#i should have tried harder to save them

[bananafish-appreciator-79]

@troutbug

did you really surrender your bird to a shelter? or was that a lie, too? did you just take her back to your mom's house and lock her up in a shit-caked cage, doomed to sit in a corner and being told to shut up when she cries for stimulation?

you killed your tarantula and didn't tell anyone. you watched your babies starve to death! trinket, crona, do you even think about them? do you feel guilty? you kept gizmo in a small, pathetic fish tank, you barely interacted with him, you forced him into costumes and laughed at how uncomfortable they made him.

Lilo, i gave you that name. I truly loved you. I swallowed all my discomfort and hurt at the way you treated me because i thought you loved your brother as much as i do. I listened to you. I kept my mouth shut when you stole from your job, i let you cling to me when your girlfriend dumped you, i asked you genuine questions about your life and i cared about the answers.

but you wouldnt even stay in the room with me when i wanted to watch LOTR the day my parents died. you just hated my taste so much you wouldn't even consider tolerating it to provide me with companionship on one of my most devastating days.

i blame myself for what you did to your animals. if i had enforced boundaries from the beginning, none of this would have happened. if i hadn't continued to excuse your selfishness as a feature of being 19, 20 etc and still figuring out your life, maybe i could have seen the truth: that you stretched that inch we gave you into a long mile to tie like a noose around our necks.

you never thanked us for anything we did. and you never apologized for a single thing, not once.

your name is a curse, Lilo, & its cruelty has wounded me but you're the one it will destroy.

[fruitmouse]

i miss my friends. as shitty and awful as they turned out, id be lying if i said i didn’t still think about them most days. i miss how easy it used to be. i miss that closeness. even though i’m friends with better people now i’m still not nearly as close with any of them as i ever was with my old friend group. whether or not it was for good reasons, i miss virtually living at their houses for weeks at a time, especially during the summer. i miss the games we used to play— none of which any of my newer friends are really into. i miss the ability to sit around and do nothing with someone without it feeling like wasted time. i miss comfortable silence and couch naps and console gaming and trampoline talks. i miss feeling like i was part of something, even if that ‘part’ was the other. i don’t know.

[spideyjimin]

Wait for your love | jjk (teaser)

—  pairing: firefighter!jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: kind of exes to lovers, parents au, angst, fluff, and smut 

— rating: 18+ 

—  summary: sixteen years ago, your life was turned upside down when you surrendered to the temptation — none other than jungkook, the star basketball player on your school’s team. today, after all that time, you reunite under tragic circumstances; a car crash where he saves your life.

—  words: 577

—  author’s note: here you have the teaser of the fic i’m currently working on 🤗 you have a tiny little teaser below & i hope you’ll enjoy it ❤️

—  tag list: let me know in any way if you want to be tagged when i post this and if you are part of my permanent taglist, you will automatically be added ✨

Jungkook and his team got called for a car accident involving several cars, and when they arrived, the scene was horrific.

There are probably five cars pressed and smashed one against the other. There are people injured and bleeding walking around the scene. Paramedics are already taking care of them, but Jungkook is walking to the cars to retrieve the people stuck inside. His captain screams orders and tells him which car he should go to.

His eyes look around, his heart breaking when he sees everyone involved and still stuck in their cars. Visions like this are quite common for him, it doesn’t happen all the time but it’s still recurrent. At the end of the day, his job is to save people in this type of situation.

When he reaches the car, he was assigned to, he takes a look at how many people there are inside. There’s just one person, a woman behind the steering wheel. She has her hand on her head, clearly showing that she might have a headache. She doesn’t really move. Instantly, Jungkook tries to open the door, but it’s showing a bit of resistance.

It feels impossible to open the door, but Jungkook sees the woman’s head falling. He’s getting worrier; she’s slumping into sleep which isn’t a good sign as she was holding her head barely seconds ago. He then proceeds to break the window so he can try to open it from inside. There are other possible ways, but it would be harder and more dangerous to get her out of the vehicle.

“Ma’am,” he says with urge.

Eventually, he manages to open the damn door from the inside. A good part of the car’s front is crashing into her. Before even thinking of taking her out, he places a cervical collar to protect her neck and spine.

“Ma’am,” he repeats. “Can you hear me?”

She doesn’t answer at all. Jungkook gets closer, his fingers brushing the hair from her face, but when he finally gets to properly see the woman’s face, his heart skips a beat. This woman is none other than you. His mind can’t start to get lost in the past right now. He needs to focus on taking you out of the car.   

You’re in pretty bad shape.

There’s blood on your forehead, you most probably have a wound on top of your head. There’s also blood at the level of your stomach, turning your green shirt into a very dark color. He can distinguish a big fragment of glass shoved into your belly. It doesn’t look good. Your legs are also completely smashed by the front, causing the steering wheel to be very close to your body.  Hopefully, your legs aren’t too injured. He doesn’t even want to start thinking about all the bruises on your body.

Slowly, he places one hand behind your back while his other hand slowly pushes your legs. He’s trying to be as careful as possible to avoid causing any other injury.  His strong arms hold you once he manages to fully remove you from the car. His eyes look down at your face with evident pain. He notices how you’re trying to open your eyes which makes him think that you’re trying to fight the urge to fall asleep.

“Yn,” he says while walking to an ambulance. “Please, stay with me,” he whispers with despair. “I’ve finally found you, and I can’t lose you right away.”

[nanaslutt]

Face sitting w/ Higuruma

contains: fem reader, face sitting, cumming untouched (Hiromi), dirty talk, asphyxiation, pussydrunk!Hiromi, big nose supremacy, implied multiple rounds

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

"Your nose is so pretty Hiromi." You whispered to the man above you. Higuruma was reading some book as you rested your head on his lap, studying his features. His nose was high with a beautiful arch, his lips soft and plump, his eyebrows thick but well kept, thanks to you, his face sharp and chiseled to match his strong, defined features, he was utterly gorgeous.

The man whose legs you were lying on tipped the book down, allowing him to have an unobstructed view of your face. He smiled softly at your serious expression before he spoke, "You think so?" He asked, still holding his book by his side. You kept your expression the same as your eyes traced down the slope of his nose.

You reached up and touched it, running your finger from the strong bridge to the tip, before you dragged your finger down to his lips, pulling his bottom one back in the process as you continued dragging it down his face, letting his lip fall back into place before you dropped your hand back down on your chest. "Yeah." You replied, your eyes finally meeting his. It was only then that you realized he had been watching you that whole time.

"What do you like about it?" He asked, egging you on. You swallowed hard as you looked at the feature once more before smiling and looking into his eyes again, "The shape is perfect, and it's so… big. It looks so pretty on your face." You said honestly, your face heating up at your own words. "Is that right?" He responded, his eyebrows raising at your unabashed honesty as he dropped his eyes to your lips briefly before looking back into your eyes.

"If it's so pretty…" Hiromi started, mindlessly folding a page of his book at the corner to save his spot before he shut it and placed it to his side, leaning his face towards yours. His large hand grabbed your chin as he got closer, his body bending over you to bring his lips agaisnt yours, "do you wanna sit on it?" He finished. You swallowed hard, feeling every muscle on your body go rigid as you heard your heart beat loudly in your ears.

"Hiromi…" You mumbled, looking away from his eyes as you tried to escape his watchful gaze. You were just trying to compliment him, how did it get like this? "What? I thought you said it was pretty. You should show me how much you really like it or I might not believe you." He said, his hot breath tickling the skin of your lips as he teased you.

You suddenly felt a warmth blossom in the bottom of your stomach as he hovered over you, teasing you by not closing the distance. Your hands reached up and curled into his house shirt as you fought to keep hold of your sanity, trying to not get swept away by his words. "Let me please you." He whispered against you before pressing a featherlight kiss against your slightly parted lips. You had started breathing heavier at some point, your body growing aroused by his words.

"Let me taste you." Another featherlight kiss. "Sit on my face, grind your clit agaisnt my nose." You moaned against his lips, leaning your head up as you made him kiss you harder, sick of his teasing. You could feel his smile against your lips, his own heavy breathing hitting your cheeks as he breathed through his nose during the kiss. "Your mouth is so dirty, Hiromi." You said bashfully as you broke the kiss, pulling back just slightly as you mumbled the barely audible words against his soft lips, red from the kiss.

"Let me show you how dirty it can really get." He teased, smirking against your lips as he forced your lips together again. Your hands abandoned their hold on his shirt as you wrapped them around his neck, scratching your nails over the nape of his neck as he kissed you, making him groan softly into your mouth, a sound that you swallowed up greedily.

——

"Hiromi this is… so embarrassing." You said as you sat on top of his chest, your bare cunt placed right between his pecs, your body moving up and down with his heavy breaths. "Why?" He asked as he ran his hands up and down the sides of your soft body, his eyes raking over your form as he waited for you to speak.

"I feel so exposed." You said, averting your eyes. Hiromi giggled, the vibrations in his chest tickling your inner thighs. "You don't usually feel embarrassed when I eat you out, why the sudden change?" He asked, tilting his head at you as he waited patiently for you to answer, despite how hard his cock was throbbing in his boxers at the thought of having you sit on his face while he tongue fucked your pussy.

His hands relaxed some of the nerves in your body as you tried to find the words. "I guess it's different 'cos I'm on top." Your eyes found his once more, only they weren't looking at your eyes, they were still dragging over your body, making you feel even more exposed. Hiromi didn't give any reaction of embarrassment when he looked back up to you and realized you were looking at him again, he just cupped your face in his hands and caressed your cheeks, watching how your eyes fluttered shut as you leaned into his touch.

"Nonsense, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. It's just me. All I want is to make you feel good, don't worry." He consoled you, his hands leaving your face and falling on your thighs, his hands caressing dangerously close to your cunt. "Now get up here, I don't know how much longer I can wait." He confessed, giving you a smirk that poorly disguised his arousal.

It was honestly a last-minute idea that popped into his head when he had asked you to sit on his face, but the second he had uttered the words out loud, his body had reacted, and it was then that he realized just how badly he really wanted this. The lawyer didn't know why he hadn't thought of this before. He always got so aroused when he ate you out.

In fact, he loved it so much that he can't remember a time when he didn't eat your pussy out before he fucked you, this should've seemed so obvious. Having you smother his face with your pussy while you rested your full weight against him? He needed to stop thinking or he was going to cream his pants prematurely.

You leaned forward and placed your hands above his head, pushing yourself up so you were hovering above his face, a good six inches or so away from his mouth. Higuruma felt his cock twitch steadily in his pants, pre-cum flooding his boxers. If he was able to look down at his crotch he was sure there would be a huge damp spot on the front.

"What if I hurt you?" You ask hesitantly, keeping your hands above his body, not yet ready to drop down onto his face. Higaruma was a very patient man, and thank god for that because you clearly needed to be reassured right now and although he wanted nothing more than to eat you out like a man starved, he would make sure you were confident first.

"You won't, I promise." He said, smoothing his hands over your thighs. When the worry didn't dissipate from your face, he continued. "Here-" He started, tapping his fingers against your thigh twice in demonstration, "If I tap you twice, let up for a moment." He instructed, watching the uncertainty slowly wash away from your face as you nodded. The man under you smiled before he spoke again, "I won't though."

Your heartbeat sounded even louder in your head when Higuruma put pressure on your thighs as he pulled you down on top of him, silently begging you to sit on him already, so you did. You absentmindedly hovered at first, but quickly corrected your mistake when you felt the burn in your thighs, your muscles letting you know you weren't fully relaxed.

Higuruma opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue as you sat against him, your taste flooding his tongue. You were now tangling your hands in his hair for stability, your fingers brushing the strands away from his forehead so you could see his beautiful, unobstructed face. You watched how his eyes fluttered back in their sockets the second you had sat down, a deep groan resonating in his chest.

You gasped at the stimulation when he began moving his tongue back and forth, keeping it flat as he rubbed it against your folds experimentally. "Tell me what feels good." He added, mumbling against your folds. You nodded before your breath got sucked out of your lungs when his lips wrapped around your clit.

Your body arched forward as he flicked your little bud between his lips with his soft tongue. Your hands dug deeper in his hair, making him groan at the painful pleasure as he suckled your clit. Higuruma's eyes were fighting to stay open. He wanted to watch you so bad, but the pleasure he was feeling from this was immense, it was almost too much to handle, resulting in his body twitching and his eyes fluttering.

You turned your head to the side to look at his stiff cock, throbbing harshly against the fabric of his boxers, but your vision was swiftly corrected by his hands digging into the fat of your thighs, making you look at him. His glossy, unfocused eyes looked deeply into yours as he silently told you to keep your eyes on him, to watch him.

You nodded in response, your body jerking and twitching each time he did something with his tongue that felt particularly good. "O-oh fuck, r-right there-" You gasped, your nails raking his scalp when his tongue ran down to prod at your entrance. He groaned loudly into your cunt, the sound sending vibrations through you, making you jerk against him.

Higuruma stuck his tongue out more, penetrating your entrance with his tongue as he began licking your inner walls. It was a sensation unlike anything you've ever felt before. You knew it felt good there because he often teased you by only fucking you with the tip of his cock, familiar with how many nerve endings there are in that particular spot.

The push and pull of his tongue inside you was making you dizzy. Saliva and your cum ran down his chin and spilled from the corners of his mouth as he tongue fucked you vigorously, opening his mouth wider agaisnt you to ensure he was reaching it as deep as he could. "Fuck! H-hiromi fuck, that feels s-so good-" You gasped, trying to contain the jerking and thrusting of your hips as you so desperately wanted to move.

Higuruma moaned at your praise, his hips fucking up into the air, pressing his cock against the inside of his boxers as he tried to get some sort of relief. He started picking up on you holding back on him when he cracked his eyes open and saw your eyes shut, mouth ajar, and your face scrunched in pleasure, but also restraint. He was able to read you like a book.

Pulling out his tongue quickly, resulting in a loud whine from you, he turned his head into the crook of your thigh and spoke, his voice still coming out muffled, "Use me, f-fuck my face." The words were rushed and needy, sounding like he needed it more than you did.

