#ill never know if it was sickness or a cut on the wrist but i couldn't live without him and i still cant

[babyleostuff]

passenger princess(es)

𝜗𝜚 fluff, established relationship 𝜗𝜚 idol!seungcheol x fem!reader 𝜗𝜚 wc: 894

・ ❥ ・ there is nothing that could stop cheol from taking care of his passenger princess(es)

„hey baby, can you pass me the water bottle?” seungcheol let go of the wheel, so he could grab the bottle from you, not tearing his eyes from the road for a second. 

cheol was a great driver, excellent even in his humble opinion - he has never gotten a ticket in his life, and people told him on multiple occasions how safe they felt with him behind the wheel. he was also very much aware of how hot he looked driving, something he often used against you. with the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up (which accentuated his yummy biceps even more), the expensive watch around his wrist and, for dessert, his other hand resting on your thigh - you had no other way out than to totally thirst over your unfairly sexy boyfriend.

there were times when you found yourself staring at him with no shame, he was that hot. not that seungcheol cared, if he did he wouldn’t flex his biceps on purpose while grabbing the wheel. 

but while he was (obviously) very careful while driving, it seemed that his protective instincts kicked in on a higher level when you were sitting next to him. 

that’s why when you didn’t answer him, or gave him the bottle, he made sure to grab the wheel with both of his hands before throwing a glance at you. 

„my love, did you h-,” words stuck in his throat when he saw your closed eyes and your head resting against the window. cheol knew that sooner or later you would fall asleep anyway, no matter how hard you insisted on not sleeping. “i want to keep you company,” you pouted angrily, and grabbed the AUX, “don’t want you to feel lonely.” it was on the tip of cheol's tongue that there was no chance he would feel lonely, even if you were sleeping. not to mention your little white fluff ball in the backseat that always kept him company. 

„you see, told you mommy would fall asleep,” he laughed, looking at your precious baby in the rearview mirror. kkuma seemed to have the best time looking at the passing cars, barking at some of them, and wagging her tail at others. 

seungcheol sighed with a smile, as he grabbed your hand that was resting on your tummy. „ah, what am i going to do with you, my silly girls.” 

to be honest - he couldn't have been more content. you spent the whole day together on the beach, with kkuma running into the waves (she ended up looking like a wet mop), eating food from the seaside food stalls, walking along the shore, and finally ending the day with a swim together. days off were the best. 

suddenly, his daydream was cut short when he felt you shiver. cheol wouldn’t have been that worried (you sometimes got those shivers in your sleep, which he always found really cute), but you grabbed his hand tighter, as if you were searching for more body heat. he frowned as he ran his hand over your arm, feeling the goosebumps on your skin. 

„why didn’t you just tell me you were cold,” he muttered, half annoyed, and half worried. your hair was still wet, and your clothes damp after you put them over your swimsuit, so if the AC was too low you could get sick - something seungcheol wouldn’t let happen, even if it meant he’d have to fight the illness himself. 

fortunately, there was a gas station a few kilometers away.

he parked right next to a small field of grass so he could also let kkuma out for a moment, and opened the trunk in search of a blanket he could cover you with. cheol also found his sweater and decided that two layers wouldn’t hurt. 

to avoid any neck or back cramps, seungcheol gently repositioned you in your seat so as not to wake you up, but still let you sleep peacefully without straining any muscles. technically he could just turn the heating on, but he just let you freeze for the past god knows how many minutes - he had to bundle you up. „my pretty girl,” he stroked your cheek, leaning in to kiss your nose, before covering you with the sweater. 

„c-cheollie?” you suddenly mumbled, and raised your hand to rub your eyes. your boyfriend couldn’t help but laugh at your slightly confused expression.  

„i pulled over, baby,” he said softly. „you were sleeping and you were clearly freezing, which by the way, please let me know next time if you're cold, so i stopped to cover you up.” 

you looked at him with big, sleepy eyes like you were still trying to figure out which planet you were on - you were clearly still too tired to understand. „’s okay, go back to sleep.” 

some people were afraid of sleeping in cars, after all, there were so many situations that could lead to a catastrophe - what if the driver fell asleep or did not notice the approaching vehicle? 

but you were not scared at all, not in the slightest. if you had to pick one person on earth that made you feel the safest, you’d pick choi seungcheol without a hesitation. in a car or not - you knew he’d protect you no matter what. 

that's why, without thinking, you nodded and closed your eyes, falling back asleep.

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[propertyofwicked]

YOUR NECKLACE - LN

no warnings just fluff + some SMAU <3 (one mention of sick, no specific detail)

-> lemme know ur thoughts! my inbox is open!! <3

masterlist the playlist

after successfully keeping their relationship secret for 9 months, lando truly believed it was time for him to properly introduce his girlfriend to the world of motorsport. she’d attended races before but always under general admission, usually alone, but sometimes accompanied by the likes of max and p. and it wasn’t as if the fans didn’t know who she was, they just knew her as ‘y/n who works with quadrant’, ‘y/n that reset the cones in the driving video’, ‘y/n that keeps her social media private’ - never once being considered lando’s girlfriend, which worked well for the two.

the panic had set in that morning as she dressed for the day, her hands constantly running over her outfit, checking the way she looked in the mirror from every angle - she wanted to believe that no one would care, or even notice that she was there, but deep down she knew that making the jump from general admission to paddock would gain some chatter on twitter.

“you look perfect,” lando had whispered in her ear from behind her, his hands wrapping around her waist as he tugged her away from the mirror.

“maybe they’ll just think im helping with a quadrant project,” she said absentmindedly, more trying to convince herself than actually respond to him.

“maybe,” he nodded along with her, mulling over his next words, “we can walk in separately if you want? they might not assume anything if they don’t see us together?”

“it’s not that i dont want us to be seen together,” she told him as she moved to the floor, tying her shoelaces up, “i just hate to think what’ll be said about me if they do.”

“i know, angel,” he reassured her, offering out a hand to pull her up, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead when she returned to his level.

the journey to the track was a quiet one, the two of them engaging in light conversation, eventually deciding they’d just walk in together, keep PDA to the minimum and ‘run and hide at the first sign of trouble’ y/n had joked.

lando paced up and down his drivers room, the sleeves of his racing overalls swinging with every step, from where they sat around his hips. he was getting into the right mindset, music playing, and yet his mind raced with every fear of the looming race.

“sit in the garage,” he asked her, halting his pacing to turn and face her.

“what?” she replied, half unsure she’d misheard him.

“watch from the garage - please,” he repeated moving to take steps towards her, noticing the way her fingers twisted at the rings that adorned them.

“are you sure?” she checked, as he grabbed her wrists to stop her anxious fiddling.

“never been more sure in my life,” he told her, using her arms to pull himself closer, joining the two of them in a sweet kiss.

“ok, ill be there,” y/n responded against him, parting only for a moment before connecting their lips again. the kiss was short and sweet, cut off by oscar knocking telling him it was time to go.

she stood in the garage, smiling at a few engineers she recognised before finding herself a seat. the nerves were washing over her again, but now they were for lando. y/n always worried during races, scared on his crashing, worried he wouldn’t perform as well as everyone knew he could. her hand reached up to her chest, instinctively searching for her necklace - lando had bought it for her before they were even together, knowing from the moment she smiled at it and looked up to thank him that this was it for him, she was his future. but the necklace wasn’t there, the girl panicked slightly, fearing she had lost it or it had fallen off before concluding that in her distraction this morning she had simply forgotten to put it on.

that’s ok, you’re a grown woman who can control her nerves. you don’t need a necklace to calm yourself down - you’re not even the one racing she told herself, letting out a deep sigh as she tried to believe herself. no one else in the garage seemed to notice her, a fact she was fairly happy about, hoping that the same would be said for the hundreds of news and tv stations priming their cameras for the race.

but someone had noticed her, recognising the look on her face as the same one she had been wearing all morning. only lando could decipher what her expression meant - she was nervous, of course, scared for him, but also filled with a small buzz of excitement - he couldn’t quite understand how one person could feel so much all at the same time, and not combust on the spot. nevertheless he jogged over to her.

“lando? aren’t you supposed to be like, getting your helmet on?” she asked him, shocked slightly at his sudden appearance. he looked at her, his hand tugging at the top of his fireproofs and pulling his own necklace from where it was trapped behind the fabric.

“forgot to take this off,” he told her, hands moving behind his neck to unclasp the metal, “will you look after it for me?”

she nodded up at him, her outstretched hands halted as he stood close, hands moving the metal around her own neck and clasping it. the metal dropped against her skin, the warmth from him wearing it transferring to her.

“thanks, love you,” he told her, a rushed kiss planted on her lips before he jogged away from her again.

his face carried a smirk as he left her, knowing he hadn’t truly forgotten to take the piece of jewellery off. in actual fact, he’d noticed her missing necklace the moment they’d arrived at the track and made it his mission to have his own hung around her neck, almost as a badge of honour. the two had agreed to keep their relationship private from the public, somewhat of a secret - but now she sat in his garage, wearing his necklace. it was the bare minimum display of the love they shared, but it was enough for him, and it was enough for her.

oscar quirked his eyebrow at his teammates smirk, receiving a quick tell you later before the two pulled their balaclavas down.

the gesture was so simply and so subtle and the girl was oblivious to the moment being caught on camera. the moment a yellow flag was called, the sky tv cameras filled the wait time by zooming in on the faces of loved ones sitting in each drivers garage. however, y/n remained oblivious to the lens focusing closely on her, the camera closely capturing the way she fiddled at the necklace before dropping it as normal lap conditions resumed.

"good day then?" y/n asked him softly, her head resting on his bare chest as she listened to his heart beat - lando felt the way her cool fingers fiddled with the necklace around his neck. that godforsaken necklace, quite frankly the only necklace to ever cause so much uproar online.

"soft launched on live tv and p3? i wouldn't have it any other way," lando replied softly, chucking lightly as his hand brushed through her hair.

“that checks out, mr nowins,” she teased, tilting her head to grin at him.

"being with you is a win in itself," he replied, taking the nickname in his stride.

"gross," the girl responded, pretending to vomit at his attempt at being cute.

“i am sorry though - i should’ve known that would happen, i should’ve checked with you before hanging the “lando’s girlfriend” sign around your neck,” he replied with a sigh, his head dropping to press a kiss to her forehead, his cheek resting on her head as they spoke.

“it’s ok lan, i knew there was a possibility of something like this happening,” she replied.

“and it was fairly subtle - we could probably play it off for a little longer,” lando suggested, knowing that neither of them were quite ready to expose the extent of their relationship just yet. at least this had given them the opportunity to be a little more careless with their efforts to hide from the public. they were private, not secret, and lando couldn’t be happier to preserve this part of his personal life for a little longer.

“im just glad we no longer have the responsibility of a big announcement,” she laughed, “god knows we’re both too lazy for that.”

“who’s we?” he grumbled jokingly, “im the one with the public account. besides, im more than hard launched on your page.”

“ah the joys of an ordinary life,” y/n joked, her arms stretching out in feigned bliss, “however i feel like i should steer clear of twitter for a while.”

“that’s probably for the best,” he agreed, his tone saddening slightly at the memory of things he’d seen posted about not only his ex girlfriend, but some of the claims people had already began making about the girl lying below him.

“hey!” she started noticing his change in mood, and pushing her body weight back to look at him, “none of that. today is a good day. trust me, ill take any excuse to get my screentime down.”

“i love you,” he told her, grabbing at her body to pull her back into his embrace, “more than you could imagine.”

liked by maxfewtrell, team_quadrant and 111,230 others

landonorris soft launching on live tv wasn't enough, time to promote her to the gram

comments on this post have been limited.

maxfewtrell so glad i dont have to worry about slipping up on stream anymore

-> maxfewtrell chat aren't ready for what i have to say.

maxfewtrell 2nd photo is a violationnn - ynpng, pietra.pilao u gonna let this slide?

-> ynpng am i fuck. pietra.pilao we ride at dawn.

-> pietra.pilao omw queen.

-> maxfewtrell run landonorris whilst u still can

-> pietra.pilao you told me you deleted that photo maxfewtrell - sleep with one eye open xx

ynpng hate u with every fibre of my being rn <3

-> landonorris nuh uh

-> ynpng gonna unprivate my acc and let the world see the video of you falling down the stairs

-> landonorris might accidentally leak the video of you and the shoe incident

-> ynpng you wouldn't dare.

-> landonorris you wanna bet?

[rosenclaws]

i just know leopold would take such good care of a sick reader…….

Remedy || Leopold Mountbatten x Reader

warnings: fluff!! leo being the cutest, love confession <33

a/n: anon you are so fucking right Leopold would be the best person to take care of you and you should say it. ALSO OMG HES SO SOFT IN THIS MOVIE I CANT TAKE ITTTTT

You were absolutely miserable. From the moment you woke up you could tell everything was wrong. Your body ached, your head hurt, nose stuffed. There's no doubt that you were sick. Well that's too bad because you couldn't afford to be sick right now.

Work had been an absolute hell hole and you had mountains of tasks on your to do list. It takes every bit of energy you have to get out of bed. You throw on whatever work clothes are closest and head to your kitchen. As the coffee brews you lay your forehead on the counter, hoping the cool marble will somehow get rid of your fever.

"Good morning!" You recognize Leopold's voice from the window. You groan in response, hoping he gets the message. You look up and see him watching you with concern.

"You look ill." He reaches to touch your forehead but you gently shove his hand away.

"I'm fine." You mumble as you pour yourself a cup of coffee. He places his hand on your forehead and shakes his head.

"You are most certainly not fine, you're hot to the touch." You sigh and place your cup on the counter, searching your drawers for wherever your medicine was.

"No I'm fine. I can't get sick right now so I'm going to down as much Dayquil as I can and go to work." Leopold reaches out and grabs your wrist.

"Darling, you are not going to work today." He says softly.

It breaks his heart to see you so ill and refusing to let yourself rest. Not on his watch. It's his duty to take care of you, whether you want it or not.

"Leo I'm-" Your cut short by a wave of lightheadedness. Your eyes widen as you stumble slightly. Leopold catches you before you can fall.

"Okay fine maybe I am sick." He smiles softly as he gently guides you back to your bedroom.

"I will phone your work, you get back into bed." Being the gentleman he is he closes the door to let you get undressed.

You quickly strip off your clothes and get back into your pajamas. Your bed has never felt more comfortable in your life. You fight the covers, not sure if you want them or if it's too hot. So you settle on half on half off. You can hear Leo in your kitchen.

How lucky can you be you think. To have someone as amazing as Leopold in your life. Your relationship with him is newer. A couple months but it's been a dream. He's sweet and kind and ridiculously handsome. You know it's new but you think you might be falling in love.

"Darling are you dressed?" He calls through the door.

"Yeah" You say weakly as you snuggle into the pillow.

