don’t swallow it.” Minho adds as he pushes his cock into your mouth now. “Fuck!” He cries out as his dick slides so smoothly in your wet mouth where your saliva and Han’s cum have mixed together to make a sloppy mess.

“That’s it, kitten…You’re gonna fucking take everything we give you tonight…This is what your mouth is made for, not fucking complaining like you have all night long.” Minho’s pace is brutal and harsh. You are not sure how you are taking his entire cock like this. He pulls it out almost the whole way and slams it back in. Over and over. Your pussy is just as wet and messy as your mouth and you wish one of them would fuck you already.

You feel Han’s cock against your cheek now, and you reach up and stroke it with your hand. He’s hard again and ready to go.

Minho pulls out and makes you open your mouth so he can milk himself onto your waiting tongue. “Okay. Swallow everything.” You do and then open up so they can see your empty mouth.

“Good, she’s ready to start again.” Han says excitedly.

They move you around now, laying you on your back with your head hanging off the edge of the bed. In this position they can get even deeper into your throat. You feel a pair of hands around your neck, squeezing so they can feel your throat working around their cock.

It’s now you start to lose track of time and who’s cock is in your mouth. They keep taking turns, sometimes swapping before they cum, other times they coat your mouth with their semen. Even once or twice, you feel one of them blow their load on your tits.

Your face is an absolute mess. The sounds coming from your mouth are obscene. Your pussy aches to be touched. They haven’t even touched you. The agony makes you whine.

“Aww baby, you really want your other holes filled don’t you?” Han taunts.

“She can’t answer you now, her mouth is too full of cock…Doesn’t it sound good when she can’t nag?”

Eventually, they can’t get their dicks up anymore, and they carefully lift you up and take you to the shower. They gently wash your body and your face, then lay you on the bed, where they each take turns going down on you.

They slowly eat you out and fuck you with their fingers, making you come five times (Han is pleased with himself that he got one more out of you than Minho). They caress and worship your body for what feels like hours, and snuggle you until you drift off to sleep.

@noellllslut I’ve moved your ask over to this blog because, well… I think it fits the theme.

@weareapackofstrays @channieandhisgoonsquad

[tortillamastersblog]

♕ No Matter What - Part 4 | Lena Luthor ♕

Pairing: Lena Luthor x reader

Warnings: mentions of death, minor injuries and anxiety attacks

Summary: Following the fight, you run away, your mind spiraling…

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

________________________________________________

In my blind haste to get away, I bump into people which results in them spilling their drinks and shouting at me.

It’s muffled though because my ears are ringing and I have to blink rapidly to prevent the room from drifting out of focus.

I can’t faint now. Not here.

I push through my dizziness and finally make it outside where I stumble to my car. I fumble with the keys, trying to unlock it so I can at least lay down in the backseat, but my hands are shaking too much.

With a whimper I give up, my knees buckling beneath me. I have just enough sense left in me to slide down the side of the car and lean against the tire, rather than letting myself fall forward.

Coward.

The man’s voice keeps replaying in my head until it slowly but surely turns into my dad’s.

I wince and hug my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth with my eyes squeezed shut. “No, no, no, no, no.”

Numb. It’s the only way I can describe how I’m feeling. It’s the only thing I felt for the last couple of days and now I’m at my parents’ front door.

My uniform feels tight and suffocating, and I have to clench my fist to prevent myself from tugging at my collar.

Harper is next to me and she isn’t looking to be doing much better. Her face is void of any emotion and she has the sunken eyes of someone who hasn’t slept all week.

Her blonde hair is slicked back beneath her cap and tied together in a regulatory braid and her uniform, not unlike mine, is crisp and clean.

“Good evening, Sir,” Sergeant Lane says once the door opens. The way he’s standing is shielding Harper and I from view, but when he steps aside, taking off his cap, my dad’s eyes land on us.

He freezes and his face falls. My mom appears a second later, taking in the scene with furrowed eyebrows.

“Y/N, Harper?” she says, her gaze—whether it’s consciously or not—darting to the empty space next to Heather. “What’s going on? Why are you home? Where’s Noah?”

The first tear rolls down my cheek and I wipe it away aggressively, but it’s only the first of many and a second later I’m sobbing. I clasp my hands over my mouth to muffle the sound and lean my head back against the tire.

“How could this happen?” my dad hollers, his voice cracking.

Harper and my mom are huddled up on the couch, crying.

I’m standing in front of the coffee table, my cap in hand, while my dad paces through the room.

“Dad, we did everything we could,” I choke out. I haven’t cried yet. I haven’t cried since I begged Noah to keep his eyes open. “I did everything I could.”

“No you didn’t!” My dad spins around and stares me down with so much hatred, I have to avert my tear-filled eyes. “You didn’t go after him, you—!“

“I couldn’t!” I interrupt with a pained cry. “We were under direct fire.”

My mom lets out a sob and buries her face in Harper’s shoulder.

“But you let him run off!” My dad fires back.

“I didn’t let him do anything,” I cry, “He disobeyed direct orders!”

“You were his superior officer!” My breath catches in my throat when I’m suddenly yanked forward by the collar of my uniform. “It was your job to keep him safe!”

I look up to find my dad baring his teeth, the vein in his forehead throbbing dangerously. When he speaks again, his voice is low and shaky. “He enlisted because he looked up to you. He did everything to impress you and get your approval, and now he’s dead because you did nothing.”

“Dad…” I whisper, the tears I’ve been holding back now dripping down my face.

My dad’s lip twitches and his grip on my collar tightens for a moment before he shoves me away. “Leave.”

Eyes widening, I straighten out my uniform and look at my mom for help, but she’s still crying into Harper’s shoulder. “Dad, please…”

“LEAVE! I DON’T EVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN,” he shouts, shoving me again.

I don’t fight back. I can’t. I look at my mom again and this time I can tell she’s purposefully not looking at me. Neither is Heather, I realize, which shatters my already broken heart.

They think it’s my fault, too.

I choke out a sob and run out of the room.

“You’re a coward, you hear me?” My dad shouts after me when I open the front door. “Coward!”

“Hey,” a soft voice rips me from the memory. My eyes snap open, and I scramble to get away, but then familiar green eyes find mine and I stop.

“It’s okay,” Lena says. She’s crouched down in front of me in her heels, a position I’m sure isn’t exactly comfortable. She reaches for my hand and I let her take it. “You’re okay.”

I gulp and clench my jaw, not attempting to hide the tears that are still running down my face. My heart is pounding in my chest and everything’s still a bit muffled, but I’m no longer on the brink of passing out.

Lena stays with me for what feels like hours, holding my hand in silence and running her thumb over my knuckles until the ringing in my ear finally stops and I feel like I can breathe normally again.

“Ms. Luthor,” I croak, my voice hoarse from crying. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I shouldn’t have—“

Lena squeezes my hand and shakes her head. “Don’t apologize. Let’s just go. I’m taking you back to my place. I can’t in good conscience leave you alone after what happened tonight.”

I want to protest, but the headache that is starting to form has me agreeing with a dejected sigh.

I pull myself up, my knees still a little weak, before helping Lena who’s struggling to get up herself because of her heels and her dress.

Without saying anything, she reaches forward and roams around in the pockets of my jacket until she finds my keys.

The proximity makes my ears tingle, but I ignore it as best as I can because it’s super inappropriate. Not only because of what just happened but because she’s my boss. My very attractive boss…Of course I’ve noticed, I’m not blind, but she’s off limits.

It’s clear that she intends on driving, so I get in the passenger seat, my body slumping against the door as soon as I’m done putting my seatbelt on.

“Wait, what about the others?” I ask when Lena starts driving. I lift my head off the window and look at her.

She glances at me for a second before focusing back on the road. “We split up to look for you when you ran off. I texted them as soon as I found you. They’re probably on their own way home.”

Relieved and, admittedly a little touched that they all went looking for me, I lean my head back against the window. My eyes however stay on Lena whose profile is on full display since her hair is in a high ponytail.

She really is beautiful, especially now because her guard is down. Her face is relaxed and so are her shoulders. Gone is the raised eyebrow and the clenched jaw.