You didn't have to be told twice, you let your body take control as you rode his face, humping your cunt against his soft tongue which aided greatly in your pleasure. "A-ahhhh!" Your moans increased in volume when you stopped holding back. Your clit finally bumped into what had started this whole endeavor, his nose.

It was hard and provided just the right amount of stimulation you were looking for. You decided to repeat the process a couple of times, humping your hips against his mouth while Higuruma laid his tongue flat for you to grind on while simultaneously rubbing your clit against his nose. The man underneath you quickly picked up on your pattern, realizing you were trying to hump his nose on purpose.

His hands slid behind you to your ass as he pushed you further up on your face and started shaking his head back and forth. You almost screamed in surprise when his tongue started thrusting rapidly inside you as he drank up your juices greedily, while his nose abused your little clit, even more so with his own motions combined with your humping.

Higuruma was released the neediest, most obscene moans and groans you've ever heard from him, your body josting slightly even more not just from his head movements, but from his body shaking as his hips thrust into the air steadily. The friction he was getting on his cock was little, but the rubbing of his cockhead agaisnt the fabric from the way his cock was poking straight out against the boxers felt delicious.

His tip was always so sensitive, so it made his thrusts jerky and uneven, but it felt good nonetheless. He was sure he was going to cum like this, he could already feel the ball of pleasure start to coil up in his belly. His tongue movements got sloppier as he tried to work you up to your orgasm with him. Your own thrusts were twitchy and less intense the more your body hardened up as it prepared for your release.

"H-hiromi fuck me, k-keep fucking me with your tongue-" You gasped, your head falling back as your mouth dropped open, your nails digging against his scalp. "Ohmygod just like that- j-just like that don't fucking stop-" you babbled, moaning and whimpering his name mindlessly as you writhed on top of his face, your sounds getting higher in pitch.

You felt Hiromi's breath tickle your inner thigh through his nose each time your cunt jerked back, giving him the space to breathe. Honestly though, in this moment, he couldn't care all that much about breathing. The slight asphyxiation from you rutting against his nose made his mind feel cloudy, simultaneously making his cock more sensitive.

He released a long groan into your cunt as he came before you, his body jerking and spasming as he continued to rut his hips into the air, his cum seeping through his boxers and wetting them even more. You were about to ask if he just came, even though it was obvious, but your words were stolen from your mouth and replaced with gasps and whines as your orgasm crashed over you.

Hiromi's cock kept jerking in his boxers as he spilled the rest of his seed, still thrusting his tongue inside you as he helped you ride out your own orgasm on his face. Your body almost fell forward if not for your shaky arms reaching out and catching you against the sheets over his head as you came, your thighs squeezing around his head, now effectively cutting off his airway.

It wasn't long before he was able to breathe again though. Once your orgasm was over, your thighs went lax and so did the rest of your body as you rolled off of him, falling on your back next to his body, you a little higher up on the sheets than him. Higuruma gasped and twitched agaisnt the sheets, both of his hands coming down to cup over his cock and press against it, giving himself some sort of pressure as he basked in the aftershocks.

You weren't faring much better, your legs crossed as you laid partway on your side, your breathing rapid and loud as you tried to recover from such an intense orgasm. The two of you laid there for a good while, just letting your bodies recover with one another. After a whine, once both of your breathing had returned to normal, Higuruma turned his head to look at you, his face red and eyes lidded still, his mouth, chin, cheeks, and nose covered in your cum.

"Wow." He said quietly, making you smile as you rolled over on your side, sliding down the bed a bit so your leg was thrown over his as you rested with him. Higuruma used all of the strength he had left in his body to pull you more against him, your head now resting on his chest as he placed his chin on your head and wrapped his arms around your body.

"Y-yeah… wow." You replied, snuggling against him. "I came in my boxers." He blurted, making you giggle at his unexpected words. "What?" You laughed, trying to look up at him. You already knew that, why was he bringing it up again? If anything, someone would usually be embarrassed at that sort of thing. "Just in case you had any doubts if I liked it. I came in my boxers, didn't even touch myself." He reiterated, making you bury your head deeper into his chest at his words.

"O-okay okay, I get it. I… liked it too." You said, wanting him to shut up about it already. Hiromi stared blankly at the ceiling as he ignored your words, the only thing on his mind being how much he liked that. "Can you go again?" He asked, making your body go rigid against him. "Huh?" You asked, making sure you really heard his words properly.

You felt something hard poke your ass from the position you were laying in. Looking down you realized he was hard and ready to go again. "Can you sit on my face again? Please? I wanna see if I can get you to squirt like that." His words made your bare cunt throb around nothing. You sighed loudly before wrapping your arms around him harder, contemplating his words. "G-give me a couple more minutes and I'll be ready." You replied, resulting in a quiet, "yessss" that made you burst out into a fit of giggles.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty-two —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 5.1k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. SA and implication of child SA (very subtle). summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: clearly I am bad at estimating how long this story will take lol

The tray of food crashes to the floor at her feet. Salome gasps. Her hand shoots back, fumbling for the doorknob, and her lips part, ready to call the guard you know is just outside.

"If you call for the guard," you stop her, "I’ll cut deeper."

She clamps a hand over her mouth. "Please—stop! Hurting yourselves is a sin, a great dishonor to the body God gave you—"

“It is,” you agree calmly. You press the shard deeper into the cephalic vein, ignoring the bite of pain. Blood spills in a fresh, startling curtain down your arm, the wound mimicking the severity of an arterial cut. “And she’ll blame you for it. You’re the one she entrusted to watch over us, and you didn't notice we broke one of the mugs."

"I did not think you would—"

"What happens to you,” you cut her off, pointing the bloody shard at her stomach, “—and your baby when the two new child-bearers die because of your failure? Because I will die, if I cut any deeper. This artery,” you lie, tapping the wound for emphasis, “is important. If I finish slicing through it, I’ll bleed out in less than a minute. Not enough time for you to get help. Not even enough to try saving me yourself.”

Her lashes flutter rapidly through a swell of tears. "You could have a good life here—"

"Answer me. What happens to you if I die?"

She swallows hard. "She’ll punish me," she whispers frightfully. "I have seen what happens to those who fail her. She might take my child and I will... never see them. Please, don’t do this—”

"Why should we care about you and your child when you are okay with them killing an eleven-year-old girl tomorrow?"

A flash of shame crosses her face. "I'm sorry. I-I didn't know Maman would want the girl. The offering has never been so young before. But it is God's will, there is nothing I can do to—"

"What you can do is open the cell. Open it and we will kill Maman, then you won't have to worry about anyone taking your baby. But if you don't open it, then we die in here and you will face her punishment."

Her lips part, but nothing comes out. She looks between you and Nereida, eyes darting wildly, fingers twitching against her stomach. 

"Decide before I bleed out!"

"I... I can't," she says pitifully.

With a glance at Nereida, she takes her cue, digging into her vein.

"Open the cell," Nereida urges far more soothingly than you can, blood dripping to her elbow. "We won't hurt you. We want Maman gone, not you."

Salome whimpers under her breath, but her fingers move before her mind catches up, reaching inside her robe to retrieve the key, gripping it like it might burn her. She shuffles closer but pauses, inhaling deeply before finally reaching the door. Her hands shake so violently that the key rattles against the lock. It slips against the metal, failing to match the hole, and your finger twitches when she nearly drops it.

"Mais si elles ne parviennent pas à la tuer..." The whisper leaves quietly, lost beneath the veil. "Sa punition pour moi sera pire."

Then, her hand curls back around the key.

She swallows hard—and steps back.

No. 

You see red.

A growl curls at your mouth and you snap forward, grabbing onto her dress through the bars before she can retreat too far, and pulling her flush against them, her forehead banging into the metal. Before she can scream, you clamp a bloody hand over her mouth and then press the piece of broken mug to her neck with just enough pressure to make her panic. She gasps into your palm, struggling. You dig it harder, forcing her body to turn still and rigid.

"Twix—"

"I tried doing things the nicer way," you speak in a low snarl, veering off the script you and Nereida conjured. Round, glossy eyes stare into yours. "You should have made up your mind before getting within my reach. Now give her the key. I’d hate for my hand to slip."

Another sharp press into her skin wrings a squeak from her, her breath coming out jagged and uneven against your palm. Trembling, she extends an arm through the bars, offering the key to Nereida.

The moment Nereida takes it, she fumbles to find the lock from the outside, her fingers searching blindly. The key scrapes against the metal—once, twice—before a soft click finally reaches your ears.

The door swings open.

You don’t hesitate. Keeping your grip firm over Salome’s mouth, you shove through the opening and swing around to the other side. Before she can react, you force her back into the cell, driving her onto the bed. The veil tears free from her head as you pin her down, your weight pressing her into the mattress, the sharp fragment still poised at her throat. When her legs begin to flail helplessly, you order Nereida to grab them. She clasps Salome's ankles to keep her from bucking you off.

"You were afraid of the wrong person," you hiss, your nose nearly brushing hers. "Maman may have spared your life because she values her baby makers—but I don’t. Answer everything I ask, or I’ll show you just how merciless I can be."

The dishonest threat rolls off your tongue with enough force to make her nod frantically, fear widening her eyes. But what she doesn’t need to know—what you won’t let her see—is the part of you still holding back. Because even now, even as you pin her down and press the shard to a vital piece of her throat, you’re careful. You don’t dig hard enough to damage. You don’t let your weight bear down on the swell of her stomach.

"I'm glad we understand each other. I am going to lift my hand, and you're not going to scream. You're going to tell me everything we need to know about the guards out there."

Her lips are puffy and raw when you set them free. 

"There is only one outside the d-door," she sputters in a whisper. "B-but there are more... more by the... h-homes and the keep."

"The keep?"

"Where they keep the new m-males," she chokes out, snot dripping from her nose.

"That's in the old slaughterhouse, right?"

She nods.

"How many guards are over there exactly?"

"I do not know." At your glare, she rushes out, "B-but there are less after d-dinner ends. Many go to sleep, and switch shifts at sunrise."

You mull over the information, eyes darting across her face. “And the child—the offering? Where is Maman keeping her?”

A terrible look of fear ripples through her eyes. "Only few are allowed near the offering b-before her ascension. 

"So you're telling me you don't know?" you seethe in her face.

She sobs. "I know they... they will offer her to the démons right before the sun rises. The night is when God’s wrath is strongest, but it’s in the morning—when hope ascends—that we seek atonement."

Despite further pressing, that seems to be the extent of what she knows—or she's still withholding. Either way, you're satisfied enough. You rip strips of the sheet, using one to gag her and two more to bind her wrists and ankles. You and Nereida wrap your wounded wrists tightly to stop the flow. Then, you remove her white gown. You’ll need something to wear that doesn't easily mark you as an escapee, but there’s only the one white dress and veil. You hurriedly slip into them, making sure all of your hair and face is hidden, leaving Nereida still in the thin slip. The shoes Salome wears are thin and made of unsupported leather, but they are all you have to tuck your bare feet into.

Salome said there will be fewer guards after dinner. You and Nereida listen carefully to every sound that bleeds through the window. When you hear a few exchanges of bonne nuit, you figure people are starting to retire for the night. You take this as your cue to grip your makeshift weapon. The guard outside the door is expecting Salome to leave at some point, giving you the perfect opportunity to catch him off-guard while dressed as her.

You quietly open the door to the warm summer night, the long gown ghosting around your ankles. As expected, a well-built man leans against the side of the building, arms crossed languidly. No one else is in sight, which brings you some relief. When his gaze shifts to you, he raises a brow.

"Tout va bien, mademoiselle? Vous êtes restée là-dedans un moment."

The last word barely makes it out of his mouth. Within a heartbeat, you spring at him like the head of a snake, one hand over his mouth and the other stabbing his neck with the shard, then sweeping it through the thick of his trachea. A gush of blood oozes out in one thick stream, before he gargles out a strangled choke and turns to dead weight against the wall. 

With Nereida's help, you quickly push his body inside the building to keep anyone from spotting it. 

"Wear this," you usher, already starting to undress him. Like the man who visited you, he's wearing a grey cloak. Though it's too big for her, and bloodied, it will be enough to keep her discreet in the dark, her long hair safely tucked beneath the hood.

Two things race through your mind: the ticking time toward sunrise and the fact that you still don’t know how many more men you’ll have to take out to reach Ghost, Price, and Kyle. The knife you find on the guard adds a small weapon to your shitty arsenal. You have no idea where they could’ve stored the guns and ammo they took from you, or your bow. How you'll manage to fight through a community of cultists without those is a worry you can’t afford to dwell on right now—one step at a time.

After a few minutes of collecting yourselves, urgency pulls the two of you outside, free from the barred enclosure for the first time in almost four days. In the blanket of night, you quickly scan the area, taking in what you’re up against. The community appears fairly spread out, with only six small farmhouses like the one you just escaped from, along with a few larger structures in the near distance—likely where they house the men. You catch a glimpse of a fenced pasture’s perimeter and the unmistakable stench of cattle fills the air. Despite the faint shuffle of hooves and grey plumes of smoke from a few of the chimneys, everything is eerily still, leaving an unnerving amount of quiet for your heart to shatter through.

From what you can see, there aren’t many places to hide Blue, but there could be more to this place beyond what’s visible, especially since the chapel you first saw is nowhere in sight. But none of that matters right now; you need to find the others first if you’re going to have any real chance of saving her and getting out of here.

The next male you encounter spots you first as you make your way up the gravel road towards the barn, the sound of his boots making your hand tighten on the knife's handle. He greets you unassumingly in French, causing Nereida to startle beside you as his shadow approaches. Then he stops in front of her, his shoulders tensing and his hand hovering near a knife at his waist.

"Que fais-tu avec la femelle? C’est interdit!"

Again, you go for the throat, desperate to silence any screams that could cause alarm. You get a good swipe at the base of it, but he is at least a head taller than you, making it difficult to stab fully. He grabs you by the waist, clearly in shock that a veiled female just sprung on him with a knife, but swipes a fist at your face nonetheless. The force spreads through your temple, thrusting your head to the side. 

