#i promise you any amount of effort you’re giving is enough

[multifariousqueer]

Miles G x Done! Reader

A/n: I’ve had this idea to finish this so this is gonna be the last part of this story. Once again, requests are closed but nice comments are appreciated 🫶🏽🫶🏽

Warnings: Yandere behavior, arguing, strong language, Stockholm syndrome, mentions of starvation and your circulation being cut off(very brief at the end), kidnapping, toxic behavior, violence, mentions of blood and bruises, lmk if I missed one

You felt a strong pair of arms grip your being as you struggled for freedom. Every thought you had somehow left your mind and new thoughts took their place, most of them being about how you were gonna get out of this when suddenly, everything was dark and you heard a familiar voice:

“You thought you could escape me Mami?”

~~~

When you awoke, you were in a cold room that felt almost sterile yet it felt like someone had tried to make it homey. A punching bad stood in the corner and it seemed you were in a wear house.

You dawned a leg chain as if you were an animal and you were wearing an outfit that had been long abandoned. Your hair felt puffier and you realized it was in the style you had when you left him(or so you thought).

The lights flickered on as you grimaced and the sound of fluorescent lighting buzzing and filling your ear and you attempted to shield your face in a last stitch effort to give yourself comfort in such an uncomfortable environment. His figure stalked through the door slowly as he glared at you. He was wearing his usual Prowler attire while dawning the same necklace you two had as a symbol of your long forgotten love.

Miles stalked closer as you tried to shuffle away knowing what was to come. Tears slipped down your cheeks as he put his hand on your cheek and wiped the tears away.

“Hola, mi amor. I understand these aren’t the best circumstances for us to reconcile but it still serves its purpose” he said

“Fuck you you insane bastard” you said lowly

“Such strong language for someone in such a weak position” he smirked

“What do you want?” You questioned

“You. It’s always been you”

“Why do you want me after all this time? I’ve changed I’m not the same anymore, Miles” you tried to convince him

“Just because you move to a new state which wasn’t far enough cuz I was still able to get you, and change your fits and hair doesn’t mean you’re any different, y/n. I get it, I haven’t been the most attentive or even the best boyfriend but I’m still yours and you’re still mine.”

“That’s not true. You hid being the prowler from me, you isolated me from my family, friends, everyone that cared about me” you said

“Because I love you, Y/n. When will you understand that? You wanted me so badly and now you have me.” He smirked crouching to your level

“I wanted you before I knew how much of a wackjob you were” you said, trying to scoot away from this monster

“Did you really just say ‘wackjob’ ma?” He laughed like it was Kevin Heart in front of him

“YES I DID BECAUSE THATS WHAT YOURE ARE!!” You screamed. Miles didn’t even flinch and instead just smiled

“Mama I’m not a ‘wackjob’ I’m your man and no amount of shitty hair dye and new clothes can change that” he said

“I hate you Miles Morales” You cried

“You’ll grow to love me just as you once did, Y/n. Just give it time” he said before getting up and leaving

“Oh and Ma?” He asked but you didn’t answer

“I left you some sopa de pollo because I know how tired you must be. And if it’s not gone by the morning, I’ll make you eat it in front of me and” he said before leaving one fluorescent light on and leaving the room. Leaving you with chicken soup and in tears.

The next day he uphold his promise and made you eat by forcing you to swallow it and spoon feeding you:

“I’ll feed you every meal, Chiquita if that’s what it’ll take for you to love me again” Miles said

“It’s gonna be a lot of meals before that happens” you joked

Miles smiled as he saw a sliver of your personality shined through. He always adored your humor and your wit and took this as a sign you’d be back to normal within no time.

The next three weeks we’re both grueling and miserable yet somewhat Euphoric. Starving wasn’t an option since he would spoon feed you(which you started eating yourself) and neither was hoping your circulation would cut off because he padded the leg cuff. Although lately, he would give you “breaks” which meant he let you walk around the warehouse a bit. You started joking more and being more open and Miles couldn’t be happier.

He started staying with you longer and cuddling with you now that trust was built up again and he felt like you were back to how you were before. He adored you and would do anything for you. If you had a cold, he would get you meds and nurse you back to health; if you had a food craving, he would get it in a heartbeat. It even got to the point of you taking care of Miles yourself.

Sometimes he would come in with cuts and bruises and you would gently nurse him back to health and clean his cuts with the little first aid kit he gave you. It felt so weird to be falling for him again and suddenly you felt like the first time you met him. It took months to crack his shell but once you did, it was over for you.

Perhaps it was the Stockholm Syndrome, maybe the lighting or maybe the fact that he went this far to care for you that made you start to love him once more.

~~~

[explorevenus]

domestic yandere bf!leon headcanons

and by domestic i just mean like no blatant kidnapping n shit like reader and leon have a legitimate relationship but reader has no idea how aggressively he’s pulling strings behind the scenes

btw i’ve had this written out on my laptop for literally two years so a lot of this is ‘something permanent’ adjacent but it’s not specific to that universe (for other obvious reasons skdfjivhes)

here we go:

leon is extremely protective like, to the degree of being paranoid. doesn't like when you go anywhere or do anything by yourself, which for most people would be suffocating, but leon was very strategic about implementing this very slowly over time. little do you know that this sentiment of his applies basically all the time, because what would happen if you were to slip and fall in the shower, or have a bad day at work, or anything else off of the infinite list of terrible things that could happen, and he wasn't there?

leon tries to convince you to quit your job and stay at home to let him take care of you, but you refuse, not wanting to have to rely on him completely, especially before you're married. so naturally he takes that very literally and shortly after you get married, leon has a word with your boss and you’re magically fired on the spot. this of course is a huge shock to you and leaves you extremely depressed, and therefore even more reliant on him.

leon is very controlling of you in subtle ways, but more than manipulative enough to disguise it as simply caring for or looking out for you. going to get something to eat? no need, i'll make it for you! having a shower? mind if i join you? just showering, i promise... you woke up with a tummy ache? call out of work and let me take care of you! your check engine light is on? it's not safe for you to take your car, looks like i'll be giving you rides for a while! no, honey, i don't know why your friends have gone cold and stopped reaching out. that's their loss. now we can spend more time together! he'll even go as far as to purposefully place your things in cabinets he knows you can't reach, just as an excuse to help you grab them when you inevitably need them.

leon has every device you own bugged and cloned, and therefore constant access to your every message, call, photo, and all of your socials, and your location, at all times. he doesn't check them incredibly often when he's home with you, but checks up on you constantly when he's away for work. it's not uncommon for you to conveniently receive a call from him whenever you leave the house, stay late at work, go somewhere other than straight home after work, etc etc

leon has cameras hidden fucking everywhere in your place. inside and outside of the front door, two in the kitchen, two in the living room, three in the bedroom, one in the bathroom, and not only can he check them any time, but he also keeps a good amount of the footage, particularly from the bedroom. for. definitely pure reasons. anyway, you already know he spends every second of his very limited free time on missions just watching you on the cameras. 

leon always wants you to be healthy and well, but he loves taking care of you when you’re sick. you get to call out of work and lay in bed all day while he tends to your every need, and in the hours you spend sleeping it off, he just gets to hold you, and pet your hair, and watch your face, listen to your weak breaths and the little noises you make sometimes. come to think of it, it sure is odd how often you seem to be coming down with colds, given how little time you spend outside of the house to begin with...

leon makes an effort to make you perceive your relationship and his actions as normal as possible. he is incredibly careful to keep this behavior under wraps, and will legitimately tell you anything if it means getting you off of his trail. with his government training in de-escalation, the man is a master manipulator and the CEO of successfully gaslighting. "How was visiting your friends today?" "It was good, how did you know I went to see them, though?" "You told me you were going to when I called this morning." "Did I?" "You did. Or maybe I'm the crazy one and I just made a lucky guess." "Well, I guess I must have, then. Though, between the two of us, I think we can agree I'm the crazy one. I can't seem to remember anything right." "That's why you have me to keep your head on straight, princess."

speaking of princess, pet names ! which he loves. he calls you princess, puppy, angel, doll, honey, baby... he didn't used to use them so often, but he quickly took notice of the liking you’d taken to it when he would, so it became a regular thing. anything to make you blush. you’re just too cute!

mkay we gotta talk about sex <33 under the cut NO MINORS

which leon likes to have very very frequently. obviously he's obsessed with you, and it typically only takes being in the room with you for ten full seconds for him to have a hard time fighting off the image of all the things he wants to do to you. he genuinely finds you attractive, irresistible even, in any condition, whether you’re dolled up for him or depressed in bed wearing the same shirt for three days straight, he's just obsessed with and praising of you and your body.

whiiiiich certainly translates through his love-making. a true master of foreplay, having learned every inch of your body like the back of his hand, he knows exactly how to touch you in ways that grant him the most reaction out of you. this man will seriously edge himself for hours getting lost in playing with you, he's highly skilled at giving head and loves to do so. man’s a total munch. it's a relatively surefire way to get your attention for a while and he takes advantage of this often. 

finishing inside of you is practically a must for him, he finds it so intimate and the deepest way to connect with you and gift you a part of himself. he rarely, if ever, cums anywhere else, and when he does, it's usually on your stomach and/or thighs. i don't see him being particularly interested in actually having children though, considering that would mean taking a considerable amount of your attention and focus away from him, and he wants you all to himself.

^^^ lol anyway 

his fave position(s): missionary, so he can watch your face, but with enough convincing he'll let you ride him sometimes, because you want to-- not that he doesn't enjoy it, he just doesn't want you to have to do any of the work! he prefers to spoil you and just let you relax and enjoy yourself.

[lovings4turn]

ahhh, bumblebee blurbs, yay !! could i maybe ask for that little panicked reach for them ( ready to catch them at all costs ) if they trip ever so slightly for captain cow eyes nico hischier, pretty please 🤭 thanks in advance, i’m excited to see what you come up with !! <3

ohh dolly my love this is such a sweet request !!! thanks so much for sending it in ,, i hope you enjoy it <3 have never written for nico before so please give me some grace😭

if nico was asked to describe you in one word, his response would be perfect. if he was then prompted to respond with a less cheesy and overly romantic answer, he'd offer clumsy.

over the course of your relationship, nico had developed somewhat of a sixth sense when it came to any possible incidents. his hand automatically reached to cover the corners of cabinet doors and countertops, and he no longer left clothing items strewn across his floor for you to slip on. 

but despite the amount of precautions he could take, nico also knew that he couldn’t eradicate every possible hazard from the world around you. hell, half the time you didn’t even need a potential obstacle. you’d tripped over your own feet more times than he could count on one hand, and it seemed that your own limbs had an agenda built against you. 

nico claimed it was all a part of your charm, and that he loved you even more for your insane level of clumsiness.

it was one of the first mild days of the year, and so you and nico had decided to go on a small walk around the city, maybe even grab a coffee from your favourite cafe if your hands needed warming up. 

bundled into coats and hats, you and nico walked side by side, easy conversation slipping from your lips and casting a bubble of contentment around your frames. it was a little too cold to hold hands, so you opted to shove them deep into your pockets to salvage some sort of warmth. nico made an effort to brush your shoulder with his own every now and again, craving even the slightest form of contact with you. 

a sharp gasp alerted nico to the fact your foot had caught an uneven chunk of the pavement, and before you could even react, his hand shot out to grab your arm. his grip was firm enough to steady you, thumb brushing lightly over the skin of your wrist in a silent apology for the sudden movement. 

“shit,” you breathed, a small laugh escaping your lips as adrenaline ran through you from the near trip. 

“my god, schätzi,” nico said with an amused smile. “you’re really training my reflexes here."

his thumb brushed your wrist once more before he slipped his hand into your own, squeezing it once softly.

"i'm not taking any more chances. y'too clumsy for your own good," he teased, pressing a kiss to your knuckles to punctuate his words.

true to his promise, nico's hand never left yours for the remainder of your walk. yes, you were impossibly clumsy. but you were lucky to have a boyfriend who was more than happy to look out for you.

[cheersyouslxg]

here me out, soap fucking both you and him so damn good and hard it sends you both into a frenzy of overstimulation 😵‍💫😵‍💫 just two very fucked out idiots in love <3

╰┈➤ 🧼 Soap 🧼 »»———- When in Love ———-««

┆ ┆ MDNI - 18+┆ ┆ Triggers: Smut, swearing I think, overstim, hard dom reference

I HEAR YOU I HEAR YOU I see soap as SUCH a hard dom. Thorough, takes his time, knows what makes you tick and will go to the extremes until you’re shaking underneath him and can’t even beg anymore for him to stop. THAT’S when he knows he’s done his job. Not a moment before. 