She looks younger like this and it makes me realize just how much stress she’s under all the time.

When we come to a stop in front of her building she looks over, slightly startled that I’m already watching her.

“Are you alright?” she asks, a barely noticeable flush making its way to her cheeks.

I send her a tired smile and nod, too exhausted to respond verbally.

“Okay,” she mumbles, ducking her head shyly and opening her door.

I get out myself while she hands the keys to the building’s valet. She also slips him some money and says something which I don’t catch because I’m waiting by the door.

The elevator ride up to the apartment is silent and when we get inside I’m unsure what to do. Lena’s by my side though and leads me through her bedroom and into the bathroom where she guides me to sit on the edge of the bathtub.

I raise an eyebrow, not quite sure what she’s planning on doing but then she wets a small towel and gestures at my face. “May I?”

I look past her to see my reflection in the mirror and grimace. The blood that ran from my nose earlier is now dried and all over my mouth and chin. Some of it also got onto my shirt and jacket alongside the beer and liquor stains I acquired when I was bumping into people.

My eyes find Lena’s again and I nod, showing her that I’m okay with her cleaning my face.

She starts a little hesitant at first, but soon the hand that is not holding the towel is on my chin, directing my head every which way.

Again, the proximity is making me nervous, but I can’t help but watch her while she works. Her brows are furrowed in concentration and she bites her bottom lip every now and then.

I gulp when she wipes the last of the blood away, her face now merely a couple inches from mine because she leaned in to get a better look.

Her eyes dart up to mine and when she realized how close she is, she freezes. Her breath is shallow and her hand drops from my chin to my chest.

I don’t move. I can’t. Not when her eyes are taking in every detail of my face.

Then, as if on cue, there’s a knock at the front door.

Lena snaps out of her daze, panicking slightly, and rushes out of the room.

My shoulders fall and I take a deep breath. This has never happened before. Yes, we’ve shared some small talk and coffee here and there, but we’ve never been alone like this. We’ve never been this close.

Before my mind can go down a rabbit hole and dissect every interaction I’ve had with the young CEO, Lena returns with a plastic bag.

“What’s this?” I ask to break the tension that her return has inadvertently created.

Lena pulls what looks to be a plain grey sweatshirt and some sweatpants from the bag and hands them to me.

“I figured you wouldn’t want to be sleeping like this,” she gestured at my stained shirt which now that I’m thinking about it smells like booze.

I get up and shake my head, attempting to give the clothes back. “I really can’t take this, Ms. Luthor. You’ve done more than enough and I— I should probably go home.”

Lena looks almost disappointed, but it’s quickly replaced by determination. “No, I’m not letting you leave. I—“ she hesitates— “know what it’s like to be alone after something like tonight, so I’m not letting you go home. You can stay in my guest bedroom. ”

I really want to say no and just go home, but the pleading look she’s giving me convinces me to give in with a sigh. “Alright, thank you.”

Lena smiles softly and pushes the clothes back into my arms. “Don’t thank me. It’s the least I can do after the way you defended me tonight.”

This time it’s my turn to get all shy and squirmy. I feel my ears tingle and tighten my grip on the clothes. I could have just told the guy to keep it moving, but I did defend her to him and let’s just say that that is not something that falls within my job description.

“It was nothing,” I reply honestly.

“No,” Lena says lowly. “It was everything.”

I look up to meet her eyes again to find her already watching me with something I can’t quite place.

She takes a careful step forward, her eyes not leaving mine, and ends up placing her hand on my forearm after hesitating and not really knowing where to put it. My heartbeat soars at the contact and the skin on my arm where she’s touching me is heating up.

She squeezes softly and sends me one last smile before leaving me to change. “Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Ms. Luthor.”

________________________________________________

Again, not proofread yet but I wanted to get it out sooner rather than later.

I have an exam coming up, so I won’t be able to write as much, but I’ll try my best to keep updating this story.

Also, here you go @nuianced-tck-enby :)

[ghostinthez0nes]

Kobra Kid Headcanons lets go

Likes tight clothing, makes him feel more secure and safe.

Will teach you karate if you bribe him enough, but it takes a’lot of bribing.

Doesn’t really care about gender or pronouns, but likes xe/xer pronouns because they sound cool.

Touch his hair and he’ll bite your hand.

Motorbike stunts for days.

A short fuse but a master at keeping cool. When he’s really pissed tho someone will get their teeth knocked in.

Doesn’t admit it but relies heavily on Party to keep his head above water.

Prefers driving around at night when it’s quieter and less bright.

Loves sweet and spicy food, bonus points if its both.

Becomes aggressive when overwhelmed and scared.

Loves sunrises. He will sometimes stay up all night just so he can watch the sun come up early in the morning.

Party helped make his helmet, they’re to thank for the paint job.

Keeps a little dino keychain in his pocket at all times.

Has horrible tan lines from wearing his sunglasses too long in the sun.

Flappy hands and stompy feet when excited.

Light sensitive, thus the sunglasses. Wears them indoors and at night too.

The most anxious around injuries, he doesn’t like blood.

Snorts when he laughs.

Loves the desert and the freedom that comes with it.

Has a very keen sense of smell and is very good at figuring out where the smell is coming from.

Knows sign language and uses it instead of speaking to communicate sometimes.

Absolutely HATES powerpup but forces himself to eat it if theres nothing else even if it makes him sick. Party tries really hard to look for other kinds of food when going on supply runs so his poor brother can eat.

Chews on the straps of his leather gloves when anxious.

Really likes bubbles.

Sleeps in his jacket for security.

A troublemaker with Ghoul and always finds ways to pull off stupid shit with him.

Likes Michael Bay movies.

Hardly ever cries, but when he does it’s cathartic. The others need to intervene because he chokes up while he’s heaving.

Prefers comics over books, he likes looking at pictures better.

Only the girl is allowed to doodle on his bike, if the others try he will deck them.

Most terrified of being captured by Bli, he doesn’t ever want to go back to the city.

Can play the harmonica really well.

Loves old and broken technology because he thinks its cool and likes to fix things.

Teaches the others to read, especially Jet and Ghoul. Ghoul can read but has dyslexia, Jet never really learned how to read properly at all.

Will try to pet any reptile he sees, even if its venomous or poisonous.

Can sleep sitting up, the others sometimes need to do a double take and check if he’s awake or not since he always wears sunglasses.

Obsessed with VHS tapes and has a collection of them with god knows what on them.

Freezes when panicking, will stay in shock at something until someone needs to move him.

Likes close range combat so he can show off his karate skills.

Instead of cussing in an argument he’ll just look at someone like they’re stupid.

Makes action figures for the girl out of spare parts, responsible for all of her robot toys.

Takes AGES to do his hair, hence why he wants no one to touch it.

If he’s not in his room at night, he’s on the diner roof watching the stars.

When the girl was a toddler, she would call him Kobi instead of Kobra.

Has a wide vocabulary due to being educated in the city, but refuses to use it.

Lost a tooth after an accident on the crash track, he gave it to Ghoul who turned it into a pendant.

[decafdoodlez]

Fic Submission from @skuppenish 🖤

Note from @skuppenish: HEY SO I AM HOUSE SITTING, and the last time I was house sitting I wrote you a thing, so here, have another thing! Wooo! Warning: it's just straight PWP, whoops. 🫠 Also, it has minimal editing! DOUBLE WHOOPS 💀

word count: 2.9k

warnings/tags: NSFW | Dubcon, PWP, 100% Smut, written with AFAB OC x Canon in mind, captive/captor themes, power imbalance, age difference (all adults are 25+), nipple play, degradation, breeding themes, rough fucking, drawing blood/marking, overall Fox being a dirty old man with his sweet little babydoll, Rina~

“This is meant as a punishment, you know.” The words pour out of him through sharp, gritted teeth, through a moan, through a snarl. Despite the violence building up behind them – despite the need, and the hunger – he speaks slowly, each and every one delivered at a punishing, even cadence that matches the rhythm of his hips as buries his cock inside of her. “A pun-ish-ment,” he reiterates, drawing that particular one out as he slams his hips forward into her soft, plush ass, his steadily thickening cock filling her weeping cunt.