"Take the knife from him," you hiss at Nereida through the pain, who until now was effectively frozen. She finally moves, using the distraction you've caused as he clutches his bleeding neck, and snatches the knife still hanging at his waist. Once she has it, you leap at the disarmed man again, this time stabbing his liver. With a muffled grown, he face-plants into the gravel, quickly soaking it with blood. 

"The body," she stutters worriedly. "We need to hide it."

You look around, spotting stacks of chopped wood.

"Over there. Help me drag him."

Once the body is heaved behind the logs, you pat him down in search for anything else, but there's nothing.

"Keep that on you," you tell her, and she gives a quick nod, hiding the knife under her sleeve.

You keep following the road up to the fence, your white dress splattered with crimson, resembling the dotted stars overhead. The 'keep' is somewhere by the barn that man said, but you notice smaller buildings to the right and to the left of it. Which one looks like an old slaughterhouse? It's too difficult to tell even when you squint, so you grab Nereida's arm and quickly lower by a bush.

"Watch that one, and I'll keep an eye on this one. Whichever building has more guards patrolling is probably where they're holding them."

"Okay," she whispers, peering around the bush.

Minutes pass. The building on the right has more shadows skirting around it—three guards total. You take a moment to study their movements. One is stationed near the back, the other two at the front.

"I want you to take the one at the back and wait for me. I'll handle the other two."

"How do I take him?" she whispers uncertainly. "He’ll see me coming."

"You’ll come at it from an angle." You point toward a stack of hay. "Sneak over there, quietly. Once you're behind it, circle around and approach where he can't see."

She hesitates, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead. "I’ve never—"

"Never killed anyone?" 

The way she grips the knife, her fingers white on the handle, confirms it.

"These people deserve it, Nereida," you say, forcing her to meet your gaze. "John is in there."

She closes her eyes, and for a moment, the weight of it all presses down on her. When she opens them again, her jaw is set, and her grip on the knife tightens.

After reminding her where to strike, you pause for a moment, watching as she sneaks over to the hay. Then, you move toward the other two, slipping behind a tree for cover, but your foot catches on something and you almost trip, catching yourself against the bark. Your breath hitches and you steal a peek at them to make sure they didn't hear you. No—they are too busy murmuring to each other, laughing in a low exchange.

When you glance down, you spot a shovel half-buried into the ground, its handle sticking out. Carefully, you wriggle it free, having to grit your teeth to fully remove it. This will let you stun one while you deal with the other. Inhaling deeply to center yourself, palm tight over the splintered wood handle, you close in on the two guards.

The shorter one with curly hair spots you just before you take a swing, his eyes widening. The shovel slams into his skull, effectively making him stumble to the ground, but slips from your grip from the force. The other guard whirls around, hand slapping for the pistol at his belt. You deliver three consecutive stabs to his stomach, heart, and cheek. The gun never leaves his waist before he falls dead.

You suck in a gulp of air just as the curly-haired one regains his footing. His head is still heavy from the blow, and before he can draw his knife, you shove him in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground. You pin him easily beneath you, his movements sluggish and weak. The two of you wrestle in the grass, jagged breaths mixing with frantic, scraping nails, until, with a snarl, your knife finds purchase in his neck, stealing the life from his eyes in an instant. You stab him again and again, shaking, until the ticking urgency pulls you back into control. With a deep breath, you steady yourself and wiggle the knife lodged in his trachea, your hands slippery with blood.

"You got death," you spit in a whisper, thumbing his lids shut.

You lift up.

Now you have a single gun.

It is an old thing. Outdated and far from the military-grade weapons Ghost has. It takes a moment to figure out the parts—your fingers fumble for the small magazine, which is stocked with three bullets. You pull the slide to chamber a round with a click and keep it ready in your hand as you circle the building toward the back, praying that Nereida managed. When you find her, she is stood over the man's body, a deep cut oozing on her cheek.

"He saw me," she says, swallowing. "But I did it."

You nod. "We need to hide them before we go in."

All three bodies are hidden behind the hay stacks. You cover them with manure to mask the smell, not wanting a horde of Greys to materialize. You'd spotted a door at the back and hope it may be more discreet then blazing in through the front, given that you don't know who all is in there. Finger ready on the trigger, you hold your breath as you lead Nereida into the old building, instantly met with the rich smell of pennies. The space quickly unfolds into an old butcher house, rusted hooks hanging from the stone ceiling, the air cramped and cold. 

"Une femme? Maman ne voudrait pas de toi—"

The voice echoes in your ear as you round the corner, and then a fiery bullet rips into the owner's chest. Nereida flinches. Another guard comes barreling over, shouting, but you slide the chamber and shoot him in the head.

You don't linger by the bodies, itching to check the first steel door you see. You lower the gun only to pull at the handle, but it won't budge.

"Check him for keys," you motion to the dead guard.

Nereida crouches, hands rifling through his pockets until she yanks free a ring of keys. Her fingers shake as she tries them one by one, the lock stubborn—until, at last, it gives. With a sharp tug, the door groans open, revealing a windowless chamber. In the center, a lone captive hangs from chains.

It’s Price. Shackles bite into his wrists, his bare chest mapped with deep bruises against pale skin. Beaten, but unbroken—his gaze sharp as it lifts to meet yours. Nereida chokes on a sob, ripping the hood off her head and sinking to her knees before him, cupping his jaw.

A weighted baritone manages: "Duchess."

"There is nowhere I will not find you," she croaks. Teary kisses find the corner of his mouth. "I'm here, I'm here."

"How did you—"

"We got out. Where are the others?" you ask.

His jaw grits. "I haven't seen them since they knocked us out."

"They must be here somewhere. We need to move quick before someone notices the bodies."

After finding the small key to undo the manacles, you leave them to each other for the moment, continuing down the hall until the next door. An undeniable pull rises in your chest, something that has nothing to do with the adrenaline rushing through you—something you can’t quite name. But when you open the door, your heart falters with unwelcome disappointment at the sight of Kyle. He looks equally battered, but still aware enough to lift his head as you step in.

"Who are you?" 

You lift the veil.

"It's me," you answer, the words almost lost in the rush of emotions. Only when you fully take in the room do you notice Ari, curled in the corner. They’ve put them in here together. While there are no obvious injuries on the boy, the sight of the open Bible on his lap, and the empty dinner plate beside him, sends a cold shiver down your spine. You touch his cheek, feeling warmth, and reassure him he’s safe.

You release both of them. "Price and Nereida are through the door down the left. I need to find Ghost. I’ll be back."

Kyle rubs his wrists and manages to stand despite his black eye and shaky legs. "I’ll come with you."

"No. I’ll get him." The words come out sharper than you mean to, but you turn away before he can question them.

You are pulled further through the tight, cold hallway, movements turning more hurried as you look around. There are a few more half-opened doors, but they only lead to supply closets filled with whips and metal batons and empty chambers where old blood stains the floors. Something sharp tugs at your heart, and for the first time since initiating your escape, your fingertips succumb to a tremor of fear. 

Where is he?

The hall spits out into a room where dried animal carcasses hang from the walls.

One final door sits on the far end.

The rusted lock resists, swears hissing from your lips—until a sharp kick forces it open.

The smell thickens with fresh blood, and a cold pit sinks into your stomach at the sight of him—bound in chains, his body slumped haphazardly. Unlike the others, he doesn’t lift his head. You rush forward, a shaky breath catching in your throat as you take in the blood caked on his shoulder blades, deep welts splitting through the inked skin. His back, too, is covered in wounds. He looks worse—so much worse—that a bite of anger swells moisture in your eyes.

"Simon, you idiot. What did you do?" The words slip out on a sharp inhale as you lower yourself in front of him. "Simon," you whisper again, silent tears hot against your lips. You thread a hand through his hair, tilting his jaw up with careful fingers. His eyes are heavy, but relief finds you when they flutter open. He’s alive. The reddened whites flicker over your face, unfocused—until something strange sharpens the haze. A flicker of fear.

"It's me, Simon. We're getting out of here."

The brief fear shifts into shock when he recognizes your face, and only after you fumble with the key ring does understanding click into place, causing his jaw to flex. "Where... where is she?"

"I don't know, but we need to hurry. They have her." You undo the manacles, and his body rolls heavily into you, face falling onto your collarbone. You struggle to hold him up, gripping his shoulders without touching the wounds. A low groan bleeds through his teeth, and his eyes flutter shut again. No, no, no. "Please, you have to... you have to get up, Simon. I can't—she's going to fucking die!"

His upper chest rapidly expands with a breath, and he musters the strength to lift his weight off you and slap a hand against the wall. As he leverages his weight up, you help by grabbing beneath his other arm, until a final rush of adrenaline gets him on his feet. Urgency snaps tension into his limp shoulders, and he growls out another, more steady, breath.

"Price," he says.

"He's alive. Come on."

It takes some effort to help him walk at first, but eventually, he manages on his own. You guide him to the first room, where the others are pacing, murmuring in low voices.

"Simon, Jesus," Price mutters when he sees him.

Ghost brushes it off, his eyes narrowing. "They're going to kill her."

"At sunrise," you add, your voice tight. You pull out the pistol and show it to them. "I have one bullet left. I don't know how many more men are in this cult, but we've killed six so far."

"We have one shitty old gun." Kyle growls in frustration. "They took all our shit. How are we going to—"

"We find the weapons. They must have stored them somewhere," Price says.

"We can't just go searching through every building here. We don't have the time," you press. "And how are we supposed to get it back without everyone noticing we're gone?"

"I don't give a fuck about the guns. We find her first," Ghost grits, nostrils flaring. 

"We can't help her if we don't think things through. We can't just start a war with these people empty-handed, Simon," Price says.

"We find her first!"

"Simon," you say, reaching for his arm, but he pulls it away, clenching his bloody fist. The energy radiating from him would scare you if you didn't feel the same way.

Just then, there is the faint sound of a door opening and footsteps clanging through the hall. You tense up, two male voices shouting in echoes, one of them vaguely familiar.

"Quelqu'un les a tués ! On doit régler cette merde avant que Maman découvre quoi que ce soit."

"Les putains de prisonniers!"

Before you can react, Ghost snatches the pistol from your grip. The second they rush toward the open door, he launches at them—an elbow to one’s face, the butt of the gun breaking the nose of the other. Price uses Nereida's knife to stab the fallen guard, while Kyle helps Ghost subdue the second one. You only recognize him as the man who made you strip when they forcibly drag him toward the manacles, the sight of his blonde hair making your nails curl into your palms.

"You stupid fucking Brits!"

Ghost strikes the gun into his left eye, making him jerk within the constraints, howling as the socket turns into bloody pulp. 

Kyle grips the man's scalp from behind to hold his head up, while Ghost presses the gun into his cheek, where you notice a wound shaped like a bite mark.

"Tell us where she is," he roars. "Or I'll take the other eye."

Nereida cowers into the corner, holding onto Ari's arm. 

"I don't know!" the man spits blood, and Ghost digs the gun into his cheek, ripping it open further until the bitten flesh hangs as a torn flap, exposed all the way to his eye. The scream that follows feels inhuman. "I swear, I don't—I don't fucking know!"

Fresh blood drips to the floor. Price, much more calm, lowers at the man's side. "How many people live here?"

The man grits his teeth, struggling to answer, "T-thirty males, and six females. Plus the infants."

Twenty-two now, you count in your head.

"And the weapons we had. What about those?" Price questions further.

When only staggered, pained breaths fills the room, Ghost tosses the bloody gun and grabs the knife from Price, stabbing the man's kneecap without hesitation. Another scream ensues, and there is the small itch to cover your ears, but you steel yourself against the wall to keep watching.

"Answer the fucking question." Ghost twists the knife in his knee.

He cries out, more bloody spittle flying from his mouth. "All of the ammo is hidden. Only A-Alexandre knows!"

"Who is Alexandre?"

“Maman's son, he enforces her commands and oversees the males.”

"Where is he?" Price asks, voice hard.

“He… he resides in the work shed, while the rest of us sleep in the quarters within the barn.”

You step forward. "We saw another building outside with just one guard, that must be it."

There is a beat of silence as Price processes the information, giving Ghost a satisfied nod. With pain still contorting his face, the man's eye drifts past Ghost's shoulder toward you. His lips twitch into a faint, bloody smirk that makes your skin crawl. Ghost follows his gaze, snarls, and abruptly slashes the man's throat from ear to ear.

B

It is still dark when Eloise comes to awaken her, though Blue's eyes never once fell shut with sleep. She spent the short-lived night alternating between staring at the crescent moon outside the window, and fiddling with the knitting needles left on the table. There is a new dress in the woman's clutch, beautiful white fabric embroidered with flowers, and a pair of beautiful leather shoes in the other hand.

"See? I told you the dress would be nicer." She smiles and hands it over, as if to offer something to be thrilled for. "You must change quickly. There is a lovely breakfast of framboises and milk waiting for you. Put these on as well." She sets the shoes on the floor.

Blue thinks it strange, to bother feeding her just before her death. Blankly, she asks, "How many people will be there? To watch me die."

Eloise's smile quivers slightly, a slight crack in her composure. "Not too many, I assure you. Only a few of us women, and one or two worthy men. Most are still sleeping." After a pause, she adds even quieter, almost ashamed, "Be thankful you don’t suffer through childbirth instead. It is... a painful thing. Long, too. At least this pain will be honorable and swift."

Blue's fingers tighten around the dress. "Okay. Do you mind if I change alone, please?"

Eloise bows her head. "Of course."

She casts one last gentle glance her way before shuffling out of the room, locking the door behind her and leaving Blue with only the dress and shoes. Once the door is closed, Blue quickly slips the dress on, shuddering as the cold fabric caresses her limbs. It’s more beautiful than anything she can remember ever wearing, and that disgusts her. Swallowing the churn in her stomach, she grabs the needles and sits back on the bed.

The wounds on her feet are shallow, her fingernails only able to pierce the thick skin slightly. Using the needles, she digs into them deeper, trembling from the pain that throbs as fresh blood begins to seep from the soles. She cuts and cuts furiously, teeth gritted, praying it’s enough to soak into the shoes she slips on over the new wounds. She covers the blood stains on the sheet with the blanket, then stands, almost crying out from the agony of walking on her torn feet.