The door opens and he frowns at the miserable look on your face. He has a glass of water in his hands and Tylenol in the other. You smile, hoping it wasn't too hard for him to find it.

"Everything hurts." You say with a pout. He lifts the glass of water to your lips and helps you take the pain meds. His hand cups your cheek and he leans down to kiss your forehead. He soothingly runs his hand along your arm.

"I am here for whatever you need." You close your eyes, just wanting to sleep for a little longer.

"Sleep well." You hear him say before darkness takes over.

You don't know how much time has past by the time you wake up again. You still feel sick but the sleep helped. You feel around for your lamp and turn it on, the light making you wince. A delicious smell catches your attention as you get out of bed. Wrapping a blanket around you, you slowly make your way to the kitchen. You're met with the sight of Leopold in an apron. Fresh groceries sitting on your counter as he focuses all his attention to pot on the stove.

"Smells great," Your voice cracks and you grimace, maybe you should have drank some water before trying to speak.

"Hello darling," He walks over and kisses your cheek.

Like he could read your mind he offers you a glass of water and tells you to go lay down. You don't listen however as you want to watch him cook. Leopold has always had a passion for food and he let it be known whenever he was in the kitchen. It doesn't take long for him to be done and he shoos you away to the couch.

"It's my mothers recipe," He says as he places a bowl of soup in front of you.

There's a soft look in his eyes, you don't know much about his parents, he doesn't talk about them much. You do know that they passed a long time ago.

"She loved to cook, even though we had staff she always found herself making and creating new recipes." She must be where he got his appreciation of food.

"Whenever I got sick she would make me this and it would heal me right up." He carefully feeds you a spoonful, even blowing on it for you. Your eyes widen as the delicious liquid meets your lips.

"Oh my god this is the best thing I've ever tasted." He laughs as you reach for the spoon.

"This is what food can be when you use fresh ingredients darling, not frozen TV dinners." He always got on your case about those but they're quick and easy so it's fine.

"Well if you want to cook then I'll start buying."

"Anytime."

You finish your soup quickly, already starting to feel better. You rest your head in Leopold's chest as some TV show plays in the background.

"Will you stay here tonight? Think it'll help me feel better." You ask with a whisper. He wraps his arms around you, his hands gently rubbing your shoulder.

"Of course I can." He rests his chin on the top of your head, letting the TV play as he feels you growing sleepier by the second.

"Leo can I tell you something." Your eyes are fighting sleep and his warm embrace isn't helping.

"Anything."

"I think I love you." You can feel him tense only for a moment before his heart starts to beat faster.

He smiles, a warm feeling bursting from his chest. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, gently lulling you back to sleep. You've never felt so cared for, so loved, so at peace than with him. You yawn and snuggle closer to him. He leans in close and whispers in your ear, letting his soft words bring you to sleep.

"I cannot begin to describe how much I love you my darling. Now sleep, I will be here in the morning."

[504py]

Do you have any thoughts on yandere SDV Harvey?🤔

i sure do!!!! i think i got a little carried away 😭😭😭 i hope i delivered!

Yandere Harvey Relationship Headcanons

Gender neutral, no use of Y/N, munchausen syndrome by proxy, implied murder, implied NSFW, Harvey's a little weird about bodily fluids and food, long post ahead!

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

How the relationship started...

Let's say, he knows you outside of his work, and somehow, you're the one person in Stardew Valley who has never entered his clinic before. Honestly, you'd have drawn his attention right then and there because of your strange imperviousness to harm or disease.

Like... You? That farmer who goes down into the mines every other day to fight monsters has never been injured? You, who works day and night to the point of exhaustion has never gotten sick and required medical assistance?

The fact that you weren't one of his patients would worry him to his bones.

Even if you weren't one of his patients, he'd have befriended you outside of work. Perhaps at the saloon, after hours, and one of the very rare times he's seen you relax.

He notices the slight limp as you enter, different from your usual gait. When he asks, you chalk it up to a rock in your boot. Harvey sends you a disapproving stare and a furrowed mustache, and you loosen up.

You tell him you tripped while running away from a slime in the mines. And that you maybe pulled something while running. And maybe you lifted something wrong yesterday and hurt your back. And-

Harvey takes off his glasses to rub at the space between his eyebrows, stressed.

"And not once did you think to come visit me?"

"Thought it would go away if I just slept and drank enough water."

His gaze softens.

"..I really do advise it. Please."

Your fingers play with your glass. He can see a bruise forming on the side of your wrist, and the cuts and calluses on your skin.

"...I'll do it tomorrow."

He sighs slightly.

"Well, since I can't do anything for you right now, I'll at least buy you a drink."

"You can do that?"

"Hey, it numbs the pain. Painkiller." He jokes, and you laugh and shake your head. He realizes he likes the sound of your laugh.

"But- wait, don't take that as real medical advice. Really. Please."

That pulls another laugh out of you, louder, and pink warms his cheeks as he laughs heartily alongside you.

The next evening, Harvey waited all day for you to come in. It was nearing closing hours, and he was worried you had disregarded his advice, but right as he got up to start closing the clinic, the door opens, and there you are, leaves in your hair and your muddy shoes leaving a track on his tiles.

He's elated, he knows he shouldn't be, considering why you're even here, but he's so glad you listened to him, so glad you're here. He looks noticeably flustered, his hair is slightly out of place, his glasses are sliding down his nose, and his tie is loose.

"O-Oh, hey there. You finally came in."

"Were you waiting for me? I apologize. It looked like you were about to close up."

He waves your worries away with a dismissive hand, "Ah, what's one more patient? Come on, you look like you really need my help, anyways."

You follow him into a room, cringing at the muddy mess you leave on the floor.

"Sorry for that- I can clean up after we're done."

Harvey insistently shakes his head, sighing your name, "No, no, can't have you doing that, not in the condition you're in." He motions over to the bed, you sit on the edge of it.

"Besides, I haven't even started my assessment of you yet, but I already know you're gonna need a few days of rest at least. Doctor's orders."

He smiles softly at your annoyed expression, donning his stethoscope as you straighten your posture slightly, readying for him to place the other end of the apparatus on you.

"...See, you've got an abnormal heart rate for someone who is at rest."

He notes the warmth of your skin under his palm, resting against your back.

"Have you been feeling ill recently? Runny nose, coughing, headaches, anything of the sort?"

"U-Uh, no." You shake your head, playing with the fabric of your trousers. Nervous.

"...You seem rather flustered. Any reason?"

Your eyes glance up at his, he cocks his head, and you immediately look back down to your feet.

"...Nah."

Harvey smiles, knowingly, and the rest of the appointment continues as normal.

Expectations...

Following this, he'd be more obvious in his attempts to court you. His courting attempts would feel rather old-fashioned, but I think there's a lot of heart in them. I feel like Harvey would be a little bit of a sucker for romantic things, so you'd definitely be receiving letters, all from a secret admirer, of course.

He is confident that he likes you, but he'd carry a lot of anxiety about being so upfront about it, and that perhaps you wouldn't feel the same way.

The letters he sends you would be brief yet sweet. Short messages to pick you up for the day, just wanting to be a part of your life.

"If you ever feel like all the work you do isn't appreciated, know that I am always here, and I always do. You are doing great."

You'd tell him about the letters you've been receiving, during one of your evenings together at the bar. It'd make him blush. Oh, his letters were so important to you that you had to gush about them to a friend?

"And... What do you think of them? The letters?" His eyes are slightly wider than they should be, but the reflections on his glasses hide his faintly, much-too focused expression.

You shy from his eye contact, "...I think they're really sweet. But honestly, I wish they'd just... say it to me directly instead of hiding like this. I want to communicate, talk to them, y'know? Have a conversation, and stuff.."

Harvey blinks, wets his lips.

"What do you think you'd do if he-" He clears his throat, "-they did?"

You frown a little, mulling over the thought for a bit.

"...I'd go on a few dates with them, see if things work out."

His exhale is shaky, he takes a sip of his whiskey.

"Who do you think it is?"

You meet his gaze. His eyes are warm, his cheeks are red too, but that might be the alcohol... Though you realize he's not the type to get flushed when drunk.

"...Is it you?"

His fingers around his glass tremble, and his bottom lip quivers.

"I.. w-well..." He pushes his glasses up, nervously running a hand through his hair. You giggle, and he relaxes.

"Yeah." He smiles warmly.

"Yeah?" You chirp out a laugh again, "I figured."

Although Harvey was usually one who didn't have any problem holding eye-contact at all, now he found himself unable to look at you for too long without getting giddy like a schoolgirl and having to look away to save his racing heart.

That night, you two would be declared a couple. He teased you, wondering where that "first few dates then we'll see how it works out" phase went. You said it was different if it was him, and he had to hide his face in his hands to conceal his boyish, cheesy grin.

His first show of affection would be the next morning, when he brought you a bouquet of flowers to your doorstep, but upon arrival, seeing your expansive field of vegetation, he realized it was perhaps a bit stupid to gift flowers to someone who grows them.

Nonetheless, you accepted them from an embarrassed Harvey gratefully, saying you've wanted to try growing these for a while. Lo and behold, the next time he shows up, with a more thought-out gift this time, he sees a few new flower pots on your front porch.

Harvey as your boyfriend is strangely rather maternal. He tends to be quite the worrywart, always fussing over any cuts or bruises you may get while going about your day, making sure you eat and get enough rest, and always making sure you're dressed properly.

Oh, the different kind of monster Harvey turns into during the winter LOL. He will stay posted by your door, making sure you don't step a foot outside without a thick coat or gloves.

He does enjoy more than he likes to admit, though, when you still feel cold and he has to give you his coat or his scarf. It makes him all smiley and he thinks you look adorable in his clothing.

I think, his deepest desire, is for you to always stay safe, and that he is the one to provide that safety. I mean, with him being a doctor, he is the only person qualified to look after you anyways, but he still does get jealous.

He gets really upset when he's out of the clinic for a bit, and finds out that Maru was the one who tended to your wounds instead of him.

He gets more jealous when you tell him about the work you did that day, and another person was with you.

What do you mean you spent the evening fishing while conversing with Elliott? That could've been him...

What do you mean you spent the afternoon in the library with Penny? Wha- Gunther winked at you!?

Harvey really does want to spend more time with you, but he has a duty to attend to.

Unless...

Punishments...

Maybe, one day, Harvey will stop worrying so much over your health. He'll let you do your thing as you please, though it would hurt him to see you going about your day so haphazardly. But he'll hold back on his usual worried malewife nagging, and just let you do you.

One day, your dangerous lifestyle will catch up on you, and maybe you'll catch a cold, or you'll break a bone. Harvey will be there immediately, much too prepared.

Even though this is what he wanted from this plan, he still cries. He hates seeing you so beat-up, but he couldn't think of any other way to always be by your side. At least the tears blow away any suspicion of his part in this.

It could be a tiny fracture, but he'll still insist you'd need a cast, and that you'd need a wheelchair for the first few weeks. And, of course, Harvey's there to coddle you and help you around.

Maru says she can look after you while Harvey runs the clinic, but he gets uncharacteristically hostile at the mere suggestion of this. If Maru were to keep prying, if she were to find out that your injuries aren't as bad as he says they are, then Harvey might have to resort to more drastic measures.

Murder would be a very difficult thing for Harvey to do, but when he thinks about the life you two have right now- having you rely on him for everything, taking care of you everyday, spending every single moment with each other- his heart feels like it could fall out of his chest at the thought of anyone taking that away from you two.

His access to such a wide array of chemicals and medicines would be terrifying. If anyone threatens this peaceful, perfect life between you two, he could simply inject them with a certain concoction during their routine check-ups, say they needed it, that it was medicine, and it wouldn't even show in an autopsy.

Unfortunately, his tampering with human life extends to you.

Harvey, I think, would get much too enamored by this life you two have made since you've gotten injured.

Being able to dote on you with no restraint, being by your side for every single moment, it was all he could ever dream of.

But all good things come to an end, and your fractured bone would start to heal.

He never thought he'd be capable of lying, not sure if he'd ever done it before, but it's a newfound talent to him. Worries him how good he is at it.

He tells you you need to keep that cast on. That even if you're allowed to use crutches now instead of a wheelchair, that you still need his assistance. He insists that you need him.

Any sort of push-back from you would have his heart pounding. No, no, you can't get up and go back to work. You can't be doing chores on your own, he'll do that- You cannot leave.

Munchausen syndrome by proxy from an actual doctor would be a horrifying thing to go through. Not just any other doctor either, but Harvey, a man who seems so gentle and kind-hearted, a man who is supposed to be your partner.

Sad to say, but I don't think you'd have any way out of this. Your best course of action would be to just let him take care of you as much as he pleases. In due time, he would want to see you get better, so you'll be back to having your freedom in a few months, maybe...

Rewards...

It is pretty comedic saying this after that punishments portion, but Harvey, on more normal days, really is a passive man. He doesn't really have any strange obsessive habits, though he's probably a little weird about fluids...

By that, I mean he'd probably slip a little bit of his saliva or semen into his cooking. He gets a really euphoric rush when he sees you eating that tainted food he made for you. He enjoys that idea that a part of him is mingled in your body now. The other way around goes, too.

When you're sleeping, sometimes you drool, did you know that? You probably don't, because Harvey always wipes it off and licks it. It gives him shivers whenever he does, makes him way more excited than it should.

His libido is not the highest, but that's because I think he makes an active effort to suppress himself. Wants to be good for you. Harvey does have these dirty thoughts pretty often, but he usually just excuses himself to the bathroom for a second to relieve himself when it gets too unbearable. Even then, he dislikes this, since he feels like it'd be a waste of his release, since it's not inside you.

Every day would feel very domestic, he'd tease that you two already act like an old married couple, but he'd secretly hope you'd catch on to the idea he's putting down.

Harvey really does want to get married to you. He honestly, strangely, would act a lot more normally if you two were to be wed. It's like, there is something that exists that ties you two together, so even if you two aren't always by each other's side, he at least finds some comfort in knowing you two are bound forever.

Let's just, uh, hope you don't divorce him... Honestly, at this point, he may have already taken care of Mayor Lewis, so that option won't even be open to you anymore.

Harvey would probably try to pop the question during a little picnic he prepared for the two of you. The box for your engagement ring hidden in the picnic basket, amongst carefully wrapped sandwiches and lunchboxes.

You would pick it up while looking through the basket, wondering what it was. You open it, and Harvey feels like he could faint from how fast his heart is beating.

He stutters a lot, being unable to look you in the eye, then you rest a hand on his shoulder, and he feels alright again.

"I... I'd really like to get married with you, my love. Whaddya say?"

You smile at him, you say yes, and Harvey literally shouts in joy, before roughly taking you in his arms.

He quickly apologizes for being so erratic, but he swears he's never been happier. He just loves you so much.