Marina doesn’t say anything. Marina buries her face in the soft, tangled sheets and cries, and cries, and cries, and it doesn’t matter how all those layers of fabric muffles the noise. Fox’s ears prickle, quirking at the sound, a wide and leering smile splitting his face. She can try to hide it as much as she wants, but he can hear it clear as day. There, now: there’s the music of her sobs, working through her body in waves. And there, there in a moan of her own is her voice pitched high and sweet like the peal of a church bell. 

He hears it as clear as any sinner would on a sunbright, Sunday morning. There’s no escaping it. Not that he’d want to –

Not that he’d ever want to.

It fills the room, no matter how she tries to smother it. It fills his ears, and his head, swelling up and building in his chest until he’s laughing, until his laughter joins her precious, mewling chorus. The way she cries, it’s a psalm, a hymn – a promise of heaven he’s far too rotten to ever deserve. Fox has a place waiting for him in hell, he’s sure of it. Once, he might have regretted that. Now, he acknowledges it gladly, and with all the eager selfishness of any of God’s own damned. 

Until the fires come to claim his black-rot soul, he will live this life on earth to its fullest.

He will take what is his to take.

“I’m sorry!” Her cheek is pressed into the bedding, now. He can see her face through the spill of her hair, fair skin flushed red through a spill of her pale gold hair. “I’m sorry – I’m sorry!” Now it's her turn, crying out her repentance in a sin-soaked rhythm. Now those words break off in pieces, shattered apart by each unrelenting thrust as he bottoms out in her tight pussy. I’m - so - rry! I’m - so - rry! The syllables are fragmented, choked and halting between sobs and hiccups. Cheeks gleaming in the low light, her face is wet and sweet with tears. Fox can imagine how they taste. Salt, salt, and more salt, so sweet, somehow, on his insatiable tongue.

He holds her hands behind her back, his fingers biting and vice-like around her wrists. With her pinned down and bent over the edge of the bed, he can look down at her and survey what’s his. Against his own legs, he can feel her own tremble, watch them, savor the sight of her thick, beautiful thighs as they quiver with each thrust. They’re white too, so pale, like snow, like cream, and a shudder works its way through his whole body as he reaches out with one clawed hand and buries it into the perfect curve of her hip.

White skin, pink scars – and now red, red, wet and red.

Like knives, his claws sink into her. Around them, Marina’s flesh gives way, soft and easy like her battered cunt does around his cock. He isn’t looking at that, though. He isn’t looking at her thigh. Rather his eyes are fixed on her face, savoring the way her head tilts back, the way her eyes, already closed, squeeze tighter. Transfixed and frozen like an addict before his favorite vice, he cannot look away from the way her sweet mouth parts around a broken shriek of pleasure-strangled pain. Whether it’s because she’s come to like the way his nails run ragged down her already-scarred flesh or because the way he’s angled his hips to drive the head of his drooling cock against a particularly sensitive spot within her is anyone’s guess – and Fox doesn’t particularly care. All that matters to him is that she’s unutterably lovely. All that matters is the hot, wet sensation of blood against his palm, and the even hotter, wetter sensation of her cunt fluttering around his cock.

“Oh, babydoll,” he says, shaking his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth. It’s an effort to maintain this veneer of calm; watching her is tearing him apart at the seams with each and every passing second. “You know sorry isn’t enough, don’t you? Don’t you?” Against her thigh, his fingers tighten, his nails digging ever deeper. That desperate scream in her throat has given way to another moan, another messy, pleading mewl, more tears, more hiccuped cries. He wishes he could bottle them up. He wishes he could bend down and take her beautiful face in his blood-wet hands and milk those cries out of her, tease and torment them out of her, filling her up again and again with his cock and with his cum –

Until she is emptied out of all of that pain and full of nothing else but him, and him, and him.

This is meant to be punishment. It is. And Fox wants it to be, he does, he really does. Wants it to hurt. Wants her to cry. Wants to rake his nails across every inch of Marina’s trembling form until every part of her perfect body is made even more perfect by his perverse adoration for her. Red wounds gone pink, pink scars gone white – and god, he thinks, fucking Christ. Her body is a masterpiece all on its own that he wants for himself. He wants to make it his in a way everyone can see, make every delicate and feminine curve of hers a roadmap of where he’s been and where he’s going –

Until everything is taken, conquered, claimed.

But she’s just so beautiful. Everything about her is. Beautiful and innocent somehow, no matter how he ruins her, no matter how many scars he gifts her, no matter how much she bleeds, or cries out, or cums like a whore on his cock. He calls her terrible things. He marks her, with wounds and his own cum, again and again, morning and day and night. Her pretty cunt is always so swollen. It’s always red, always puffy, always so tender, because he’s just so hungry, because he can’t stop fucking her, because his hunger for her is a terrible, brutal thing in him that can never be satisfied. Just one more time, he tells himself, every time. Just this one last time. Just this last taste.

The spell will break, and it will be over, and he will be free.

But Fox is an addict, and as an addict, it only ever gets worse. He only ever wants her more, and more, and more. And when Marina looks up at him with her wide, glazed eyes, lovely as lavender, cut-gem amethyst made luminous with tears – when he feels her cunt fluttering around his cock as he fucks her for the third or fourth time of the day – it’s like the first time again. It’s like the first time with her, every time.

Furiously, he grips her shoulder. He should fuck her like this, he tells himself, angry at his own lack of self-control. Keep fucking her like this, bent over the bed, like an animal would. Savage her. Break her. He’s broken her so many times before, broken her, put her back together, broken her again. She deserves it. She deserves it.

But god – god, he wants her. He wants her.

With his hand on her shoulder, his fingers wet and slick with blood, he wrenches her over and around until she’s on her back. There’s red on her thigh, and on her shoulder now, too. Red on his hand, copper scent heavy on the air, pennies on the tongue. That’s sweet, too. The sweetest perfume, the smell of her blood, the smell of her needy, wet cunt as he pushes himself back into her again, driving himself down until his balls slap at her ass.

Marina cries out. Maybe it’s the way his nails snag in her shoulder. Maybe it’s because of the frenzied way he’s humping into her, his cock swelling, his lips pulled back from his sharp, sharp teeth in an expectant, awful grin. Again, it doesn’t matter. What matters now is how badly he wants this. How badly he needs it.

How badly he wants her. How badly he needs her.

He wants her like a starving man wants for meat. Like a man suffocated needs air. He wants to fuck her. Needs to breed her. It’s a screaming, desperate sensation inside of him, millennia upon millennia of evolution, pins and needles in his extremities, a howl in his chest that claws its way up the length of his throat and snarls behind his teeth. It demands to be let out.

It demands to be sated.

Fox looks down at her and watches her as he bullies his cock inside of her. With each and every thrust, there, there, there: her perfect tits bounce, nipples swollen, budded tight and no doubt aching for him. His mouth waters as he watches them, and inside of her, his cock twitches, drooling the same way he does.

“It’s your fault,” he hears himself saying, his voice ragged, gone even more savage. “It’s your fucking fault, looking like this. God, you’re like a whore straight out of a hentai. Big tits, thick hips made to breed. God, Rina, you’re a perfect little fuckdoll – an onahole, the best little onahole, made perfect, made just to be fucked, made to be bred, made to take cock, again, again – fuck! – again!"

Again, Fox keeps saying, snarling. Again, again, over and over, in time to each devastating thrust. The hand at her shoulder lets go, moves down, catching her under her knee so he can pull her leg up and away. The other takes hold of one fat tit, his fingers spread out wide so he can savor the way her flesh pushes up between each of them.  He cups it, cradles it, pushing it up even as it spills around his hand, her skin so soft, flesh so warm.

It’s meant to be punishment. It is. It’s meant to be about his pleasure, and not hers, meant to make her feel bad because she’s been bad – because she’d had goddamn audacity to talk to someone when they’d been out shopping. Fox is too selfish to allow that.