And the aftercare? It’s mandatory, of course, and he does his job well to assure you how well you’ve done taking it like a good whore for HIM and only him. 

But what about when he’s lovingly rough? That’s a whole new side to him. 

(Also, i have such a weird time writing ‘you’ and im so so sorry… so i just do ‘she’ butttt lmk if you prefer they/them or would like a gender neutral- could be male or female- or he/him specified!) For this ask I’m assuming afab, she/her pronouns! xx

~~~

The mission had been a huge success, but that wasn’t the only cause for celebration. One year with the most perfect woman in the world… Three hundred and sixty-five days of pure bliss anytime he thought about her at home in their bed. Having someone to come home to gave him a new sense of purpose to succeed that he hadn’t realized he needed. Anytime he was due to come home came with the anticipation of waiting, sitting eagerly on the couch and then pacing impatiently at the door once the half hour countdown began. 

Like always, he was expecting to throw his bags down, leaving them at the door to accept her into his arms which she always jumped into. Her choice of apparel had been noted well after he took in her scent deeply, hugging her close with a half assed kick to the door behind him. 

“Sweetheart, god, I missed you.” He breathed, one more squeeze placed around her before he was pulling back for a kiss. Then he noticed what she was wearing, a smirk lifting across his face which held a five o’clock shadow from a few days gone by without shaving. The stubbled kiss was sought out despite his hesitation as he now wanted to gawk at her form, her hands coming to his cheek and pulling him in. 

“I missed you more. Happy anniversary, my love.” Mumbled against his lips, declaring her undying adoration for the man she promised from day one to give her everything to. Traveling hands snaked under her rear, squeezing the sparsely clothed flesh with a hum. 

“Such a pretty present… I think it’s time to unwrap you, gorgeous,” 

To the bed they had picked out together she was unwrapped after a painfully long amount of time of Soap simply… admiring her. He had every intention of stripping her from her confines, but before he felt it would be criminal to ignore how much effort she put into this outfit. The lingerie hugged every curve and dip of her body like it was tailor made to accentuate her natural beauty. His lips worshiped the exposed flesh, tongue teasing over the textured fabrics between her legs, giving a hint of what nectar pooled against the fabric in her arousal. 

Her squirms and whines did little to deter him, promising her pleasure if she was patient to allow him to explore and become reunited with his treasure. “Be a good girl. Don’t make me remind you what happens when you disobey, eh?” Teeth nipped at her sensitive flesh, warning her he had not changed views on the severity of discipline. 

She never worried whether or not her needs would be met, and that evening was no different. As he had promised, he delicately removed the clothing from her body, teasing her even then by his languid pace. ‘Darlin’, I haven’t seen you in so long…. I want to ravish you.’ He would say, silencing any potential protest with a searing kiss as his impressive bulge ground into her need. The whine it produced was enough to convince him to drop the bullshit, tearing at his pants while she clawed the shirt from his body and sought the heat of his flesh.   

Any gentleness he might have had in store had dissolved the moment he caught a taste of what he’d been missing for too long overseas serving. The initial stretch of her welcoming heat, rolling hips matching the breathy moan he earned which drooled from her kiss-swollen lips. 

“Good god, you take me so well,” it would keep him faithful even in the struggle of loneliness, for he knew already that no one could ever compare to her. His thrusts were needy, hungry with a passion so raw it was almost overwhelming after so long without his touch. Clawing, scratching, pulling one another closer, it was all he could do to quickly remove the distance each time he pulled back to reenter her. 

His praises were softer than normal, but she cherished them just the same. Where ‘my dirty slut’ would sputter from his lips, tonight, it was replaced with ‘my only love’. His native tongue lavished her in compliments she hardly could understand but knew to be praises, melting under his harsh touch and romantic words. Soap was sure to remark every inch of her body, fingers digging bruisingly hard into her hips, pressed into the mattress firmly as he drilled his cock again and again just so to unravel her resolve and have her milking his length for what would be the first of many orgasms. 

One blinding, world tilting climax after the other shook her raw to her core, muddying her mind until the only word she could mutter was his name. A plea, a praise, a prayer, he became the very breath she inhaled desperately upon each glorious thrust pressing him closer. One of his favorite positions ended the evening, his hand securely caressing her throat as he kept her tucked against his chest, rocking into her from behind. His thrusts had become jerkish rutting, moaning hotly against her ear with panted breaths, undoubtedly assuring her that neither one of them would be moving the morning until the sun had crested midday. Words had become uttered whimpers, reaching behind for his hand he gladly squeezed and intertwined with his fingers.  

“I- love you… so much, y/n. I love you, baby.” Repeated again and again, Soap gently guided her to another orgasm, hot tears pooling anew down her cheeks from the overexertion. She ached in the best of ways, able to hear her heartbeat in her ears, trembling in ecstasy with a pitiful whine as he finally pulled away, curling behind her and adjusting her so she was comfortable. Strong, capable hands soothed her shaking limbs. His sweet murmurs lulling her to sleep.

[bonemarrowrites]

To Rule The Roost

Contains:  M / M, Feral/monster x humanoid, dubcon, masturbation, voyeurism, fisting, bound, oviposition.

Explicit short story. A young fae wants to become a Gryphon rider, finding himself hired by a veteran flight master.

-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-=x=-

“Never expected to see an ash fae here. You’re kind rarely wanders away from your home isle. Yet, here you are, applying to be the gryphon aide under me. You do realize what that job entails, right?” Asked the flight master Trall as I sprouted back into the present, hearing griffins screeches outside the tall building had distracted me from the conversation.

Trall’s bulky human frame made his belly look like a large sack of flour as he sat on his chair and went through my papers. The Gryphon riders' colorful attire complimented his dark skin and made him look formal.

“Yes,” I answered and nodded enthusiastically to drive my point home, “I’ve always wanted to be a rider and someone told me this is a great way to learn the basics, before applying to the academy.” Before coming here, I had memorized a long list of useful lies to make myself the perfect candidate.

“I see…” Trall muttered back to me with a curious expression on his plump face. 

“Skinny boys like you can’t withstand the wind,” he blurted like he was trying to see my reaction.

“I don’t need to withstand it, I’m delicate enough to go through the wind wall without feeling a thing,” I rebutted, attempting to sound confident. My answer made the flight master snort, but he still looked unsure.

“Why not just go straight to the academy? They teach all you need to know and without. Assigning here might look good on your application, but it will only prolong your graduation if you’re even worth the effort. Taking the exam is the best way to get it,”  Trall’s tone sounded dismissive like he was talking to a young child who didn’t know any better. He didn't know I had taken the exam, thrice, and had failed each time. I knew I could cheat when I took it the next time, but I had to make sure my record showed that I had been somewhere where I might have learned the ropes. This was my only chance.

I composed myself, before telling him another one of my lies, “I believe if I want to be good at something I should learn as much as I can from those who actually work in the field. Teachers at the academy might teach me theory, but the real learning happens here.”

“You’re not going to learn how to fly without the academy’s approval,” Trall declared as if I didn’t already know that.

“I know, but I’m going to do other work, right? The Gryphon riders must also know how to take care of their steed.” The flight master's unwillingness had surprised me. The amount of promised payment had been significant, especially considering how little experience was required, but I was sure his aides' job wasn’t too hard to handle. After all, I had gotten this far, my letter must have made some sort of impression. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have wanted to see me and made me go through an extensive healer’s inspection.”

“I see,” he muttered again, giving one last glance at my papers. “You’ve been an adult for three summers now and your letter was very passionate, consider yourself hired.” The flight master stood up and held his hand out to shake mine. Quickly, I gave him a firm handshake and looked directly into his deep brown eyes.

“Thank you, sire. I’ll make sure you will not regret this!” I stated. The flight master slightly lift his right brown. My enthusiasm must have been a little bit too much. Yet, I actually was ecstatic. The second part of my plan had worked and I was on my way to becoming a Gryphon rider!

Trall waved his hand .“Follow me, better get to work now than later. The last aide’s death has delayed our annual schedule and we’re in a hurry.”

I did not know that. The poster I saw never mentioned why they needed help, only that it was urgent.

“W-what happened to the last aid?” I asked with a concern in my voice.

“One of the griffins kicked him down from the flight pen. He had forgotten to change his clothes after tending another tiercel. They’re very territorial, you can’t put two males together without them getting aggressive with each other. Skilled riders must be dominant and assertive when flying in formations, we can’t have fights within the group.” Trall’s explanation sounded reasonable to me. I made sure to remember that.

As we ascended the long flight of stairs, I took in the view. Even though we were in the mountains, the air here was hot. The warm desert wind blew right into the mountainside and the sun scorched the black rock paving it, making the air dry and sweltering. Had we stayed in the open a little bit longer, I’d surely been burned. My light grey skin was not meant to be under the sun.

“The health of these beasts is very important to me and it is your job to help me keep them healthy and happy. You could say your job is almost as important as mine.” Trall glanced behind as he said it and waited for my reaction.

“As it is to me, sire! A healthy force is a strong force,” I said smiling and the flight master shot a small smile back at me. I was getting through to him.

Trall led me into one of the keep’s many spires and to a wide, round room.

There was a large opening on the wall, which was decorated with a carved stone arch with a small bell hung next to it. It was meant for the griffons, they’d fly in one by one when the bell rang for… Some reason. I honestly didn’t know why.

Various tools were hanging on the wall and there was a chair placed next to them. In the middle of the large room, there was also a tall sawhorse with a simple, but weirdly shaped, saddle with a long seat. It was facing away from the opening of the room. Long leather straps dangled from the saddle as the warm breeze made them sway slowly.

“I want you to clean and polish that saddle,” the flight master commanded, “Taking care of it is a significant part of your job.”

As Trall sat on the chair I grabbed a few items from the wall and climbed the sawhorse to reach the saddle. With a clean rag, I began to wipe the saddle. My mother used to be a well-known leatherworker and she took me with her when she worked in her workshop. The skills I learned had become handy.

Trall watched me work from behind, leaning into the backrest as I focused on my work. Secretly, I tried to take a peek to see, if he was pleased with my performance and I saw him rub his crotch with his hand.

My cheeks flashed red and in my shock, I turned away acting like I hadn’t seen anything, still talking about how important each step was when it came to working with good leather. I heard him mumble in agreement and out of my curiosity took another peek.

The flight master’s clothed member was getting hard and he let out quiet moans while caressing his balls with his other hand. Unsure where he was looking I saw him lick his fat lips in arousal. I began my next step when I heard him get up and walk towards me.

“You’re very good,” Trall said and put his other hand on my shoulder. I was too embarrassed to turn to look at him, “It usually takes a long time for aides to learn the proper leather care.” With me standing leaning on the sawhorse, we were about the same length. I could hear him still rubbing himself as he stood behind me.

“That’s good. Hand me the tools and climb on top. You need to learn how to sit properly.” The flight master said and I handed him the items I had in my hands without looking at him. I mounted the saddle and was now slightly higher than him, feeling kinda relieved that he could reach me. Trall returned each tool to its rightful place and walked back to face me. He had stopped pleasuring himself and took one of the leather straps into his hands. Through his pants, I could see still his half-erect member.

“Lean forward,” he commanded and I did as he said, fearing what he might do to me.

Quickly, he pulled the strap over my head and buckled it tightly around my neck.

“Sire! What is this?” I yelped alarmed.

“I’m showing you the ropes. Your job is to tend my beasts and the only way to learn it is by doing.”

The flight master walked around me, tying me firmly to the sawhorse as I tried to resist. 

“Please, let me go! I will take care of the griffons, I swear! I will do my job!” my pleads fell on deaf ears, as Trall’s straight face turned to a smirk.

“My boy, that you will. This is the job,” he replied and patted me to make sure every strap was holding me down. The flight master then tore my clothes off with a knife, leaving me prone. I was bent over the saddle seat, legs wide apart.

“I knew immediately you didn’t know what you were getting yourself into when I met you, but as I said, our situation here is urgent and you were so ardent about this job.” with glee in his voice he added, “... And the best part is, according to your health report, you’re perfect for the job.”