"Please dad," she whispers, closing her eyes briefly, before calling to Eloise that she is ready.

"But if they don't manage to kill her... her punishment for me will be worse." "Is everything alright, miss? You've been in there for a while." "What are you doing with the female? It’s forbidden!" "A woman? Maman wouldn’t want you—" "Someone killed them! We need to fix this shit before Maman finds out anything." "The fucking prisoners!"

[threebea]

The Jedi should have done something about Tatooine and the Hutts. If only they sent Jedi to Tatooine and not just ignored it--

Oh hi Quinlan. How's Tatooine circa TPM?

Anyway the Jedi should have done something about slavery in the galaxy outside the Republic's borders and not focused just on the Republic--

Huh. The CIS were pretty cool with helping the Zygerrians reestablish their slave empire that the (checks notes) Jedi dismantled.

Anyway, the Jedi should never have joined the war at all. Sure the clone army existed and the clones would have to fight no matter what the Jedi decided to do, and yes, as far as the Jedi knew the clones were created by one of their order and so they had a responsibility to them in whatever capacity they could, and the clones being brainwashed into loyalty for the republic was established so convincing millions of them at once not to fight would be impossible that early on. And sure, Dooku, a Sith, led the galaxy's worst capitalists that wanted to make naboo look like child's play and kill countless civilians if the Republic didn't give in to all their demands, and yes the Jedi were linked psychically to the cosmos in a way where they could feel imbalance, death, and darkness, but they should have taken the moral high road and (checks notes) let both civilians and clones die from droids. Droids who are programmed and aren't going to hesitate about killing anyone. Droids who can't be negotiated with.

Of course they could have... Negotiated with the Sith Lord? Who wasn't actually the head sithlord in charge.

Then again the other Sith Lord who had been duly elected into office wouldn't have allowed that but...they should have tried!

Well they worked with hutts to use hyperlanes for the war they could have chosen not to fight in had actually tried harder! They were lazy and chose the easy path of being forced to dirty their hands because otherwise fascist billionaires and corporations would send programmed droids to kill civilians (like Naboo during TPM) until the Republic gave into their demands (unbridled capitalism which as we recall were totally cool with helping the Slave Empire they previously dismantled become a slave empire again).

The Jedi should have helped people and not tied themselves to the senate. They could have just negotiated with a galaxy worth of planets on a case by case basis.

Listen. Star Wars is a metaphor. It is not a one to one comparison of reality. The Jedi did all they could to help people and they did things that wore them down in body and soul because they had to make that sacrifice or let people suffer and die. There is no alternative in the galaxy they existed in. The Empire that Palpatine made is what they saw the CIS becoming.

Palpatine saw the Jedi as one of the biggest threats to his fascist empire so the plan was always to kill them. It's not illegal to be a Sith he might say, but he certainly made it illegal to be a Jedi.

I would love to know what people think, with the GFFA being what it is, and the size it is, and the Jedi numbering about ten thousand in the end what they were supposed to do as an alternative that would have had any of this end different.

If they hadn't joined the war people would have been enslaved and died and the Jedi would have still been hunted and killed.

If the Jedi removed themselves from the republic in protest of the war but still fought independently to help people they would have lost so much access, more clones for sure would have died, and the Jedi would still be hunted down and killed at the end.

If the Jedi left the republic before the war and were independents they would be slaughtered faster than they were on genonosis because they don't have the numbers. The droid army would get them or the republic run by Palpatine would get them. Keeping in mind Palpatine was elected and the Jedi had nothing to do with his election beyond saving a teenage girl and bringing her to beg her case to the senate on behalf of her people (the death toll was, as we remember, catastrophic).

If they retreated to the mountains and meditated then they just let people die without even trying to help and feel the cosmos become darker and more imbalanced by the suffering they could feel but we're ignoring. And years later Palpatine would show up to kill them because that aspect of his plan would never change.

They should have taken the moral high ground doesn't work in the scenario they were given in the universe they existed in. Not for them. Not when they are powered by empathy. It would have been a corruption of what they stand for if they didn't try to help people. And they tried. It wasn't their corruption that let the galaxy down. The Jedi were aware of their own flaws. They were aware they shouldn't be generals. They knew they shouldn't be commanding a clone army. They were under no illusions that the choices they were being forced to make were good, but even at their most morally questionable they didn't sell out the galaxy. It was the politicians that voted in a mass murdering fascist with thunderous applause to not just be supreme chancellor, to not just have emergency powers, but to be an emperor.

The Jedi even tried a coup. The last thing they would want, but they tried it anyway to hold back a Sith Emperor establishing his empire built on slavery and suffering who would later build a weapon that could destroy entire planets.

The Jedi did not lead to the downfall of the Republic. They were the last shield to be shattered.

[untitledrockstar-if]

TROUBLE IN PARADISE?

Lead singer R of Saving Face -- currently on tour in North America -- and their partner of three years caused quite the scene in the Ritz-Carlton lobby last night during a heated argument! The fight reportedly began over a delayed check-in with emotions running high and quickly spiraled into personal accusations, with R's partner allegedly shouting, "Me, me, me! I can't hear it anymore!" and R firing back, "You wouldn't even have a roof over your head if it weren't for me!"

Onlookers recorded the altercation, and the videos have since gone viral, sparking concern and debate among fans. Hotel staff tried to calm the situation, but the couple left without resolving the dispute publicly. Neither R nor their partner (or should we rather say former partner?) has issued a statement about the incident, but be sure to follow along as we cover any new developments following that very public meltdown!

CAN'T SAVE YOUR LOVE FROM DYING is a mature interactive story where you step into the shoes of a rockstar’s partner navigating the wild highs and messy lows of fame. As the drama unfolds, you’ll decide whether to carve out your own identity or remain the glamorous accessory the industry expects. With resentment, ambition, and chaos colliding, can you survive the spotlight— or will you thrive in it?

gender & sexuality choice

decide between five unique romance options, all of them gender selectable

choose whether to carve out a space for yourself in Hollywood or live off of your partners fame

cause a scandal or two (or three or--)

RONAN/ROXANNE ☆ the rockstar everyone wants— a magnetic performer with a voice that could break hearts and a smile that makes the world forget their flaws. Behind the sold-out arenas and screaming fans, they're yours however— messy, complicated, and achingly human.

MILAN/MARGO ☆ the actor on the brink of stardom— a talented, ambitious actor with a magnetic charm that’s impossible to ignore. As their career skyrockets, your relationship deepens, but the pressures of fame and the shadows of those eager to pull them away will be harder than ever to ignore.

CHARLES/COLETTE ☆ the sharp-tongued, enigmatic agent who always seems two steps ahead—especially when it comes to you. With secrets as deep as their charm, C isn’t just looking to make you a star.

SAMUEL/SCARLETT ☆ the hot-headed, talented cousin and bassist of your partner is supposed to be off-limits, but as cracks start to show, turning to someone familiar could prove to be just what you need.

???? ☆ the blast from the past is more than just a reminder of where you came from.

demo is currently being written

DEMO (COMING SOON) ☆ PLAYLIST ☆ FAQ ☆ CHARACTERS

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

"im not trying to fix you."

~1k words

Jason Todd is broken, but he’s not shattered. He’s picked up the pieces of himself and stitched them back together in a patchwork pattern that seems to mock who he used to be.

Jason Todd is splintered, but he’s making it work, he’s helping, he’s trying to be something greater than himself. (Even if ‘greater’ includes killing and hurting and a million other things he’d never thought he’d do)

Jason Todd is built of fragments of twisted morals and poisoned pits, so why, why do you keep showing up in his life? He doesn’t get it. He’s worked through all the scenarios, all the possibilities, and he still doesn’t have an answer.

You haven’t tried placing any bugs or cameras in his safehouse, haven't gone to the bat to try and take him down. (At least not that he knows of) You haven’t tried talking him out of taking over Gotham, and you haven’t even mentioned all the bodies piling up in his crusade against Black Mask.

He should have confronted you weeks ago. But you keep doing nice things for him. He still hasn’t figured out how you found his safehouse, but you showed up with takeout from his favorite restaurant and just kind of walked in. Really, he had been too stunned to stop you, and you kept showing up.

You always seemed to have a reason to be there, too. Blankets because his safehouse looked bare, food so you could cook dinner for the two of you, random knick knacks to bring color to his dull living room.

He wonders if you're doing it to make him feel guilty, to keep him from kicking you out of his space. As if he would ever.

It’s not until you’re telling him he should get his oven fixed so the next time you make brownies they'll cook better, that he realizes exactly what you’re trying to do.

You’re trying to make him better. He sees it now, he’s your pet project, no, your pity project that you think you can save. He doesn’t know how he could have missed it. Why else would you so freely offer your smiles? Your time? Your energy?

“You can’t fix me,” he grits out, crossing his arms as you set the brownies on the counter.

You look surprised, disbelieving even, as you pull off the oven mitts. (The ones he didn’t have before you started coming over) “What,” you question, meeting his gaze like he hasn’t found you out.

“You can’t fix me,” he repeats, harder and just as mean, “I’m not something you need to try and save.”

“I’m not trying to fix you,” you snap, and the tone of your voice makes him lose his confidence.

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Oh. It sounds like you really mean that. He didn’t expect the hurt and anger to flicker over your face. And he certainly didn’t expect to see your face wobble.

“Is that why you think I’m here, Jason? Because you think I want to save you,” you ask, venom creeping into your voice.

“Well, yeah,” he mumbles, almost ashamed, but he doesn’t drop his gaze from yours, “There’s no other reason you’d keep coming back.”

That seems to break you, and he nearly regrets bringing up the topic at all. “Is that what you’ve thought of me this whole time,” you breathe out, anger fading.

He shakes his head, “No, I mean– I thought you were working for Batman,” he admits, and winces at how devastated you look.

“Then why did you let me come back,” you demand, and he hates the way your voice chokes at the end.

“I don’t know,” he tells you, voice going quiet, “I guess I just got used to it.” It’s a lie.He knows exactly why he keeps opening his door for you. You're a weakness he’s never outgrown, and one he never will.

You step back, eyes darting to the cooling brownies, “I just missed you,” you mumble, clearly self-conscious, “It wasn’t anything more than that.”

“Oh,” he says dumbly. There really isn’t anything else to say. He’s hurt you, thrown accusations with no basis.

He doesn’t know how to make it better, but a part of him doesn’t think he should. If you never came back, then at least you would be away from his sharp edges and his fractured parts.

The silence stretches between you like a chasm, and suddenly he does want to mend whatever he broke. He can’t help it, not when you look like you don’t know if you want to cry or run or curl into yourself and just fall apart.

He doesn’t have a plan, and maybe he should, because all he manages to do is gesture weakly to the brownies you’ve made, “Think they’re ready to eat?”

You eye him strangely, but he thinks he does succeed in fixing something. At least he hopes he did, because you sat on his lumpy couch and ate the brownies out of the pan at his side. So that has to count for something, right?

He finds it in himself to tell you they’re good, which is harder than it should be for a crime lord, and you offer him a small, unsure smile and ask if he wants to watch a movie. Your smile isn’t as bright as it usually is, but he figures he wouldn’t deserve it if it was.

The rest of the night is quiet, and you fall asleep on his couch just before the credits start to roll. He’s grateful for it. (He thinks if you had walked out after the movie, you wouldn’t have come back)

Jason carefully pulls a blanket over your shoulders, one of the ones you brought him, to shield you from the cold. He makes a note to get a better couch, even if he knows it would be better to not encourage you to come back.

After all, he’s only going to find another way to break your heart. Even when it’s the last thing he wants to do.

[livelaughlovesubs]

Straight up torturing Dazai by only making him cum untouched

I have this problem while writing smut that I forget the character has a dick cuz I over-focus on something else, so most of my fics start out as cumming untouched and I change it later on lol thanks for saving me the trouble

Dom!reader x sub!dazai - reader is gn

Warning: semi public (in an alley), teasing, degrading, marking, hair pulling, choking, sub-space, dacryphilia, nipple play

Edit: does this fic even make sense?

Now he’s done it, fuck, what to do- he didn’t think you’d be this angry.

Normally you weren’t up for doing stuff in public, which is why he used that chance to annoy you to his hearts content. Whenever you two were going home from a mission, wandering down the streets of Yokohama, he’d start being all unbearable and flirty, and the next second he’d run off to god-knows-where to chase after another pretty woman. You were done with all these stunts he pulled, and sadly for him you weren’t as nice as kunikida.

Which is what got him into his current situation. Pinned to the wall in some random alley, you staring at him with an obviously angry expression and the buzzing noises of unaware passengers missing out this spectacle. “Ah fuck…” dazai didn’t know what you were planning on doing, but he had a precognition that it wouldn’t end well for him, so he tried to use his silver tongue to talk you out of it, “heyyyy, y/n~ What’s got you so mad? Don’t frown— come on, how about we take a break and fill our stomachs? I know a good pla-”

You grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked on them, causing him to arch his back off the wall. It was so sudden that he had no time to prepare himself, and accidentally mewled, “ahh, god, y/n, don’t be so forceful with me.” He almost sang the last part, still bearing that annoying smile on his face. “You should have thought twice before acting up.” The grip you had on his locks tightened, making him bend forward to meet your eyes, “just because we are in public it doesn’t mean you are safe.”

That was a threat, right? That was definitely a threat. And yet- he was grinning from ear to ear, unable to stop himself from clenching his thighs together. “Whaaaat? Of course I’m safe, where is the threat huh?” The brunette chirped, and you clasped your hand over your face. “You really want this, don’t you?” You asked, glaring at him from between your fingers. He shrugged, playing dumb.

You stepped closer to him, bodies pressing against each other. “Will you behave after I punish you?” After these words left your mouth, a shiver ran down his back, and he fumbled with your clothing, “it all depends on you.” You smirked, not planning on backing down from such a challenge. And so you let go of his hair, roughly unbuttoning his blazer and shirt, but not pulling it completely off. Then you placed your hands on his hips, lips pressing against his collarbone.