Fox isn’t willing to share.

And Marina likes it like this, he knows. On her back, with him looking down at her, with his eyes bright and hungry, fixed on her own. She likes it when he touches her this way, his fingers full of her tits, his fingers inching up, taking hold of her swollen nipple, pinching it, rolling it between his fingers until she’s writhing for more reasons than the way his cock fills and stretches her.

But he can’t help himself. God help him, he can’t help himself.

Dipping his head, his hand moves just enough to give ground to his mouth as he takes her abused nipple between his lips. Hot and starving, his tongue laves over it like the feral animal he is, sucking the tight little bud into his mouth with an undisguised moan. Around her leg, his grip tightens reflexively. Against her cunt, his hips stutter, driven by that instinct, his thrusts shallow and frantic for all the way he’s already buried deep inside of her.

Because at the base of his cock, there it is: his knot, grown heavy, thick and engorged and every bit as demanding as he is.

It’s always like this. Always. He cannot resist her tits. The way they feel in his hands, and in his mouth – the way she whimpers when he works his teeth and tongue over her nipples, so sensitive, so tender – the way she cries when his hot breath ghosts over her savaged flesh, made wet with his saliva, wet with her blood.

“Always so sensitive, Rina,” he coos, saccharine and slick as too-sweet syrup, his mouth moving against the flesh of her breast. At the shudder that takes her, Fox laughs, grinding his hips forward, always forward. “You’re like a fucking perma-virgin, every time. Little virgin slut. Pretty little onahole.”

And god, she is like a perma-virgin. Even with her cunt as wet and needy as it is – even as her own arousal coats her thighs and his invading cock both – it takes no small amount of effort to work that thick knot into her. With every new centimeter he manages to claim, she’s thrashing under him, burying her whimpered cries behind the knuckles of her hand, her fingers a convulsive tangle in the sheets of the now very unmade bed. “Take it,” he says, low and raspy, cruel with his own vicious need. His teeth latch onto her nipple, and he bites down, earning another beautiful cry. “Take it, take it,” and now it’s a hiss in his blood-filled mouth.

And there: finally. Not a second too soon, his knot is inside of her. Fox shudders above her, sucking in air through his red-wet teeth at that delicious, wonderful tightness. Beneath him, Marina trembles through her own shudder, petal-pink lips parted around a panting gasp. His knot isn’t done, they both know that. Any later and he wouldn’t have been able to fit it inside of her. Any later, and it would have been too big to manage.

Now it’s still too big, but inside of her. Now it’s too big, and there’s no getting free until he’s done.

With his hand pushed up and under her knee to give himself more room, leans over her, sinking as much as he can into her. There’s no pulling out, not even if he wanted to. Held fast inside of her by his still swelling knot, there’s no real space for leverage, and so he can only thrust forward. Quick. Needy.

Desperate.

It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t have to do much. He’s already so close.

Still, he takes her nipple into his mouth again, coaxing it up between his lips with his hot, wet tongue. And with his face buried in her soft tit, growling against her, suckling, teasing at it with his teeth, he feels that incessant and demanding pressure that never leaves him when he’s with her finally, finally give.

And god, it pours out of him. He feels it, every twitch, every throb, every convulsive pulse of his cock as it empties out all of his lust and his need for her. It fills her like his cock does, like his knot does, hot and potent, backed up and trapped there behind the too-big seal of his knot. His hips jerk and stutter like he’s a nineteen year old boy and not a forty-seven year old man – like she’s his first ever girlfriend, like she’s the first girl he’s ever touched, ever lusted over, too pretty and too perfect for him to have ever hoped to score on his own. He moans around the flesh of her tit, drool coating her skin until it’s slick like her face is with tears, like her thighs are with pre-cum and her own arousal. He moans against her, and he humps into her, all instinct again, the way his hips move – trying so hard to drive his cock deeper into her despite him already being as deep as he could ever really hope to be already.

There’s no real thoughts anymore. Nothing coherent. That’s instinct, too. Breed her. Fill her. Fuck his cum into her. The way she cries and the noises she’s making, it’s a siren song in ears. Even if she were telling him no – which she doesn’t, not anymore, not since he’d made her his good little pet – he’d know by the noises she’s making that what he’s doing is right. That what he’s doing is meant to be. That she is made for this, made for his cock, made to be fucked, again, again, again.

“Rina, Rina, little fuckdoll, little onahole.” The words are slurring, now. His tongue feels thick in his mouth like his cock feels thick between her legs, filling up her puffy, over-stretched cunt, that tight, perma-virgin cunt he can’t ever get enough of. “Rina, Rina.” Crooning her name, his hips push and push, trying to fuck his cum into her, deeper, deeper. “You deserve it. You ask for it, looking like you do. You were made for it. God – Rina. Rina.”

Half-lidded and heavy, he lifts his gaze and then his head, staring down at her through red and silver lashes. His hand slides up her thigh, up, up, trailing over the soft curve of her stomach. As if he might be able to feel the hot cum he’s pumping into her beneath it, he lays his palm there with all the reverence of someone touching something holy – – 

Of some unrepentant sinner savoring the prize he has stolen out from heaven itself.

“Mine,” he says. He says it lazy, almost, lazy and tired and drunk, but no less menacing for it. There is blood on his teeth, after all.

“All mine.”

[imababblekat]