I struggled against my bonds, the saddle seat rubbed against my naked shaft and nipples, slick from the musky polish I had applied mere moments ago. The leather felt slightly coarse and every move made me grind against it. Struggling made me pant from the heat and sweat ran down my back. I was fatigued, and as I stopped, realized that if I didn’t move too much, my posture felt rather good. The seat was long enough to support me without putting strain on my body.

The flight master had retrieved more tools from the wall.

“This will be much easier if you relax, but I warn you, the first time is always the worst,” he snarked and walked behind me, before I could ask any questions he slathered my hole with thick oil and pushed three fingers inside of me. I yelped in surprise and thrust forward, my body stroked my nipples and cock against the coarse surface of the seat making them hard. Trall stretched my hole wider and wider, adding more fingers each time he assaulted me and each time I thrusted forward involuntarily, stimulating my body even more. My cries turned into whimpers.

“The beasts won’t be as careful as I am, you need to learn to loosen up quickly, otherwise it will be painful,” The flight master attested. Soon he managed to push his whole fist into me, making my hole wider than ever before. While vigorously moving his fist, ramming it against the end of my tunnel, Trall began to pleasure himself again.

I sucked in a breath as the constant strain on my cock made me shoot cum between my body and the saddle. The flight master seemed pleased and pulled his fist out, leaving my gaping hole open. He walked towards the stone arch and rang the bell.

“You better get ready, your true test is just about to begin,” Trall laughed and walked back to sit on his chair. He dropped his pants, pulled his cock out and kept massaging his balls as a sudden whoosh of wind flew over me. I heard a loud screech and turned to look. 

There it was. A large male griffin, folding its huge wings as it stomped toward me, looking curiously at its new servant. Long talons scratched the wooden floor with each long step. The oil Trall spread on my ass must have had something in it, the griffon’s large phallus flopped out of its pouch when it sniffed me. The cone-shaped thing almost touched the floor, already glistening with wetness. The beast shrieked loudly as it lifted its feline front paws on the sides of the sawhorse. The griffon bit my neck with its beak, the thick leather strap around my neck protected me from the damage, but the clutch made breathing harder.

“Oh, and don’t worry!” I heard Trall’s voice from across the room, “They might have feline legs, but their cocks are not barbed”

I whimpered as the creature began brutally pumping its member between my cheeks. The saddle was crafted so it slightly lifted my lower body up, it was meant to make anyone laying on it easier to enter, but the beast trying to mount me kept rubbing its cock on me. I whimpered beneath the monster as Trall watched my attempted breeding with exhilaration.

The tip of the griffin’s rod hit my entrance making me gasp in surprise. The next thrust missed it until finally, it impaled me deep within, the whole length of it disappeared in me until its knot pressured my opening. My tied body rose slightly as the shaft made my belly bulge from its girth. I screamed loudly until the beast bit my neck harder, making my voice fade.

Griffin re-adjusted its back paws before it pulled out and hilted its cock back in within me. The sawhorse below us tilted back and forth with each push. The agitation stimulated my whole body, building pleasure inside of me. Like a rutting animal, the monster showed no mercy towards my abused body. I spasmed from the frantic pumping, bending my tied legs as much as I could, making them numb. My opening milked the beast's shaft as its engorged balls smacked against my thighs.

The flight master admired the scene in front of him, pleasing himself while he watched me being broken in. His balls twitched as his throbbing cock shot string after string of white cum into the air. His chest heaved from the bliss, making his whole fat body shake. As he regained control over his body, he walked to me, his limp rod hanging free.

My mind had blanked as I limply laid beneath the monster, moving like a ragdoll on a string, when the beast drilled deep into me. With one last forceful thrust, it secured itself inside of me and let out a loud roar. The flight master laughed and cupped my face into his hand.

“Now you get to experience the best part,” he said, puzzling me with his words momentarily, “The Males of this breed carry eggs to be fertilized by the females. He’s going to fill you up.”

My eyes widened as I felt the first bulbous shape pressing against my hole. As it passed through, a scorching sensation filled me when the egg was pushed deep within my gut, assisted by flowing hot goo. Another one entered me, making my eyes roll back from the pleasure. I teared up when the beast kept me tightly in its grasp, laying eggs into me one by one. My bulging belly expanded pushing me further away from the saddle, only stopped by the leather straps holding my body down. 

Trall pushed his face against mine and forced his tongue in. Kissing me passionately. 

The griffin must have put at least six eggs inside me, before pulling out, the tip still leaking goo. Satisfied, it flew away, leaving me alone with Trall. I was tired as he carefully removed my bindings and lifted me from the saddle to the floor.

“Don’t worry, my boy” he said, there was care in his voice, “We will take them out after you’ve rested and then sell them to another breeder. You’ve done good.” Trall gently petted my enlarged belly, holding me in his arms, “Tomorrow, you know what to expect and will be prepared for the next breeding,” he whispered tenderly. 

I thought about the academy and about my dream of becoming a Gryphon rider. Now, I had another goal.

I couldn’t wait for tomorrow.

[cure-icy-writes]

Ghost from Hollow Knight is disabled, and here's why

Obligatory disclaimer, of course, that this is just a theory. It may not even be what the creators intended! But it’s special to me, which is why I want to share if. And I think that a well crafted theory with textual evidence is far better than any inflammatory thumbnail by a YouTuber with enough charisma to overcome his utter lack of reading comprehension. 

So, to start, I’ll explain the particular disability. Put simply, being filled with the primordial darkness soup has detrimental effects on one’s health. It takes the place of blood, but it’s more viscous, which means that the heart is constantly working overtime just to pump it properly. 

So, what are the symptoms of this? Well, the most prominent one is this: Ghost is able to fully recover their health simply by sitting on a bench. If you’re wondering how that could possibly be linked to a heart condition, it’s actually based on my own experiences with POTS, Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome. It’s a health condition that’s affectionately known as “can’t fucking stand disorder” or less affectionately known as other, more explicit things when it’s causing me trouble. 

To get personal about my experience with POTS: I get dizzy standing up, or standing too long. I use a cane to support myself, and I need to drink what amounts to salt water to raise my blood volume. The blood volume is important, for reasons I’ll get into later. 

So, on the surface level: they’re disabled because they need benches to recover. But bear with me, because I think it goes a little deeper and a little weirder. Here’s my theory.

Ghost was intended to be invincible. They don’t take contact damage. Every time they take damage, it’s actually just them flinching and their heart rate increasing.

I know, it sounds insane, but I promise that there is evidence to support this. The first piece is the Pale King’s ambition. He created everyone in the dead baby pit to be invincible, right? The perfect vessel to seal away the Radiance, no voice to cry suffering. But then we also know that the Hollow Knight themself wasn’t perfect. They were weak specifically because they wanted to be loved. They were weak because they had a heart, they had emotions, because their traitorous heart pumped blood too fast and it made them vulnerable, because they felt fear. It’s poetic, in a sense.

Diversity Loss! The dead baby pit created in a fruitless effort to save the remnants of a crumbling kingdom is made up of disabled bugs who were subject to a fuckshit eugenics experiment, yippee!

Another interesting piece of supporting evidence is the existence of Lifeblood. The heretic Joni pioneered its use, and there’s some weird implications that maybe this wasn't the best idea, but hear me out for a second. What if it’s literally increasing blood volume of our protagonist to give them some protection from the symptoms of what is effectively a goopy heart disease? The name is quite literal, actually.

The final piece of evidence? Look at the effects of the Fury of the Fallen charm. This one is like adrenaline overdose, complete with pulsing visual effects meant to set you on edge. While this charm is equipped, the knight won't even perform their idle animations. It's a small thing, but I think it is definitely meant to indicate that they're too pumped with adrenaline to have the focus to do this little things. All of that energy is dedicated towards not losing control, one way or another.

Overall, like I said. It’s not something I can prove, but it is backed up by some canon evidence. And it adds to the tragedy, I think, of a scared bug with a bleeding heart.

[resvarie]

Do you have some Ami's voice lines?

this took so long… i wrote this before 2.6 before rappa voice lines were released so bear with me! they’re all below the cut 😎

First Meeting:

You can call me Amihan. I'm just a lone drifter amongst the stars, no need to pay me any mind. Unless you need parts, of course. Don't ask me where I source them though, haha…

Greetings:

Heya! Wonder what sort of treasures we’ll dig up today?

Parting:

Fair winds, my friend! I’m sure we’ll find our way back to each other soon enough.

About Self: Captain

I wouldn’t call myself a captain, but I am the only member of the S.S. Nova, so everything falls to me. Navigation, repairs, cleaning, keeping stock… Solo ship life keeps you humble.

About Self: Mechanical Peg Leg

My leg? I carved the wooden bit myself. I lost it in a freak accident when I was wrestling a shark on my home planet— or maybe it was when I fought against that brute from the Annihilation gang.. or was it when I was doing repairs on my ship and that piece of metal fell— Ah! I’m getting carried away here, aren’t I? I’ll tell you another time!

Chat: Business

If you’re ever in need of some scrap metal or ahem, IPC approved goods, just message me. I have dealings in the trade– and you won’t have to pay the abhorrent prices they put up on the market.

Chat: Principles

You gotta give to take, everything has balance in this universe. Just so happens that I like giving miscreants a good flogging, and I like taking their belongings as my payment, and sharing that with people who really need it.

Hobbies

I like making these little carvings in my spare time… This one’s a horse, this one’s a dog. Um, this one’s supposed to be a shark. I’m not used to this kind of wood, so it’s hard for me to get the shape right. N-No, it’s not an excuse!

Annoyances

This might sound odd coming from me, but I get the worst motion sickness when someone else is at the wheel. No offense to Pom-Pom.

Something to Share

Look, I don’t believe in luck. If you want something you can’t just dawdle, waiting for something to happen. You need to take action. That’s all we can do in this universe.

Knowledge

Lushaka is a place filled with flooded ruins and seas so blue it’s hard to see where the water ends and the sky begins. The scholars there have tried to tell me about the ruins, but honestly, I’m more interested in the sunken treasures that are waiting to be found…

About Boothill

He’s a reckless one, isn’t he? We galaxy rangers tend to work alone, but you wouldn’t believe the amount of times he’s dragged me into the fray, even if it is just the tail end of whatever mess he’s gotten himself into. Not like I don’t enjoy it though, heh.

About Boothill 2

…I have a lot of respect for Boothill. I envy him sometimes, but deep down, I know I could never do what he could. To have everything taken like that… it’s… *sigh*

About Rappa

It might be a little hard to keep up with her way of… communicating, but I promise you, she’s got a good head on her shoulders. I trust her judgement. She reminds me of my little sister…

About Rappa 2

The Cosmic Ninjutsu Inscriptions? Rappa tries to teach me, but it just goes in through one ear and out the other for me. I’m not too good with words and remembering things like that, but I’m happy to indulge her.

About Aventurine

Ugh, if I have to hear him speak about luck again, I might just send myself overboard. Is it really luck if he’s putting in that much effort to scheme and calculate the outcome?

About Sampo

Sounds awfully like this guy who keeps undercutting me online– Once, I even tried to buy from him just to see if he was legit. Turns out he’s all talk. He even pretended to be a bot when I confronted him… No integrity!

About Himeko

I met Himeko and the Astral Express once upon a time, she offered me an incredibly bitter cup of coffee whilst talking my ear off about fixing the Express. I could only understand a quarter of what she was saying… but wow, she’s amazing to do all of that by herself.

Eidolon Activation

Dead men tell no tales.

Character Ascension

There she blows!

Max Level Reached

Time to take this seriously.

Trace Activation

All hands on deck!

Added to Team With Boothill

Keep up, cowboy!

Added to Team with Rappa

Er, how does it go again.. As the Cosmic Ninjutsu Inscriptions read: “Let’s kick some serious butt!”

Added to Team with Trailblazer

Up for some treasure hunting after this? Saw some untouched trash cans on my way here.

EXTRA:

rappa and boothills voicelines for ami

About Captain Yukaze

The Captain's attempts at learning the Cosmic Ninjutsu Inscriptions are commendable, but it seems she has a long way to go if she wishes to reach an acceptable level of ninjutsu. I worry for her…

About Ami

Ami’s saved my behind more than a couple of times— I owe her, but uh, I’m not too sure on how to really pay her back, plus she always denies whatever I throw at her, insisting she doesn’t need it. She’s not good with her drink, so a good malt’s out the window and she’s pretty set in her ways with her weapons so I can’t get her something new… I’m at my wits end here…

[tealclover]

This Way Out

So, Tails slipped up. Not only did he manage to get himself snagged, but he dragged Belle into this with him. To make matters worse, Starline was unbearably smug about the whole thing. Yeah, yeah, he got the Sonic the Hedgehog’s sidekick. Whoop-de-friggin-doo.