Even though you two were only fiancés at this point, he'd call you his husband/wife/spouse from time to time, just a slip of the tongue, but he does get shy about it.

Your life together would be relatively the same now, just with some more added affection.

He'd get more comfortable around you, kissing you more often, getting more touchy, wearing less clothing around the house.

Of course, his main core value is still there; to care for you.

When thinking of Harvey's love language, you would, rationally, expect it to be acts of service. However, I posit this; his love language would be allowing himself to be taken care of.

He does get tired, and you do notice. You try to do his chores, try to take care of yourself so he'd have some time to relax, but he always gets fussy about it.

He insists that he can still do it, that he can still do things for you. Perhaps, he's scared that if he's unable to please you, that you'll go elsewhere, fall out of love with him.

You can sense that fear, and you tell him you'll still be here. You tell him to go lie down and rest, and you'll join him when you've finished cleaning up.

The wrinkles on his forehead soften up, so does his gaze, and he nods.

"I... Alright, sweetheart. I'll be waiting. Don't take too long, okay?"

┊͙✧˖*°࿐

[missqhughes]

DANCING WITH THE DEVIL | J. HUGHES86

-> jack hughes x fem!reader

-> contains: smut with plot, rough sex, semi public sex, other sexual themes, use of y/n, lowercase intended

-> IN WHICH: jack invites y/n to a night out with his teammates, and can’t control the jealousy that boils in him watching the other players enjoy your company. the only thing that can reassure to him you’re really his, resides in the bathroom of the bar.

-> request :) quick one, but i had fun writing it, yall remind me to do more for jack! just imagine he looks like the photo in this fic, lookin so SEXYY. please love it as much as i do!

*fic is not proofread

18+ CONTENT BELOW THE CUT

jack was usually a casual drinker.

tonight being different; slamming down beers like a madman watching y/n talking, laughing, joking with his teammates.

sure, his arm was snaked around her waist and her body was hooked to his, but that didn’t change the fact that he didn’t appreciate how all of them suddenly turned into comedians now that he had brought her out.

“hey y/n, down to take another shot?” dawson waved her over to the other side of the bar, and she innocently agreed.

“i’ll be right back jack, okay?” she kissed him on the cheek, leaving a light pink lip mark left on his face.

“okay, but come back here when you’re finished,” he said, eyes following her all the way to dawson and jesper. he knew that she had no ill intent, that she was just trying to get along with his friends. but something about watching her skip around in a short dress around them set it off inside him.

he, yet again, ordered another beer, the cool liquid failing to cure the fire starting in his body.

jack decided he actually didn’t want her hanging out with them alone, so he walked over to where they were, reclaiming his position around her waist.

“hi babe,” she said, holding her small hand on top of his, “everything okay?”

“just fine. what are you guys laughing about?”

“dude, she is just so funny, you got a good one hughes, maybe you should crack a joke from time to time like her,” jesper joked, dawson nodding his head in agreement whilst sipping his own drink.

jack’s jaw tightened with anger, but not wanting it to get the best of him, he just stormed off in pursuit of the restroom.

the group left behind looked confused in jack’s departure, leveling in an awkward silence.

“i’m gonna… im gonna go see if he’s okay,” she sat up off the stool, smoothing down her dress, following in jacks footsteps.

knocking on the door of the single bathroom, she gently spoke “baby? is everything alright?” she heard nothing for a second, thinking he was just feeling sick. as she spun on her heel to go back to the bar, she shrieked when a hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the bathroom.

“no, not everything is alright.” he said bluntly, backing her into the cold tile wall.

“well what’s wrong? you just like, stormed away from everyone with no explanation.” she rubbed his arms soothingly, trying to understand what was making her boyfriend so worked up.

“the guys. they’re fucking all over you and it’s pissing me off,” jack huffed, leaning his forehead press against hers.

“jack, you know i love you, and you know your teammates would never hit on me. they were just being nice,”

for whatever reason, y/n being so innocent about the whole situation was turning him on more than the short tight dress she had on, or the intoxicating smell lingering on her skin.

“you don’t get it… i know how guys are..” his head moved down to deliver sloppy kisses to her neck, “you’re all mine, no one else can have you,”

y/n’s breath hitched, hot and bothered from the alcohol and jack sucking on her neck,

“mm, of course i am, all yours,” her voice trailed off into bliss, jacks hands roughly grabbing her wrists and pinning them against her head. his wet lips went to claim hers, kissing her with everything in him.

it all happened so fast; jack moved her body with ease, bending y/n’s body over the sink, hand moving under her dress to rub her clothed clit.

she muffled her moan with her hand, jack’s eyes dark in the reflection staring back at her,

“please jack,”

“please what, baby?”

“more, mm fuck,” she threw her head back, feeling her pussy dripping onto his fingers as his movements on her clit slowed.

“you asked for it,” he husked, moving her panties to the side, slipping down his pants exposing his dick, aching for attention.

he aligned himself with her entrance, and she hissed when he started slamming into her with no time to adjust to his length.

“my fucking slut, letting me fuck you in the bathroom like this,” jack mumbled, his shirt tucked into his teeth, abs flexing with every thrust into her.

the pain turned in to pleasure, and the moans escaping y/n’s mouth, the tears running down her cheeks, and her chest bouncing made him go crazier and crazier.

jack grabbed a fistful of y/n’s hair, she gasped as he pulled her head back to kiss her roughly, biting her hard enough to almost draw blood.

his thrusts became sloppier, coming close to his high, and she was right there with him. a few more pumps and he came inside her, her walls covered with his release, y/n’s own juices coating his dick.

the couple panted, jack groaning as he pulled himself out of her, adjusting y/n’s clothing before fixing himself back into his pants.

y/n could barely stand, completely fucked out. jack held her up against his chest, placing a kiss lightly to her shoulder.

“may wanna fix your makeup before you go back out, pretty girl,” he laughed, his own appearance a giveaway; the hair under his hat was ever so slightly damp from sweat, and his cheeks a flush of red.

she rolled her eyes, examining herself in the mirror and blotting away any of the streaky makeup on her face. they walked out hand in hand, and sat down next to his friends.

“hey- woah, what the hell happened to you two in there?”

“have some fun in the bathroom eh? why they took so long,”

y/n’s face burned with embarrassment, turning to bury herself into his chest, and he only only laughed in response, proud that they knew what the two of them had done.

——————————————————————————

© missqhughes

xoxo, kaia

[blackleatherjacketz]

All Better

Eric Northman x Female Reader

Summary: You miss a meeting because you're sick, and Eric makes a house call to make you feel better.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Eric being Eric, Strep Throat, Antibiotics, Shoving, Blaming, Kissing, Glamoring, Hypnotizing, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Healing Vampire Blood, Blood Drinking, Biting, Vampirism, Nipple Play, Licking, Cunnilingus, Female Orgasm

Read more Eric!

“You don’t look very good.” Eric states the obvious as his brows knit together in a look of, wait a minute, is that… concern that you’re seeing on his face? It must be the medication you’re on that’s blurring your vision and dulling your senses, because you’re pretty sure that ‘concern’ isn’t in Eric Northman’s emotional repertoire. “What’s wrong with you?”

It isn’t until he pushes you up against the wall, staring at your pale face as beads of sweat run down your temples that he understands why you didn’t show up to Fangtasia tonight or bother answering your phone when he called. The realization of your illness slowly melts that concerned look of his into a stoic expression of understanding, allowing his pupils to expand just the slightest bit before his lips part in silence.

“I’m just sick, it’s nothing.” You try to look away from him, tempted to fall back into your old habit of isolating yourself when falling ill, only he grabs hold of your chin to prevent that from happening.

“Sick, how?” That sense of understanding gets washed away in a flash, his brief display of genuine emotion quickly covered up by his usual curt and cutting tone.

“It’s just an infection, I know I should have called, I just didn’t think you’d…”

“Didn’t think I’d what?” He tightens his grip on your chin, bringing his face closer to yours. “Didn’t think I’d notice that my favorite human wasn’t there to greet me tonight?”

Favorite human? Did you hear that right? You can’t help but raise your eyebrows in surprise as he admits it out loud, albeit through gritted teeth.

“I was too weak to drive out there, I…” You mutter as his cool grip on your face chills you even more, forcing your body to shiver in its febrile state.

“Then let me heal you.” He offers, his eyes scanning over your shaking form before he brings his wrist up to his mouth.

“What?” Your arrangement with Eric has always been very simple; you show up once a week to let him feed on you and he pays you enough money to cover your mortgage each month. It had never been more than that though, never crossed any other carnal line despite your secret desire for more intimacy with him. He had never once offered you his own blood before, and the idea of it still kind of scares you, if you’re being honest with yourself. “Heal me?”

“So you won’t be sick anymore.” He loosens his grip on your face, his hand falling loosely around your neck.

“I’m on antibiotics, Eric, I don’t need your blood.” You attempt to walk away from him but he places his palm flat across your chest, forcing you back into position against the wall. Even his restrained amount of strength is too much for your weakened muscles to withstand as you wince in pain.

“Let me heal you.” He stares into your eyes, accessing your subconscious mind as you can’t help but stare right back, too tired to put up any sort of emotional barrier between the two of you. You’ve seen him do this to others before, convincing them to do whatever he wanted, whether that be to pay him back, run away or even kill someone for him. You just never thought he’d do it to you.

“Okay,” You hear yourself whisper almost immediately before taking his hand and leading him to the couch at the far end of your living room. You watch him sit down as if he’s already been there dozens of times before, as if he’s lived there with you already, as if he owns the place. You feel him pull you onto his lap, guiding your hips and thighs so that you’re now straddling him in the middle of your couch as his hands carefully smooth their way up your back.

“You’re shivering.” He grins as you settle into him, your pelvis slowly rocking against his hips as his hands find their way into your hair. “I can fix that.”

“Yeah?” As scary as the idea of drinking his blood is, the thought of letting this feverish hell continue any longer seems way worse.

“Let me take care of you.” Eric fumbles through the random items on the side table closest to him until he finds something sharp at his disposal: a ball point pen. He pushes the cap off with his thumb, smiles up at you before jabbing the pen into his neck so quickly, you barely have a chance to register what’s happening before he pulls you in closer. “Now, drink.”

You gasp as your heart races in a confused sense of horror, watching droplets of his blood ooze out of his wound and down the porcelain skin of his neck. Your lips begin to tremble as his fingers weave their way into your hair, pushing your mouth in closer to his throat as you attempt to fight your body’s natural panic response.

“Drink.” He instructs again, only this time more sternly.

Having no other choice but to do as you’re told, you open your mouth and lick the droplets of blood from his neck as he continues to hold you in place. It tastes a little better than you thought it would, a sort of salty mixture with hints of iron and blackberry wine that leaves a surprisingly pleasant aftertaste on the back of your tongue. Kind of like a rich Cabernet.

Well, that’s not so bad, now is it?

You open up again and start down at his clavicle this time, making sure to clean up any remnants of the fluid until you get all the way up to the puncture site, greedily suckling straight from the source. You can hear him moan as you lap him up, feel his grip on your hair tighten as you consume him, getting lost in the closeness of your bodies and the binding of your fluids. You’re sure that he can hear your heart beating wildly inside your chest, thumping hard against his as you wrap your arms around his torso to get even closer to him. You can feel his blood working inside you, healing you on a cellular level; each vampiric red blood cell eradicating any bacteria into oblivion as the weakness leaves your muscles and the pain dissipates from your throat.

“Enough,” he whispers reluctantly, now having to pull your mouth off him. “That’s enough, sweetheart.”

His words barely bring you out of your trance, his salty flesh no longer beneath your tongue as he tugs on your scalp to get you to finally stop drinking. It’s almost as if you’ve been brought back to reality after having one of the most intense dreams you’ve ever had as you watch his wound heal just as quickly as he had made it. You’ll never get used to that.

“It worked.” You exclaim gratefully. “I feel better!”

“I told you.” Eric grins as he runs his thumb across your bottom lip, reminding you that you’ve made quite the mess of yourself. “This is why you have to let me take care of you.”

“I’m not very good at that.” You’ve always had to take care of yourself in the past. One lesson that life has taught you time and time again is that the second you start depending on someone is the very moment that you’ll be disappointed.

“I know, but you have to let me do it anyway.” His eyelids drop halfway down as he looks at you longingly, gazing upon you in a way that you’ve never noticed before.

Maybe it’s that look, or maybe it’s the high of his blood now coursing through your veins that makes you suddenly feel compelled to press your lips against his, letting that vampiric confidence guide your actions. You keep them there for a few seconds, realizing that he isn’t pulling away from you, but instead is kissing you back with just as much enthusiasm as he pulls tighter on your scalp.

You’ve always wanted to kiss him, from the very first moment that you saw him. But something about him told you that he had women throwing themselves at his feet left and right; and you didn’t want to be like one of them. You were just grateful for the little contact you got when he fed upon you each week. You relished every caress of your cheek, every squeeze of your waist that sent shivers down your spine before he ended up drinking his fill. You never thought that he’d be interested in you like this, that he’d actually want you in that type of way at all.

However, his tongue now parts your lips as his kiss intensifies, all but moaning the truth into your mouth as if he’s been waiting just as long to finally taste your lips. His kiss is desperate and sloppy, so different from the perfectly put together business man you first met that night at the bar. His composure casually crumbles to pieces as his hands travel all over your body, frantically grasping onto your muscles until they find themselves in your hair again, his lips curling into a deviously satisfied smirk.

You feel him grow beneath his jeans, his clothed member now brushing against the thin fabric of your underwear as his hips needily writhe against your junction. His deliberate movements trigger that moisture to collect between your thighs as he continues his rhythm upward with several shallow breaths. Now stained in his own blood, his mouth ventures over every inch of your lips and chin before moving down to your jawline, licking a trail alongside your pulse.

You whimper in response, grinding your needy center against him as you brace yourself for the bite that never comes. Instead he lifts your shirt up over your head, exposing your bare breasts to the cool temperature of the room as your nipples harden in front of his face.

“You’ve been holding out on me.” He teases, letting go of the rest of you so he can graze his palms across them, sending a much more intense tingling sensation down your spine.

“I didn’t know that you wanted to…” Your breath hitches as he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking hard before wrapping his arms behind you and turning you on your back. He keeps contact with your skin the entire time, pulling on your sensitive tissue as he looks up at you with those eyes again, dragging your tender bud in between his teeth.

“Really?” He laughs with a smirk. He moves on to the next one before popping it into his mouth while pinching the other, sending a barrage of little fireworks into your skin. “You think I make feeding contracts lightly?”

“No, I uhh…” Your back arches toward the ceiling as he sucks bursts of delight into your tissues, humming a sweet vibration against your skin as you all but melt beneath him. Pleasure being the last sensation you expect to get from Eric’s mouth, you can’t help but feel a little breathless as his fingers simultaneously tug your underwear down your hips as they instinctively lift off the couch cushion to aid in their removal. “It’s hard for me to tell sometimes.”