True Family

**WARNINGS**: mention of parental abuse!!

~~~~~~~~

Anon Request, “ Hey! Would it be ok if you wrote an angst Link x reader where the reader has past trauma from bad parents or is dealing with them currently and he basically just comforts them? Only if it's ok with you!!”

~xXx~

Rage, fear, and sadness. Emotions that swirled like a devastating storm all at once within you. How could they? How could your very own parents have treated you such a way? They were supposed to be caring, nurturing of something they created and brought to this world. Instead, they couldn’t give a single care in the world as they threw harsh words and perhaps even harsher hands. Hot tears streamed down your face as you scowled with gritted teeth, an ugly twist within your heart and stomach. You knew not everyone was as unlucky as you when it came to blood family, that everyone had their own ups and downs with those that cared and raised them, but hearing the Princess go off in a fit of irritated anger at her father for putting a stop to another one of her misadventures had been the final straw. Her frustration with the King had resulted in her saying some awful things that any angsty teen would spout without actually, truly meaning it. However, it still angered you, set something off deep inside that you thought you had long got over. The sounds of quickened pace, had you curl more in on yourself, not wanting whoever had just arrived to see your sorry state. When the mystery person had come to a slow, you felt a sudden but gentle hand rest on your shoulder. The action had spooked you enough to snap your attention towards the person, but when familiar blue eyes gazed back, your narrowed brows furrowed upward and you felt another rack of sobs claw up your throat. Link didn’t hesitate to open his arms for you to lunge into his welcoming embrace, slightly knocking him back though he was quick to steady you both. Your choked cries were the only thing he could hear as he rubbed soothing circles into your back, a sorrow at hearing your pain finding place in his heart. Feeling your tears and possibly running nose begin to soak the Hero’s tunic, you tried to hold back some of your cries, pulling away just enough to have room to furiously wipe at your aching eyes. “I-I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have stormed off like that, but it’s just. . .” Link nodded, silently urging you to continue as you took in a shaky breath. “I get that she has some troubles with her father, but how can she not see that it’s because he cares? I would have given anything to have my own parents even look at me with all but ill intent!” Knowing that this was the truth, and remembering back to how he had first found you that fateful night out in the woods looking worse for ware, Link understood your reasoning for abruptly leaving the grand dining hall. The Hylian was just as fortunate as Zelda to come from a loving family, maybe even more so in some aspects, but even he could see where you were coming from. No one’s parents are perfect, everyone makes mistakes, but what your own flesh and blood did to you was anything but a mistake. With a single stray tear following the path so many did before it, you stared at the negative space between you and Link. “Why didn’t they love me?” Your sobbed question came out soft, quiet, but still impactful with such deep distraught and agony. Feeling his own throat become tight, Link was quick to pull you back into another close embrace. Your biological parents may have never given you the love they should have, the familial love that you deserved. However, that was okay, because now that you were apart of his life, Link was determined to show you that family was more than blood and he had plenty of love to give for you. As the last rays of the evening sun disappeared and the night sky alit with stars, you continued to be held by the only person whose ever cared about you, receiving continuous hushed reassurance and soft kisses to your tousled hair.

~xXx~

[clangenrising]

Month 10 - Leafbare

Sagetooth sat in her nest, curled tightly around herself to warm her freezing paws. The previous day had come with even more snow which had made searching for horsetail out of the question. Even the border patrols had been cut to a bare minimum to prevent anyone else from getting frostbitten. Today the snow had stopped falling but its remnants still laid thickly over the ground and her expedition had proved fruitless. Now, she waited for her body to warm up enough so that she could head back out again. 

Yarrowshade had barely left the Healers’ den since he and Nightfrost had come in together. He helped Nightfrost plan patrols and delivered them to the rest of the Clan, he went hunting once or twice and did his assigned border shifts, but aside from that he spent every moment with Nightfrost. They slept next to each other, they shared tongues, they talked about Barleypaw’s training and the truce with EarthClan and other things. 

Sagetooth had tried to tamp down her annoyance at their inane conversations. As much as she had no interest in love, she knew how important it was to other cats and she knew that Nightfrost’s situation was precarious. It was better that she focus on finding the proper medicine than on getting upset that a patient had someone who loved her. At least Branchbark had received a clean bill of health. If one more cat was stuck inside the den with her, she thought she might burst.

Outside the den, the world was a blinding white void under the noonday sun, all sound muffled by the snow blanketing the camp. Still, the sound of young voices chattering reached her ears and shortly enough, Oddstripe and his kits filtered into the den. Sagetooth sighed.

“Yarrowshade!” Barleypaw cried, rushing to her mentor’s side to snuggle up against him. 

He laughed and lifted an arm to welcome her, opening one eye from his nap. “Hey, kiddo! I missed you!” 

“Me too,” she nodded, burying her face in his fur contentedly.

Sparrowpaw and Floodpaw were bickering about something. “You’d be lost before you even found him,” Sparrowpaw frowned. 

Floodpaw lifted his head and said, “Nuh-uh, I’d find him and choke him with his own collar.” 

“You would not!” cried Sparrowpaw, seeming to get genuinely upset. 

“Boys! Boys!” Oddstripe placated, “Nobody is going to the city to fight Razor. Can we please stop fighting?” 

“I’m not fighting,” Floodpaw insisted, “he’s the one getting mad.” 

“‘Cause you’re being a beebrain!” Sparrowpaw shouted through gritted teeth. 

“Quiet!” Sagetooth snapped, “Both of you.” And the two apprentices fell silent, ducking their heads in shame. 

Oddstripe offered her an apologetic wince. “Sorry, Sagetooth.”

“Did you find any horsetail?” she asked, dismissing the apology with a flick of her ear. 

“No,” Oddstripe sighed. “I can go out again in a bit.” He stepped deeper into the den, then paused to cough. 

“Dammit, Oddstripe,” Sagetooth growled, “are you sick?”

“What?” He looked up at her. “No, no, my throat is just dry.” He coughed again, trying to hide his muzzle in his shoulder. 

“I’ll get you some water, Papa!” Sparrowpaw offered and bolted out of the den. 

“It’s all gonna be frozen, you moron!” Floodpaw called as he followed after his brother. 

“Sit down,” Sagetooth ordered. Oddstripe complied. Holding her breath, Sagetooth leaned in to press her ear against his chest. Oddstripe, who knew the procedure, waited for her to get into place and then took a deep slow breath, but it collapsed into coughs before he could finish filling his lungs. 

“You are sick!” Sagetooth lashed her tail. “Get in your nest right now, young man. And make sure your fool kits give you a wide berth.” Oddstripe crept to his nest, ears hanging low.

“I’m sorry, Sagetooth,” he managed.

“Don’t be sorry,” she said, “be better. I’m going to go looking for horsetail again. Treat yourself with catmint and stay away from Nightfrost. You don’t want her getting whitecough on top of frostbite.” Oddstripe nodded obediently. 

“Is Papa gonna be okay?” Barleypaw asked, her voice timid. 

“He’ll be fine if he stays in bed and gets his rest,” Sagetooth sighed, trying to be gentle. She did like Barleypaw. 

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart,” Oddstripe reassured her and he was right. They had plenty of herbs to treat a cough and he had enough knowledge to treat himself and keep an eye on his symptoms. Nightfrost however… Sagetooth looked at the deputy and frowned. Her paws were wrapped with clean cobwebs and she was warm inside the den but… infection was just too likely, especially with their lack of useful stock. Nightfrost met her gaze and offered her a tight lipped smile in return. She understood exactly what Sagetooth had been thinking. 

“I’ll be back soon with the horsetail,” the Healer said and then tromped into the snow before anyone could contradict her. She squinted harshly against the snow glare, mumbling curses under her breath. She would find the damned horsetail or, so help her StarClan, she would burn the entire forest down through sheer irritation.

~~~

When she returned, she was cursing herself. Finding a certain plant through thick snow was harder than she had thought and, even when searching the places that she knew horsetail grew, it was tedious and tricky to push through the snow and uncover any of it. She hadn’t been able to find any useful horsetail at all.

And what was worse, her paws were numb. She had tried to be careful and quick but her route had been a bit farther than she had anticipated and, by the time she had made it back to camp, she knew her paws were frostbitten. The damage was much less severe than Nightfrost had suffered but it was still a foolish mistake that was going to have serious consequences. 

With Oddstripe on bed rest, this meant that no one would be able to treat wounds for a while. Especially if Nightfrost’s paws became infected, Sagetooth would not be able to touch them at all or else she might catch the infection. This was bad and she was furious with herself for making such a sloppy mistake. 

As she entered the camp, she shouted, “Branchbark!” and the young warrior quickly scrambled out of the warriors’ den. 

“Yes?” he asked dutifully. Sagetooth nearly sighed in relief. Nearly.

“I need you to go hunting for horsetail tomorrow. This is urgent, do you understand me?” 

He nodded, a bit dumbstruck. “Yes, Sagetooth. I understand.” 

“Good,” she huffed. “And don’t you dare come back with frostbite.” With that she turned and stomped into her den to warm her paws. Inside, Yarrowshade was asleep against Nightfrost’s side, but the deputy was awake and locked eyes with her. Sagetooth huffed again and looked away, unable to hold her patient’s gaze. She hoped that there would be time for Nightfrost to forgive her for her callousness.

UPDATES: - Branchbark recovers from whitecough - Oddstripe comes down with greencough - Sagetooth returns from herb gathering with frostbite. - RisingClan does not have enough healthy healers!

[soliarus]

Prologue: The Loss

A/N: Heyyyyy. Don’t know if this counts as coming back. But I’ve been scheming a new series, not sure I should turn it into one…but I’m open to any opinions on the story!! We can work on it together

???!Tzuyu x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: vampires, DEATH of mcs, indicators of homophobic time period??, blooood, angst

Year: 1924

Tzuyu can’t help the smile that forms on her face at your drunken giggles. As you lean onto her, the slight tipsiness in your step pushes a soft pink tint on her cheeks. You gripped the back of her dress to keep yourself stable, and she slid her hand around your waist.

“And! And–” You start. “The way he was like, ‘Ladies, you need a fine gentleman to walk you home'"—the way you deepen your voice is so cute. “And then he trips over his own two feet!” You laugh out loud, “What a clutz!”

“Look who’s talkin',” Tzuyu mumbles, sarcastically rolling her eyes.

“Hey!” You stop walking, pointing a finger at her face. “I. Am. Not. A. Clutz!” Tzuyu grabs your hand, placing a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“Yes. You. Are.” She mimics, giving a kiss between each word. “But, you’re my clutz” Her gaze is soft, looking into your eyes, it’s as if her stare makes you go down under. Your stomach fluttering with the sweetest of butterflies.

“If I could, I would make you my wife, my everything”

Oh, you wish the two of you could stay like this forever.