Just when Tails was starting to prove himself again. Ugh. How embarrassing. 

Well, enough of that. He promised Sonic he’d be fine, and he intended to keep his word. All he had to do was find a way to get Belle and himself out safely. … But who exactly were those two Mobians hanging around the facility?

(Alternate ending to Sonic IDW Issue #36, featuring a snarky fox. Some mild angst.)

Even before fully regaining consciousness, Tails knew he was in for a headache. And not just literally, though the pulsing in his temple was certainly noteworthy.

For starters, before even opening his eyes, he was lying stiffly on his back of all places. Tails never slept on his back if he could help it – his namesakes made resting much more reasonable on his side or belly. Sleeping on his tails was both uncomfortable and impractical. Impractical because it left his belly and other more vulnerable parts exposed. Uncomfortable due to the cold and the fact that his namesakes trapped underneath him, occasionally numb from lack of bloodflow. Which they were. But so were his arms and his legs, and, oh, he couldn’t move at all actually. 

It was probably too much to hope that that beeping indicated that he’d spent the last fifteen hours on a stone-hard hospital bed, seeing how his last waking recollection involved him and Belle separating, tons of snow, and…

Starline. Who wanted to kidnap him. For supposedly scientific purposes.

Ugh.

With no small amount of trepidation, the fox bleerily opened his eyes. He was immediately rewarded for his efforts with too much light why couldn’t he live like the nocturnal creatures foxes were meant to be and a sinister chuckle that grated on his nerves.

“Ah, Young Master Prower. I see you are awake.”

Yup. And he wished he wasn’t.

“Starline.” Oof. Voice crack. That wasn’t doing his credibility any favors. How long had he been out? He coughed, trying to get his voice back before roughly continuing: “I hope you’ve got a five star meal on the way; otherwise I’m going to have to give this stay a poor review. Don’t tell me this is a hospital bed,” he grimaced at the surface he was strapped to, arms, tails, and all. He was trapped for the time being, but appeared to be intact, at least. If the bindings were ignored, he could have passed for a patient – the presence of the finger pulse oximeter amongst other diagnostic tools were certainly intriguing, if not concerning. Were those vials of blood his? “Or do. Cause I’m not sure there’s much I can do for you if you think it’s acceptable to let your guests sleep on tables.”

The platypus stared at him for a few seconds, like he hadn’t expected the witty response. It was actually kind of funny to watch him visibly reboot and reassess the fox. Finally, he sighed. “I suppose you were raised by Sonic. It makes sense that you would share his poor taste in humor.”

“It clearly beats your taste in decor,” Tails sniped back. Starline hummed at that.

“Public perception of you paints you to be a polite boy genius. It seems that isn’t entirely true.”

Tails shrugged. Or tried to, anyway. “The general population wouldn’t consider strapping me to an examination table. Care to explain that, by the way?”

Starline smiled a sweet-sick smile. “Oh, you’re curious, are you? To be quite frank, I want to see if you can find out. Why don’t you and Miss Belle take a moment to catch up?”

Tails froze. “Belle?”

“I'm here, Tails…” the voice came from his left. He peered over as far as he could to see the robotic marionette on a second table a short distance away. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, but from what he could see of her… she looked distraught. Not fearful, necessarily, but despairing, which was somehow even more worrisome. 

“Belle, are you okay?” He asked gently. She sniffled, ducking her head into her chest as best as she could. Were those… tear tracks on her cheeks? She could cry? Why was she crying? He took a second to shoot a gleeful Starline a sharp glare before refocusing on his newest companion. “Belle, are you hurt?” 

“... No,” she whispered.

Tails didn’t know if he believed that, but he didn’t know how to press the issue with the correct amount of sensitivity, especially with Starline hovering over them. What a creep. Couldn’t he leave? “Okay… okay. It’s going to be alright, I promise.” He waited for Belle’s tiny nod before continuing. “How long have you been active?”

“About… twenty minutes. I’ve been offline s-since the avalanche. I… I’m sorry, Tails. You came back for me and now-”

“I’m not worried about that, Belle,” he told her, firmly but not unkindly. “We’ll figure it out. Can you tell me what you remember?”

“I…” She made a strangled sound, but forced herself to continue. “My d-d… my creator was Mr. Tinker.” Tails gut sank. He wasn’t surprised, not with their matching attire, but it was still a sad confirmation to hear. “That… that jerk figured it out. He, he told me-” she hiccuped again. “It’s his fault Mr. Tinker is gone. He changed him into Eggman.”

“... I’m sorry, Belle.” What could he say to that? This wasn’t something he could fix with a wrench and a bit of mechanical know-how. Belle was a robot, but her feelings were hardly artificial. After Emerl, Gamma, and their successors, Tails was very well aware of that. She was just as much of a person as anyone organic; something that was clear to him from the moment they met. He couldn’t just reprogram her to feel better. Or, well, maybe he could, but that wouldn’t be right. To do so would likely be robbing her memories and cheapening her experiences, changing who she was in the process. It wouldn’t truly fix anything; frankly, it would likely lead to an identity crisis later on.

And so, all he had to offer her was kindness, and time to recover once they escaped.

“I… don’t know how to help with Mr. Tinker, but my friends and I would be happy to have you, if you want. I have space for you back at my workshop, and the Restoration accepts anyone who wants to to have a part of it. If you want a home, we’ll give you one. We can try to figure out the rest in time.”

Belle was quiet. Finally, she tearfully confessed, “That would be nice.”

He offered her a smile even though she still wasn’t looking. “I’m glad you think so. We’ll do our best to make it worth your while.” He hesitantly continued. “Did Starline do anything else?”

She shook her head. “He just… listened to me talk a-about Dad. About home, Windmill Village, and how the villagers kicked me out after the Metal Virus cleared up. I got so mad, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t care. He doesn’t care at all about what he did. He only wanted the code.”

“Code…?” At that, Tails shot another glance in their captor’s direction, though the platypus had since turned his attention to the monitor at Tails’ side, turned so that the fox couldn’t read any of the details. Were Belle’s readings stashed away in that device? … No. At least, it wasn’t just her information. Starline was gathering his vitals as well. But why? From the sounds of things, he was trying to get a reaction out of Belle earlier, and now, he was… testing Tails? Did he truly want him to uncover the motivations behind their kidnappings or was he simply fishing for another set of reactions from a different subject? He wouldn’t put it past Starline to have something of a sadistic streak – most villains lately did – but not one without purpose. If that was all he did, there had to have been some sort of incentive, something to be gained…

Why him? Why Belle? Her thoughts and feelings, and his-

Was he trying to record them both?

Was Starline in his head right now? 

A delighted laugh at his side told him that yes, he probably was.

“Positively remarkable, young Master Prower! You are truly one of a kind.” The platypus’ hands clapped together. “It is no wonder Sonic has prevailed for so long! He is powerful on his own, but you, you can keep pace with him, you adapt to his spontaneity and can plan in the heat of the moment so that he is successful in his every endeavor, no matter how foolish or impossible.  It is little wonder that the two of you alone keep Doctor Eggman on his toes, despite his armies, his keen intellect, and his prowess…” He stood to approach Tails again, looking down upon him with glee. “You truly are the greatest of combinations.”

That would have been a heart-warming compliment, had it not come from the mouth of a madman. As it stood, the fox had to resist the urge to squirm under that predatory gaze. He would not give Belle another reason to be afraid. 

“And, in spite of knowing all of that,” Tails mildly remarked, “you brought me straight to your base.”

Starline was likely to overestimate himself. In his eyes, he had a useful enemy at his mercy. He was less likely to seriously consider the fact that, in the process, he had invited that very foe into his base, to say nothing of the others that would come knocking down his door later.

… Let him read those thoughts.

“Is that a threat?” The doctor mockingly inquired, unfazed and clearly quite confident. “You hardly have the advantage, fox.”

“I've gotten out of stickier situations.” This wasn't even the first time somebody thought to make a labrat of him, his first encounter with the Deadly Six coming to mind. … Hopefully, this wasn't going to become a trend. 

“Perhaps, but I've taken precautions. Escape won't come easily for you.” The villain adjusted his glove with a self-assured smirk. “You are now quite the valuable asset to my plans.”

“Which are…?” Tails pressed, earning him a condescending pat on the head that made his skin crawl.

“All in due time, little specimen. As it stands, I've already shared too much with you, and I really must get back to work. You have such fascinating insights; it’s a pity we won’t be discussing this further, seeing how you will have no recollection of this conversation,” he coolly lamented, hand shifting from his bangs to his eyes.

“Now, it is time for you to go back to sleep.”

So... yup! Here's a glimpse of a brainworm I've had for a little while regarding Issue #36. It's a little rough and is absolutely a WIP (the end is particularly prone to change), but I felt like sharing a bit of it! Hope whoever finds it likes it! :)

[wreckedandpolemic]

hey here’s my long request because IM extra

8, 24, 57, 109 —> george <3

reflection - george daniel

(mdni) severely disappointed in the amount of george fic posted in my absence lets get to work ladies!!

warnings: 18+, degradation, unprotected sex, light dom/sub

Tension runs hot through your body, steam practically curling off your skin as you fight to hold still — you’re behaving, taking instruction, you’re being good, and it’s driving you fucking crazy. 

“God, you’re so fucking gorgeous like this,” You tremble as one of George’s big hands comes up to paw at your tit, the other holding the vibrator insistently against your clit. Silent gasps fall from your lips, your body trembling, jellylike. Pleasure fights to burst from under your skin, the effort of keeping any reaction at bay Herculean.

“Baby… George, I want–” He presses a finger to your lips, your body crying out in protest as he silences you.

He pinches your nipple harshly, a bright spark of pleasure-pain darting through you, the whine that falls from your lips muted and pathetic. “I don’t care what you want,” he murmurs, tone soothing even as he tears you apart under his hands. “Be a good girl for me, hm?”

And you want to be good for him, so you hold still, letting him wreck you. Your cunt clenches with every pulse of the toy at your swollen clit, pleasure turning to pain turning back to pleasure so fast your head spins. Your cunt is soaked, greedy, aching for him. Your back arches involuntarily off the bed, your legs spreading wider around him. 

“I asked you to hold still, sweet girl. Had enough, have you?” he asks, low in your ear. “You wanna stop?” He takes the vibrator away, and you feel the loss like a physical pain, cunt clenching wantonly around nothing.

“N-no!” you cry, horrified. “Don’t stop! Want you,” you moan out, your efforts finally breaking as you writhe desperately under him.

He huffs a soft laugh, a cry tearing out of your throat as he dials the vibrator up a notch; the sensation is suddenly so much that you can barely breathe, let alone think. “Say please, angel. Good girls say please when they ask for something they want,” George chides gently, leaning down to scrape his teeth at your neck as you shudder. God, he’s evil. It’s a fight to pull the meaning from his words, your head stuffed full of cotton wool. “Where’s my sweet girl?”

You cry out, drowning in the waves of bliss kicking wildly through your limbs. “Please, George, please!” The words tear themselves from your throat almost involuntarily.

He pinches the flesh of your thigh sharply, pain spiralling into a burst of heat between your legs. “You don’t get to call me that today, sweetheart.”

“‘M sorry, sir!” you cry, hips grinding down against the vibrator, pressure mounting in your cunt.

“Good girl,” he breathes, rewarding you with a soft kiss against your neck and circling the vibrator over your clit. A moan tumbles from your lips, a tight knot of pleasure winding itself around your insides, coiling tighter and tighter. “You gonna come for me, pretty girl?” George murmurs, wandering a teasing hand down your body, playing with your hole.

Your hips chase his hand, rolling desperately against him, your cunt clenching around nothing. “Please, sir. I wanna– want you,” you slur out, barely aware of the words stumbling from your mouth, fire pooling low in your belly and dripping between your thighs.

“Come for me, angel, then I’ll give you what you want, yeah?” George promises, taking a handful of your tit and squeezing hard. His blunt nails dig into your skin, five sharp points of pain fogging up your mind as you chase the sweet, intense pleasure that tangles in your limbs and wraps around your brain. “Such a pretty little slut for me. Can’t think of anything but falling apart on my cock, huh?”

Your slow-moving mind latches onto the final few words. “Yeah, wan’ your cock, please, sir,” you cry, tears welling in your eyes.

George’s head lowers to kiss at your lower belly, his lips stoking the fire that pools under your skin. “You aren’t getting it, are you, baby?” he murmurs against your skin. “Maybe I should stop, if you’re too stupid to follow my instructions already?”

You gasp, tears rolling down your cheeks. “Nononono! I can be good, I promise. Wanna cum for you, sir, ‘m so close, please.” George dips two fingers into you, your soaked cunt taking him in eagerly. Your head spins as he crooks his fingers, a garbled moan falling from your lips before you even register your orgasm slamming into you. You feel unreal, brain melting into a puddle on the mattress as your body wracks with shudders. George finger-fucks you through, his touch the only thing anchoring you to your loose-limbed body as you come hard against him, your arousal soaking his hand.