Dazai grabbed a fistful of your clothes from your back and ran his other hand through his hair, panting softly while watching you trying to work him up. He felt you nibbling at his skin, leaving red bruise marks behind. “Haa-ah, haha… you are being too gentle dear.” His breathing hitched when he spoke, though otherwise he was still pretty composed. You payed him no mind, instead you moved lower to toy with a more sensitive part.

Pinching and flicking his pink buds while sucking on the other one, eating him up, watching his face flush so deliciously. “Ngh- not gonna answer me?” He teased, pulling at your hair to get your attention. You bit down as a result, to tell him to stop, yet he gripped down harder as he groaned, “mhhhm-aaahh~ fuuck.” What a nice reaction, you had to remember this. Slowly you managed to get him hard, seeing the bulge in his pants grow larger and larger. When you finally pulled back and stood straight, he was already sweating, all eager as he cursed at how long you took.

One look and you could tell he was needy, and pretty on edge. His flushed face was actually pretty cute, and his disheveled clothes hung from his shoulders like he was trying to appeal to you. Your hands didn’t stop exploring his body, like they have a mind of their own. Groping and touching his torso. “Look at you dazai, you look like a slut.” You mumbled with a smile, and his body twitched at that statement. “You are so mean y/n, in what world do I look like one?”

While saying that, he pushed his hips out and slipped his clothed further down his arm. “In every,” you answered and kissed his neck. He raised his chin to grunt and pant at the feels, head and back leaned back against the stoney wall with both hands on your shoulder. How annoying, you were still only doing the foreplay, isn’t it time to get past it? And when you sucked on a specific spot that drove him crazy, he was at his limit.

“F-fine, I guess I am a whore,” small break before he continued, “for you. So, touch me more, please?” The boy begged, looking a little embarrassed as he avoided your gaze. “I’ll think about it.” Was all you said in response, before you went back to meekly caressing him. “Uhhh.. y/n, that won’t cut it.” He tried to explain through his gasps and whines, and said, “I need more, something more extreme and lewd.”

“Hmm~? I dont know what you mean.” Using his own Methode against himself, how petty of you. He took your hand and guide you lower, muttering, “then I’ll show you how it’s done.” You shook his hand off and hummed, “I’m good, I’ll do it at my pace.” How devastated he looked, it seems he has finally realised what kind of mess he got himself into. He pouted as he slumped back, defeated, hiding his whimpers behind his palm as he kept on complaining, “how could this ever count as punishment?”

“You will see.”

He could swear he caught a glimpse of you smirking all mischievously, but before he knew it, he had been slammed further into the wall behind him. Followed by your hands squeezing around his neck. “Ah- y-y/n..?” “You are the one who wanted this.” Squeeze. With that you started applying more pressure to his neck. “HnnGh..! Ha-arghh..” He choked, eyes half lidded as he weakly pulled at your firm grip around him. A dumb grin spread across his face as his drool rolled down to his chin.

“Fu- urgh! Fuck, y/n~..!!” A wet spot formed on his pants, and his face twisted into one of raw pleasure. Tongue hanging out, eyes watery with heart shaped pupils and legs shaking, struggling to hold his own weight. “You didn’t see this coming, did you?” Then more strength was applied, then you whispered close to his face, “can you feel how your air is being cut off, and how your body is desperately trying to squirm free?” And you squeezed down even more, making him gag and choke again. “Haaa-nghhh..! K- kill me, guuUh, I dare you.”

He was still looking all competitive, though he won’t be able to hold out much longer. You pushed your body into his, leg slightly rubbing against his leaking bulge, stealing a loud groan from him. Followed by small whines of bliss, “MmnHhh..! Ah- hngG, uh-urgh.!” Such a naughty boy, enjoying all this. Your hands didn’t leave him alone while you kissed his tears away, the contrast of gentleness and ruthlessness made his head spinn. Poor little dazai was trembling so much, twitching and spasming all over.

“Are you turned on because I’m choking you, or because you want to die?” You mumbled against his skin, the vibrations of your voice tickling him, a small addition to the immense sensations he was already feeling. “Mhhff… haha- both?” He answered cheekily, his own strength leaving his body as his instinctive try to push you away failed. “I see~ well it’s time for the last course isn’t it?”

As the icing on top, you pressed down one last time, watching his eyes roll back as his consciousness slowly left him. His head was thrown back while his eyes slowly closed shut. That’s when you whispered into his ear, “cum for me, dazai.” And like a command he couldn’t disobey, his body shook heavily before a white fluid seeped through his pants, dirtying your leg, making it all sticky.

Right as he wanted to scream his lungs out, you clasped a hand over his swollen lips, reminding him how you two were still in public. He ripped his eyes open for a split second, then tightly shut them, and moaning into your forceful palm, “mnghMm, nghhmmmf…!♡♥︎♡”

Without giving him any time to calm down from his high, you pulled away, causing him to drop onto the floor. The only reason why he hadn’t fallen yet was because you were holding and pushing him up. But now his legs have finally given up. He was still unresponsive as you wiped your dirty hands on his clothes. After you were done, you took a last glance at his kneeling form, leaning against the rough wall for support. Some of his cum dripped onto the ground and he was still panting heavily.

These once fierce eyes were reduced to a melting one, full of desire and need. He wasn’t full yet huh. His clothes got dirty at the tips, and his body was marked from the top to the bottom, especially his neck bore a dark crimson ring of bruises. Some tears and other fluids were still flowing across his features, but it seems he was too tired to care right now. Judging by the state he was in, it’ll take a while before he can stand up and go home.

Though that was none of your business anymore, since this was going to be his punishment. You laughed a little before saying, “you better clean yourself up, osamu. I’ll get going first~”

All he could squeak out was a weak, soft whimper.

[kateschi]

princesses explode things too!

synopsis: katsuki is tasked with the bedtime story today, and he shows you and your daughter his own version of a princess story.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: princess bakugou when

the quiet hum of the night settles over your home, and as you lean against the doorframe of your daughter’s bedroom, you can’t help but smile.

inside, katsuki sits on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, glaring down at the open storybook in his lap as if it’s personally insulted him.

"alright, brat," he grumbles, his voice low and rough as he tries to keep it from waking her up. "you wanted a story, so listen up. we’ve got a badass queen, explosions, and—"

your daughter, tucked under the covers with wide, eager eyes, interrupts him, her small voice cutting through the intensity of his storytelling. "papa, I want a princess story!"

bakugou’s brow furrows, his signature scowl deepening. "a princess story? that’s lame. why would you want a princess when you can have a warrior queen blowing things up?"

"princesses can fight too!" she insists, her tiny fists balled up in determination, a spark in her eyes that reminds you of her father.

you stifle a laugh, watching the interaction unfold. katsuki, in all his gruffness, isn’t built for soft, fluffy stories. still, he’s trying.

"fine," he mutters, flipping a page aggressively.

"once upon a time, there was a queen. but she wasn’t some weakling waiting to be saved, got it? she had explosions in her hands, just like me, and she blew up anyone who tried to mess with her."

your daughter giggles, her smile wide as she squirms under the blankets. "she had explosions?!"

"yeah, yeah," katsuki waves her off, but his lips twitch into a small, almost imperceptible smile.

"and she didn’t need any stupid prince to save her either. she took down a dragon by herself—boom!" he claps his hands together for emphasis, making your daughter laugh even harder.

you take the opportunity to step further into the room, catching katsuki’s attention. his eyes soften the moment he sees you, though his grumpy expression remains firmly in place.

"everything going alright in here?" you tease, crossing your arms as you lean against the wall.

he shoots you a look, his tone sarcastic.

"yeah, just perfect. you will be the death of me, kid," he mutters under his breath, but you notice the way he gently brushes a strand of hair from d/n’s face, his touch almost tender despite the rough words.

your daughter beams up at you. "mama, papa’s telling me a princess story! but she’s really strong, and she blows things up!"

you raise an eyebrow, looking between the two of them. "sounds intense. shouldn’t this be a bedtime story?"

katsuki sighs, rubbing a hand down his face. "I’m trying, alright? but she keeps asking for princesses. what am I supposed to do?"

you chuckle softly, moving closer to the bed as katsuki grumbles under his breath. "maybe you should throw in a castle or two. something soft to balance out the explosions?"

katsuki rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue, turning back to your daughter, who’s still gazing up at him with adoration.

"fine. the warrior queen had a giant, unbreakable castle. but instead of waiting around inside, she’d climb to the top and jump off it like a badass—"

"katsuki!" you scold, lightly tapping his arm. "that’s not calming."

your daughter, however, is delighted, giggling uncontrollably at the idea. "like a pro-hero! like you, daddy!"

he shoots you a smug grin, clearly proud of himself for entertaining her. "see? she loves it."

with a playful sigh, you sink down on the bed beside them. "alright, let’s compromise. maybe after she jumps off the castle, she finds a... magical garden with flowers and—"

"and traps!" katsuki adds, smirking as he leans into the story again. "where she fights off anyone dumb enough to step foot in it. but she doesn’t get scratched ‘cause she’s too fast."

your daughter is practically bouncing now, excitement filling the room as she claps her hands together. "she sounds so cool!"

"of course she is!" katsuki boasts. he glances over at you, his expression softening a bit. "but after all that, she finally goes to sleep. ‘cause even the strongest queens need to rest, right?"

your daughter yawns as if on cue, her eyelids drooping despite her best efforts to stay awake. "right..." she murmurs, snuggling deeper into the blankets.

you exchange a look with katsuki, both of you smiling as she finally gives in to sleep. katsuki leans down, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before pulling the covers up to her chin.

as you both stand and quietly make your way out of the room, katsuki glances at you with a grin. "told you my version would work."

you hum with a roll of your eyes before asking, "by the way, who is the badass queen?"

he looks at you. "you, obviously," he says, rolling his eyes before smirking. "my very badass wife."

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[himasgod]

Kinich x Reader

Where he realizes that you are more valuable to him than the Mora

(0.6k words. I hadn't dared to write about Kinich, but after reading his story and playing with him, I felt like it! Remember that I appreciate every comment, like or repost, they make my day! Also, I accept requests! Enjoy <3)

The air in the mountains of Natlan was harsh and wild, like Kinich. The silence between the two of you, after weeks of roaming those inhospitable places, had become almost comfortable. You both knew the other was there without the need for words, but that day something was different. The tension was felt in every step, in the way his hands tightened the straps of his equipment.

"Why do you always accept the most dangerous missions?" You dared to ask as you followed his determined walk. Kinich, with his gaze fixed on the horizon, did not answer you right away. You usually received direct, raw answers, but this time it seemed that he was meditating on the words.

"Because it is what will bring me more Moras." His answer finally came, as simple as you had imagined.

You stopped, feeling a lump in your chest. Of course, he always talked about Moras, about the tangible rewards he longed for. It was his way of seeing the world, of understanding value. But you knew there was more behind those words. The Kinich you knew, though sometimes cold and calculating, had shown himself to have a much deeper spirit, one that perhaps he himself did not fully understand.

“Is that all that matters? The Mora?” You tried to keep your voice calm, but you couldn’t stop a hint of frustration from creeping in.

He stopped as well, his green eyes meeting yours. A spark of something indecipherable crossed his gaze before his expression returned to that familiar hardness. “What else should matter? We are not born heroes, and no one gives anything in return for nothing.”

You moved closer to him, each step driven by a mix of need and curiosity. He had been by your side in battles, had saved you more times than you could count, but you had never been able to fully decipher what drove him beyond that desire for material rewards. You were so close that you could see the tension in his jaw, the slight flicker in his eyes as he lowered them, perhaps avoiding your scrutiny.

“And me?” you asked quietly, your heart pounding. You weren’t just an adventure partner to him, and you both knew it. But sometimes, Kinich kept you at a distance, as if the price of letting someone get close was too high, even for him.

Kinich raised his head, surprised. For a few seconds, his usual composure seemed to waver, but he quickly regained it. He took a step toward you, his presence as strong and overwhelming as ever, and held your gaze intently. “You’re not a transaction,” he murmured. “You’re…” He swallowed, as if the words were a heavy weight to bear. “You’re important.”

The confession hit you hard, harder than you’d expected. In his own world of Moras, bounties, and contracts, you had found a special place. You weren't just another job, you weren't a goal to be fulfilled. You had gone from being a simple spectator in his life to becoming someone who could break through his defenses, even if it was just for a moment.

"Does that mean you're staying by my side for more than Moras?" You gave him a half-smile, one that Kinich only reserved for you in special moments.

He didn't respond immediately, but instead of words, he let his actions speak for him. With a calculated and agile movement, like the hunter he was, he enveloped you in an unexpected, but firm hug. It wasn't soft or delicate, but it was real. Like everything Kinich did.

"I'm staying because you're someone worth fighting for," he whispered, his voice rough but sincere.

You felt the warmth of his body next to yours, the weight of everything unsaid between the two of you. In the silence of the mountains, you knew that the future of both of you was far from easy, full of challenges and dangers. But at that moment, it didn't matter.

You were with Kinich, and for him, that was more valuable than any reward.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[steor-ra]

Yandere Superfam x Reader

The pregnancy was quite unexpected. Clark was so busy saving the galaxy this past month that he didn't have much time for Lois.

So when Clark discovers that Lois is pregnant after attempting to tell him several times and being ditched before she really had a chance, he feels terrible. How could he not have known his gorgeous wife was pregnant all along? Clark should have known, given his superhearing abilities.

He is also disappointed with Jon for not telling him sooner.

It's a given that as soon as he discovers of the pregnancy, he will pamper Lois to make up for every time she tried to tell him and to support her throughout her pregnancy.

Jon is thrilled to be a big brother; he has always wanted a younger sibling. It gets lonely when Damian isn't there to spend out with him, so the idea of having someone to hang out with every day is exciting. Jon has so much to teach his younger sibling.

When you are born, they're immediately in love. You look so cute and little in their arms, and they never want to let go. You've got them wrapped around your chubby little fingers.