But like all things, it comes to an end.

“Looky looky!” A group of men, (three) walk towards the two of you, the one in the middle smirks; a sinister look. “Two lost little lambs,” He mocks.

“We aren’t lost, sir, don’t mind us” Tzuyu takes initiative, pushing you behind her.

“Aww, why don’t you dainty things let us join you” His voice deepens, tainted with terrible intentions. He tilts his head back under the street lamp, and what Tzuyu notices is a gleam of red in his eyes and two pointy fangs aligned with his teeth, his skin deathly pale.

“You clearly didn’t understand what I said, I’ll put it for you simply, fuck off.”

The man’s face ticks and his brows crease, “Fine then… guess this won’t go the way either of us wants.” He snaps his fingers and the two from behind him move towards you two.

“Tzuyu…” Your hand tight on her tense shoulder, “We need to run, you won’t be able to fight them off.” Tzuyu clenches her fist, her mouth in a thin line, her hand reaches for yours and she books it.

You quicken your pace, hand tightly gripping Tzuyu’s, but it only lasts a few minutes, a harsh pull at your shoulder as you reel backward, straight into the chest of the man who yanked you. A choked gasp falls from your lips from the whiplash, from the speed. Tzuyu stops the moment your warmth is gone. Turning back she notices the same snarky man holding you against him, bearing his teeth as you struggle against his hold. His grip bruising on your arm.

“Let go of her!” Tzuyu marches towards the two of you, taking off her coat. The man scoffs snapping his fingers and in mere seconds the two men hold Tzuyu tightly by the arms.

“Such a fine girl…god, your blood” The man shudders as he sniffs your neck, his eyes roll back, and your’s tear up in horror. “It smells so good…it must taste so-”

“Get the fuck off her!” Tzuyu yells struggling, kicking at the men holding her.

“Shut her up would you?” The man sneers, “Keep her quiet and the two of you can have her”. Tzuyu feels a hand over her mouth, her yells muffled.

“Tz-Tzuyu–” You whimper out, your eyes locked with her. The sound of your name is muffled as Tzuyu tries to get it out of her lips. Tears stream down her face as she shakes, as she cries, as she begs.

“Aww, how sweet, don’t worry sugar this will end just as fast as it will start,” he bares his fangs and a pained gasp leaves you as his teeth sink into your neck. Tzuyu wails, eyes wide. You bite your lip, not wanting to satisfy your attacker by letting him hear your cries. Tzuyu watches as life is drained from your strength, from your skin, and finally your eyes.

The man wipes his mouth, and your blood splatters on the ground. Tzuyu stares into your lifeless eyes searching for anything other than darkness, watching your body, slumped against the wall as the man lets go of you. The last thing she hears is a snap before she feels two stings on her neck.

—

Tzuyu gasps, as her eyes snap open. It was dark. Dark and suffocating. It pressed against every inch of her body, a heavy weight that seemed to crush her chest. The air was stale, thick with the scent of earth and decay. She felt she didn’t need the air, but—argghh— why is it so suffocating? For a moment, she lay still, disoriented and confused, the fog of sleep clinging to her mind like a shroud.

Slowly, consciousness seeped back into her senses, and with it a gnawing sense of panic. Her limbs felt heavy, and sluggish, as if they were weighted down by chains.

Up.

The thought echoed in her mind.

Up!

Heart pounding in her chest, the dark doesn’t seem so dark anymore. She can see the rough wooden groves above her. She pushed against it, muscles strained. At first, the lid resisted, stubborn and unyielding, but gradually, inch by agonizing inch, it began to give way.

A sliver of gray light filtered through and she pushed harder, adrenaline coursing itself straight into pure strength right into her weary limbs. She clawed through the layers of dirt and rock until her fingers scraped against the night air. She felt it, but it didn’t feel cool, it felt like nothing.

Her gasp for breath felt displeasing. She collapsed onto the ground, her body trembling with exhaustion and relief. She lay there for a moment, staring up at the vast expanse of the night sky, the stars twinkling overhead like distant beacons of hope.

She huffs as she lays on the ground, fingers grasping the dirt and grass around her. And then a puddle. She gets up looking straight into the pile of water. The moonlight shines. Her hair disheveled, her skin pale, dead. Her eyes bloody red, she trails her hand on her face, to her lips two fangs poking out. She stares for a couple of seconds her eyesight almost blurry.

Disoriented she looks around her eyes coming face to face with a stone, a stone with her name on it. Her eyes trail past it, and it lands on another stone. A stone with your name on it.

“No…” the whisper is broken, dry.

“No…no… No! No! NO!” She cries, throwing herself onto the stone, her arms wrapping around granite like it was your body. Her broken and dry sobs echo into stale air.

“please…please…please…” her whispers die, floating into the black night.

“my love” a breathless sigh.

[thebest-medicine]

Day 12: Bites / Nibbles

Tickletober 2023 - Critical Role - Mighty Nein C2 - lee!Caleb

[see my other tickletober 2023 fics]

A/N: [continuation of this] in which Yasha and Beau get some tasty revenge on Caleb [continued here] [read it all on AO3]

Words: 766

—

“Hey Beau?” Yasha says from her perch above Caleb’s hips.

“Yeah?” Beau replies from over Caleb’s head.

“I’m kind of hungry.” 

“Oh, are you?”

“Yeah. In fact, I’ve been really craving ribs lately.” Caleb listens to the sound of his own frantic breathing, trying to gauge exactly where Yasha is. His skin begins to crawl. “And these look absolutely delicious.” 

“What?” Caleb cries with a gasp. “No no no no- Yasha dohon’t!” His struggling starts to really pick up, not that it does him any good pinned beneath Beau and Yasha. Caleb’s face and neck are flushed, his ears burning from all the teasing, but at least he is spared the extra embarrassment within his shirt. 

Yasha starts to move and Caleb makes a sound between a whine and a squeal, getting louder and more panicked the more he feels her leaning forward.

Beau is beaming, smug and satisfied, down at the lump of cloth that is Caleb below her. 

He’s babbling some semblance of a plea by the time he feels her warm breath against the skin of his lower ribs. “Nein!” He squeals, kicking harder behind her. 

Inevitably, the warmth is followed by the sensation of lips pressing against his lowest rib. He nearly chokes on the next squeal that starts to rip out of him- and then, oh fuck, teeth?

Yasha gently clips her teeth over his skin, lightly nibbling against the protruding bone. Caleb squirms and wriggles beneath her, only adding to the surface area of his sensitive skin that connects with teeth and lips. She moves up a rib, then another, taking her time nuzzling and biting at each. 

“D-Du wirst mihihihihich noch mahahaahaha- aha! Ha nein! - noch mal umbringen ahaha!”

Beau tries to discern what Caleb is saying beneath her, but he’s just babbling in Zemnian at this point. 

She chuckles and uses her hands to hold his arms just below the elbow, stretching him out further. As soon as she does, he shouts some things - Wischer, Arschloch, Hodenkobold - that certainly sound like unfriendly words in Zemnian at her. 

“What’s that?” She laughs. “Still haven’t learned any manners, huh?” 

Caleb finally gets in a full breath, relief washing over him when Yasha pulls away to look at Beau. “No, I don’t believe he has.” 

“Wait, wait- I’m sorry I- hehe’m sorryhehe- listen. I,” he hiccups, caving, “I don’t deheheheserve this.”

“Yeah? You don’t think so? Not after your annoying little fucking tickle spell?”

Caleb is tellingly silent.

“Yeah, and since we can’t do that,” Beau continues, shuddering for a fraction of a moment at the memory. “We have to get a little more physical, so, this is what you get.” She rearranges her hands until she’s just pushing down his elbows with her palms, but her fingers can reach into the shirt pile tucked up around Caleb’s head and trace against the sensitive skin on the undersides of his arms. Caleb squirms. “Yasha? Your lunch.” Beau laughs.