“Good girl,” George mutters, taking your nipple in his mouth and biting gently. You glow at the praise, heat flooding your cheeks. “I wanna try something, sweet girl. Can you get on the floor for me? Hands and knees in front of the mirror?” You blink up at him slowly, your brain unwilling to register his words; your limbs feel too weighted, your head too thick to move. George runs his warm palms over your flushed skin, melting the cement in your bones until you come unglued from the mattress. You slide onto the floor, letting him maneuver you into position, his hands trailing sparks under your skin. 

Making eye-contact with yourself in the mirror shocks you; you look wanton, fucked-out already, pupils blown wide and hair unruly. George kneels behind you, his frame towering over yours — you’ll never get over the sheer size of him, broad-shouldered and square-chested above you, big hands grasping your hips possessively. A bolt of lust strikes you as your eyes meet his in the mirror, his gaze dark and heated, anticipation coiling in your belly. “Please, sir,” you whine, rolling your hips back against him. “Fuck me,” you plead, turning your head to look desperately in his eyes.

George drags his nails down the flesh of your ass, hard enough to sting without drawing blood. You whimper, cunt dripping against him. “Needy little slut, yeah?” You nod helplessly. “Oh, baby. Wanna fuck my good girl, not a dirty whore.” You shiver against him, his words sliding down your insides and sticking deliciously to your flesh.

“No, please, ‘m your good girl,” you moan, arching your back and whining quietly, hot desire dripping out of you near-painfully. 

He clicks his tongue disbelievingly, circling his thumb over your clit, shushing you as you whimper. “C’mon, sweetheart. Show me how bad you want it.”

“Fuck, please, sir!” you cry. “Wanna come on your cock s’bad. You make me feel so good, baby.” Pleas tumble from your lips as desire burns under your skin, your body screaming out for him.

“It’s okay, baby. Gonna give you what you need,” he murmurs, lining up his cock with your hole, filling you in one fluid stroke. A gasp tumbles from your lips, George’s thick cock buried gorgeously deep in you, your cunt a vice around him as he allows you a moment to adjust to the stretch before pulling almost all the way out of you. The carpet digs into your knees, scraping under your palms; your loose limbs ache from the weight of you. You hardly feel any of it, mind wrapped around him, focus glued to the point where your bodies connect. Blunt nails dig into your waist, pulling you back to slam your hips against his. Heat flares in your cunt, stretched wide around him, burning deliciously.

Your jaw drops, eyes rolling back in your head as George fucks into you brutally. A string of obscenities fall uncontrollably from your lips as you widen your legs, bucking your hips against his desperately. “Such a filthy mouth,” he murmurs adoringly. “Slut,” he adds, delivering a slap to the inside of your thigh that makes you gasp, jolting against him, faint pain tracing lovingly under your skin. Your head is heavy, thick with desire, slow-moving thoughts wading through treacle as you let it hang against your chest. George fists a hand in your hair, dragging your gaze up so you meet your own eyes in the mirror. “Look at your reflection. Look at how gorgeous you are.” The praise has liquid heat rolling over you, thick and sticky in your lungs. “So fucking gorgeous when I’m fucking you like this. So pretty for me, and only for me. Take my cock so well, baby.”

“Made for you,” you slur out, revelling in the way George’s hips stutter in response, the slight falter tangible proof of your effect on him. You lock eyes with him in the mirror, skin flushed and chest heaving. He’s so fucking gorgeous, solid and warm above you, possessiveness glinting in his eyes as he grips your hips. Your eyes trail down, drinking in the obscene picture the pair of you make — you on all fours, mouth slack and eyes glazed as George fills you over and over, rhythmic, pathetic whines falling from your lips. “We look so fucking hot,” you grin, desire throbbing in your belly so hard it hurts. “You fuck me so good, sir. Love your cock so much. Want you to ruin me.”

“Filthy slut,” me murmurs adoringly. “Are you close, baby?” You nod frantically, pressure mounting between your legs, your aching cunt begging for release. “Yeah, I can tell. So fuckin’ tight around my cock.” George circles your clit gently, the sensation against your swollen nerves dramatically intense. He grins wickedly at you in the mirror, sending a thrill of anticipation through you, and brings the vibrator back to your sore clit. A cry tears itself from your throat, molten euphoria flooding you, near-painful stimulation crushing in your lungs as you struggle to catch your breath. “That’s it, angel. Come all over my cock, baby.”

The command is all it takes, your body desperate to please him before your heavy, slow mind can process. Your blood feels thick with need, your heart beating unbelievably fast to keep up as crushing, intense pleasure slams down on you. Your cunt pulses, heat flooding your senses as you drag your heavy gaze up to meet George’s in the mirror. His eyes are locked on you, pupils blown as he watches you come, still fucking into you wildly. He moans low in his throat, his cock pulsing as he comes inside of you, gripping your hips and fucking his cum deep into your greedy cunt.

An obscene sound rings out as he pulls out of you, transfixed by the way his cum starts to drip down your legs. “Thank you, sir,” you mumble, slumping to the floor as your arms give out. George dips his head, licking a stripe down your sensitive cunt and you fight not to slam your legs closed against the bolt of pain. “No more, please,” you whine, burning your face in your arms.

He smiles fondly. “Okay, baby. Did so good for me, yeah?” You pout, relaxing your legs and letting your exhausted body collapse on the carpet. George laughs, stroking your sweat-soaked back. “Such a good girl. Come on, angel.” Your body still feels limp and weak, and you sink into George’s arms as he gathers you up from the floor and lays you on the bed. You look up into his eyes, heart melting at the pure adoration plain on his face. Pouting up at him, you make childish grabby hands until he relents and lays down next to you.

“I love you,” you murmur against his lips, letting him catch you in a sweet, gentle kiss. George runs a calloused hand up your body, taking a handful of your tits and squeezing gently.

“I love you too, sweet girl.” He breaks away from you and you whine, clutching feebly at him as he pets your hair gently. “Need to run you a bath, love.”

The vacuum of cool air that brushes you as he pulls away has you shuddering, wrapping your arms around yourself theatrically, looking up at him imploringly. “Can’t it wait? Just for a minute,” George scoffs, face softening as he relents, relaxing next to you. He drapes an arm over your waist and you tuck your head into the crook of his neck, savouring the heat of his body against yours. You feel him press a kiss to the top of your head as his other hand wanders down to your ass and you grin. “You’re gonna get me worked up all over again, darling.”

A filthy smirk crosses his face. “You’re insatiable.”

“Only for you.”

[helpinghanikan]

Wanna talk about it?

Carol Danvers x reader

for @mxqdii

AN: Wrote this super quick because I have stuff planned for tomorrow. Hopefully this was what you were looking for.

It’s amazing how quickly everything tends to stick together or pile up throughout the day. One little thing in the morning, before you even got dressed, and it just goes down hill from there. By the time you’re finally able to head come there’s a weight on your being too heavy to be carried alone.

The drive back home was made in relative silence. Sometimes, when the day kicks your ass, it’s too much effort to even turn the radio on. This quiet made it that much more impactful when your phone dings in the cup holder.

‘Im making din see you soon’ You dared to read, although this is not recommended to do while driving.

You didn’t need to see the name to know it was Carol. Not only from her inability to text properly, but from how suddenly she announces her arrival. The only time your phone’s connected was when she was within the Earth’s atmosphere. Any other time you want to talk to her, and some massive amount of tech is needed.

It’s nice to know Carol is near, it’s not enough to help with today’s burden. You do start driving just a bit faster, though.

Music could be heard through your house’s front door. Had it been anyone else you would have grumbled about the volume pumping through the door. Dad rock was great and all, but not after a long shift and before a warm meal.

“Carol?” You asked before the door is open all the way.

Instead of Carol you are greeted by orange hair and a bad attitude. Goose stretched and blinked slowly as you entered fully. Giving you a look as if to wonder why you were here, in your own home, and interrupting his nap.

He seems pleased when you give him some scratches. Although not technically a cat he sure did purr like one.

“Carol?” You called again, shoes off and coat gone by the time you reach the kitchen.

In another universe Carol would be a wonderful wife to always come home to. Dad rock playing from the counter, oven steaming from cooking noodles and tomato sauce, and the promise of a warm night in.

Carol smiles at you through the steam. Her smile is too powerful to be stopped by something so weak as boiling water. Although it faulters as you get closer, and she can start to see the fatigue in your eyes, she’s still waiting for you.

Without thinking, almost as if under possession, you step up behind her. Around Carol’s stomach, cheek against her back, and a tight squeeze that will never be enough.

“Hey, Babe,” She says, leaning her weight back just a bit to give a semblance of a hug back.

Her voice is warm and welcoming like hot chocolate. Her smell is slightly mechanical and earthy that one could get drunk on. Although her muscles are pronounced and something to be proud of, this doesn’t stop you from squeezing her close. Hugging like she may disappear into beautiful light you let go for even a second.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” She asks, stirring a pot as if you weren’t using her as a stuffed animal.

A dark part of your mind tells you to keep quiet. That it wouldn’t be fair to complain to Carol, to THE Captain Marvel, about the shitty day you were having. Not when this woman had traveled several thousands of miles to make you spaghetti. Especially not when whatever small problem Carol could be having was twelve time bigger than yours.

Carol has a heat to her like a furnace on fire. Sometimes, if Carol weren’t careful, she could actually burn the people around her. Although this has never happened to you the threat was still there. So you stay as close as you can, nuzzling into her back sighing as the heat relaxes your muscles like a warm shower after a long walk.

“Not right now,” You mumble into her back, “I missed you too much.”

You could have fallen asleep like this. Standing up and everything, but it was the clicking of the stove the ruined your serene moment. Granted, this was to replace with an even better moment as Carol turns around to hold you properly in a hug.

Every bit of chill or cold that might have lived inside of you was now gone. It was replaced with warm love you’d never forget the feeling of.

[ithaquasbbg]

hi!! can you write an ithaqua x reader where the reader is the one being comforted? like they had a bad day, or if it's in canon, they had a lot of bad matches. mostly fluff, maybe? i want itha to reassure me that everything is gonna be ok!

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This sat in my inbox for a while, but hope it is up to what you wanted. :)

Don’t worry- Ithaqua x reader

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Pairing : Ithaqua x reader

Tw : just a little mention of an injury :)

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Your entire body hurts, taking large amounts of effort to even take another step towards the cipher. Today had been rough, match after match resulting in losses up until this game You’re currently in- which had just started. It’s upsetting to lose as much as you have- making you feel like nothing but a nuisance for the other people in the manor. Nonetheless, you continue trying to push through this last match of today.

It’s hard to focus on decoding when you can barely keep yourself from passing out or crying at any moment. You receive shock after shock from the machine after messing up multiple times. The fact that this alerts the Hunter is something that completely leaves your mind until you feel your heartbeat picking up.

Instincts take over quickly as you run through the grass towards a window you can vault, though the moment you attempt to vault, your body gives up and collapses onto the ground below with a loud thud. Just like that, tears of frustration and pain fall down your face, looking back towards the hunter that was chasing you. To your surprise, it was Ithaqua.

Despite being unable to see his face, you can see the way he tenses up upon seeing you in pain. Quickly, he drops his weapon and sits down in front of you, pulling you into a gentle embrace. He wasn’t the best at comforting, you knew this from past experiences, but he tries anyways. “(Name), what’s wrong?” He asks, voice quiet and gentle as he tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“I can’t keep doing this..” you whisper, wiping your eyes and looking up at the Hunter in front of you. “All I’ve done is ruin matches.. and I’m so tired.” He hums, lifting his mask up enough to plant a gentle kiss on your forehead. “How about I give you a win then? Then you can go back to the manor and rest.”

“You’d do that?” You ask, aware that your teammates have already finished a large amount of ciphers. “Yes, (Name), I don’t mind a loss if it means you can get rest.” Within a few seconds of him saying that, you hear a sound signaling that he had surrendered and the match was now over.

Slowly, you stand up, wincing in pain when you put weight on your leg that you had hurt during the fall. “Here, let me help you.” Ithaqua’s hands gently lift you into his arms, carrying you back to your room in the manor. “Do you need ice?” He asks, taking a look at your bruised leg the moment he lays you down on the bed.

“No no, Itha, it’s fine. Just lay with me, please?” You ask, watching as the blonde takes off his mask and gives you a gentle smile as he lays down next to you. Cold hands cup your cheeks as he looks at you with a wide smile.