Your nursery room is abandoned as soon as they take you home; you don't need it anyway, you could just sleep in your parents room, just cuddle in their arms safe. You would sometimes sleep in Jon's room if they'd let him

Their hearts fall into pieces everytime you cry especially if you get hurt by something or someone. It barely improved Superman's morale in the world and ensured that the planet would be the safest place for his baby to walk, if yk what I mean.

And don't get me started on the day you received your first shot as a baby. Jon was crying harder than you ever have, and Clark, who is holding you, is glaring so intensely at the doctor that if it's not the laser burning holes at the doctor, I don't know what it is, Lois is there to make sure that Clark doesn't actually burn holes at the doctor.

Jon is the best brother you'll ever have, and he will make sure of it. He dislikes sharing your attention with folks his age, save for his friend Damian, who may also be your friend! Just don't go too far and treat his friend as a brother figure, otherwise Jon will go insane. As I previously stated, Jon dislikes sharing his baby sibling; he is the only one you may refer to as brother; no one else.

Your father, Clark, will do everything in the world to make sure that his baby is happy at all times; if not, at least more frequently. He can't stay strict on your adorable face, especially when you make grabby hands to get what you want. It takes all to resist cooing and kissing your chubby cheeks, which he eventually can't take it anymore and just ends up doing anyhow.

Meanwhile, Lois is a little strict with you; she doesn't want you to grow up bratty, although she believes you will never be since her little cute baby is too gentle and nice to be that kind of child, so her strictness is not as frequent. She will also spoil her baby in the same way as the boys do; her baby deserves the best. Period.

They love you so much that they're willing to give up on everything if it means saving you from any danger

They also have all of the documentaries of your first time events, from the day you were held by your mother to the first day of school.

As you grew older, they became more paranoid

There are moments when you are put in a life-or-death situation, but luckily for you, there are many superheroes who are willing to save you because they are terrified of Superman, the man of steel, turning into bunkers.

The heroes connected to the league already know a lot about you, most likely because Superman can't stop talking about his baby whenever he's with someone or in a meeting. It's terrible, especially since the league is discussing some serious dangers, and then Superman comes in and says, "This is bad for my baby; I wonder what they're doing right now."

The joker kidnaps you one day, frightening your family to the core. Clark and Jon are both unable to hear or see you. They have no idea where you are. Lois was already crying when she couldn't find you in the house; she cried till her throat hurt, and that's when you understand something is serious when Superman calls Batman for help, dilated eyes, disheveled hair, and hyperventilating. Which Batman tried to calm him down and called for the league help him find you before Superman goes insane and starts flipping the world upside down. And when they finally found you, your family locked you up in the house forever.

Lois hugged her babbling baby who is unaware that you're never ever going to have a glimpse of the world ever again. It's the only way to make you safe, if you don't want them to lock you up in a bubble.

(A/n: send requests!)

[gojodickbig]

patching up neighbor!toji after he went on a shitty mission

conts: fluff.

wc: 1,9k.

divider from @uzmacchiato !!

the room was quiet, except for the faint hiss of toji’s breathing and the rustle of bandages as you worked. the smell of antiseptic filled the dimly lit room as you knelt in front of toji, his shirt somewhere on the floor, and his bare torso revealing a nasty gash along his side. his sharp eyes followed your every move, a flicker of amusement dancing in them despite the grim situation. he had been complaining ever since you started patching him up—about the bandages being too tight, the antiseptic being too cold, and how “unnecessary” this whole thing was. but you had long since learned that his grumbling didn’t mean much. he was always like this when you had to deal with him— always too proud, always too stubborn.

"if you don’t want my help patching you up, then why did you come here?” you asked, your patience wearing thin. his attitude was getting on your nerves.

“i just needed a place to crash for a moment. i couldn’t go into my apartment like this—my kid’s there,” he replied, his voice low and lazy. “i can patch myself up, y’know.”

“yeah, sure, like you wouldn’t have just slapped some duct tape on it and called it a day,” you shot back, glaring at him. “stay still,” you snapped, pressing a soaked cloth to his wound. He winced but didn’t flinch. “you’re lucky this didn’t hit anything vital. what were you even thinking?!” you paused. “this is why you keep getting hurt, toji. you’re reckless.”

“luck’s my middle name.” he chuckled at his own joke, a deep, gravelly sound that made your stomach twist in a way you tried to ignore. “and besides, reckless gets the job done, sweetheart, and i’m literally still breathing, aren’t i?”

“yeah, barely.” you ignored his pathetic attempt at humor and grabbed another strip of bandage, your hands moving quickly but carefully.

“thought i’d be fine, like always,” he replied with a shrug that made the bandages in your hand tremble. “told you, sweetheart, i don’t die that easy.”

you glared at him. “you can’t keep living like this. one of these days, you’re not going to walk away.” you huffed, rolling your eyes. “you’d be in a morgue if i wasn’t here. now stop acting invincible and stop moving.”

“is that what this is about?” he smirked, his head tilting. “you worried about me?”

you sighed, pressing the gauze against his side a little harder than necessary. “you make it impossible not to, showing up at my door in the middle of the night like this.” his cocky tone pricked your nerves, but the anger fizzled quickly under the weight of your own concern. “and someone has to worry about you. you clearly don’t.”

that wiped the smirk off his face, replaced by something quieter. your hands brushed his skin, and his muscles tensed under your touch.

“you’re too soft, you know,” he said after a moment, his voice dropping. “patching up someone like me when you should just ignore me.”

“you’re like a stray cat. you keep showing up whenever you’re in trouble. it’s not that easy to ignore you.”

he laughed at that, though the sound was rough and dry. “a cat, huh? thought you’d pick something tougher.”

“tough things don’t need saving,” you said simply, standing to grab another roll of bandages.

his grin faded, and for a moment, the room felt heavier. “and you think i do?” he raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes.

you paused, glancing at him. “if you didn’t, you wouldn’t keep coming back.”

his eyes lingered on you, unreadable as always, before he leaned back in his chair.

“you’re a strange one,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual. “most people know better than to get involved with me.”

“most people don’t live next door, and they don’t show up at my apartment in the middle of the night like this,” you replied, starting to wrap the bandage around his torso again.

he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “bad luck for you, then.”

your eyes shot up to his face, ready to argue, but the teasing edge in his voice was gone.

there was a slight silence between the two of you before he decided to speak again. “you’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

“you’ve got a funny way of showing gratitude,” you muttered, looking up at him.

“i didn’t mean it like that,” he paused, running a hand through his messy black hair. “i meant,” he continued, his voice quieter, “you’re the only one who bothers. everyone else knows better.”

“knows better?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“they know i’m not worth it,” he replied, his tone quiet but still laced with that same cocky edge.

you froze, startled by the admission. toji fushiguro, the unshakable rogue, didn’t flinch at death, but here he was, baring something close to vulnerability.

“maybe you are worth it,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop yourself.

he barked out a laugh, though it lacked its usual bite. “that’s cute. you think you can fix me?”

“who said i’m trying to fix you?” you shot back, your tone firm. “maybe i just care, toji. ever think of that?”

his smirk deepened, though his eyes softened slightly. “care, huh? that’s a dangerous thing, sweetheart.”

“why?” you asked, your voice quieter. “you can move now.”

he leaned forward, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “because when people care, they don’t think straight. they do stupid things.” his gaze dropped to the bandage, then back to you. “you’re already doing one by sticking around me.”

“then why do you let me?” you countered, your heart hammering. “why do you keep knocking at my door when you’re like this? why do you keep showing up when you’re hurt? if you don’t want me near you, then why is it always you who comes near me first?”

for the first time, toji didn’t have a quick answer. he let out a dry laugh. “i don’t know. i really don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “maybe i’m just selfish,” he muttered. “guess i like knowing someone’s dumb enough to stick around.”

you raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. “that’s the closest thing to a thank you i’ll get, isn’t it?”

“don’t push your luck,” he said, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “i’m not the guy you want looking out for you.”

"maybe not,” you replied, standing and crossing your arms. “but i’m not going anywhere. deal with it.”

his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, something unspoken passing between you. “you’re for real a pain in the ass.”

“you keep saying that,” you looked at him with a teasing smile, “and yet, you keep coming here.”

he paused for a moment, looking at you with that familiar, unreadable expression. “yeah, yeah,” he said, his voice soft. then, he stood, grabbing his discarded shirt from the floor. “have a good night, sweetheart.”

with that, he gave you one last glance and walked out the door.

© gojodickbig on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not cross-post, translate, copy in any way, etc.

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. II

Rhaenyra being Crenys' number 1 supporter

🗡

It only took a few hours for Daenys to wake up thrashing in bed. Panting and sitting up rigidly, Daenys struggled to clear her head.

Lucerys. She had dreamt of him tonight. In the midst of a storm, Arrax's wings beating as hard as the little dragon could manage in order to escape something. The silhouette of a menacing dragon loomed over Arrax and Luke like a shadow, deadly and unforgiving. He was being hunted like an animal.

Was the dream real? Daenys could hardly tell anymore. She had bizarre dreams and boring ones, never knowing the truth from a falsehood.

Sometimes, her dreams showed her what prank her brothers would attempt to pull on her the next day. Other times, it was horrors no young girl should be forced to witness.

She dreamt of Lady Leana's death by Vhagar's dragonfire and was awoken to being urged onto a boat to driftmark immediately. She had also dreamt of Ser Laenor, her father, dying peacefully of old age in his bed. Moons later, he had died in a fire that his own squire pushed him into.

Many a time, this happened, fooling herself into believing something was real when it was not. Daenys would run into her mother's chambers, sobbing and begging for her to listen. After Ser Harwin's sudden death, the first real prophecy that Daenys had foretold, Rhaenyra knew that her nightmares were no mere tall tale. Then, came Lady Laena immediately after, and Daenys had not stopped sobbing for weeks, blaming herself for both of their deaths.

She had never met Lady Laena, but Daenys was related to her through her father, caring for an aunt came easy even when not acquainted. Ser Harwin's demise struck her even harder. The knight had been her mother's sworn protector since Daenys was born. She saw him around the Keep more than she saw her own father, he had become a special figure in her life that was irreplaceable. Even Ser Erryk could never love the girl as he had.

When Laenor's death dream came, Daenys did not cry. She envisioned her father greyed and old on his deathbed, and she was certain that she would be right there with him when he passed on. She was wrong. Daenys would never forget rushing down into Driftmark's hall and seeing her father's hair and skeleton being dragged from the flames. Daenys could not save anyone. She was cursed with these dreams. She was cursed to be useless.

Fire had killed everyone she loved, and yet she still commanded it as all dragonriders do. Daenys had never commanded Morningstar to breathe her dragonfire after these events, nor stuck around when she burned her food to eat. She wondered now, if she ever was called to battle on Morningstar, if she could bring herself to use it.

Her mind liked to play cruel tricks on her. She desperately hoped that tonight was one of them. Her breaths were still ragged as she tried to calm herself, interrupted by the door slamming open. Daenys jumped in her spot, watching Cregan step in, Ice in hand. "Lord stark?" Her voice was groggy with sleep, although her mind was wide awake.

Still doning his formal clothes and furs, it was clear he hadn't yet gone to sleep, busy in his solar. "Princess? I heard a scream." He said, settling the longsword at his side as he scanned the room again.

Had she screamed? She couldn't have, Daenys' dreams hadn't caused such a reaction since she was a child. She had grown out of such humiliating behavior long ago. Surely, she did not do that whilst treating with a lord.

Daenys was lost for words, fiddling with the hem of the shift, all too aware of her state of undress in front of the lord. "Perhaps you heard Morningstar." She decided on. "Sometimes a dragon's song can sound quite human, the commonfolk often complain."

Cregan scanned her with a disbelieving stare, though he straightened himself and nodded. "Forgive me, I will take note of that. The maids will be made aware, too." He told her, placing Ice in its scabbard once more and shouldering it calmly.

"Is there anything I can get you, my princess? Tea, perhaps?" The question bothered her, his knowing and worried eyes feeling too close and suffocating.

Daenys stood swiftly, uncaring of her appearance. She placed her slippers on, brushing past him. "I will be back." She said firmly.

Cregan was stunned a moment, watching the young girl shoulder past him in a way that was unlike her usual demeanor. Her silver hair trailed loose behind her, white shift matching it in a way that made her look like a ghost haunting the Keep.

"Princess," he called after her, to no avail. Daenys disappeared behind the hallway walls. Cregan stood tensely, debating his next actions carefully. To be alone in the cold night was dangerous, but he wished not to trouble the princess any further. The absent look in her eyes was not something he would easily forget.

🗡

Rhaenyra and Daemon went through a similar routine each night. Both of them got ready to retire in their marital chambers, although separate. They both enjoyed the quiet time to unwind from the long day of council meetings.

No words were needed between the Queen and King consort.

"Are you sure it was the best decision to send Daenys to Winterfell?" Until now.

Sighing as she braided her shair over her shoulder, Rhaenyra glanced at him through her vanity mirror. "Do you have doubts?"

Daemon eyed her carefully, not wanting to speak ill of his stepdaughter. "You know I love her as my own." She nodded. "But, she has..a gentle demeanor. I'm not sure that pairing her and the Stark boy was the best choice for her."

Rhaenyra smiled, as if she knew something he didn't. "What?" He asked, facing her fully and raising his brow dramatically.

"You have little faith in our girl." Was all she said, amused and light.

"I have plenty faith in her. She has the strongest dragonbond of any of us. That is her strength, not negotiations." Daemon said, throwing his tunic off and tossing it away for the morning maids to wash.

Rhaenyra only hummed, "just trust me on this, alright? If it fails, I will personally ride to Winterfell and finish negotiations myself."

"You know that isn't possible, you cannot leave the council for so long." He deadpanned.

"Precisely."

🗡

Daenys wandered out of the Great Keep, not paying attention to the harsh shivers racking her body. Morningstar sang a tender and melancholy song to guide her rider towards her, in a field of snow outside of the keep's walls. In her trance-like determination, she had found a smaller side entrance to the stone walls that was simply a door instead of the gate meant for protection.