“You thought I didn’t want you?” He licks a languid path down your quaking abdomen as your muscles contract in hurried anticipation, beads of sweat popping up in his wake. He circles around your navel with his tongue, kissing a hungry trail down your pelvis while his hands help slide your panties off your calves and feet. He smiles and spreads your thighs as far apart as they can go, straining your muscles as he stares at you like a jungle cat would its prey before it pounces. “Looks like I could be a better communicator.”

His fangs drop and his eyes darken, wasting no time in settling between your thighs to take the bite you were wondering would ever come at all. Instead of sinking his fangs into your femoral artery to get the most blood in the least amount of time, though, he bites you just above your swollen center. He laughs as you yelp from the piercing pain, letting that red hot fluid spill down your already dripping wet seam before he dives in to finally taste it.

That cold, blood-thirsty vampire that you’ve known for the past few weeks finally comes out as he starts licking streaks of crimson up and down your puffy lips, spreading the blood and gore into your folds as his tongue delivers that tantalizing balance of pain and pleasure that you’ve only read about in books. He growls like the creature of the night that he is as he devours you, snaking his arms beneath your thighs to pull you in even closer as his mouth delves into your flesh. Unable to be sated, he flicks his tongue up and down your sensitive clit, sending signals of ecstasy up through your spine and into your brain as your eyes flutter with visions of shapes and colors you never knew existed.

Maybe it’s the vampire blood pumping through your veins for the very first time, or maybe it’s Eric’s skilled mouth that forces your eyes to roll back into your head. The way he keeps eating and drinking makes it feel as if each and every tiny hair on your skin is now alive, standing on end waiting for him to touch them, to give them permission to explode until your entire body begins to shake. You reach out for him in vain as the otherworldly sense of euphoria washes over you, forcing every muscle in your body to convulse in rhythmic waves as he relentlessly drinks from your bloody cunt. He glances up at you only to grin as your skin changes color, warming and cooling in phases as your orgasm violently works its way through your skin and bones and finally out of your mouth.

“Eric!” You cry out as he finally pulls back from you, licking his lips as you rattle and hum in the crimson mess he’s made of you. “Oh my God, Eric!”

“See?” He smirks as he watches you come down from your hormonal high, running your hands through his hair as he finally gives your bloody center one last lick. “All better.”

[captainjamster]

Falling Apart (And Coming Back Together)

Pairing(s): John Price x Reader Warnings: explicit, graphic depiction and description of self-inflicted harm and the aftermath of patching it up Wordcount: 1.7k Summary: John helps put you back together again. AO3 Link: Right here <3

AN: Please reread the warnings and take them seriously. This explicitly depicts the act of self-inflicted harm. If you are vulnerable to topics of mental ill health, self-harm, or gore, this is not for you.

Full fic is under the cut <3

It's funny, you decide. Survival.

The human desire for survival is one of the deepest instincts. It perseveres from life to death, in consciousness and unconsciousness, something that keeps your heart pumping and brain sparking. Yet the things that someone finds themselves doing in an attempt to survive can be so fucking counterproductive to that desire for survival.

The blade digs into your skin, leaving a line of parted flesh that slowly fills red, creeping into the wound and blooming against the paled, tensed dermis. Each mark is like an exhale of relief; a calculated movement, drawing out the misery that claws underneath your shell, dripping to the floor in fat blobs to mingle with the teardrops already pooled there.

The first cut is always the last straw of your control. It's as easy as a flick of your wrist - the metal always glides through cleanly, so fast that your body almost takes a moment to react. One is never enough.

You lose track of time, pushing through the way the metal bites into your flesh, tearing it open and spilling out your pain. It's only the cramping of your hand that pulls you out of the angry motions, trembling so fiercely that the lines become jagged, forcing you to pause and observe your morbid masterpiece. Your eyes climb the ladder of lines, over the angry skin singing in pain, each split leaving it redder and redder.

The bathroom feels so small and all too big at once. The blade glints against the light as it wobbles in your fingers, and you fight against the vice your ribcage has around your lungs, inhaling a little more each time until the fuzziness crawling into your periphery retreats and silence finally breaks through the heartbeat in your ears.

Despite the space lacking on your thigh, you pick a spot to drag over experimentally, feeling the addition sink into the innumerable chorus of hurt that smothers everything else. It starts off slowly again, between waves of cathartic release and dips of anguish that wrack your body, until the marks overlap each other in a sick game of connect the edges, obscuring where one starts and the other stops. The blade is slick, sliding between your fingers as you struggle for a grip, cursing at your useless hands and the way they tremble. Crimson blotches the roll as you grab it, fumbling for paper towel to wipe the damn thing clean, when you finally notice the approaching footsteps much too late.

"Sweetheart?"

Your hand drops against your thigh, instinctively curling around the thin tool as the other shoves the roll back into place. John doesn't try the door handle, but you can hear him standing outside.

"Sorry, yeah?" You croak, trying to swallow the tightness creeping up your throat. There's never a point in hiding things from John, but the way he pauses before he responds tells you that he knows exactly what's happening.

"Don't be sorry, s'okay. Just didn't see you when I got home."

It falls quiet, each breath catching in your chest. A part of you wishes he would ignore it and leave, but you hear him inhale before he speaks.

"Can you come out for me, love?"

"No."

As usual, a bitter thought snaps, John takes your rejection in his stride.

"Okay, that's okay too."

There are words, explanations and apologies, straining on the tip of your tongue, caged behind your teeth as they drag through the flesh of your lip, leaving your mouth stained with the same iron filling the air. John breaks the silence with a gentle clear of his throat, and the door groans as he pulls his weight away from it. "I’m gonna get your stuff, alright? I’ll be right back."

Once he retreats far enough, you scrabble into action.

You can hear the kettle humming as it boils through the wall, listening for John as he walks through the steps of your crisis recovery plan. Adrenaline shakes your fingers as they press the towel to your skin, watching it soak up the red that dilutes the white paper. Heat radiates through the thin material, leaving the sticky clots that try to scab to smudge and stain, clinging with a stubbornness to your already sensitive skin.

There’s more blood than you expected, and an ache is spreading into the muscles. You stubbornly wait a few more minutes, wrapping up another wad of towel around your hand, but when they still sluggishly bloom with maroon, you resign to grabbing your phone from the cistern lid.

>> first aid kit

John's at the door almost as soon as you send the text. "I'm going to come in. Okay?"

The door cracks open, each slow inch that it swings ajar offering a possibility of changing your mind. When it fully opens, he doesn't make a face at the way your figure curls in on itself, just brings the kit over. The sound of his knees popping echoes through the bathroom as he drops a towel down and kneels down in front of you, tugging open the zipper and instantly reaching for the antiseptic wipes. It’s practised, methodical – the tearing of the wipe, his gentle touch, the way he takes care not to agitate the puckered skin further.

“I’m sorry.”

You can see the struggle not to furrow his brows. Instead, he gives you a sad smile, gently scooping your hand up to intertwine his fingers with yours as he presses the disinfectant against the cuts, monitoring your expression for any discomfort. "You don't need to apologise, sweetheart."

You swallow, catching the reflexive apology and forcing out other words. “I just feel bad every time.”

The shake of his head is slow as he dabs as a fresh droplet that seeps from your skin, soaking up into the last unsoiled spot of the wipe. "It doesn't matter. I’d rather you alive than dead. If this is what it means to have you alive, then I want all of it."

Any remaining argument falters at the conviction in his words, slinking back into the depths of your misery, barred off by the loving kiss John presses to your knuckles when you wince.

“Couldn’t ride out the wave. Waited 15 minutes, then 15 more, then 15 more.”

He gives an apologetic hum, disentangling his fingers to grab another wipe and rip it open. “I’m sorry, baby. You did everything right. Sometimes it happens anyway.”

There’s a bitterness in the way you huff a laugh, and John looks up at you, lips thin with worry. His concern has you embarrassed, gaze drifting down to your lap. “It shouldn’t. I should be better. Stronger. Like you.”

His hand pauses against your thigh between swipes, and for a second worry that you’ve angered him grips at your chest, before he blows it away with a long exhale. “Way I look at it, y’are stronger, love. You’ve been doin’ this for years, before I was even here to help. Y’ve been so strong that you got yourself through every single time – not me, not your therapist, not your friends. You.” The back of his palm brushes against your cheeks, smudging the droplets that’ve begun to trickle down your cheek. “I couldn’t be any stronger than that. But I want to lend you some of my strength, anyway.”

Your fingers find his again, curling together as you listen to the gentle brush of fabric against skin amongst your sniffles. The softness of his touches are soothing, a repetitive sensation that pacifies the burn of antiseptic, working with the waves of exhaustion crashing down to bring a heaviness to your puffy eyelids that you’re struggling to fight off.

“I think this one might need a bit more than a clean, love. Gonna get the steri-strips, okay?”

His voice brings you out of the sleepy stupor, nodding foolishly as you process his words. You miss the warmth of his hand against yours as he pulls a plastic sheet out with a fond chuckle, tearing a section off and peeling the protective layer away. “Gonna have to help me with this one, baby. S’that okay?”

Clearing your throat, you sit up straighter, giving him a thumbs up. He gives you one back, a small smile spread across his lips. “Alright. Hold the skin together for me, yeah? Just like that, you got it, good pet. You’re doin’ so well.”

The steri-strips are placed meticulously across the jagged edges, in little white bridges that strain to connect both sides. John rubs delicately over the last one, leaning down to press a careful kiss against the shuttered skin, before pulling away. “There we go, baby. Before we put away the kit, try standin’ up?”

He offers a roughened hand, poised as you push off the toilet, the other suspended at your waist in case your legs give out. Your thigh burns with the tension of standing up, foot hovering against the floor as you tentatively put pressure on it. Though the edges flex and crease, none of the cuts tear open, clinging to the hardening, superficial layer already closing them up.

John lets out a pleased noise, dropping your hand to zip closed the kit and grab the handle, before straightening up with a groan. “Alright, my lovely. Sofa and a cuppa?”

You can’t help the small, grateful smile that tugs at your lips as you nod, offering a hand that John doesn’t hesitate to encase with his own. He ushers you down the hall, mindful of your pace, into the soft, cushioned seats with a soft blanket draped over your lap. Passing you the remote, he presses a quick kiss to your forehead, before excusing himself.

Chatter fills the room as you settle on a random show, the gentle aroma of tea spilling from the kitchen as John returns with two cups, holding one out to you. He brushes off your thanks as the cushions dip under his weight, holding his arm out, and you don’t hesitate to dive into his side. Warmth radiates from his arm as it wraps around you protectively, nestled against your hip, and he pushes another kiss to your head before resting his own against it.

“I love you.” He hums, barely audible over the laugh track of whatever shitty show plays through the speakers, and something that’s felt broken inside of you all day finally clicks into place. “I’m so proud of you for getting through another day.”

Once again, you fight the tears prickling at your eyes. But for the first time today, it isn’t accompanied by the pain in your chest, just a small inkling of warmth that blossoms in your ribcage that sings as John squeezes you affectionately.

“I love you too.”

Dividers by cafekitsune

[moronkombat]

op the breeding/preganncy stuff w reptile had me insane. can we get some for havik please?

hehe tw: dubcon/noncon, pregnancy, violence, afab pronouns and anatomy

Havik had gotten you pregnant purposefully. All to keep you closer to him.

All of you will belong to him and he will have you tied to him by laying his seed inside you

You would cry, you would scream and beg for him not to but this only fuels his sick intentions with blazing flames

How he will relish in painting your womb with crystal white pearls. How ravaging it will be gaze into your wide and pathetic eyes

There is no escape for you, not in the slightest. You will bear his child and deliver them to him through screams and blood

Wretched hands hook into her skin, the tattered flesh of wrists so abraded and worn from the metal that binds them. Chains dance and their song ripped from them as they are pulled and tugged. Crimson flees down the length of sore and beaten arms. Teeth brush against the shell of an ear and the breath that is whispered into her abhorrent and coated in grotesque chaffs.

She can hear him grunting, feel him moving torrid against flesh that trembles and grips. The body such a treacherous ally to her. Eyes so wet with tears but the velvet warmth slick with natural pleasure. How awful, how agonizingly euphoric the way Havik's cock, thick and full, continues to ravage her so wanton.

He's laughing then, a tongue layering over her ear. He can feel just her warmth dripping around him. What a wonderful orchestra she makes. Wet and sticky, there is music each time he thrusts within her. So already painted she is, so bleached in white all thanks to him. Yet there no stopping yet, no of course not. He must give to her all he can contain. His seed must thrive within her, grow and be nurtured.

A spine curls at the thought and Havik is ripping his nails into her flesh and he hears her cry out in pain. So beautiful, so wonderful...how she screams and screams. It will not be long now until he delivers his twisted seed to her womb.

He recalls her words, her petrified terror. "No! Please don't! I don't want to have your child! You can't! You can't!" That's it, give into the loss of control. Free yourself and be consumed by all that is chaos. Learn from him, become him. Havik moves faster now, blinding ferocity his guidance.

A palm comes to lay upon her stomach, oh how flat it is now...soon that will change. Soon it will grow with his twisted gift. Once his seed has taken its root she will belong entirely to him. Him, just him. She is claimed and the bearer of generations of chaos to come!

"Get pregnant, little pet" his words slither into her while his seed lays its seige.

You cannot deny him this, Havik makes sure of it and it is not long until you know he has succeeded

The illness spins, your body aching and stomach coiling. It not a blight to be cured with medicine and you know this. This a curse you have been condemned to enable its festering

Still, you try to keep it a secret...try to keep your pregnancy a secret from your tormentor

You must not let him know that his child grows within you. What a wretched child they will be, you cannot allow this to happen

But power is stripped from you, there is so escape. Mangled jaws are forever at your neck

You're sick, you can't stop bile from rising. It's too much, and it is expelled. You cannot hide

Havik comes to you then with a look so putrid and rotten, never has he gazed to you quite like this

"My pet...Why did you hide that you got pregnant?" Is what he'd say, eyes tarnished with insanity

You're terrified but unable to move as he approaches you. A damaging hand presses over your naval and soon a tongue is shoved into your mouth

He's celebrating, he's thank you but there is no joy in your soul. None at all

Havik does not relinquish his fixation over your body. He will lay into you again and again, making small cuts into your skin

No matter what, there is always a hand grasping your growing stomach. A constant reminder that you belong to him

There are whispers of how wonderful it is for you to be the mother of chaos

You will birth this world into anarchy and turmoil again and again. This is your purpose, this is your gift

A child is born and Havik does not allow for any sort of reduction of pain

There are screams and cries and Havik can only relish in its glory

Whispered venom is poured into your ear as you strain and break

You deliver your child in a room full of gore and death. A child baptized in it as Havik holds them up, mad and wild

The face of your child you do not recognize. Perhaps it the face Havik had lost all that time ago?