“(Name), everything will be okay, everyone has rough days.” He whispers, kissing your cheek as he pulls you closer to him, resting your head on his chest. “But-“ you start, only to feel a finger pressed to your lips as Ithaqua giggles “No buts, I promise you nobody is mad at you for having a rough day, alright?”

You nod and listen to the sound of Ithaqua’s heartbeat for a few moments before he speaks up again. “And if anybody is mad at you, I’ll speak with them, alright?” You laugh and nod, snuggling closer to Ithaqua. “Alright, I love you.”

And with that, you’re enveloped in the familiar warmth of the blonde and slowly drift off to sleep while listening to his breathing. How lucky you were to have a man like him.

[chairofchaos]

Bargains and Fights: A Letters of Love Short Story

Summary: Convincing a former spymaster to sit for a series of in-depth interviews is no small task, but someone has to. Arbora rises to the challenge.

Rating: Teen (language. ACOTAR universe training style fighting.)

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: I make absolutely zero promises for how you will feel at the end of this. @chunkypossum, this one is for you!!

“Papa,” Arbora walked quietly towards her father in the clearing where he often did his daily training. It was dawn, the crisp air complimented by a thin shroud of mist dancing along the ground.

His head angled towards her, but Azriel, her Papa, did not rise from his plank, even as his wings folded in from their stretch. “Good morning,” he smiled at her, a small upturning of his lips that she returned easily. “You’re earlier than usual.”

“I had something to ask you.” She stopped where she could look at him, so he could see all of her except what was masked by the wisps of mist at her feet. He took her in curiously, seeing in her face something that caused his eyes to narrow almost imperceptibly. It took a considerable amount of effort to not reach for the tail of the braid which hung over her shoulder, brushing her waistband. The inky blackness was the mirror image of the hair which sat atop her Papa’s head, save for its length.

“Ask away,” he eased, swinging one foot forward to give himself the ability to stand.

“I want you to do the interviews.”

He brushed his hands against his thighs, a thin smudge of mud left in their wake. “That’s not a question. I don’t understand your obsession with our love life, Arbora.”

“It isn’t an obsession.” The words slipped from her mouth, a sentence that had been bitten from her tongue time and again. “Father is doing it.” Her arguments were weak. She knew that. But if she told him what she knew, what Aunt Elain had shared with her, he would never do it. She would be lucky if he ever told her a story from his life again. She could share it with him later once he felt the impact of talking through everything, but not now. Not before.

“And why? He won’t tell me,” he leveled at her, gesturing for her to join him as he started to move through more movements to gently prepare his body for the fighting they would do. She had dropped her satchel at the edge of the clearing, so she did, planting her feet on the ground and starting to slowly move through the movements of the eight-pointed star that she had grown intimately familiar with over the last four centuries.

“I want to have a record of it. You two accomplished a great deal. It’s much less about your ‘love life’ than it is about the history you made. Aunt Feyre was the first High Lady crowned. But you and Father were the first pair of High Lords in history. That’s notable.”

“What purpose would it serve? We know the story. Ash can tell most of it word for word.”

“I can’t,” she countered, swinging a leg behind her in parallel movement with her father. The slow movements would increase in speed over the next half hour, until they were warmed enough to begin fighting, first her and Ash, then the two of them against their father. When they were tired, he would spar with both her and Ash individually, using any weaknesses he had observed in their fight with each other against them. It made them stronger: their exhaustion pitted against him at his most forceful; their mistakes wielded against them.

More and more frequently, they would beat him. Over three hundred years ago, Arbora had bested him on her own for the first time. It was a day neither of them was likely to forget.

Papa waited until they faced the same direction before responding. “I am not sure I care to record the hardships of our lives.”

“It would be just as much about the joys,” she countered.

“Why do you want it so much?” He ignored her statement, stilling all movements to face her with crossed arms. An opponent, every muscle and ounce of attention focused on her. He had rarely looked at her this way. She relished it more than she hated it, rejoicing in the waves of glee and pride that he regarded her as an equal in this, even though as High Lord, he could stop her requests with one order. She let her hands fall to her sides, meeting his eyes with a fire to counter his pensive but chilly glare.

“I want to have it available. For us, yes. But for future generations. For a millennium from now, or ten, so that they may know the fight you fought with Father to have everything you have now.”

He sighed. “I doubt many will care.”

“I care,” she whispered. “Ash and Carmine care, too, they just don’t know it yet.”

“And you do?” He tilted his head at the small indication that she may know more that she wasn’t sharing.

Arbora sank her teeth into the tip of her tongue.

“I’ll make you a bargain,” he said, uncrossing his arms with a growing smirk. “If you beat me today, I will do the interviews. As many as you would like.”

“If you promise the truth. Everything, as you remember it,” she added.

He paused before nodding in agreement.

“And you and I fight first, while we’re both at full strength.”

“Alright,” the smirk slid into a full smile this time, his eyes gleaming at the challenge she had leveled at him. “If you lose, you train with the Valkyries an hour each day in addition to what we do, and you never ask me to do the interviews again.”

She balked at that. The Valkyries’ training was an easy thing to concede to. She liked them and enjoyed their company when she joined them once a week in Velaris. Forcing her never to ask him again was the bitter pill.  But he hadn’t said that Ash or Carmine couldn’t ask him. She could easily recruit her brothers, or maybe Father… Perhaps even Uncle Cassian or Uncle Lucien could be persuaded to push him in the right direction.

“I agree.” Immediately, she felt the sting of magic against her upper left arm. His shirt was looser than her tight long-sleeved jacket, so she watched as he yanked it over his head to examine his newest tattoo.

A band of shadows, which looked almost exactly like the shadows which now examined the tattoo, banded around his arm, nearly two inches thick and dark. As Papa raised his arm, she saw the symbol the Cauldron had seen fit to represent her with in this bargain.

At the center of the inside of his arm was a symbol she had sketched but never shown to anyone. A crest shaped like a shield held four divided sections. Her stylized initials, A.V., in the left corner. A circle intersected by a pen in the top right for the symphonia and pen she used in her research. At the bottom left, an Illyrian blade and a ribbon as an ode to the training she had received from Azriel and the Valkyries. And at the bottom right, a book, the one that would be born from the work she would do as soon as she won this fight.

Dividing the sections were the four points of a compass. If you knew to look for it, you would find that the angle of the blade, the pen, the center seam of the angled, open book and the slant of her initials formed the other four points of an eight-pointed star.

The crest sat atop the band, nearly four inches long from top to bottom and easily seen in its entirety.

She tore her eyes from it, looking at her papa’s surprised face as he examined the crest.

“What is this?” he asked, turning his gaze to her.

“I designed it,” she shrugged. She had long since mastered a cool avoidance for when she didn’t wish to answer questions and knew her Papa would recognize it immediately.

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. Keep your secrets.” He pulled his shirt back over his head, murmuring with an air of amused resignation, “Just like your Father.”

Ash walked out of the trees at the edge of the clearing, his light brown hair and brown skin giving him the appearance of a forest spirit which had just stepped from within its tree. Arbora looked at him, scanning quickly for any sign that he should not join them today.

“Are we training today?” he asked quietly. Of the three Vanserra children, Ash held the most resemblance to Papa’s quiet nature. Papa nodded at him. “Yes. But first your sister and I have a fight to keep. You can warm up, then observe.”

“Is this what the bargain is about?” Ash asked. Arbora nodded. He snorted at his sister. “Best of luck.”

“Thanks,” she grinned at him, then turned to her father. “I’m warmed up enough. I started before I walked over.”

“Alright. What type of fight?” He asked her. She considered for a moment before tilting her head. “You pick.”

He grinned. “Daggers.” It was the middle ground. She preferred hand to hand combat, her quickness and lightness on her feet among her greater strengths. Had he chosen the broadswords or Illyrian blades, he would likely overpower her quickly. He truly wanted a fair fight.

“Fine,” she nodded, summoning three from her bag. One got tucked into her waistband, the other two resting in her palms.

Ash slipped from her notice entirely as her eyes met Papa’s and the battle began. Papa would want her to strike first. She stayed exactly where she was and let him begin to circle her, pushing her toward the center of the clearing. Still, she waited, crouched slightly with her weight centered.

It lasted a good two minutes before Papa grew bored with her evasion and threw himself in her direction.

She ran at him, but instead of moving to strike, she dropped, sliding beneath him into the mist and mud and then winnowing to get out of reach on the other side of the clearing. He whirled to face her.

“You didn’t say no powers,” she taunted.

“I didn’t think I needed to,” he countered. It was their usual rule, but this was no ordinary fight. This fight was one she intended to win. Any bladed battle meant they went to first blood drawn. She had barely missed his leg on the slide through.

He glared, tapping his siphons quickly so his siphoned armor slid over his body. She simply smirked in response, winnowing to kick him in the back of the knee before winnowing back to where she had just been. His snarl followed her as he disappeared in a blur of shadows. She forced herself to run to the center of the clearing. Her power available to winnow would only last so long.

He appeared beside her, blades flashing as she lunged to the side, spinning to angle a dagger for a slice at his ribcage.

He almost got her hand with his answering blows, but she ducked them, turning her side to him. She threw a dagger casually behind her, ridding herself of the unnecessary extra weapon and distracting him enough that she could kick her right leg up, wrapping it around his extended left arm and sending him careening to the side. He dropped his dagger, which she snatched before it even hit the ground. The one she had discarded slid across the clearing, pushed out of his reach by her magic.

He would replace the dagger quickly, so she whirled in a furious maelstrom, blades glinting as the sun’s rays began to beam through the trees. He met her blow for blow, landing a kick to her thigh that she thought may have been enough to bruise bone, but she did not falter.

He would not break her. She had to win. She took a chance. She would not falter. She could not fail.

A kick to his chest was a metaphorical death sentence. He would grab her ankle, flip her onto her back and have a knife at her throat faster than she could respond.

Nor could she do what she had just done to throw him off balance. A lesser warrior, especially one without wings, would have been in the dirt with that. But not her Papa.

So instead, she aimed lower, kicking him in the inner thigh while aiming for his hand with the dagger, then punching him at his temple with her opposite fist. The next kick was to the knee she had kicked earlier. A low blow, but she would do anything short of touching his wings to win. He staggered a little, reaching towards his ankle for the dagger strapped there. He was off balance. She winnowed to his side faster than he could blink and tackled him to the earth, pinning one arm beneath him and the other beneath her knee, trapping his hips beneath her other shin. She pushed the tip of her dagger slowly against his chin until a bead of blood appeared.

He breathed hard, the adrenaline of the fight coursing through him. She removed some pressure from the dagger, swiping a finger through that bead and showed it to him. “Do you yield?”

He swore. “I yield.” She jumped off him immediately, braid swinging behind her. He extended a hand upward, and she took it to help him up, but he grinned suddenly and kicked a foot out, connecting with her hip and swinging her body over his so she was thrown over his head and onto her back with a “Fuck!” She had tucked enough to not hit her head. But her shoulder was going to bruise badly. She closed her eyes to better regain the breath that had been forced from her with sudden brutality.

When she opened them again, he was waiting, standing above her with a smug grin. His wing angled to block the sunlight from her face, its surface coated in as much mud as she was sure she was.

“I yielded. I didn’t say I wanted to be done fighting,” Papa taunted.

“I won the bargain fight,” Arbora said firmly.

“Yes,” he allowed, rolling his eyes again. “Get up.”

“Are we going again?” She swatted away the hand he offered with a pointed look, sitting up and then rolling onto her feet.

“Yes. No blades this time?”

Ash cut in from where he watched on the side. “I think you two had better give it a rest. Father won’t like it if Papa gets any more bruises on his face.”

The fighters exchanged a glance, then looked at Ash. He just sighed. “Your funeral.”

They grinned and launched themselves back into one more battle of wills.

***

Two hours later, the three of them walked back to the Forest House looking like they had just emerged from a bog.

They had moved slowly, Ash walking next to Papa on the trail and Arbora trailing behind. She could see the mud smeared in Ash’s hair, making it stand up in odd peaks and stick out from the side of his head as though he had been shocked.

When Papa picked up the pace and flared his wings slightly, she knew they were in sight of the house. Father would be waiting for them, his morning briefing over. He enjoyed doing it alone in favor of letting Papa train them. It was a division of labor that kept them both happy. Ash stopped and let Papa go, falling back to talk to her.