Yasha grins at her and lets out a silly, playful growl. “Om nom nom nom nom.” Caleb is squealing, kicking again before she touches him. She teases him as she dives back in to nip and tickle along his rib cage with her mouth. Her fingers come around to poke and pinch lightly at his sides, and Caleb’s squirming starts to pick up further. His wriggling grows more and more desperate as he shakes his head, twisted up in the disorienting pile of shirt he is wearing over his face. It’s not long before Caleb worries that he might snap his own spine in half, writhing and twisting uselessly beneath two dangerous ticklers as Yasha nibbles on and on and on. Beau’s fingers twitch and wriggle methodically on the sensitive undersides of his arms as Caleb laughs and shrieks beneath her.

They keep at him for a while longer until he starts hiccuping between laughs and Beau pulls down his shirt to check on him. She notices his face has grown to a dangerous shade of red. “Learned your lesson yet?” Beau offers. Yasha stops nibbling and rests her chin on Caleb’s chest, watching him curiously.

“Bitte, ja- yes. Hehehe-” Caleb caves.

“You gonna be fucking nice?”

“Are- are you hehehe going to be fucking nihihiice?” Caleb counters, earning himself a pinch to the ribs that makes him gasp and let out a little shriek. “Fine! Yes! Yes!”

Beauregard grins. “Say please.”

Caleb rolls his eyes before huffing out a breath and giving her the angriest glare he can manage while still smiling up at her from his shirt prison. “Please.”

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

kicking it off with the Seraphim girls by pulling from the hboww2rewatch prompts (only several weeks late, I know, I know). Here's a snippet from the Angels' training days - enjoy! <3

(for those who aren't yet familiar with these ladies, their introduction is here)

-> friends

"Marty, Marty, Marty!" Dawn Davis cried as she streaked across the bar, weaving her way through the crowd of patrons as she made her way to the table in the corner that her crew had laid claim to, the women looking up at her with identical raised brows. Marty had been halfway through taking a sip of whiskey when she approached, and Dawn had been forced to deliver a harsh smack between her shoulder blades to prevent her from choking as she coughed in surprise.

"Jesus Christ," Marty spluttered, wiping a few droplets away from her chin. "Can I help you?"

"I need you to come help me beat some guys at darts."

Her mouth gaped open slightly as she briefly scanned the faces of the other women at the table, who seemed evenly split between amusement and confusion. "... Me specifically?"

"Well, yeah, you're an athlete."

"I'm a rower."

"Potato, potahto," Dawn shrugged, squeezing her shoulder and turning back towards the game before Marty even had a chance to respond.

"... I guess I'm playing darts now," Downing the rest of her whiskey, she sucked in a breath to soothe the burning in her throat, and soon she too was gone, shouldering her way across the bar in the direction Dawn had disappeared.

"... Does Dawn know what that saying means?" Maisie asked tentatively once they were safely out of earshot.

"Does it make sense either way?" Nora frowned.

"Don't show us up - we've got a reputation to uphold!" Kit called after the pair, cupping a hand around her mouth to amplify the sound. It was a remark made in jest, but far from baseless. They did have a reputation - a fragile one at that - and as the only female crew currently training at the base in Boise, it was of paramount importance that they maintained it. Or at least, it was to some. To Kit, 'reputation' was simply another man's opinion - and she'd never much cared for those.

It was finally growing dark outside, the late September sun disappearing beneath the mountains that obscured the horizon from view. Those goddamn mountains. There wouldn't be any in England - or so she'd been told - and that was good enough reason to go. They'd encircled her back home, caging in the beasts, as if Los Angeles were sliding down the rim of a bowl to cluster at the bottom in a disorderly heap. She'd never been happier to leave a place.

Well... almost never.

"'Nother round," Sadie declared, shuffling along the booth bench beside Kit until she could stand. "Anyone?"

"Nuh-uh," Thea shook her head from her spot across the table, perched on one of the only actual chairs they had. "Can't be hungover for the flight tomorrow, sit down."

Sadie let out a huff, sliding back into her seat. Thea always had a way of talking them down - of whipping out her 'teacher voice' to just the degree that it didn't seem patronising. Be that as it may, it still put Kit's teeth on edge.

"I'm gonna step out for a smoke, real quick," She nodded, pushing herself up to stand as she fumbled for the half-empty box of cigarettes she knew she had on her somewhere. It was a flimsy excuse - at least half of the bar's patrons had a light burning away, smoke rising up to the ceiling and clouding the glare of the lights - and yet none of the other questioned it.

"I'll join you," Yara Katz spoke up, discarding her empty pint glass. She had hoped to go alone, but frankly, Yara spoke so sparsely it would've hardly made a difference. At least with her, there was no danger of someone trying to crack a joke.

The night air was cooler here, where the suffocating warmth of the inside actually managed to dissipate as one stepped outside, as opposed to the relentless, pressing humidity that seemed ever-present back home. Here she could take a breath, feel the air fill her lungs without feeling like she needed a glass of water once she was done. There was always a lingering chance that California hadn't been as bad as she remembered it. But she wasn't going back to find out.

Kit leant back against the bar's outer wall, staring up at the sunset-tinted clouds, puffs of red and orange, like the very sky was on fire. It wasn't even late, but her bones seemed to weigh her down towards the dirt, relaxing her knees slightly as if it would lighten the load. Through the propped-open door, she could still faintly hear the others - Nora's hearty laugh, Angel's voice strained above the din of chatter as she tried to finish whatever story she was telling.

Her head lolled to the side, glancing across to where Yara was standing. "I wasn't actually gonna smoke."

"I know. But I am."

She jumped somewhat as Yara came over, digging her hand into Kit's jacket and plucking out the crumpled box of cigarettes she'd been struggling to find, planting one between her lips as she rummaged in her own pocket for a light.

So that's where they were.

"How'd you-?"

"You put them in there this morning."

Ah, yes, classic Yara. Always watching. If it wasn't slightly offputting, it would have been endearing. But Kit supposed there was something comforting in having someone who noticed the little things.

"By the way, have you seen my dress shoes?"

"Under Sylvie's bed."

"... Ok. Thanks," Kit nodded appreciatively, folding her arms tightly across her chest as she leant back against the wall once more. A click sounded, and a brief ball of flame illuminated Katz's face, casting golden streaks of light across her jet-black curls. Exhaling a cloud of smoke, she kicked up dirt with her heel as she turned in place, letting the pair slip into comfortable silence.

They passed the next twenty minutes or so in pensive, passive quiet, Yara's cigarette long burnt out by the time the rest of the crew emerged from the bar, ready to make the trek back to their hut. Thea came first, arm-in-arm with Nora, sipping on a bottle of water, tailed closely by Sadie, who had her arms slung over Angel and Maisie's shoulders on either side of her - not drunk, just laughing, as they tried to recall the lyrics to a song they'd heard on the radio that morning. Dawn and Marty were cheering incoherently as they followed shortly after, clearly victorious in their game of darts, and Marty let out a burst of laughter as Sylvie ran at her, launching herself into a piggyback, arms wrapped around the blonde's muscled shoulders.

They made a merry troupe, and Kit couldn't help the grin that tugged at her cheeks as she watched them go by, merging with the group as they walked, hands tucked into her pockets. Yara quickly joined, bumping elbows with an exchange of faint smiles as they passed one another. Reaching out to steady her, Kit chuckled as Sylvie began to slip down Marty's back, slowly losing her grip before letting go altogether and landing on her feet with a huff.

"Heavier than she looks," Marty teased.

Kit gasped dramatically, clamping her hands over Sylvie's ears in a way that made the girl giggle. It was easy to slip back into things - to latch on to the others' spirit and make it her own. "How dare you, Jarlsson?! She's the daughter I never had, and I won't take these slanders."

"How old were you when she was born, again?"

"Five."

"Right. Makes sense."

They laughed as they continued to stomp back towards base, Sylvie wrestling against Kit's grip as she tugged her hands away from her face. Once free, they passed a beat in silence before Sylvie reached out again, wrapping her arms around Kit's shoulders in a sideways embrace, a pleased smile curling her lip.

She let out a warm chuckle, reaching up to give Sylvie's arm an affectionate squeeze.

"... Are we sure we're not drunk?"