You are not sure, you can't be sure. The clouds of dismay far too grey knowing that you are bound to Havik forever

[katieaki]

My ✨ post-apocalyptic Lesbian Cowgirl Mailman choose-your-own adventure✨ has just updated! Read it here for free on my Patreon and vote in the poll! There is a summary of the first part, here, the second part, here, and the third part, here. They have everything you need to know about Lou, her requited-but-complicated love, the religious assassin who just beat the tar out of her, the worst person she's ever met, and the ill-advised journey she is on! There is also now a discord where Pony Express readers from all across god's green internet can gather, here!

Costume check for the girls as of this update. They're all kind of doing their own thing. Holliday's relative cleanliness is indicative of how little she's working. Artie's overall apparent griminess is separate from how hard she's been working.

Read it for free on my patreon and vote on what happens next!

Excerpt below the cut.

Just as the spots in her vision began to clear, Artie set her down and began looking her over.

“Where does it hurt?” she asked. 

Lou lifted her arm in its sling. “My wrist,” she said. She only realized then that she was crying. Not just tears, but big, gasping sobs. The pain was unbearable. Her wrist had never stopped hurting since Artie had broken it in the first place, but she didn’t realize it could still hurt that much worse.

“Easy. I got you, cowgirl, you’re okay,” Artie said, sitting Lou down on the ground.

“What can I do?” Holliday asked, her hand at her throat.

“Grab some water and a rag,” Artie said. “And my first aid kit. It’s in the outside bottom pocket of my pack.”

“Sorry,” Lou said. She couldn’t stop crying and the pain had begun to subside just enough for embarrassment to creep in. “I’m okay. I’m– sorry.”

“I wish we had some ice,” Artie said. She slid Lou’s arm out of the sling and began to unwrap the splint. When she pulled the bandage away, Artie sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth.

Lou looked down but had to look away as soon as her eyes landed on the wrist. It had already been sitting at kind of a funny angle, but now it was bent back toward her body in a way that made her sick to look at. 

“Ooh, fuck. Something more than ice, huh?” Artie said absently.

[softxsuki]

hi!! id like to make an urgent request please :)

tw !! mention of self harm / new sh wounds , mention of a blade

if you’re alright with it, id like to request a (romantic) hawks x gn!reader where hawks walks in on reader relapsing.

ive recently grown more and more stressed and tired lately, like my energy is constantly being drained and no matter how hard i try im not enough to stop it. and i wanna reach out for help cause i know i have friends who care about me but i just cant for some reason—i dont feel the need to ask for help cause i just dont think i deserve it. no matter how many times ill comfort others i was never strong enough to ask for the same comfort, and instead of going to someone and talking about it i turn to my blade.

hawks is a big comfort character of mine and my current hyperfix, and as embarassing as it is—reading comfort fanfics of him is a way of coping with it all. so id gladly appreciate if you could write this for me :) ++ if possible, id love if youd be able to include hawks cleaning reader’s cuts, cleaning them bringd me a sense of comfort and id love to see that in the fic.

but if you’re uncomfy about anything at all, no worries ! you dont have to write this if you dont wanna :) have a lovely day<3

Hawks Comforting Reader After They Self-Harm

please do not read if any kind of mentions of self-harm will do you more harm than good!

Pairing: Hawks x Gn!reader

Warnings: mentions of self harm, blade, blood, scars

Genre: Comfort

Post-Type: Drabble

Word Count: 750

Summary: In which your BF Hawks catches you self harming and cleans up your fresh cuts

[A/N: Hey hey, so sorry for taking so long to write this, I know it was urgent. I just happened to get sick randomly and couldn't focus to write. But I finally got this done for you! I hope you're still around to read it </3. Hopefully it provides you with some comfort. Always go to others for help before taking matters into your own hands. Even if you feel like you can't, I'm sure the people in your life would love to help you out <3 I'm here too if you ever need anything! Enjoy!]

You look back and forth between the bloody mess in front of you to the panicked face of Keigo who had walked in on you. 

He was supposed to be gone for the whole day, patrolling his designated area until later that evening. Who knew he’d stop by to check in on you, hoping to have lunch together before continuing his patrol duties. Yet, coming home to you hovering over the bathroom sink with blood dripping from your delicate skin was not what he expected at all.

Of course he knew about your history with self-harm and could very clearly see all your past scars on your body, but he never expected to see you actively harm yourself in front of him. 

“Y/N…” He starts cautiously, eyeing the blade in your hands as you shake with regret.

“I’m sorry,” you cry, dropping the blade in the sink and moving your bleeding wrists away from his view, but he quickly closes the space between you.

Gentle hands grab your own and inspect the damage done. He rolls up the sleeves of his hero suit and gets to work on cleaning you up. With a clean towel he dabs the blood away, applying slight pressure to help stop the bleeding a little, whispering an apology whenever you flinch from the pain. 

He’s silent; contemplating how he let it get this far. He was a hero for crying out loud and the one person he wanted to keep safe the most out of everyone else in the world, managed to get harmed while he was away. He was angry and frustrated at himself that he couldn’t prevent the fresh cuts on your arms. All those nights he kissed your scars and whispered sweet promises of love and protection were all for nothing. Why couldn’t he be more useful to you?

“Keigo, I didn’t mea-” you start, but he quickly cuts you off as he finishes applying the bandage wrap to your wrist.

“I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault, it’s mine. I should have known something was off, I should have paid more attention and been around to help instead of being out. I’m sorry.”

He presses kisses to your bandaged wrist, just wishing that he could have the magical healing power that Recovery Girl’s kisses had. He wished he could kiss all your pain away and face it all himself in your stead. 

“No, no, this is all on me. You’re always there for me, telling me how much you love me and trying your best to encourage me and lift me up, but I always hold back,” you confess, snatching your arms away from him in guilt, “You’re so busy as it is saving everyone. I don’t want to add to your burdens with my own problems as well. I thought I could deal with it all alone, but I failed. I turned back to my blade because it was too much to bear on my own.”

He sighs, and this time brings you into his arms in an embrace, “That’s because we’re not meant to go through these things alone, babe. Even as a hero I don’t do things on my own either. I have a whole agency backing me up along with my other fellow heroes. No one can accomplish anything on their own without hurting themselves. So please let me be there for you to help you as much as you’ve helped me.”

Silent sobs escape your lips as he continues to hold you and speak.

“All those days when you held me after I failed to save someone. All those nights you patched me up after a mission and I stubbornly refused to go to a hospital; let me be there for you for all your tough times as well. Let me be the one to gather you up again and listen to all your worries, don’t fight your battles alone anymore. I promise you’re not a bother to me at all. I want to be there for you. It’s my job,” he reassures you. 

“All right,” you sniffle, finally wrapping your own arms around him, accepting his comfort.

He calls the agency afterwards, letting them know that he can’t come in for the rest of the day and instead spends his time with you. Listening intently to everything that’s been bubbling up in your heart, right by your side, wiping your tears away and giving you his unconditional support and love. He’s definitely making sure you don’t deal with things on your own anymore :)

REQUESTS ARE OPEN :D

Posted 3/5/2023

[noxexistant]

ai-less whumptober; day nine

@ailesswhumptober 9 — hypothermia/heatstroke, “You look pretty pale.” ↳ the distribution yard, circa 1898 word count; 1.4k

cw; seizures, referenced suicide attempts/self-harm

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Summer is fucking miserable.

Well, there isn't really a season in which their work isn't. It's miserable work — regardless of the weather, whatever weather it is. But most of it doesn't help.

Most of the time, it's the wrong side of cold to be working outside from before dawn to past midnight, or else it's warm and that's worse. In the fall, there's wet leaves over every inch of ground that Oscar has to fight for his life not to slip on with every step. He's eaten shit and ended up with bruises up his back more than once. In the winter, there's ice and snow to battle against, freezing temperatures that their cheap, worn-out clothes are never enough to stave off — and Mo always gets sick.

Though he gets sick in the summertime too.

It had happened a few times, back on the farm. When they were working outside all hours of the day, even through summer — on real hot days, Morris would drop like a stone. Heatstroke, Da had explained. Too much sun. Morris is only scrawny, can't regulate his temperature properly, so when he gets hot, he gets sick.

It's all Oscar can think about today. It's the height of August, and the air all around them is oppressive. Thick and warm, sticky, suffocating. The sun is hanging high in the sky, beating down on them relentlessly, and though Oscar had weeks ago began to forego his wool undershirt, wear his shirt loosely buttoned with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, he still feels like he's boiling. It's the hottest day yet.

And Morris won't take anything off.

They've been arguing about it for days, especially today. Oscar has been telling him, over and over, that he's fucking stupid for it. Oscar's got scars too, all over, and he hates having them on any sort of show but he's smart enough to recognise when it's necessary. Morris refuses. And Oscar knows its different. Knows the scattered scars now visible on his own bare forearms have different connotations to the ones hidden beneath Morris' sleeves — uniform slashes up the insides of his wrists up to his elbows, thick horizontal lines and a few vertical, thicker. Obvious. But Morris had gotten so sick back on the farm, another illness that Da was half-sure would finally kill him. And here they are again.

At least it's not his fault that he's being ordered to work under the beating sun again. This time it's just their Da's brother barking the commands rather than Da himself.

Oscar can't even keep a proper eye on Morris because of it.

It's afternoon so the distribution yard is devoid of newsies, and thus they're working the whole space, toting around huge carts of old papers and crates and stacks of the evening edition as they roll in, under strict supervision of Wiesel, so their vicious argument from morning distribution about Morris taking his goddamn shirt off had had to be tabled for the moment.

The ground is bone dry and dusty, scraping beneath Oscar's boots and kicking up with all the movement, making it seem even more laborious to breathe the dense air. The sky is rippling with the beating sun, sitting on Oscar's skin like a flame that's slowly burning through him, cooking his godforsaken Irish skin like a cut of bacon. He knows Mo must be burning, if he's not already burnt, and once again tries to look around for him.

"Oi," Wiesel snaps. "Break those fuckin' crates up, Os, I ain't tellin' you again."

Oscar grits his jaw and gets back to it.

"Fuckin' asshole," Morris mumbles from nearby.

He can hear Morris moving around the yard behind him, hear the rattling of the cart wheels, the creaking of wood bearing too much weight. He can hear Wiesel talking to the other employees that are working around them, a more amiable tone that he never bothers to grace the brothers with — and he hears the footsteps of someone coming out. Glances up and nods a cursory greeting to Roy coming out of the printing house.

Behind him, he hears Roy greet Morris.

"Christ, 's hot out here."

"Yeah? Hadn' fuckin'—noticed," Morris spits. His voice sounds slightly strange, angrier than he usually gets without the usual triggers. The words clumsy and blended together. Roy doesn't comment, perhaps doesn't notice. Or just thinks it's valid ire for the circumstances.

"Your uncle got you workin' out in this?" he asks. It's loud, like it's half aimed at Oscar too. Oscar shrugs.

"Work's gotta be done."

"Gotta be done," Roy echoes with a laugh. "You're a capitalist's dream, Delancey."

"Fuck off," Oscar laughs, putting his foot through another crate. He knows Roy's grinning at him, and all his misery from work is soothed somewhat by the balm of a friend's existence.

"Oi, runt," Roy says then, voice lowering, dipping into concern. "Lookin' pretty pale there. You alright?"

In an instant, Oscar's gut is churning again. He looks around immediately, and sees the taller man stood with Morris in the middle of the yard, a cart abandoned beside them, a hand clasping Morris' arm. Morris is stood entirely rigid, face dazed, mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out.

And then Morris goes down.

"Fuck," Oscar says. "Fuck!"

He tosses the half-broken crate down and runs, boots kicking up a stream of dust, but he isn't too concerned. Morris passes out sometimes. He's a dumbass who doesn't eat nor sleep enough and is forced to be constantly overworked, Oscar is almost used to the sight of him dropping where he stands and being a limp pile of bony limbs.

But Morris isn't limp. He's convulsing.

Roy looks stricken. He's older than Oscar by a few years, big broad guy with a thick beard and a rough mouth, but in this moment he looks utterly helpless. Afraid.

It's nothing compared to how Oscar feels.

In an instant he drops to his knees in the dirt, reaching out for his brother, but Morris is. Gone. His eyes are glazed entirely, face twitching, limbs jerking sharply like he's being beaten and dragged by someone invisible. He's all drawn up, his face looks scared, he looks like he's in pain. He's drooling. Oscar doesn't know what to do.

"Get help!" he shouts, and, finally, Roy goes, takes off running.

Oscar, shaking, presses a palm to his brother's sweaty forehead. He feels impossibly hot, so hot it's almost Oscar's instinct to flinch away, but he doesn't. Can't.

"Mo," he croaks. "Mo, you're okay. You're okay."

He doesn't know that he is. It's never been like this before.

A terrified part of his mind tells him that his little brother is dying. A part that gets louder when the twitching and convulsing suddenly stops, and Morris goes limp, hazy eyes sliding closed, head falling back so suddenly that Oscar has to catch him.

"Help," he pleads shamelessly as Wiesel comes running over, another couple workers at his heel. "Help him."

Wiesel ultimately looks just as lost as Roy had. Looks remarkably like Da had, that first time Morris had dropped in the field.

There's the same lack of willingness to face accountability in his eyes. The same adamant refusal to accept that he did this.

"What's goin' on?" a voice calls from the gates, and Oscar feels another wave of protective fury overwhelm him. It's the newsies, because of course it is, all flooding in to come line up for the evening edition. All staring, crowding, trying to climb over each other for a better look at the sight of Morris on the ground, Oscar cradling him. Kelly pushes to the front, something indescribable in his face, lips parted. The dirt beside Morris' face is wet with drool and bile. He's very slowly starting to stir, eyes half-open, sliding around as he fights to focus. He makes a noise. Slurred, utterly nonsensical. Scared. Pained.

"What d'you think happened?" one of the newsies asks shamelessly.

"Is he dead?"

"Is there blood?"

Oscar could kill them. Instead, he forces his gaze — dark and dripping with fury — to raise to Wiesel.

"Get 'im inside," his uncle says quietly. "Get 'im looked after."

"Fuck you," Oscar spits. And lifts his little brother up into his arms.

"Oscar. Is he okay?" Jack calls out, voice echoing across the yard.

Morris is mumbling, eyes still unfocused. He's limp. His skin is hot. Oscar turns and carries him carefully inside into the shade. To once again be the only one who cares about him, who'll look after him.

"Oscar!"

Oscar kicks the door closed behind him.

[inaris-mage-of-storms]

Content warning for illness, swearing, and allusion to gun violence.