“I think he’s slowing down,” Ash said softly. Arbora sighed. It was a debate they had held many times in the last few years. “You beat your record time for taking him down.”

“Maybe he let me win,” she countered.

Her brother shook his head. Papa was nearly to the stairs, but Ash put a hand on Arbora’s wrist. “Arbora. He’s weakening.”

“No,” she shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

It was Ash’s turn to sigh. This discussion was going like most of the others they had fought, save for the lack of Carmine’s mediation. “You beat him. He was at full strength. It happens sometimes, but you beat him yesterday, too.”

“He’s not that old, Ash,” she argued, flipping her braid behind her with a snarl. “He’s just as strong as he was five years ago.”

“Oh? And when was the last time he had Uncle Cassian here? Papa still trains the same as always. Cassian does too, you know it.”

“They’re busy,” she snapped. “The High Lords’ meeting is coming.”

“Or Papa just doesn’t want to worry Cassian,” Ash countered, rocking back onto his heels. “You have to acknowledge they don’t fight the way they used to.”

“That’s not surprising. They haven’t been in war since before I was born.”

“If a war was coming, you think they would be the elite warriors they were in the war against Hybern? Against Koschei?”

“Yes!” she shouted, throwing her hands up at her brother’s ridiculously even tone. “Of course I do.”

“They aren’t,” Ash shook his head with certainty. “I remember. I remember training with them in the early years. They don’t have the same speed. Or dexterity. Papa’s hands get stiffer every year. It’s a wonder he can still hold a broadsword.”

“They aren’t old.”

“No,” he allowed. “But they aren’t young, either.”

Arbora’s next argument was cut off suddenly.

“Arbora! Ash!” Father stood by the railing with red hair glinting, Papa looking like little more than a shadow lurking behind him.

“Coming!” They yelled, glancing at each other before breaking into a light jog.

The distance to the house gave Arbora a second to clear her head, wiping the tension from her face as she approached the porch.

“What were you two arguing about?” Father asked them, eyes bouncing between theirs as he observed. Papa leaned back against the house, leaving a smear of mud on the wall. He would clean it up later. He was good about that.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ash answered levelly. Arbora kept her mouth shut. She would do them no good at all.

Father knew it, too. She saw his eyebrow raise in her direction, and still said nothing. He gave up after a minute, turning to look at Papa, who just shrugged. “They were fine five minutes ago.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “Don’t let it affect things.”

“We won’t,” Arbora promised.

Father nodded, then added with a sweep of his eyes across the three of them, "And don't think I didn't notice the bruises on your faces underneath the mud."

Arbora bit back a smile as Papa disguised a laugh with a well-timed cough. Father just sighed, shaking his head and turning to the door.

Silently, the family trailed inside, Father to the right to go back to his office, and Papa, Ash, and Arbora to the left to drop their weapons and bags in the mud room. They would be cleaned just as soon as their owners weren’t tracking mud with every step.

Ash held back once more, lowering his head slightly to whisper in Arbora’s ear. “We’re not done with that, you know.”

She glared at him in response. Still, he said nothing. Papa called over his shoulder, “When you two are done bickering like children, come clean up. We all have too much to do today to get distracted with a brawl.”

Arbora stalked away from her brother. It couldn’t be helped, she knew. Ash was concerned. Maybe he was right to be, but she didn’t see it. Her Papa was as strong as ever. He had to be.

***

A/N: I swear I tried to make this short. I refuse to swear that I tried to leave it on a happy ending. Sorry, but... not really!

Taglist: @c-starstuff-man0 @talibunny30 @jir67 @ninthcircleofprythian @slowpress

[daboyau]

I think number 16 for those dialogue prompts with tgim au has the potential to be very upsetting 😊👀❤️

This took way too long! Some minor spoilers for Izuku’s future situation in TGIM, but I don’t think it’s anything people didn’t expect lol

(it was so hard not to get this beta read just out of habit lol)

I love you and hope you’re doing good and will enjoy!!! For the uninitiated this is a bnha fic where Izuku gets kidnapped and raised by Chizome from a young age. You can read it here! Warning for death of an unnamed hero ✌️

. .

Izuku waited until Stain left before he dared to show himself. He was never sure whether it would help or not, having someone there to witness their final moments. It wasn’t like he’d be able to help them. Stain would see the blood on his clothes and know if he tried. He always knew, even when Izuku was extra careful.

Still, he couldn’t bear the thought of letting them be alone.

It hadn’t been a clean kill, leaving the woman choking on blood as it bubbled up to fill her throat with every struggling breath. That had been intentional; Stain was far too competent for it to be anything else. Maybe it was a final chance. Some twisted version of kindness, to leave her survival up to fate or karma. Like this, if someone were to find her soon enough, she might have a chance of surviving. 

Too bad no one had come to investigate the soft, desperate sounds she made since Izuku had begun his vigil. They knew that Stain haunted alleys, and few passersby’s would be willing to risk running into such a monster face to face.

She’d noticed him immediately, desperate eyes tracking his cautious movements from the roof, down the fire escape, and into the cover of the dumpster’s shadow. Not that he’d been making any effort to hide himself from her; she wouldn’t be around long enough to tell anyone about him. Still, with the amount of blood she’d lost, it was an impressive feat that she was still conscious and present enough to do so.

Her eyes had gone wide, her mouth flapping uselessly, and a bloodied hand had reached towards him. It had only trembled an inch off the ground before it had flopped bonelessly to the dirty concrete, her strength failing her. Izuku hadn’t moved closer despite how she had been gazing at him with the kind of misplaced desperation and hope that made his stomach churn.

“God, I'm so sorry,” he rasped, fingernails biting into the calloused skin of his palms and he balled his trembling hands into tight fists. He felt his stomach churn as he looked at that blood soaked hand, and the wedding ring on it, and remembered that she had a husband and a two year old daughter waiting for her at home. He’d begged Chizome to leave her alone, but whatever she’d done had been too much for the man to overlook. Izuku forced himself to give her a shaky smile. “It'll be over soon, I promise," he lied. “Help is on the way.”

He’d tried not to look at her face as he settled himself into a crouch, back pressed against the wall, hidden from view of the entrance to the alley. He hated having to watch them die in places like this. Surrounded by filth and all alone, except for Izuku, here to wait with them until their final breath. Izuku was rarely able to dissuade the man who had raised him from going after anyone, once he’d set his mind to it. This was his way of apologizing for that failure, in the only way he could.

The woman gurgled again, eyes rolling in her head, fingers curling around empty air. Tears were tracing their way down her face, droplets catching in the first hint of laugh lines around her glassy eyes. Her mouth was curling soundlessly around a name, and Izuku felt his breath catch in his chest, and he wondered briefly if his own mother would ever say his name with such a heartbreaking sorrow. 

She would be ashamed of him, if she could see him now. Maybe she’d be relieved to be free of the tether around her neck that was having Izuku as a son, if she were to be in the same place as this woman. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the nausea tightening his throat. 

With a final wary glance towards the mouth of the alley, Izuku braced himself and crept slowly forward. Mindful of the blood, he circled until he could settle outside its reach. Then, he reached out and gently took her hand, giving it a slight squeeze. He could feel her pulse fluttering weakly against his fingertips, a final desperate attempt to live. 

“It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m here now; you can rest now.” 

There was a small return of pressure as she tried to squeeze his hand back. Her eyes, no longer seeing the world around her, slid closed. There was the smallest hint of a relief curling the edges of her mouth as she drew her final breath. 

[the-hinky-panda]

The Fall Series: Part I

Title: The Fall Series: Part I

Pairing: Porthos x Reader (reader has a name), Porthos x OFC

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Your grandfather, the Musketeers head armorer, raised you as a child when your father abandoned your mother and she died of a broken heart. Now you're grown, a pariah in your small village outside of Paris when someone murders your grandfather. There's only one person you can go to that will help, Captain Treville.

Taglist: @bullet-prooflove, @kmc1989, @trublu2u, @nsr-15

The moment you walk into the garrison and request to see Captain Treville, Porthos falls in love. It is that instant. He knows your name, Elise DuBois, and nothing else. But he can arrive at a significant amount of conjecture. Your horse is standard fare, solid, well groomed, but a small draft horse that can serve multiple purposes around a farm. Your clothes are similar, practical with no adornments. The only jewelry he can spot are a set of gold combs with pearls that are holding together a riot of curls and a small gold crucifix around your slender neck. You’re taller than most women, thin but strong. Your posture and movements remind him of a sword blade, bendable but unbreakable. Overall, you’re a picture of elegant practicality. 

And you’re the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a very long time.

“And who is this new, lovely face in our garrison?” 

Porthos gives a passing glance over his shoulder to see Aramis leaning on one of the pillars. “Don’t.” 

“Don’t what?” 

It’s a good question, one for which Porthos has an answer but doesn’t want to speak it. Don’t charm this one. Don’t compete with me for her affections because I wouldn’t be able to take it if she chose you. The answer he comes up with is much less elegant. “Just…don’t.” 

The Captain appears in the courtyard and he greets the woman with a warm smile and embrace. But the expression on the captain’s face clouds over as whatever news she brought is delivered. 

“A beautiful face bearing bad news,” Aramis sighs. “Isn’t that the way of it?” 

Treville passes by them, makes the hasty request to find Athos and D'Artagnan and meet in his office. Porthos determines then and there that whatever it is, whatever mission Treville sends them on to assist her, he’s going to succeed.  He’s tired of being just France’s champion. 

***

You peel your gloves off your hands and twist them in your lap. “I appreciate you meeting with me on such short notice. I wish it were for a happier reason.” 

Treville sets a cup of water down in front of you. “Me too. Claude was a good friend, a mentor. He’ll be greatly missed. Who’s taking over his forge?” 

You just give him a shrewd look and he nods in understanding. 

“Promise not to tell though,” you request. “As soon as the village finds out I’m the one making their horseshoe quota, I may be out of business. But he taught me everything he knew. Iron, steel, even a little metalworking for charms. That’s how I started. He would let me melt down the scraps and play with them.” You grow quiet as those memories of time spent in the forge fill your mind, next to your grandfather as he showed you how to roll soft metal into the desired shape, the heat of the fire, the hiss of hot steel and iron being plunged into a cold bucket of water. 

The door opens and four men walk into the room. Two you recognize from the courtyard, two you haven’t seen before. Treville introduces you to the two unfamiliar ones, the serious Athos and young D'Artagnan. The two from the courtyard are Aramis, a debonair flirt, and Porthos, a sturdy soldier. He had been the one staring at you while you waited for Treville. 

You were used to people staring at you. You were too tall, too strong for a woman. And if that wasn’t enough to keep you unapproachable, your reputation as an illegitimate child of a nun usually finished off any interest. The villagers certainly didn’t pay you any mind. And despite your grandfather’s efforts, no suitors ever darkened your door either. But Porthos seemed different, his gaze towards you was different than most. Almost as if he already knew everything about you and accepted it, accepted you. It left you unnerved but curious. 

“Gentlemen, this is Elise DuBois,” Treville introduces. “Her grandfather was Claude DuBois, the head armorer for the Musketeers when I was a cadet. I had only just been commissioned for a couple years when he went into retirement. He moved out to a small village on the outskirts of Paris, worked as a blacksmith, and raised Elise when her mother passed away. Now, she’s come to us for help. She believes Claude was murdered and wants our help in finding the culprit.” 

“With all due respect, what makes you think he was murdered?” Athos asks. 

You try to blink back the images that immediately spring to your mind’s eye of finding your grandfather laying in a pool of blood on the stone floor of the forge. “His throat was cut.” 

Athos nods. “Anyone you would suspect? Unhappy clients, transients moving through your village, possible suitors?” 

“No,” you shake your head. “Our village is small, everyone knows each other and transients don’t tend to stop there. My grandfather was well-loved by the people around us. I, not so much. I’m a pariah to them. If they were going to harm anyone, it would have been me, not him.” 

“Which means,” Treville breaks in, “whoever did this may point suspicion towards Elise to keep it from themselves.” 

“And I can assure you all, I had nothing to do with my grandfather’s death.” 

There’s a polite silence that follows your statement. You realize they have no reason to believe you but if they were the ones that Treville trusted enough to investigate, you figured that suspicion should be immediately laid to rest. 

Treville stands up from behind his desk. “I’ve known Elise since she was a child, her grandfather even longer. They are two of the most honest and upright people to walk the earth, let alone France. If she says he was murdered and she had no hand in it, I believe her. Justice needs to be served, proper justice.”  Porthos, who has remained steadfastly quiet during this entire meeting, immediately answers with intense sincerity. “Then we’ll deliver it. You have my word.” He pauses for a moment before amending his statement.  “Our word.”