She followed the song until she reached the white dragoness, who was perfectly blended into the snow, and also blanketed by it to keep herself warm. Daenys joined her under her wing in the make-shift den, feet so cold in the thin slippers that they were now burning hot. The tips of her fingers followed, the heat contrasting the cold of the rest of her. Morningstar growled in concern, nudging Daenys gently and pulling her closer to the heat of her body. It helped, slightly, but Daenys payed no mind to the movement.

"...have your eye...pay your debt," she muttered against the wind of the night.

"Princess?" A voice called, yelling against it.

"...pay your debt...you owe a debt."

"Princess!"

Morningstar flared out, rising her neck to meet the lord of Winterfell. She growled, a fierce warning to stay away. Daenys came to Morningstar every time she woke from her dreams, staying for hours until the visions passed. Sometimes, they would huddle together for days.

"Princess, you must come inside." He urged, staying a clear distance from Morningstar to show his peace. He set Ice on the snow below his feet, hands out.

"...you owe a debt. One eye, one wing. One eye, one wing."

Morningstar trilled, covering her tighter from his view, muffling her voice. Cregan knew the Princess couldn't hear him, it was a useless endeavor. If she couldn't hear him, perhaps she could feel him.

He stepped closer to Morningstar's wing, reaching a hand gingerly toward her neck, watching as she growled but made no move to bite. "Easy, girl. I won't hurt her." He assured, petting her scaled neck.

She silenced, simply watching the man before her. He took that as a sign of approval, whatever kind of approval a dragon could give, and tucked himself under the large wing. The position was awkward, but he found himself enshrouded by warmth all around. Sitting beside the mumbling girl, he tucked Daenys carefully into his arms, stroking her hair comfortingly.

"One eye, one wing...one eye, one wing."

He would wait with her.

[atrwriting]

mercy — fem!highborn!reader x davos blackwood

was everyone else going crazy to find out that this man is actually named davos ?? absolutely wild. i refuse to believe it is davos, but alas — i must comply.

someone said that this guy would match your freak and i haven’t been able to unsee it and therefore i compose

as always, warnings: smuuuuuuut, knife play, choking, swearing, switch reader, power bottom davos, my very own self indulgence

____

with your family and several others declaring for rhaenyra targaryen, the one true queen, it led to others seeing women in a different light. a daughter of a highborn family like you would not be trapped to embroider for the rest of your life — unless you wanted to. that was the beauty of choice and what rhaenyra had started — you should have the same opportunities of men in that age, including the opportunity and ability to choose.

and so you did: you chose to fight.

with war brewing, how could you stand by and only wield a needle and thread when you didn’t want to and had the ability to do something else? what, were you going to embroider the war? some battle with red thread? illustrating the rage and fighting of men losing their lives with and against fire and blood? absolutely not. if you could wield a sword instead, and weren’t half bad — maybe that would save someone else from fighting.

and so you did. you started training.

you weren’t half bad, honestly — given your size and age. most men began when they were boys and very small, growing into their strength and work ethic. you could not be blamed for your lack of skill — it just meant that when you could wield a sword against a worthy opponent and beat them, you would gain the respect you deserve.

and you would work for it. you had to.

in order to achieve that, you had to actually find willing opponents. despite the fact that they declared for rhaenyra, that did not mean that other soldiers wanted to face a woman in a fair fight. you tried not to take it too personally — as they would probably fear for your father’s response if you had been hurt. you tried to understand, but you wanted to improve — needed to improve.

however, there was one person that was willing to spar with you.

you rolled your eyes just thinking of the name.

davos blackwood.

there was nothing wrong with him — but he bothered you. got under your skin in a way that no other man could, nor even dream of being able to. he taunted you the first time you had ever met him, and taunted you further towards the first time you had ever sparred with him. you did not mind someone baiting you, but to be constantly reminded of your lack of skill, your womanhood, and the approaching war was a weight on one’s shoulders that a beginner could not always bear the weight of. they would not expect a young boy to withstand that pressure, and didn't understand why davos would expect you to handle it. when that insecurity was opened and showcased for onlookers to see fighting in daylight, it was even harder. you didn’t understand why he was trying so hard to, frankly, haze you — and it’s not like he seemed open to fair or friendly communication.

so you tried to avoid him.

you tried.

you really, really did try… but in the end, he was the only one willing — and you had to learn.

you sighed with reluctance — knowing what you had to do.

when he was alone in the camp you were both staying at, you walked up to him.

“...lord blackwood?” you asked, trying to refrain from using a soft voice.

he turned around to face you, a smirk already growing on his lips. one of his hands was lazily gripping the hilt of his sword, while the other grasped his hip. his shoulders were wide and strong — indicative of how skilled of a fighter he was. you clenched your teeth — hoping you wouldn’t regret this, as you could only benefit. you had to keep reminding yourself of that — a means to an end. that's all this is and would be. it's worth it. you then tried to meet his eyes as the wind swept his brown hair from his line of sight.

if he wasn’t so snarky, you might have found him attractive.

might have.

“yes, my lady?” he asked.

you could hear his smirk in his tone — like he already knew what you were going to ask, and how much you did not want to ask it.

you folded your bottom lip in between your teeth. “...would you be willing to spar with me?”

“i would,” he replied. “you have not asked me since our last. i have some time now — should we find an open space?”

you shook your head. “perhaps this evening... when people have retired?”

he raised an eyebrow, obviously displeased with your decision. “...why is that, my lady?”

“less of an audience, my lord,” you tried to say confidently.

he raised an eyebrow at you. “battles are not won in private, my lady.”

you tried to keep your tone flat, fighting the urge to turn your nose up at him. “i’m aware.”

“so why do you not join me now?”

“i would like to make mistakes once or twice in private — and then i will feel more comfortable where others can see.”

“you would do fine now, my lady,” he spoke, but then dipped his head. “but as you wish.”

you felt dirty after he agreed — you couldn't put your finger on why. the dip of his head — like he was giving into the conquest and silly dream of that of a young girl. a young, naive, innocent girl who would never be taken seriously, no matter how hard she tried — but you couldn't think like that. you couldn't afford to — especially not during the time of war. you swallowed you pride, and waited for your meeting.

he kept his promise. later that evening, when the sun was setting, you finally met him in the sword shed before you intended to meet him in the makeshift arena. you found him sharpening his sword, face being illuminated by the lamp light. you entered the shed.

"good evening, my lady," he greeted, with a hint of grit in his voice.

you narrowed your eyes at him. "good evening, lord blackwood."

"following in your fashion — should we start with something easy? something, say — one starts with at the wee age of — eleven, perhaps?"

“i never asked you to go easy on me — but i would have hoped that after i voiced my concerns as to why i would prefer not to have an audience when i spar with you, you would’ve understood.”

“and — pray tell, my lady, why would i have understood?”

you slapped your sides in defeat, beginning to get frustrated at the fact that he couldn’t read between the fucking lines. your cheeks were beginning to pinch at the feeling of flush. “because it was like you were constantly reminding me that i am new to this and that it was unlikely that i would ever get better!"

he raised his eyebrows then, eyes widening. the smirk was still playing at his lips, as he couldn't help but let an amused chuckle push past his lips — intending mockery. “my intention was to make you better, my lady.”

you shook your head in disbelief, almost scoffing. “i just — it would’ve been nice —“

“nice?” he scoffed, walking towards you then. he approached you with his hands behind his back, but his walk was led by his head, neck, and shoulders. it stuck out at you like he couldn't wrap his head around as to how you could believe or say such a thing. “my lady, there is no nice on the battle field. not only do you have to beat the swords you go up against, but also the men wielding them. i was not nice to you because there is not enough time. you do not have enough time to learn at the pace of a boy, because you are a learning to fight as a woman during the time where another woman is fighting for her crown. you need to be good — for your family, for your army, for your queen — and because i want you to be good.”

you narrowed your eyes at him, sucking in a sharp breath at his words. there stood davos, pleading with you to have confidence in your own ability and skill — despite how he always made you doubt it. you didn't know what to think, let alone believe. “i am not naive enough to believe that the battle field is nice — just forget it, i can’t —“

you went to turn away, but he stopped you. he grabbed you by the elbow, and you immediately turned to face him. within almost an instant, you had stopped his other arm. you shoved his grip down at the same time you pressed a knife to the skin of his neck with your free hand.

you bared your teeth at him, the tip of your nose pulsing into a snarl. there was a dagger to his throat, but nothing compared to the ones you shot with your eyes. your pupils dilated so the only thing in your vision was blackwood and his dark eyes, only focused on yours. both sets of eyes had seen peace and danger, fire and ice —but neither knew the feeling you had when you looked into davos blackwood's eyes and witnessed the exact moment he realized you had been the one to best him. to have his throat at the mercy of your wrist, and have him still smirk down at you — was a feeling that startled you, and excited you.

he pushed against the blade, forcing you to reluctantly allow his head to lower to yours. you could feel his hot breath on your face, shrinking your space. "is that what will make you feel more confident, my lady? — you think you can best me, with a knife to my throat?"

he walked forward, forcing you backwards. you continued taking steps backward when he did not stop. soon, your back was pressed up against a table your lower back had been stopped by. the force of davos' hips collided with yours, pressing you against the table. the plumpness of your ass was pushed into the wood as davos planted himself between your thighs. "is this how you make yourself feel safe? — because even if i am stronger, that does not negate the fact that in a moment's time you could bleed me."

"i could —" you bit — as if that statement was something monumental. as if you hadn't agreed with his own statement. as if it wasn't pathetic.

you watched as he realized that fact the same time you did.

"but will you?" he asked, in a soft, taunting voice.

"i could," you spat again.

pathetic, you spat to yourself in your head. at that same moment, davos smirked down at you.

"there is nothing more enticing than a woman who knows her strength," he spoke, tone threatening to break. "especially against a man whom they both know could end her.”

“testing me, davos?” you spat, nose turning up at him. his smirk wavered when he felt the sharpness of the blade scrape his skin, threatening to draw blood.

“oh — i find myself doing more than that, my lady,” he pressed forward once more, so your noses were almost touching. there were inches — barely inches — between your lips, words ghosting over your skin. his breaths hit your lips with such force you almost believed they were touching. you couldn't let it show on your face — couldn’t let him know he was winning, or that he won. “you want to keep that blade at my throat? be my guest — as long as you let me do this.”

with your lower back pressed against the table and the knife flat on his throat, davos locked you in by placing both of his hands on either side of your thighs. he leaned forward, and he took what he wanted. he took, and took, and took until you were putty in his hands. he held your lips hostage with his own, leaving you at his mercy. mercy, mercy, mercy. you were jailed in his embrace, hating and relishing it at the same time.

your free hand gripped his collar, pulling him into your knife and you. you didn’t even realize you were doing it — or maybe you didn’t want to admit it. maybe you didn’t want to admit that you liked the man who constantly bullied you, nor that you liked the boldness in his smirk before he kissed you.

“you bastard —“ your insult was breathless. pathetic. ridiculous. it made him smile, and it only made your pride and shame swirl in your chest more. how dare he? how could he? “you fucking — !“

“that’s right, my sweet — “ he grunted, pushing your skirts to the side. you felt the cool air hit your exposed thighs, a blush rising to your cheeks. he laughed against your lips before sliding his tongue into your mouth. you could’ve if you wanted to — you so could’ve — you could’ve, you could’ve, you fucking could’ve, but you didn’t want to — you didn’t want to push him away. the knife, still pressed against his skin, wanted to push him away. wanted to cut him. wanted to bring him pain. wanted to get him away — but you? no. your body’s reluctance fell away once you felt his hands slips between your thighs. “hate me — come on — show me how strong you are — show me how much you fucking hate me.”

his thumb was on your clit, sensitive with excitement and anger — never been touched before. his finger drew circles; a long curve on the top of your bundle of nerves, fast when it made he made his way towards the top of the circle once more. long, and drawn out was his torture. he wound you up tight, only for him and at his mercy. he shoved his middle and ring finger inside you, letting the pads of his fingers rub the length of the roof of your cunt. the beckoning motion brought you closer and closer to him, no matter how hard you tried to fight him inside.

“keep that knife at my throat, my lady,” he spat. “let’s see if you can keep a steady hand without drawing blood when i make you cum. — i’m betting you can’t.”

“fuck…” you trailed off off, getting lost in his movements. “f-fuck you.”

“that’s all the brave fighter’s got?” he spat into your ear, making your hair stand. “weak words? you claimed you were of a higher skill — am i going to be the one to prove you wrong?"

you couldn’t concentrate. you couldn’t. there was no way. it would’ve been useless to even try. your let your neck relax as his lips found the length of the side of your jaw, kissing and nibbling at the clammy skin. he found your pulse point — thumpthumpthumpthumpthump — and sucked the blood from the source, and to the surface. you couldn’t see, but you felt the blood rise to the top of the skin and settle. your blood, your veins, your fucking heart was pounding as it rested at his mercy. his. him. davos. he controlled every part of you — including where your blood moved, pooled, and clotted — and you didn’t know how to feel about it. you were swimming in his embrace, holding onto him for dear fucking life.

“fuck, fuck, fuck…” you cried.

“that’s right, my sweet,” he spoke. groaning in your ear, “that’s it. show me. show me how much you hate me. i want that knife to almost cut me when you cum. i want to see the look of hatred in your eyes when you make a mess on my fucking sword hand.”

you couldn’t stop it.

you couldn’t.

it was useless. pathetic. worthless.

your head fell against his strong, broad shoulder and you felt every part of your being lose control. every single one of your muscles tightened. your grip on the hilt on the knife tightened and the grip on his leathers tightened. everything was so fucking tight you didn’t know how the strings inside of you that were wound so tight didn’t fucking snap. it should’ve snapped. it should’ve snapped like the light behind your eyes, blinding white being the only thing you could see. you thought you could hear your own cries, his grunts — but you weren’t sure. your were lost, floating in your own release while his fingers didn’t relent against you.

“so-so sensitive,” you choked out, vision still hazy.