}{ Part One }{ Part Two }{

When Scott dreams, he dreams of Martyn.

He dreams of Martyn on the island with coral all around it, sword in his hand and blood on his cheek and a wild grin on his face. Scott doesn't know whose blood it is, but he doesn't care. He only cares about the way Martyn pulls him in for a kiss, only cares about the way he knows whatever Martyn has done, he did it for him.

He wonders if Martyn will ever pull him close like that on a quest.

He wonders if that's why he's been accepting more and more of them lately, hoping for Martyn to join him.

He wonders what it would feel like if Martyn fought for Scott rather than for himself. (He already knows.)

"You should take it easy on those quests," says Cleo, leaning against his doorframe and watching him pull on his boots. "You're going to get yourself killed."

"I'll be fine." Scott doesn't dream only of Martyn, of course. His eyes drop to Cleo's ribs out of habit, and after a moment they sigh and pull up the edge of their blouse.

"Still all in one piece, see? No holes, nothing rotting." Their tone is light and teasing, but he knows they're worried. "Need to check my pulse again?"

They grin when he scowls. They aren't going to let him live that down any time soon, waking from a dream and stumbling out of his room to frantically grab at Cleo's wrist and assure himself that their heart still beat. Not after it happened twice.

"I'm just going for a walk, anyway," he tells them. "No quests today."

"Unless Martyn asks you to go on one."

He doesn't squint at the subtle hint of venom in their tone or unhappy twist of their lips, not anymore.

"He's not so bad."

"I don't trust him. I'd trust a Kite to watch my back before I'd trust him to do it. He doesn't look after anyone but himself." Behind them, Cruppy pauses its scurry across the grounds to give a little hop of agreement, and Cleo smiles.

He wonders how he knows they're right. He wonders why he trusts Martyn anyway.

(He knows why. He'll never admit it, but he knows. He just doesn't know how.)

Scott hooks his sword belt around his waist and makes sure his gun is loaded. The Faction Isles are safe, but safety is relative, and it doesn't hurt to be cautious. "I'll be fine," he says again as he leaves.

He wonders if they believe him. (He knows they don't.)

He wonders if he believes himself.

He stops by the quest board out of habit, but Martyn is nowhere to be seen. He hasn't seen him in about a week, actually, and it's beginning to make him anxious. It shouldn't matter. Martyn's capable of taking care of himself, and all of the Kestrels he sees in the town square on a regular basis seem as carefree as always. Besides, Martyn might not hate him anymore, but they're still only acquaintances at best.

If Martyn doesn't want to see him, it's not his problem. He wonders why the thought stings.

If something is wrong, it's not his problem. He wonders why his feet carry him to Kestrel territory anyway.

"Well hello there!" Scar greets him at the door, and even though they look nothing alike, his grin is so very much like Cleo's that Scott can't help but feel a warmth toward him. "What brings you to our amayzin' humble abode? Can I interest you in - "

"I'm not here to buy anything, Scar." Scott cuts off the budding sales pitch before it forms, and Scar huffs at him. "I was just - well, I haven't seen Martyn around lately, so I wondered - I mean, if he doesn't want to see me that's fine, but - "

"Oh, he's been sick!" says Scar, and his tone is still so bright and cheerful that it eases Scott's nerves about how serious it might be, until Scar's next words. "He came back from his last quest looking absolutely awful. Terrible cough, high fever, the works! Kyle went out for a doctor, and Sausage and Oli have been trying to get him to eat or drink something, but turns out he's really paranoid when he doesn't recognize anyone."

His tone is light, but his eyes are worried. Scott pushes past him and goes up the stairs, not bothering to ask permission. Scar steps aside willingly, his ridiculous pile of hats wobbling precariously, and Scott wonders how they never fall. He doesn't care.

"Come on, Marty, just a few sips." Oli sits on the edge of the bed and holds a bowl out to Martyn pleadingly, but Martyn has shoved himself into the corner against the wall with a wild-eyed snarl. Sausage looks up when Scott enters; unlike Scar, he isn't hiding his worry behind a facade, and Scott's heart aches for the fear he sees in his eyes.

"You're not tricking me into shit, not this time," spits Martyn. "You think I don't know you're one of them?"

"One of who? Martyn, I'm your friend!" Oli sounds close to tears. "Just drink the damn broth!"

Martyn scoffs, pressing himself into the wall even more, if that's possible. He's breathing hard and dripping sweat, and Scott hopes he doesn't try to bolt because he surely wouldn't get very far before passing out.

"You expect me to believe that, when you're wearing that color? Come on, I'm not stupid."

His glazed eyes fall to Oli's scarf; in the dim light of the room, the pink fabric looks almost purple. Scott isn't entirely certain, but he thinks of Martyn's dislike of Cruppy, and makes an executive decision based on a tenuous guess.

"Oliver, out," he orders. "Give me the bowl, and get out. You too, Sausage, just in case."

Oli looks indignant, but he doesn't argue, just hands Scott the broth and leaves the room with Sausage. Scott takes his place on the edge of the bed. Martyn slumps against the pillows as soon as Oli is out of sight, then his gaze snaps to Scott and his eyes widen.

"Scott," he breathes, and Scott wonders why his heart leaps at Martyn's recognition of him when everyone else is a stranger. "You're safe? They didn't - they didn't get you?"

Scott wonders who Martyn is so afraid of, but knows this isn't the time for questions. "I'm safe," he assures him, and Martyn's relief is palpable. "But you're ill. Will you drink some broth for me? Please?"

He holds the bowl to Martyn's lips, not trusting his shaking hands to do it himself without spilling, and Martyn lets himself be fed without argument. When he's finished Scott sets the bowl aside, then spies the washbasin on the table. He dips a cloth into the water and wrings out the excess, then dabs at Martyn's brow with a tender touch until Martyn's held falls forward onto his shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?" Scott hesitates before putting a hand on the back of Martyn's head and stroking his hair.

"I'm sorry," Martyn says again instead of answering the question. "I didn't want to! But I had to. I had to betray you, Scott, I couldn't - I couldn't take anymore of - "

His voice breaks, and Scott's heart breaks along with it. "Shh, it's okay," he murmurs, wrapping both arms around Martyn and holding him close. "It's okay. I'm here."

He wonders what imagined betrayal Martyn's fever has convinced him of. He wonders who has hurt him so badly to inspire such fear.

He wonders if it's anyone he could find. He wonders if his sword would be enough, or if he would need to stock up on bullets.

It doesn't matter, not right now. What matters right now is Martyn has started coughing, and Scott soothes him as best he can. When the fit passes, he washes Martyn's face again and gets him settled under the covers, watching his eyelids droop with exhaustion even as he shivers violently.

"Stay," Martyn croaks, and even if Scott had been inclined to leave, he doesn't think the vicegrip on his wrist would allow it.

"Of course," he assures him, and answers Martyn's relieved smile with one of his own. Martyn slips into slumber, and Scott strokes his hair with his free hand.

His touch is gentle and his gaze is soft, and he wonders if what he feels for Martyn in his dreams has followed him into the waking world.

(He knows.)

}{ Part Four }{

[mercy-love-joy]

Choose the Theme for the PV/SM fic

Alright, so checking on the poll, you guys wanted a PV/SM fic as the next fic I write after I complete In Sickness and Never in Health. SO I have below two different snippets. One is about a deep sea horror station and the other is a creepy/uncanny town. PV is trapped in both and SM is one weird guy.

Deep sea horror snippet:

“We all live on a yellow submarine, a yellow- ack! S-submarine.” He grits his teeth as he tugs the bandages tightly over the bleeding limb. His eyes are clouded with tears while his hands burn from the first-degree burn he got earlier while blowing the fire out of the main lobby. He blinks his eyes rapidly as he sings through gritted teeth, “We all live on a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine-” he whines when he feels the blood from his leg drip down his thigh. ‘I should’ve ducked into the vents,’ he scolds himself. He would’ve made his newly cut off leg open for infection but he would rather deal with infection rather than the blueish-black sludge ransacking the halls.

He doesn’t know where it came from, or what happened that would cause the thing to appear and start killing everyone. He just knows that there was a shake and he was unconscious until he was shaken awake by a frantic White Lily Cookie and a panicked Hollyberry Cookie. He didn’t understand what was all the yelling about beforehand, he was simply pulled up and dragged along the shaking station, passing guards with guns and scientists with papers flying all over the place. He remembers turning his head to see out the window, expecting to see the dark blue abyss but he saw blue sapphire eyes following his every step.  That gave him enough of an urge to run.

OR

Spooky town snippet

He hates the storms. He hates the lighting and flashes of white, he hates the pelting rain that dares break his roof, and he hates the howling wind. If anything, he despises the howling wind. He’s just not one to deal with the howls and shrieks of the billowing breeze, it makes his dough crawl and his chest heave a dry gag. He physically feels ill and is always willing to just collapse where he stands if he hears the ghoulish shriek of the wind during a storm. 

Probably why he dug out a “basement” in a haze of frantic panic. 

He doesn’t remember doing it, he doesn’t remember entering the small closet that was longer in length than in height, and digging up the wood, the dirt, and the bugs from the dirt to create his own shelter. Underground, it’s quiet. He likes the quiet. Quiet means safety, and safety means that he doesn’t have nightmares. 

He’s had nightmares since he could remember. They were always of a torn field of vanilla flowers, a barren willow tree moaning above him, and a crazed cookie standing over him. The cookie is always blue, sharp blue eyes, blue hands, and blue dough. Every hue or dilute of blue you could think of covered the cookie head to toe, and he always had Pure Vanilla pinned to the mud, laughing and gripping his wrists. He would be laughing in one nightmare or be saying something in another. The blonde doesn’t know. He chooses to ignore the nightmares, but in return, it causes him to lose sleep and it doesn’t make for good conversation with his friends.

[berylcups]

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Risotto x Reader

CW: Bodily injury, blood, vomit, Poisoning,dubious consent, Cucking(?)

Edit: Edited the title because it was too vague and generic sounding. 😖 Everything else is the same!

Features: technically it’s a Zeppeli!Reader fic but it’s only mentioned like once. Not a main feature of the fic so you can ignore that minor detail for your self inserts and OCs 🥰

⚠️ Here’s my biggest fic yet! And it’s gruesome it’s nasty and it’s bad. Please HEED the CONTENT WARNINGS!!! To skip the barf scene it’s separated by ///////s. NSFW MINORS DNI ⚠️

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Like this see?

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I hope y’all enjoy it. Writing smut was very fun but challenging! Well let’s gooooooo-

Having a devastating stand isn’t always what it’s cut out to be. Y/N had a very powerful stand but whenever they overexerted themselves they would get very sick and weak for a few days. Their power was radiation. Y/N has a high tolerance for radiation, for up to 3 times the lethal dosage, but they start feeling the illness from the 2 times mark. Y/N is used to this, this is a burden they must bear in order to serve the boss, and to protect Trish, the daughter of the boss.

Fighting off the La Squadra with the rest of the gang is wearing down Y/N. But Y/N has the Zeppeli blood inside them and knows it’s their duty to fight and protect till their very last breath. Y/N is determined to stay strong for Bucciarati and the others even when they are literally staring down their executioner at this very moment.

“Don’t assume I’m afraid to die. I’m willing to take you down with me.” Y/N glared up at their captor. They were intimidated by his black sclera and blood red irises but they weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of showing any fear.

“ Nice try. I know you can’t right now. Your body is still mending and you’re too weak to even try.” Risotto calmly answered.

“Now I’m going to ask you once before I decide to torture the answers out of you … where are you and bucciarati hiding the boss’s daughter?” He gave a fair warning before interrogating them.

“Eat shit. I’ll never tell you! Just go ahead and kill me because you’re just wasting your time!”

Y/N tried to move their arm to try and punch him but they couldn’t budge a damn inch. A clinking noise echoed in the basement reminding them how dire their situation was. Y/N was being held up by their wrists with metal cuffs. They couldn’t really tell at first because their whole body was sore and still groggy. Looking down their clothing was gone too except for their underwear. This just made them feel more small and exposed. Y/N wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of their embarrassment, they were going to stay strong. This wasn’t the first time they were nude in front of a stranger.

He chuckled quietly. “You’re just asking for it. Stay stubborn for all I care. I got all the time in the world.”

Y/N felt a sharp pain in their left breast and then something lukewarm started dripping down their chest. Y/N looked down in horror and saw a bloody sewing needle sticking out their breast. They wanted to wince but fought it back.

“I told you I would only give you one warning. I’m starting off easy on you since you’re AFAB but that’s not going to stop me from doing worse things to you.” He warned again.

“You’ll have to try harder than that. I’m used to being in pain.” They said shuddering.

“Really now? What should I do then… you used to be a cheap whore before Bucciarati took you off the streets. Maybe I should get my men in here and thoroughly use you. Or are you used to being a cumdump too?” He chuckled sadistically.

This struck a chord in them. Y/N is usually calm and confident but bringing up their past is just a huge kick to the gut. They don’t like their pride being shit on.

“Fuck you!” Y/N spat and used their free legs to try to kick him in the crotch.

He quickly caught their leg before they could make contact and then they felt an unbearable sharp white hot pain coming from their Achilles heel.

“Augh! No! Oh God!” They screamed in agony. They trembled and held back themselves from vomiting from the pain and peeked down at their right foot. There was a massive razor blade sliced open their Achilles heel. Their tendon was completely severed. Blood started to pool on the concrete floor making sickening dripping noises.

“The left one will be next…” he growled. “Now tell me, where’s the damn girl?”

“I said I will never tell you. Augh… She’s just a child. She didn’t ask to be the Boss’s daughter! If you want to find out the boss’s identity then be my guest. But I won't go against bucciaratis orders!” They defied him once more.

They could feel the same horrific pain coming from the left heel this time and they viscerally screamed at the top of their lungs. With both heels severed there’s no way for them to walk.

//////////////////////

The pain and the gruesome imagery was too much, they felt the intense wave of nausea hit and threw their head to the side and heaved. Feeling the burn from the bile of an empty stomach and the taste of blood from the radiation sickness still lingering, made them shudder and moan. Tears pricked their eyes from the horrible wave of events.

///////////////////

Risotto was unbothered by the display of disgust. “Weak stomach huh? Poor thing. I’d bet you’d like some water to get that taste out of your mouth.” He low key teased.

“Yeah… I would like some water. But I know you are not a very accommodating host.” Y/N said while spitting in hopes of getting more of the taste out.

“You’re really loyal to bucciarati aren’t you? So much you’re willing to go through physical torture and still stand strong… hmm. I could just kill you since you’re refusing to cooperate but...” He said looking at Y/N very intently. He looked like a predator staring down its meal.