[tiny-wooden-robot-fics]

Magnolia - Chapter Sixteen

Rating: Explicit Media: Jujutsu Kaisen Pairing(s): Geto Suguru x Original Female Character, Geto Suguru x Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru x Gojo Satoru x Original Female Character Additional Tags: Vampire AU, Dark Themes, Attempted Suicide, Implied/Referenced Rape and Mutilation, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Smut

A/N: Tags will be added as chapters are updated. Please be mindful of the tags and warnings at the beginning of each chapter, as they will tell you what you need to know about the content within.

Minors, DNI.

Summary:

"Hey." This time it's Satoru who's speaking to her, leaning close enough to put his lips next to her ear so she can hear what he's saying. He brings his hand up to her face, fingers on her chin to turn her head and make her look at him. "Why are you looking at them when you could be looking at me?"

"They're looking at you," she points out, as if it isn't obvious. There are still eyes on him - this tall, magnetic and handsome stranger with the pretty eyes and the pale hair.

"Couldn't care less," Satoru grins lazily, meeting Suguru's gaze over her head before refocusing his attention on her. "I really don't give a shit about any eyes but the two sets I came here with."

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Read on AO3

Chapter Warnings: None

A/N: These chapters have been keeping me up until 3 am for four days straight, and I'm sure the hot streak will wear off soon, but I plan to ride it out for as long as it lasts.

Chapter Sixteen: No Stranger

Approximately three minutes into their outing, Lia is wondering why she let Satoru talk her into this. 

The place is dark, noisy, and crowded. She’s astounded at the amount of people packed into such a place so late at night. Don’t these people have work in the morning? Why are so many people at a place like this on a Wednesday night?

Her uneasiness doesn’t show in her features, though. She keeps her expression schooled into something neutral, even as she worries about getting separated from her companions. It would be too easy to get lost in a crowd like this, wouldn’t it?

As if picking up on those worries, Suguru reaches for her hand. It’s a steadying, comforting touch, and it grounds her again. With just that one gesture, the music seems quieter, the crowd less obnoxious, the dark of the dance floor less intimidating. 

“It’s okay,” he tells her, when he looks down at her. “You get used to it after a while. And we won’t let you out of our sight. I promise.”

Satoru looks back at the two of them, his smile brilliant and his pretty eyes lit up. Lia can see that he’s completely in his element; he seems to be feeding off of the people and the music and the energy. It’s been so long since she’s been in a place like this… so long that she can barely remember what it felt like. 

I used to love dancing even if I never really loved this kind of environment, she remembers. And I did agree to come because I miss it. 

It isn’t exactly what she would have chosen to reintroduce herself to something that she used to have such a deep love for, but she’d promised Satoru she would give it a chance. She doesn’t want to break that promise now, not when the night’s only just begun. 

Suguru can feel the way her emotions roll and spin around her. He feels her anxiety, her nervousness in this new, unfamiliar environment. He feels her worry, her fear that the crowd will swallow her up and separate her from them. The change in her resolve is slight, but he feels that too. 

He squeezes her hand. “You’re doing so well,” he murmurs, leaning down so she can hear him over the noise. 

That he’s acknowledged her effort to try this even though it’s outside of her comfort zone heartens her. It feels good, and she rides the wave of his softly-spoken praise as Satoru grabs hold of her other hand, leading her through the crowd of people. They’re a small chain of bodies linked together, and Lia marvels at the way the crowd seems to part around Satoru, making room for him to get through. 

She also doesn’t miss the looks he gets as they pass by. She sees the women as they eye Satoru, their gazes lingering until they notice the little procession he’s leading onto the dance floor. She feels the daggers pointed at where her right hand is joined with Satoru’s and her left is joined with Suguru’s.

If looks could kill, she would be a dead woman many times over. 

It makes her resolve falter a bit. Just for a moment, old feelings that she’s tried hard to banish resurface in her mind, thoughts that are reminiscent of the old Lia… the Lia who never claimed anything nice for herself, the Lia who never would have even imagined holding the attention and affection of two men like Suguru and Satoru. 

What am I doing here? I don’t belong here. 

It was silly of me to get all done up in this ridiculous dress with these ridiculous shoes. I’m out of place here and everyone knows it. I should have just stayed home, comfortable in my sweats and---

“Hey.” This time it’s Satoru who’s speaking to her, leaning close enough to put his lips next to her ear so she can hear what he’s saying. He brings his hand up to her face, fingers on her chin to turn her head and make her look at him. “Why are you looking at them when you could be looking at me?”

“They’re looking at you,” she points out, as if it isn’t obvious. There are still eyes on him - this tall, magnetic and handsome stranger with the pretty eyes and the pale hair. 

“Couldn’t care less,” Satoru grins lazily, meeting Suguru’s gaze over her head before refocusing his attention on her. “I really don’t give a shit about any eyes but the two sets I came here with.”

He means it, she knows. He never says anything he doesn’t mean, even if he doesn’t mean to say it. 

And so, when the two of them pull her close - Suguru behind her with his arms around her waist, Satoru in front of her with his hands on her hips - she gives in to the loud bass and the frenetic tempo of the music. She allows herself to remember what it was like to shimmy and sway to the beat, to let her body move where the music takes her. 

They follow her lead, letting her set the pace and keeping her caged between them. It becomes almost euphoric, the feeling she gets when she happens to glance off to the side every now and again. Those envious gazes that feel like daggers are still very much there… women who have it very clearly written on their faces: how did someone like you manage to end up with those two?

She pushes her hips further back into Suguru and pulls Satoru closer, defiantly meeting a pair of those dagger-eyes across the room even as her heart tries to sound its old familiar beats of anxiety. For Lia to watch the change in that other woman’s facial expression as she basks in the attention of the two men with her is an unfamiliar thing for her. 

For the first time in her life she is experiencing the feeling of possessiveness, and it thrills her.

Satoru didn’t lie to her; he has barely taken his eyes off of her and Suguru all night. He watches the silent exchange between Lia and the woman who has been boring holes in his face with her eyes since they started dancing. He sees the way Lia pulls him closer, the way she pushes herself deeper into Suguru’s arms, the way she looks directly at the woman staring at them as if in warning. 

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” he grins down at her, when her attention is focused on him once more. 

“Hm?” Puzzled, she shakes her head. “Had what?” 

“He’s talking about your little possessive streak,” Suguru murmurs in her ear. “We both saw that exchange, you know.”

Lia’s face goes hot. “Well, she wouldn’t stop staring,” she mumbles. “It’s rude to stare at strangers, isn’t it?”

“He said we saw it,” Satoru laughs, patting her hip playfully. “He never said we didn’t like it.”

There isn’t anything indecent or inappropriate about the way they’re touching her. She’s danced with men this way before, long ago. During her college years when she played the part of the happy, outgoing party girl. During her early adult years when she pretended to be a social butterfly. And though it has been many years since the last time she’s done so, she can’t ever remember having felt this way while dancing with someone. 

Why does it feel so different? She wonders. Is it just because I’m comfortable with them, because I’m familiar? 

She’s sure that accounts for much of the difference. If it were any other man in the club holding her the way these two are, she’s sure she wouldn’t feel the same spark. 

She’s almost positive that the little fire that’s been burning low in the pit of her stomach would have gone cold by now if she were just dancing with some other man. 

She knows that a stranger would not evoke these feelings in her - the possessiveness, the boldness, the---

Ah. 

Desire. That’s what the little fire in her stomach is called. It’s called desire. 

It feels different from any time before because of that. Both the man in front of her and the one behind - she desires them. 

Satoru inclines his head to the side, studying her as those thoughts run through her head. “For once,” he starts with a grin, “I can actually tell what you’re thinking.”

Lia looks up at him, her eyes meeting those clear, intelligent blue ones. She isn’t sure what expression she’s wearing, but whatever it is makes a smug grin curl up the corners of Satoru’s mouth. 

He’s no stranger to advances from women and men alike. There is nothing unusual about people staring at him, fascinated by the charisma and charm he exudes, intrigued by his unusual hair color that didn’t come from a box, drawn to his uncannily blue eyes. He knows that if he were alone in this club - the way he’s been alone in so many others - that he would have received dozens of propositions by now. 

Even now, he wonders how many of the people looking at him would be bold enough to approach him despite him very clearly being glued to his two companions. He doesn’t have to look in that direction to see that the woman on the other side of the room is staring at him again. And so, when he lowers his head to kiss Lia, he makes sure his tongue is visible in the split second before he pushes it past her lips. 

--

And yet, when you touch me, I grow small… and quiet… And happy… If I might only grow small enough To curl up in the hollow of your palm, Your left palm,  Curl up, lie close and cling, So that I might know myself always there, …Even if you forgot. -Angelina Weld Grimke, Your Hands

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Tag list: @therealestpussyeater

[silverstonesainz-archive]

 “want a distraction?” + nyck 🫶🏽

fifteen minutes (ndv21) ─── you indulge in your distraction

your phone buzzes next to you, the chime specific to one person ringing. you flip your phone, face id unlocking it and displaying the notification you knew was coming.

nycky 9:38 PM wyd??

you bite back a smile. you shouldn’t be smiling at a text from a booty call, especially with the amount of homework staring you in the face. in an effort to show some self-restraint, you put your phone down, screen down with the ringer off, and carry on with your homework. 

you get about two paragraphs into your reading before curiosity gets the better of you and you have to flip your phone over again.

nycky 9:42 PM i miss you :(

he makes you want to scream. against better judgement, you reply. 

9:43 PM doing hw.

i’m BUSY

you hit send, an accomplished smile on your face even though you know full well that saying you’re busy would not be enough to deter him from trying to see you. you turn your phone back down, forcing yourself to pay attentions to the numbers on your textbook instead of the butch boy bothering you at nearly ten in the evening. you fight through the urge to flip your phone, instead choosing to channel that energy into stupid equations you’ve read through thrice now. 

you do finally manage to understand the equation, solving about three problems with work shown before you lean back and indulge yourself by checking your phone.

nycky 9:45 PM i think you can squeeze me in for an hour?

or not can i come anyways? i wanna see you

i’ll be good, promise.

nycky 9:55 PM be there in 30. 

he sent the text thirty minutes ago, and like the timely bastard that he is, your doorbell rings right on time. you squeeze your eyes shut, mumbling christ under your breath as you make your way over to the door. you look through the peephole for good measure, and sure enough nyck is standing on the other side of your door, waiting with his hands stuffed in his pockets. 

you swing the door open, “can i help you?”

“well hello to you too.” he chuckles, hands immediately going to your waist and pulling you too him. you roll your eyes playfully, kissing him anyways because you both know you can’t resist. 

you step aside, letting him into your apartment and shutting the door behind you. nyck walks past the kitchen, past the living room, and walking through your bedroom door before you do. when you enter your room, he is craning his neck trying to read the work you left idle on your desk. 

“as you can see,” you shut the door, “i’m a bit preoccupied.” 

he hums, looking up at you. “want a distraction?” 

your cheeks burn red, shaking your head. “n-no. i need to get this done, it’s due by midnight and i still have 4 more problems to do. and i have a test about this stuff on monday.” 

you ignore his cheeky smile, pushing him towards the direction of the bed as you find your seat back at your desk.

“not even fifteen minutes?” he whines, sitting on your bed and watching as you pick up your pen.

“nope.”

it’s quiet for the most part after that, you managing to finish two more problems despite nyck burning holes through your head. the work was getting harder though, the third question no longer making any sense to you. you must’ve ripped three sheets of paper before nyck pipes up from behind you.

“sure you don’t want that distraction?”

“mhm…” 

you pay no mind to the sound of nyck shuffling behind you, putting pen to paper as you try to scribble down the problem for the fourth time while hoping to god you’ll finally get it right. nyck’s lips are on your cheek first, pressing gently down and along your jaw. 

“it might help clear your mind… maybe give you a little more clarity on this problem.” 

his lips are below your ear as you whine. “nyck…”

“just fifteen minutes baby,” he mumbles against your skin. 

you write the number 7 for the second time before he consumes your senses. he turns your chair around, lips pressing to yours hastily while his hands grab you greedily. you moan softly against his mouth, pulling away for a split second.

“fifteen minutes?”

nyck smirks, nodding as he drops to his knees. “ten, if you’re a good girl.”