“you think i’m done with you?” he spoke. your strength was beginning to waver, as was your knife from his throat. you could feel the exact moment he realized it. “can’t even keep a knife to my throat at your most vulnerable? how do you expect to fair, yeah? in battle? — shall i get you a needle and thread instead, my lady?"

something inside of you snapped inside you for a second time that night — but this time it was anger. your gaze, aflame, caught his. how dare he? how fucking dare he? with a snarl, you spat, “unlace your fucking leathers, blackwood.”

fire also danced within his irises as the corners of his mouth raised once again. for the first time that evening, you had me davos' fight as an equal match.

you would not back down.

his fingers left your dripping cunt, and he began working at his strings. you struggled to catch your breath as you came down from your high, forcing yourself to regain composure. and, yet — there was davos. smirking. confidently. not fearing the knife at his throat, nor fearing the girl who held it, nor that she was now his match.

his tore his eyes away from you to spit on his hand, coating his long member. though angry, you couldn’t help but grow hungry at the sight of his red, leaking tip. there was no desperation on his face, but davos blackwood had control over his expression. his demeanor. his emotions. but his cock? red and neglected? there was no control. it plunged into your sopping wet cunt, buried in you until the hilt.

your cunt blossomed around him. you felt your walls blossom for the man on top of you. your womb, warm and welcoming, wanted to suck him in and never let him leave. you had never known pleasure like this, wanting even the most frustrating of men to give it to you.

you threw the knife on the ground.

you pressed your flat palm to his throat, curling around it. your squeezed the sides of his throat. your teeth were bared once more, fighting for dominance against the predator before you.

davos smiled, diminishing your resolve.

“there she is,” he spat, smirk wide with his teeth on display. “there’s my fighter.”

"fuck you," you replied.

"good," he responded, before sliding his length inside of you.

that was the thing with davos — showing vulnerability like succumbing to pleasure made you feel weak, whereas davos never felt weak. even in a vulnerable state such as this — this, joining bodies as one, each thrusting their hips against the other seeking to reach their own peak, while also relishing in the fact that you were helping the other reach theirs. his fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, deliciously painful and bittersweet. even in his most vulnerable state, davos radiated power. there was dominance in his state of weakness and pleasure that was asserted over you, and you had no choice to bow — no choice but to give in.

“you missed me so bad, didn’t you?”

there you were — a light sheen of sweat on your skin glistening with the dim light of the lantern as you thrusted your hips to meet his. there was one firm hand of his, pressing down on your stomach. every time he could feel the thrust of his own cock through the soft skin of your stomach, you witnessed a flash of mischief in his dark irises. a groan collected in the back of davos' throat — building, building, and building until it came out in a growl. carnal. animalistic. untamed, and all yours. you couldn't help but moan at the sound, sending a gush of pleasure swirling around his cock. he glanced up at you, smile being illuminated by the lantern.

“that’s it, my sweet — whine for me.”

and you did. oh fuck, you did. it was all you could do besides let your muscles go taut at the idea of losing all control to the pleasure of the tip of his cock hitting that space behind your clit deep inside you. once more. that's all you needed. once more. one more peak. your pride would understand — you could not feel shame with the feeling of pleasure so electrifying. every crook of your body was hot and clammy — but you didn’t care. you couldn’t care, and neither could he.

“you just want to cum, don’t you?” he asked. “i know you do, yes? — answer me.”

he slapped your your sensitive clit. it sent sparks up and down your nerve endings, making you squeal and jump. you glanced up at him, and immediately connected your gaze with his dark one. his eyes tested you — your pride, your shame, and your being. however, the want and need in your hips was stronger than you — but that didn't matter. that was the strength and fight davos' wanted, and he would lose to.

“i do,” you whimpered, folding your bottom lip into your mouth. your eyes, like a doe’s, pleaded with him through your thick lashes. you thought you saw a flash of pride on his face, but you couldn’t tell. “fuck, youfuckingbastard — please, davos, just a little longer… ‘m so close.”

“ohhh — that right, my lady? yeah?” his gaze was heavy — dark, tired, but fueled by lust. his throat was worn and scratchy, and the thickness of his voice mirrored it. “showing that fight you promised me, yeah? just like i asked? so beautiful and fucking strong —”

"fuck..." you sobbed. your womb was blooming once more, sucking him in farther and farther into you. he welcomed the pull from your warm, wet, and gummy walls — for you had no strength to push him from you, and neither did he.

"shall i spill my seed into you, my sweet?" he asked, chuckling darkly. he cock continued to pound into your throbbing cunt until you could only think davos, davos, davos. your grip on his throat grew tighter — but not because of your anger, but because you could only cling onto something to hold you present. "shall we create the bravest, most dangerous fighter there has ever been?"

his words were beginning to slur together, like ears underwater. your brain was swimming, being pushed and pulled through saltwater waves that wove ropes around your lungs and hips.

"if you dare..." you whined, failing at sounding brave.

"i would dare," he immediately spat, plunging his cock in once more.

your grip on his throat tightened as he spanked your clit once more, sending you spinning. your thighs locked around him, pulling you into your core and trapping him there. it only enraged him — energized him. it was the final fire that spread throughout him to snap his hips once, twice, thrice more into you and spill himself inside you. your peak made you cling to your lover in the lamp light — holding onto him as you both fell forward into each other, clinging to each other.

you had fallen onto his shoulder, seeking rest. his cheek was pressed against the side of your face. his lips pressed a warm, wet kiss on your cheek — and then another onto the love bite he left on your skin. you felt his tongue poke through his soft lips and lick the bruised skin, sealing his mark in. with his dark gruff voice, davos stated, "that is how you best a man, my lady."

"fuck you."

----

so what do we think? love u guys xoxoox - L

[kittenshift-17]

"Soooo... what are we gonna do if he doesn't go away?" Stiles asked softly after spitting out the pool water that’d seeped past his lips.

They both knew what he was talking about. Derek was completely paralysed, and the dead weight of the werewolf was weighing him down. They could both feel Stiles’s strength beginning to wane after two hours of treading water.

"Risk whatever he's gonna do to us if we swim to the edge?" Derek suggested, and Stiles could tell from the look on his face that the werewolf knew that way led a gory, blood-soaked death.

"Think I'd rather drown than be gutted," he muttered.

Derek didn't say anything to that, but he didn't really have to. After two hours of this, Derek had accepted that any minute now, he would drown. He didn't trust humans, especially not Stiles, and he'd been waiting for Stiles to make the decision to save himself. To throw Derek's arm off himself and swim for the edge. To let him sink and leave him to die.

He hadn't yet, and Derek didn't know why, other than the fear of the kanima outweighing his fear of drowning.

"Maybe he'll go away," Derek suggested. "I'm pretty sure someone's controlling him."

"Controlling him to keep us in the pool?" Stiles frowned.

"He's clearly after one of us," Derek shrugged.

"Probably you after all the times you've hunted him."

Derek agreed, though he didn't say so.

"If that's the case, he'll probably let you leave," he pointed out quietly. "You... you can let me go, you know."

Stiles twisted his head to gape at him in confusion.

"You'll drown."

"Yeah, but you won't," Derek answered seriously. "I know you're tired. If you wait any longer, you won't have the strength to swim to the edge and climb out."

Stiles gave him an indecipherable look, the skin around his eyes tightening.

"You don't have to drown with me," Derek murmured quietly because he was certain they both would if Stiles didn't let him go.

"We don't know for certain that it's after you," Stiles replied evenly, looking away from him before he began kicking a little harder and using the arm not holding Derek up to begin dragging them both through the water toward the shallower end.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying not to drown," Stiles huffed.

Derek knew he was flagging. He could feel the way the younger man's muscles trembled with every circle of limbs designed to keep them afloat. Stiles kept swimming while the kanima circled the pool edge, hissing and flicking his creepy serpentine tail. Despite the lizard skin, he reminded Derek of a cat eyeing a bird it wanted to hunt but couldn't reach.

"The pool is still too deep at the other end for you to touch the bottom," Derek pointed out.

"The disability access steps aren't," Stiles grunted and Derek's eyes widened, remembering the school had installed a special staircase into the water that would allow those who couldn't use the ladder to still swim.

"He'll be able to reach with his claws," Derek warned.

"Not if I stay right at the edge of them. I should be able to stand up there."

He kept struggling, panting heavily and almost dropping them both under the water several times. Derek hated being so helpless, his limbs completely numb.

"You don't have to save me, Stiles," he tried again.

"Dude, you only got cut and fell into the pool in the first place because you were trying to push me out of the way when he came at us," Stiles disagreed. "I know you're fast enough to outrun that thing. You could have legged it like Erica did. But you didn't. I'm not gonna let you die for me."

The logic floored Derek.

Like, yeah, he had been trying to save Stiles, but he was bigger and stronger and faster, and the creature probably wasn't after the sarcastic teenager.

"Made it," Stiles grunted in relief, and Derek felt it when he got his feet under him on the solid steps and was no longer straining to tread water.

The creature snarled, swiping at them and it hissed and skittering away when it got wet again.

"It's definitely afraid of the water."

Derek nodded in agreement as Stiles adjusted his grip on him, unfurling Derek's arm from around his shoulders and turning his body to put both arms around his waist, Derek's back to his chest.

He leaned back against the bollard in the middle of the step, installed to ensure no one in a wheelchair using the steps accidentally rolled into the spot that would be too deep. On the step, the water barely cleared Stiles's stomach when he stood at full height - the perfect depth for someone in a chair to keep their head above water. But to keep out of reach of the creature, they had to stay as submerged as possible.

Derek ended up practically in Stiles lap, the boy using his own thighs to help keep Derek’s head above water, arranging his legs to balance the back of his thighs over Stiles’s knees. The alpha wolf inside his soul hated the position, so utterly vulnerable with Stiles at his back, his warm breath huffing at the side of his neck and cheek, over the top of his shoulder. His arms around his waist, supporting him.

"Thank you," he forced himself to say while Stiles panted tiredly, his forehead leaning against the back of Derek's head. "For not letting me drown."

"Yeah, well, you didn't let that thing gut me," Stiles muttered. "And you saved me when Isaac wanted to eat me on his first full moon."

They fell silent after that, Stiles still panting a little from the exertion - he was going to be sore in the coming days after the strain on his muscles, Derek was sure of it. The creature came back a few times, never getting close enough to the water's edge to reach them again, before eventually, it disappeared.

"He's gone," Derek said quietly, and Stiles jolted against his back, having almost dozed off.

"You sure? He could be hiding to try and lure us out."

Derek listened for the creature's heartbeat, but only the steady thump of his own and Stiles’s met his ears.

"We're alone," Derek confirmed.

"Oh, thank God. I'm freezing."

He stirred beneath Derek, beginning to drag him up the stairs to get them both out of the water.

"I think some feeling is coming back," Derek confided when Stiles had him on dry land.

"Of course it is," Stiles huffed. "Perfect timing."

Derek managed to drag himself into a sitting position right as another heartbeat reached his ears followed by the drum of rapid footsteps. He whipped his head around, looking for the source, only to see Scott running into view.

"Stiles! Derek!" Scott yelled.

"More perfect timing," Stiles muttered bitterly. "You couldn't have shown up an hour ago, Scott?"

Derek huffed as well because it was annoying that Scott, Erica, Isaac, and Boyd had all left them here. They could have died.

Stiles looked over at Derek when Scott hauled him onto his feet. Derek met his gaze, his legs still weak.

Stiles had protected him. This mouthy, sarcastic spazz had been willing to drown for him, to die with him rather than leaving him alone to save himself.

Derek couldn't remember the last time anyone had shown him that kind of loyalty. Maybe Laura? Maybe his parents? All of them wolves, all with blood ties to him. And yet here was this stubborn, smart ass human who annoyed Derek more than anyone else he'd ever met, and he'd saved him. He'd shown more loyalty than his pack members had.

The bond snapped into place with a crack like lightning, zinging through his cells, his blood, his soul, and Derek grunted at the sting. Stiles jumped like he'd had a fright, and Scott tensed nervously as the scent of ozone and lightning flooded the space between them. Emotion poured through, heat searing along the pathway linking the two of them. Confusion. Curiosity. Worry. Anxiety. Exhaustion. All of it sizzled into him, and Derek had to close his eyes, taking a controlled breath.

"What just happened?" Scott confirmed, sniffing worriedly.

Stiles was rubbing his chest where the bond originated, his eyes fixed on Derek, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something but had no words.

Derek met his gaze steadily, knowing firsthand how overwhelming a pack bond could be when it formed, even for a wolf. For a human, it had to be like being electrocuted, burned alive, and drowned all at the same time. The linking of souls, or mind, or emotions all designed to attune a packmate to another, designed to protect, to connect, to irrevocably link.

"Is... is this... a wolf thing?" Stiles asked and Derek was certain his own resignation, gratitude, confusion, and ever-present underlying anger were all flooding down the bond to Stiles in return.

"What?" Scott asked. "What happened?"

"A pack bond," Derek confirmed quietly, not daring to tell either of them that the last time he'd shared a pack bond with anyone, it'd been Laura. His family. He hadn't bonded with the wolves he'd bitten, and his bond to Peter had been burned out of him like everything else during the fire.

Something unknotted in Derek's belly when Stiles stumbled across the space between the two of them.

"What's a pack bond?" Scott asked dumbly because the boy was an idiot who kept rejecting everything wolfish instead of learning about what he'd become.

Stiles gripped Derek's waist, clinging to him, pushing into his space, and Derek managed to get his arm up, gripping the back of Stiles’s neck in return. He pulled Stiles in by it, burying his nose in Stiles’s hair and breathing in the scent of him, like caramel and sunshine, and the medicinal tang of his Adderall all currently overlaid with the stink of chlorine from the pool.

"Stiles? What's happening? What is this? I thought you two hated each other?" Scott asked, bewildered.

Derek didn't bother explaining it to him, just clung to Stiles tighter and closed his eyes relishing in the complete overwhelm of having a pack bond again, his wolf howling with joy after so long on his own. Stiles burrowed into him, arms curling all the way around him while he buried his head in Derek's neck, clinging to him tightly, hugging him while he trembled.

It might’ve been completely unintentional, and Derek was certain that when the euphoria wore off, he'd resent being so intimately linked with the spastic human, but for now, he had a new pack bondmate, and for the first time in over a year, Derek felt at peace.

.

Xx-Kitten