Sylvie hummed. "I don't think so. Just happy."

[cheezyratz]

Spiderdads fic for y’all! ^^ Warning! There’s angst here!

^ Some days were harder than others. Miguel knew that all too well, walking away from Peter and MayDay as fast as he could. He loved Peter, he loved MayDay too, but it was painful. To be reminded of what he had lost hurt worse than any bruise or cut, it hurt him worse than when he broke a couple ribs fighting a villain. The loss of Gabi was personal, heartbreaking, and would never go away. Quicker than he had expected, Miguel found himself in his empty lab. He sat down in one of the corners, pulling his legs up to his chest as he began to cry. His tears were felt hot, almost like they were burning. They fell fast, his cheeks stained with the tears after only a couple of seconds. He couldn’t let anyone see him like this. He had to be seen as the tough and stern leader the Spider Society needed, not a cry baby. Miguel gasped when he heard the lab doors open, trying his best to rub away the tears on his face and then cursing when new tears came to replace the ones wiped away. “Miguel? You in here?” Called Peter, and Miguel tried his best to be silent, using all the effort he could to suppress his sniffles and whimpers. It didn’t work in the end, because Peter ended up finding him. Peter’s face was full of shock and concern. Miguel felt guilty. He felt stupid and ashamed. This was his problem to deal with and he had dragged Peter into it. “Go away.” Miguel spoke, choking on his words as he buried his face in his hands. Like always, Peter didn’t listen. Peter walked to Miguel’s side, sitting down next to the crying man. The two sat in silence for a bit, the only noises coming from Miguel’s ragged breathing. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Peter whispered, putting an arm around Miguel’s shoulders. Miguel took his head out of his hands, looking up at Peter who had a soft smile on his face. Miguel’s bottom lip began to quiver as the tears started to fall again. He laid his head on Peter’s chest, pulling at the fabric of Peter’s suit as he cried. His sobbing was loud. Every word was like a scream, every gasp and suck of breath through clenched teeth sounding painful, almost making Peter cry himself. Peter tried to comfort Miguel, rubbing circles into his back as the Miguel tugged and pulled at Peter’s spidey suit. Eventually Miguel calmed down, cheeks stained with tears and sniffles as quiet as whispers. “S-Sorry.” Miguel choked out, his grip on Peter’s suit loosening. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Peter assured, running his fingers through Miguel’s hair. “How’re you feeling?” Peter asked, voice soft and quiet. “I’m ok.” Miguel answered. “Any other day I’d let you get away with that, but not today. Don’t lie to me Miguel, how are you actually feeling?” Peter persisted. Miguel sighed, “Guilty, stupid… sad.” “You know what?” “What?” “It’s perfectly valid to feel that way. Everyone has their doubts about themselves, and it’s important to acknowledge them so they don’t get all bottled up inside.” Peter smiled, kissing Miguel’s forehead. Miguel rolled his eyes, a smile forming on his face. “God, Peter, you sound like a therapist.” He chuckled, before letting his head fall onto Peter’s shoulder. “I’ll sound like Kermit if it’ll keep a smile on your face.” Peter teased, before doing a mediocre impression of Kermit the Frog. Miguel only hummed, wrapping his arms around Peter.

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Miguel: btw where’s mayday? She was with you earlier.

Peter: I let Miles watch her

Miguel:

Peter:

Miguel: Peter…

Peter: Miles can watch a baby, don’t worry! He’s very responsible! :P

*meanwhile*

Miles: MayDay! Please don’t crawl on the ceiling! 😰

MayDay: >:]

[balladetto]

     Once, when Link was even smaller than he feels, he'd knocked his shoulder out of its socket in a terrible fall.

     Terrible in that he'd cried about it, ashamed and at the then-height of pained, not that it was a particularly horrific tumble. He'd just landed wrong, he remembers someone telling him — frantic and almost apologetic in their reassurance. Too much has happened for him to reconstruct a face for the memory, but Link can still recall the stutter in their words. You're g-gonna be okay. Y-you're gonna— gonna be f-fine.

     And he was. Someone had gone to fetch a healing fairy while others came to keep him company. It'd been the right shoulder, burning at the joint and numb all the way down to his fingertips, but he'd found a spot of hurt he could grit his teeth through; then breathe through; then eventually speak through. By the time the fairy was brought over, Link had been so deep in the rhythm of holding himself together that he'd nearly slapped her away when she broke it.

     He remembers her, he thinks, the most out of everything. There's a distinct clarity associated pain will give you with any recollection. She was rose-pink, a little darker than he was used to, and she'd bristled when he whimpered through a fresh wave of tears and pushed at her with his pinky.

     "Stop that," she'd said. "Bones aren't easy, you know. It'll only hurt for a pinch, it has to for me to fix it. You're already being so brave! Can't you be brave a while longer?"

     Outside the memory, Link lays crumpled on cold tiles, eyelids like crushed butterfly wings and the cave of his chest barely moving as he looks up and up and up. He thinly wonders, for a fixing like this, how long he'd have to keep being brave for.

     Neither of his shoulders took the landing this time, but he knows many things are wrong with both of them. By extension, many things are wrong with all of him. He should take stock, a part of him understands. He'd like to take stock, another part realises, if only he had the capacity to. Each breath shifts the slivers and splinters his bones have shattered into. Agony twists through every vein like a replacement for the blood he imagines paints his trail from platform to windows to the far below floor. He can't feel his fingers, which twitch as if to grip something — his left hand, mangled, rests as if in graveyard dirt.

     There is no amount of searching in this sea that will land him in a place where this might be bearable.

     "Link!" Navi yells, a trilling bell that drowns out the sound of dying. His heart threads an extra thump, like he still has it in him to be scared alongside everything else, before it fades back into a whisper of a pulse. She wheels above him in panicked, powdery circuits: hair to boots and back. "Get up! You have to get up!"

     He does. He does have to. Link doesn't get to think he's gonna die now. He doesn't get to be tired enough — small enough — for that. He draws a rattling inhale, head practically cracking open with how the air presses against its seams. He's sixteen. The world will end if he's nine. He's sixteen, sixteen, sixteen.

     He chokes on liquid rising in his gorge, coughs it up, and closes his eyes when gravity brings the blood down in blotches on his skin. It's— really gross, and that's such a mundane thought in the face of what he has to reckon with that his chest starts spasming with strangled laughter instead.

     "Link!"

     Navi, he replies in his head, 'cause that's all he can do. He traces over more names: Sheik, Zelda, Saria, the Sages, the Kokiri, the list goes on as his voice dips into hitching, searing gasps. It's an awful thing to realise — that's all he can do. Link has to get up, has to be Courage, has to be more than what he is.

     And he can't.

     Sound drifts down from above, mocking. Cruel. It's a laugh getting louder and louder, and Link prises his lashes apart with the sheer will borne from a unique dread. A kind of fear, if you felt it not in sensation, but in the dizzying spiral that is the certainty of where this will all end.

     A kind of fear — and a kind of fury.

     Link is nine, thrown to the ground, battered and muscles stinging with a magic he tastes as something crackling on his tongue. He glares up at the tall man on the tall horse, smouldering so brazenly with protective, frustrated outrage that he shakes with it. He is not unafraid of the sneer that answers him, but he does not look away.

     Link is nine, broken over the ground, near dead and stuck in a body he's tried to make his. His eyes are cold as he watches Ganondorf descend, burning with tears dyed red from failure. The brand on his left hand glows, resonating with a magic he no longer has the nerves to feel. Navi doesn't leave. There are a thousand things he wishes he could scream.

     Large fingers fold around the wrist of his gauntlet, deliberate in their ignorance of the softness a joint that bent must be afforded. As his arm is lifted, the pain dragged along every passing second like some horrible, continuous song-note that eclipses even his fears, he pretends none of the noises coming from him are his and thinks everything that could mean: I hate you.

     He thinks everything that could mean: I'm so sorry.

     The man raises his other hand, palm closing in, and Link forces another entire earth on the child he can't be even here — even now. He does not look away. Navi, oddly muffled, rings something wordless.

     Link waits for the end of this story.