“I think I have a contingency plan in place. I’m going to use you as bait. Bucciarati is real soft on you isn’t he? Don’t act like you two aren’t intimate. I’m going to have him get you in exchange for the boss’s daughter.” He said smugly.

“He won’t do it! I won’t allow it! We are sworn to the boss’s orders to protect her!” Y/Ns cool was starting to crack a little. Bucciarati did love Y/N very much, but enough to screw the boss’s orders? No, of course not! Y/N had to put faith into Bucciarati and the rest of the guys that they will get them out of this situation.

“Oh we’ll see.”he chuckled darkly as he walked away for a minute messing with some kind of tripod camera. He had it aimed at a dirty old mattress. Y/Ns heart sunk into their stomach. They knew exactly what Risotto was up to.

“No… you can’t do that! Anything but that!” Y/N started to panic. They tried budging their restraints on their wrists out of desperation but it was just a waste of energy.

“It’s either me or all of my men at once. If you’re able to get knocked up you aren’t gonna know who the father is, and be humiliated by having several men’s cum all over you.” He warned giving Y/N their only 2 options. “So which option do you prefer?”

“I choose… you…” they said dejectedly.

“That’s my good Y/N.” He smirked. He walks up in front of them and frees them from the wall. Their aching wrists finally feel some relief.

“You said you were still thirsty right?” He asked.

“Uh yes I am…” as soon as they said that he picks them up and kissed them deeply.

“?!” Y/N gasps into the kiss out of shock and he takes that opportunity to shove his tongue into their mouth. Y/N didn’t fight back, they had to play along with him in front of the camera so bucciarati knows that they are in trouble.

Y/N licked back and sucked on his tongue. He groaned into the kiss and grinded his hips into theirs where they could feel him getting hard. He pulled back and dove back in and nibbled on their lips, hard enough to feel a little pain but not enough to break skin. Y/N did it back and then went to sloppy open mouth kisses with their tongues fighting their own battle. When they pulled back panting for air a string of saliva was connecting their lips.

He sat them on the mattress in front of him.

“Now show me how you keep bucciarati wrapped around your finger.” He said as spread his legs apart and undid his buckle and zipper.

Y/N is no stranger to servicing men or women. But the circumstances here made them a bit pink in the cheeks. This is the first time that they are going to be sucking the cock of their captor...and being filmed for it too as a ransom note.

“Please forgive me Bruno…” Y/N thought as they pulled the leader of La Squadras cock out. It was just as intimidating as the man himself. 9 and half inches uncut, very veiny, very girthy.

Y/N takes the twitching cock into their hand. It’s so massive that their tiny hand can’t fit all the way around it. Y/N gulps and musters the courage to open their plush lips apart and slowly put the tip in their mouth .

Their lips stretch apart as they have the whole tip in their hot mouth. Y/N sucks and laps at the head with their tongue, and they go deep down the shaft. They get a slow rhythm going bobbing their head up and down as slobber begins to pool from their mouth and over the cock.

“Fuck… Bucciarati is a very lucky man. You have to have done this very often. You’re very skilled.” He groaned, rubbing the back of their head. He was enjoying watching them struggle to take him in their mouth.

Y/N was getting a bit more comfortable so they ventured deeper, allowing more of his cock into their mouth and picking up some speed. They used their free hand gently to massage his balls . He threw his head back in response and let out a guttural moan.

He was in pure bliss, he couldn’t hold himself back anymore and grabbed their head and just started to buck up into their mouth. Y/N was getting their face fucked, they were gagging hard but tried to remain in control. The other girls who show them the ropes of prostitution said with oral alway remember to breathe through your nose and you’ll be okay, so they breathed through their nose as their face was getting fucked. They weren’t getting a lot of air but breathing through the nose helped with the gagging. Tears were flowing down their face and drool was dribbling down their chin as their face was being brutally fucked. Their face being buried in his pubic mound as fucked them hard made it more difficult to get air. Y/Ns vision was starting to get fuzzy.

“Y/N get ready I’m going to cum.” He panted.

Thank god.

Y/N was ready to receive his load. He quickly pulled out their mouth and came thick ropes onto their face and in their mouth. Some of it dribbled off their chin and onto their breasts.

“Swallow what I gave you.” He demanded.

Y/N showed the cum that splashed into their mouth and swallowed it. They opened their mouth and stuck their tongue out to show that they swallowed it all.

“Perfect . That’s my good Y/N.” He purred.

There was no way for Y/N to get on all fours due to the injuries he inflicted and he wanted to see their facial features as he splits them open. He shoves them down onto their back and they let out a weak oof.

They laid like a ragdoll on the makeshift bed as he looked down at their delicate body. He couldn’t believe that a weak person like them could cause such severe damage to a man triple their size.

They stared at the ceiling in a daze panting as they combed their fingers through their hair. Strands of hair came out between their fingers reminding Y/N that they still have radiation poisoning, as if the body aches and nausea wasn’t enough. Oh well… their hair grows back rapidly once the radiation fades.

He got on all four on top of Y/N, caging them in. He took one of his thick fingers and hooked it under the waistband of their underwear and pulled them down.

“These look good on you but they’re in my way.” He growled pulling them off completely bringing a shockwave of pain up their legs as it brushed up against their cut open heels.

“Shit…”they sharply inhaled trying to hold back the tears.

“Relax, I’m going to make you cry in another way real soon.” He grabbed their thighs and exposed their cunt to him. He stared them down and took one long lick from their perineum all the way up to their clit.

“!!!” Y/Ns body tensed up from the sudden warmth between their legs.

“You like that don’t you Y/N?” He purred and took another lick.

“Shit~”they shuddered in pleasure.

He bit hard on her right inner thigh leaving teeth marks. “Answer the question Y/N. Do you like it when I lick your slutty cunt?”

“Ow~!ok! Yes! I love it!” They shrieked feeling a jolt of adrenaline from the bite.

“Good Y/N… good things come to those who obey their capo.” He resumed lapping at their pussy. Oh man, he really was going to use this recording to get under bucciaratis skin isn’t he? He’s using all the tools at his disposal to disrespect Bucciarati, but also make him feel like he’s failed as a leader and as a partner.

“Right Y/N?”

“Hnngg… yes capo…” they moaned out. They knew they were betraying him and it breaks their heart, but they had to play along to survive and have faith that Bucciarati is going not only protect Trish but save them both.

“That’s right. I'M your capo.” He let out a sadistic snicker. He spread their lips and stuck a single finger inside their wet cunt. The intrusion felt pleasant, his finger was pretty thick. Very fitting for the hands of a man who murders for a living.

“Ah~” they whined, feeling the short lived pleasure. He stuck it in but he wasn’t moving. They looked up at him with confusion and concern in their puppy dog eyes.

“Beg for it and your capo will finger you good.” He smirked.

Begging? No way, Y/N has dignity! Y/N doesn’t beg for the enemy! But… the temptation is strong. Whether they like it or not, Risotto Nero is a very attractive man. And he already revved them up by eating them out, their cunt is drooling with want. Beg they must.

“Please capo! Please finger me!” They cried.

“Hmm… I don’t know. You don’t sound like you really want it.” He pondered while having a 2nd finger tease at the entrance.

“Please capo! I’ll be your whore! Your personal cumdump!” Tears ran down their face in frustration.

“Now we’re getting somewhere…go on. You almost convinced me.” He teased them further.

“Capo~! I’ll leave Bucciarati! You can keep me as collateral and do whatever you please with me!” They sobbed.

“That’s what I like to hear~ good Y/N. You finally know your place.” he praised them and shoved the 2nd finger in and started thrusting his fingers in and out of their weeping cunt.

“Oh ~ oh fuck~ Capo~” they mewled.

He laughed watching them weep in ecstasy.

“Does Bucciarati make you feel this good?” He asked thrusting and curling his fingers up to brush up against that soft sweet spot.

“…No… he doesn’t “ they cried. They felt a deep sense of guilt saying that, they knew Bucciarati knew it wasn’t true but even lying about it breaks their hea—

They felt a warm mouth on their clit and felt his tongue lapping at it like a thirsty animal.

“?!” The gasped so hard it hurt feeling him sucking and licking hard on their clit while furiously fingering them in tandem.

“Oh fuck! Capo~ “ they mewled. Their back arched and they grabbed on to his head to keep it in place. It was difficult to do so with his annoying hat in the way so he let them toss it off and grab him by the hair. Having his hair pulled on made him moan in their cunt and finger them faster in response.

“Capo~I’m gonna cum!” They sobbed with tears and drool just dripping down their face.

“Cum for your capo, Y/N.” He ordered.

“Augh! Capo! I’m cumming!” They shrieked.

The knot in their stomach was about to snap. The heat in them was intensifying. Their legs were shaking , and an orgasm came full force. They squirted all over his hand.

He pulled his soaked fingers out and gave them a taste.

“You look as good as you taste~ I can’t wait to wreak you.” He snickered as he took his pants completely off and started lining up his monstrous cock with their thoroughly wet pussy.

“Wait! I don’t think it’s going to fit! It will stretch me to my absolute limit!” Y/N panicked.

“ I made sure you were nice and wet. Besides, I wanna ruin you for Bucciarati. You’ll never want any man’s cock except mine ever again. I’m going to make your cunt a gaping mess.” He chuckled sadistically.

Y/N gulped in fear and prayed the stretch wouldn’t be agonizing. They have already been through so much pain the past 48 hours. He slowly breached his way in. It stung, he took up so much space. His tip is already kissing their cervix and their at least 2-3 inches left that still isn’t in yet. He forces it all the way in and Y/N groans in pain.

“You’re too big… this isn’t going to work.” They choked out.

“It’s either this or I go for your asshole. It’s up to you.” He warned.

There’s no way that cock is going anywhere near their ass. They knew with a cock that big they would end up disemboweled.

He gave them a brief minute and then he started to thrust.

“For an ex prostitute you’re really tight…” he panted

Y/N clenched their jaw and closed their eyes out of pain. Is this similar to giving birth? There’s something so huge inside you and it feels like it’s ripping you in half.

“Look at me.” He ordered.

They looked back up at him and stared into his blackened red eyes.

“I want you to see me ruin you. Look down at your stomach.” He instructed.

Y/N looked down at their painfully full stomach…there was a bulge there, his cock is so intrusive it’s bulging out of their stomach.

This seemed to turn the sadist on and he started to thrust harder. He loved how snug they were inside. It made him want to bury his cock even deeper into their cunt. Tears were rolling down their cheeks, for all the crying they did their cheeks were probably permanently stained by now.

Faintly the painful sting was starting to fade. Y/Ns body was slowly starting to relax; they could feel the heat growing in their stomach again.

“Starting to feel good?” He asked.

He smirked and picked up the pace. He nearly pulled all the way out and grabbed them by the thighs to hold them up. Then he thrusted back in hard, burying his cock as far it will go with the head penetrating the cervix.

“?!” Y/N gasp as they had the wind knocked out of them. They didn’t know how to register the feeling to be either pain or pleasure or both. Having the cervix breached was a foreign sensation to them.

The only noises that could be heard were the wet slapping sounds of flesh, the noisy mattress, panting, and the cries of ecstasy.

He completely brutalized her cunt, thrusting as hard as ever getting lost in the tightness and how slippery and wet it was coating his cock.

“Fuck, you look good taking me like this. I should have done this to you from the start!” He groaned.

“Ah~ Capo! You’re making me feel so full! I love it ~” they cried.

“Call me by my name.” He demanded. “ I wanna hear you say it.” He hooked his arms under their legs pushed them back .

“Risotto ~! Please fuck me harder~” Y/N mewled ignoring the pain in their heels.

Hearing his name like that lit a match under his ass, he immediately started to thrust harder and deeper like he wanted to break them. Seeing their lewd face with the tears and drool dribbling down their chin he put his head between theirs and their neck and sucked hard on it leaving his mark everywhere. They cried out and turned their head, exposing more of their neck. He kissed and licked down to the wounded breast and licked the trail of dried blood. He got their nipple in his mouth and sucked it hard enough to leave a hickey there as well. He wanted his enemy to know that he’s marked up all his precious partner.

“ Oh~ fuck Risotto ~ you are going to make me lose my mind!” They moaned.

He dove back down and kissed them deeply. He tasted of blood but Y/N didn’t care. Their tongues were fighting for dominance again while he was grinding his hips into theirs. They were timing his thrusts with their own. They were lost in the pleasure, they completely forgot that they were being held captive by this man. They were supposed to be fighting to the death but instead they are passionately fucking. The way he’s looking down at them, it almost looks to be a look of pure affection? No… Y/N is just delirious from all they've been through recently.

The familiar feeling was coming back. The knot in their stomach was coming loose.

“Risotto ~ I think I’m gonna cum!” Y/N howled, they were saying his name over and over again like it was a prayer.

“Me too. Cum with me!” He grunted. “Y/N! Fuck!”

They could feel themselves getting fuller from the cum being shot inside them. This set off their own orgasm as they clenched around his cock and squirted one last time. He let go of her legs, leaned in and gave one last deep kiss. Y/N was so exhausted, the last thing they remember was Risotto messing with the tripod before they passed out.

“This should send a strong message to him.”

————

Everyone has been on edge since Y/N went missing. Y/N was like another nurturing parent to the group. They were always stopping fights, or cooking food for them, helping them with hair, or just listening to their problems. Everyone felt an empty hole in their hearts without them.

Bucciaratis normally sun kissed tan skin had become as white as a sheet. His stomach was in his throat and his heartbeat was pounding in his head.

“This is so much worse than I thought.” He muttered while watching the ransom tape.

Give them Trish or leave Y/N to suffer? He had to think of a way to keep them both safe. He came out of his office his serious look on his face but looked like he just was haunted.

“Everyone listen up. We have a serious problem. We know where Y/N is and it’s not good.” He announced.

Everyone now more concerned than ever, never seen Bucciarati this upset. They knew they had a shit show on their hands and it was going to be so much more complicated than just protecting Trish.

[prettybirdlegs]

The chain pulls taut, lifting my hands above my head to strain impotently against the cold night air.

Jasmine fills the empty courtyard, mingling with the acrid tang of sweat and iron. I swallow as my eyes track her slow circle around my suspended frame.

Hold still, she growls, casting her gaze up and down my body. I can't purge this sickness from you unless you obey.

I don't feel sick, I hiss. That's a lie. My body hangs heavy from its chains, wracked with withering fatigue. The deep orange of my skin almost glows, black bruises blotchy under the wintery moonlight. My skull still aches from the sprouting of the horns, and my keen eyes are beaded pinpricks of light in the dark garden. My thin, pointed tail whips side to side, hoping to catch her, nick her flesh. Anything to remind her that I'm here against my will.

You are, she says. You've been cut deep by the demons' magic.

My chest tightens at the word. It's what's coming, I know; healing magic, purging magic, to wrench my newfound gifts away from me.

I've seen her use it before, sparingly, exactingly. I'd seen motes of iridescent light fall from her open palms onto her slain lieutenants after battles. I'd watched their eyes open, their limbs knit back together, the pallors of curse and illness drain from their reconstituted bodies.

I am a corpse to her now, and I can see in her expression that she intends to make me whole.

She's afraid of me. She must be. She wouldn't be trying to fix all this if she wasn't scared of what I could do. I run my tongue over my needle-sharp fangs and snort a hot, sulfuric breath.

The tips of her fingers begin to glow with yellow-white light. She pushes her thumb up under my chin, and I smell burning flesh.

Nerve-lancing heat spreads from the base of my skull down my body. I cry out through gritted teeth and pull hard on my cuffed wrists, trying in vain to lift my body away from her touch.

She grabs me by the hair in response, her left hand planted cleanly between my curved horns. I grunt as she pulls my head forward to meet her gaze.

Wretch, she tells me. I trained you better than to revel in corruption.

I can be of use to you like this, I say. I can't hide the hoarse desperation in my voice; better, then, to bargain in the open. Release me – my hands go numb from the cold chains around them – and I'll stay loyal, I swear, I'll infiltrate them, I'll—

She strikes me hard, open palm cracking against the side of my face. My head bows as the pain blooms across my cheek and reverberates down my spine. I look up at her, racing thoughts brought to a halt by the full-body flush that floods me. I try to speak, but all that comes is a faltering gasp.

You'll do as I say, she spits, as her lean, slender fingers coil around my neck. And I command you to heal.

Rivers of fire cascade down my body. I kick my legs out wildly, howl with pain in a voice I scarcely recognize.

She steps towards me to adjust her grip, and I wrench my head forward to sink my teeth into the triangle between her neck and collarbone. I feel them penetrate deep, beyond the skin into the soft, yielding flesh.

She tightens her grip, and my vision starts to swim. The stars above double; I gasp into her shoulder as all resistance leaves my muscles. The pain still ignites me; it's spread, now, dripping down my naked chest towards my bony hips.

We relinquish one another at the same time, and her blood runs hot and sweet down my chin. She holds a flat palm out over the wound on her shoulder and knits it closed with a flash of sunlight, all the while staring at me with simmering, seething contempt.

I don't dare look at what she's done to my body, my gifts.

You had your freedom for a moment, she snarls, bringing her head closer to mine. She's daring me, begging me to bite her again, to see what happens if I test her one more time.

It felt nice, didn't it? She's tormenting me. To accept the bargains offered by our enemies? Never mind how many of ours they've killed. Never mind their lies, their treachery, their deceit.

But the worst part, she says, is that you have forgotten to whom you belong.

She reaches down – slowly, tenderly, – and wraps her hand around me. I tense involuntarily, shuddering as the sensation of her touch blossoms out over my abdomen and down my legs.

So tell me, apostate. Whom do you belong to?

I glare at her, silently, defiantly, as if I could pose a challenge to her after everything she had done. As if I ever could have.

No answer? Fine, she says. I'll ask again.

There is a flash of light too bright to behold. The feeling cascades through my body in a blinding, deafening, surpassing wave of pain.

She clamps her other hand over my mouth to muffle my cries. I cannot muster the wherewithal to hurt her again.

There is no reason to hold out any longer, no recourse but surrender. I wrench my hips into her palm, desperate for relief, but her grip is unyielding.

You, I cry, my confession muted by the leather of her hand. You, you.

Her left hand falls from my mouth; her other hand does not move. I gasp as the pain subsides, then disappears, replaced by a warm, stupefying pleasure.

It is water in the desert; I give in to it instantaneously. My sweat-drenched head rolls forward, a low moan falling from my slack, open mouth.

That's right, she says, her voice gone soft and compassionate. You're mine.

You always were, weren't you?

Please, I whine. My heartbeat accelerates. Everything is jasmine, blood, light and heat, the rhythm of her hands on my broken, exhausted body.

Oh, already? She mocks.

Why don't you tell me how sorry you are.

It spills from me. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm revolted by my weakness. I never should have left. I never should have betrayed you. I could never have broken her hold on me. I was a fool to try.

I'm yours. I'm yours.

I hang there, helpless; the cadence of her touch grows faster. She brings her knee up between my legs, pressing it into my underside. My head empties just in time for the magic to reach its white-hot, fevered peak.

My body convulses, rattling the chains above my head, and I cry out into the crook of her neck like a wounded child.

My horns fall from my head, ashen and hollow. My white teeth blunt, and my skin returns to its soft, familiar tone. I am as I was before this, olive cheeks stained with tears.

That's better, she says. You're almost cured.

We'll continue in the morning.

The chain loosens, and I fall like a stone onto the soft grass. She stands over me for just a moment and sighs, almost too softly for me to hear. When the feeling has run its course, when the last gasp of surrender has left my lips, there is nothing in its wake.

The courtyard gate swings open, and sleep takes me before it closes again.

[randomingoftherandomness]

Fic: Love is when you try to place it out your mind

A/N: For @lovesickfolly and based on their deliciously wonderful plot bunnies :) The title is based on Mona Lisa by Dominic Fike

Fair warning, as of writing this fic, I'm on episode 10 of the show but I'd been Tumblr-watching it while it was airing so I have a gauge of what's what. If there are some discrepancies with the details or whatnot, *handwaves* consider this a Canon Divergence?

As a whole, I hope I did the prompt I chose some proper justice. This fic is not betaed. Enjoy!

--

It happens a little like this:

Fang Duobing holds on a little tighter just to keep Li Lianhua from running away. Li Lianhua uses some sleight of hand to keep him at a distance. Fang Duobing falls for it but only for a moment, before he catches the corner of his sleeve, holding on just long enough to say, "I love you, I have loved you for the longest time. I can't live when you aren't near, yet I can't breathe when you are away from my side."

"You frustrate me, you drive me insane, but there's no one better for me. In this life, I want no one else. I've never had to beg anyone for anything but, please..."

"Fang Duobing, I think you've drunk too much tonight."

A gentle push at his wrist that he doesn't fight is strong enough to have him stumbling back. Hurt lances through his heart at the way Li Lianhua's dark gaze lifts and meets his own unwaveringly. Like two bottomless pools in a moonless night, there is little he can do but to listen to his heart break when Li Lianhua says, "I'll forget everything you just said. Bury this deep and never think about me like this again."

It ends a lot like this:

Li Lianhua leaves him behind without a second thought.

It has been a year since he last saw him.

It feels very much like this:

An ache in his heart follows him closer than a shadow, far more familiar than his own skin, settling deeper in his marrow than his own blood. He cannot eat, he cannot sleep. The best wine is tasteless, the finest dishes are ash on his tongue.

For the first month, he knows his mother spends sun up to sundown cursing the jianghu. It takes his youngest Aunt coming to his room to hold him by the hand as she'd used to do when he was little and ill from a bout of sickness, tearfully pleading with him to please, just eat something, just one bite, one sip of water, just do something instead of staying in his room like he'd lost all his will to live.

(if he only climbs out of bed because his mother and aunt threaten to bring this case up to the whole of the jianghu, if he only takes his first bite of food because they bring Fox Spirit to his side to comfort him, that's something for him and him only to know)

By the time the seasons change, his mother only kisses his cheeks in goodbye and tells him to take care of himself on the road when he leaves to roam the jianghu and carry out his duties to the Baichuan Court.

And through all that, the ache settles in like an old friend. His aunt says that heartbreak will take time to get over. Fang Duobing doesn't know if he wants to wait to find out.

He's probably cursed at this point, but there's nothing much to be done about that.

The first time he hears that Li Lianhua is back is half a year since he spilt his heart out and it is through gossip he overhears in a tavern in the middle of escorting a criminal. There's a twinge of instinct like a cut-off nerve ending that still feels sensation even when it shouldn't, to get up, ask those men where they heard such a piece of news and chase that man down by hook or by crook.

Instead, Fang Duobing takes a deep, calming breath, swallows down his mouthful of food, and takes another breath.

In the months after, it's as if he is seeing ghosts.

A glimpse of a lotus leaf hairpin on someone, the scent of herbs and fire on another, the sight of red ribbons floating in the wind. The touch of warmth on his wrist as he walks in a crowd. Despite all these, Fang Duobing trudges on. Smiling when he has to, laughing because he wants nothing but to put the frown off his mother's brow, joking when all he wants to do is scream that the withered and dying heart in him is so hollowed out that nothing matters.

Not helped is how the rumour of Li Lianhua's return was anything but an exaggeration.

Everyone seems to have seen him. Everyone but him.

The masters of Baichuan Court had a meal with him a week ago. Su Xiaoyong managed to corner him for tea a day ago and Qiao Wanmian is having him over for lunch in a week. Sometimes, if he comes back at the right time, he spies Fox Spirit's food bowl filled with his favourite snack that only Li Lianhua knows how to make.

He swallows down the bile and keeps trudging on. Pulls himself up by the boots and solves case after case, making an empty glory for himself. Runs himself ragged so that at night he can just fall into bed and sleep. It is a small bliss when he doesn't have to think about how Li Lianhua hates him so much that he won't even seek him out to show him just a glimpse of the hem of his robe.

What goes around comes around. Or so the saying goes, and no good deed goes unpunished. Fang Duobing would call it a relief when he slips up enough that a rogue swordsman can get an upper hand long enough to stab him through and through with a blade, pinning him up just enough that he can get away.

As the darkness takes him, Fang Duobing wonders if he can sleep this time without dreaming of Li Lianhua.

"You fool."

The ceiling he wakes up to is not his own. The bed he wakes up in is familiar in a way that makes his heart stutter and skips a beat in pain. He must have groaned because deft hands are quick to be at his shoulder to settle him down. Fang Duobing gasps. Gropes through the breathlessness at a thin wrist, looking up to meet eyes that watch him with undisguised worry.

"You con artist..."

Li Lianhua sighs, the corner of his lips twitching. "I probably deserve that."

"You absolute mother--"

"Hey, no need to bring my mother into this!" Li Lianhua laughs, trying to pull away, only for Fang Duobing to hold on to his sleeve.

"I..." He tries, licking his dry lips. Blinking rapidly, he looks around him. "Where am I? What happened?"

"You got stabbed. The fogeys at Baichuan Court brought you to me, telling me to help." Fang Duobing can taste the familiar acridness of rejection creep up the back of his throat. Letting go of the sleeve in his hand, he huffs a soft chuckle.

"So that's the case." Fang Duobing swallows thickly. "You're only helping Baichuan Court."

A silence grows and sits between them. Eventually, he hears Li Lianhua drag a stool closer to the bed. "Fang Xiaobao, look at me."

He closes his eyes, turning his face away with great difficulty. "My apologies Physician Li. I am sure this is a great inconvenience to you that I am here. Let me rest awhile and I'm sure I'll be well enough to leave by then. I do not want to bother you too much."

"You-- Fang Duobing, you fool, look at me!"

He pulls the covers over his shoulders. "That's not necessary--"

"Fang Duobing, look at me, please..."

The thread of pleading is thick in the syllables, and by the gods above, Fang Duobing has never mended his walls to protect him against Li Lianhua. So, he opens his eyes, slowly turning back to look.

And sees the red-rimmed eyes. Then sees the long grey hair that is a shade away from white. He sees the lines on Li Lianhua's face that have deepened in the year that they've not seen each other.

"Li Lianhua..." Fang Duobing starts, heart pounding like a war drum when he reaches out to run his fingers through his hair and finds that instead of pulling away, Li Lianhua is leaning in.

Pressing his cheek into the palm of Fang Duobing's calloused hand, he lets out a shaky breath, as if he is releasing all his worries in that one exhale. "I don't deserve you, Fang Duobing. I never have."

"You came into my life and you made yourself home like you've always been there. You didn't care for how much hurt I inflicted, you didn't care that I pushed you away. You stayed when all others left." Li Lianhua lifts his hands to keep Fang Duobing's hand to the side of his face. The curtain fall of his hair wraps itself around their hands, tangling black to grey on the bedspread. "Every time I tried to hide, you always knew where to find me. Every time I ran, you followed. You've bewitched me, body and soul."

Li Lianhua sighs, turning his face into Fang Doubing's touch. Giving into an impulse, he reaches out, ignoring the twinge of pain. Carding his fingers through Li Lianhua's hair.

Softly, he whispers, "Please don't say things you don't mean."

The hurt that colours the browns of Li Lianhua is tinged with regret. But with a blink, it is replaced with a steely determination that has Fang Duobing reeling when he barely has a moment to process how Li Lianhua swoops in and slides their lips together.

"Li Lianhua--"

He shakes his head, lips still pressed to the corner of Fang Duobing's. "I'm a normal man now. I have nothing to give you. Everything that you have loved about Li Xiangyi, everything that you idolised about the man I was, I am not that anymore. That's why I couldn't reciprocate your feelings that first time. I didn't even know if I was coming back. That's why I ran."

"And what's this?" Fang Duobing asks, the words tripping over themselves as they burn their way into the air between them. "Did you do all this because of, what? Guilt?"

Li Lianhua looks absolutely gutted at that. He shakes his head, eyes begging him to believe him. "No! Never! I... I came the moment I received word that you were injured." Ducking his head, he presses his lips to the jut of their joined hands. "I knew I couldn't stay away from you. I know now that I shouldn't have."

Fang Duobing lets himself process this. Sniffling a little and not fighting Li Lianhua when he smiles wetly as he wipes away the tears that make tracks down his cheeks.

"You hurt me."

"I did." Li Lianhua leans in again. This time, Fang Duobing moves back so that there is space on the bed for him to climb into.

"You really hurt me."

"I know, but if you're willing," Li Lianhua says, the light of the sun catching in the pale strands of his hair as he pledges. "I swear on everything good and true, on everything I have left, on the love you have given me, I, Li Lianhua will be good to you, will spend the rest of my life making it up to you for every moment you were hurt by me."

Fang Duobing feels himself smile genuinely for the first time in a very long time. Lifting his hand to cup at Li Lianhua's face, he rubs his thumb over the dark circle under his eye. "Liar. You can't promise me the rest of your life if we aren't married."

This sparks a gleam of mischief in Li Lianhua's eyes that curls something warm in his gut. Something alive that he wants to chase and pin down with joy.

"You did promise to take my name if I could bring a dead man back to life." Li Lianhua murmurs, plush lips curved upwards. "Haven't we been married since then?"

And really, who is Fang Duobing to deny that? Especially since he has the rest of their lives to figure it out.

The hurt isn't gone. Not by a long shot. But as Li Lianhua willingly takes strands of their hair, braiding them together with a smile before carefully kissing his shoulder and laying back down beside him -- the weight of him so very real, so warm to the touch, and here because he wants to be -- he can feel the space where his heart is start to come back alive.

And that, if nowhere else, is a good place to start again.