#it feels like no matter how hard I struggle and flail and cry and fight it. I can't move

[teobug]

oooh the med switching. is making me want to chew on nails. it is Not Good.

[omegalomania]

i think what i admire most about this record after sitting with it for a full day is the marriage of its musicality and its lyricism.

lyrically..."nihilistic" is a really good way of putting it. i was honestly kind of floored by how goddamn bleak so much of the lyricism on this record is. there's so much desolation, so much hopelessness, so much struggling to find meaning in meaninglessness. lyrically, i think this might be some of pete's darkest but also some of his best work. there's so much grappling with the feeling that maybe it's all pointless. maybe none of it fucking gets better. maybe you're always going to be fighting to figure out some kind of sense and feeling displaced and the further you look toward the horizon, the more the inevitability of the end scares the living shit out of you.

so much (for) stardust is utterly desolate lyrically. even little granules of hope feel tongue-in-cheek or in denial. so...what? does anything ever get better? are we all just flailing around, trying to make our stupid lives make sense? but at the same time, fall out boy are the happiest they've ever been as a band. they waited five years so they could savor making this record and they were genuinely excited to share it with all of us. pete is wearing skirts and letting his hair down and they're playing songs that once got them booed off stage with fearless love in their eyes and they're looking after each others' mental health and supporting one another through it all. what does it mean for a band to release something this somber at this point in time for them?

the "reality bites" pink seashell speech sums it all up kind of perfectly. so maybe life is inherently meaningless, but at the same time...there's good food. there's beautiful weather. there are still good movies, and the sound of rain on the windows, and hope, and friendship, and joy. maybe there's no point. but that doesn't change that there's still laughter. there's still love.

and that's what's in the sound of this record. the big, cinematic swell of an orchestra. the upbeat chirps of a synth. the screeching of a guitar and some bouncy, catchy goddamn riffs that'll live under your skin for days. this is a record you dance to and cry to. (cry a little, cry a lot, but don't stop dancing, don't dare stop.) sonically, this is a record laden with grit and delight and a powerful sense of purpose, from catchy pop hooks to roaring, cinematic anthems. it sits in delicious contrast to the words but it doesn't undermine them. it complements them. happy music for sad people.

of course there's pain, and there's frustration, and the world is full of tragedy and hopelessness and maybe the worst part of it is that it doesn't go away once you grow up. as you get older, you don't ever magically learn how everything clicks together. you just have to fumble through it and hope for the best, even if it feels like it never gets any easier.

it's a hard lesson to learn. but you aren't alone in it. so what fates do we share? we're all stardust. we all share the same end. we are not alone in our fears and uncertainties and we will not be alone at the end either, not really. we came from stardust and to stardust we will return.

i think if there is a hope i can take away from this record it's like...this feeling that it doesn't get better, really. but you do get better at living with it, and to someone like me, that's vital. years ago i had to come to terms with the valuable, painful lesson that i will not, mentally, neurologically, ever get "better." there will never be a point where i am "cured" of all that i must live with. but i've grown better at living with it. and there are things out there that i'm living for anyway - good food, better friends, and maybe a long-anticipated record you need to put on replay for a good long while as you soak it in.

maybe none of this matters, in the end. but if it doesn't, then this is what matters. this.

"if nothing we do matters, then all that matters is what we do."

[musings-of-miss-j]

It was a pity, I thought to myself, watching him struggle and curse as he tried to make his way back to the safety of solid ground. A bit of a waste of the good-hair-gene.

"Don't struggle," I advise him, crouching so that he can see my face more clearly. "There's no other way this can happen. Find peace in that. Accept your fate."

He yelled out, clearly frustrated at the lack of progress his straining was resulting in. I watched, sympathetic, refusing to look away even as one of his hands began to slip. I couldn't help him. Or any of the others. I was just the guide, the chaperone for those who met a tragic end. I couldn't change any of it, no matter how hard I'd tried in the beginning.

"What the hell, why won't you help me?!" He strained out through gritted teeth. "Just pull me up, give me your hand!"

I stared at him. The uneven edge was beginning to slide from his grasp. Tiny fragments of stone tumbled into the yawning valley below, the clattering sound taking an age to reach my ears.

"I'm sorry," I say gently to him. "I can't do anything. It was only ever going to be this way. Just look at me, breathe, enjoy the cold air, the sound of the leaves, the birdsong. It'll be the last you ever hear of it."

He looked at me then, and the realisation began to creep into his eyes. His face dawned with understanding, and my heart twinged at the thought of him blaming me in his final moments. It was my choice to do it this way, I reminded myself like I always had to. I chose to come down to this circle of the universe, accompany the living to their deaths, feel as much of their pain as I possibly could, rather than watch it from afar from the comfort and detachment of the heavens.

He struggled anew, the prospect of death awaiting him miles below awakening the primal urge of all living things to hold an to life, strain against the tightening chains of death with tooth and nail. I couldn't cry. The sadness rolled over me, and I felt it the same way one watching the news about this might. I hated it, hated how, despite my best efforts, I was so disjoined, so unconnected to human emotion, how I could never truly empathise with those I guided. I should be crying, watching this man grunt and cry out, legs flailing, arms straining, sweat drip down his brow. His desperate eyes should make tears roll down my cheeks. But it didn't. It never had and never would. All I could do was offer my presence as he and countless others inched towards their deaths.

"Please, PLEASE!" he was shouting in earnest now, and all I could do was watch. The fight was going out of him.

"FUCK, WHY ARE YOU LEAVING ME TO DIE LIKE THIS?!"

"I'm here, aren't I?" I said, hating how steady my voice was. I reached out to caress his cheek, knowing he'd never feel anything again in a few moments.

He made eye contact with me, and I felt a rush of relief at the acceptance in them. He was at peace, I hoped.

With a swift movement, he took hold of my arm and pulled himself up before I could register that he had even touched me. I stared agape as he plated his feet firmly back on the ground, dusted off his hiking jacket and shot me a sly grin.

"I bet you thought that would be the end of me, didn't you?"

How could he sound so at ease, so unruffled? And more importantly, how the hell was he alive?

I stumbled upright, pulling out my phone (carrying around a traditional book for these kinds of things was simply too impractical) to make sure I had the date and time right. Had I somehow waltzed into the wrong human's death?

"Don't bother checking," he said, that smug grin still on his face as if he hadn't tasted the bitter touch of death moments prior. "I was never going to die."

"What the hell?"

He extended his arm, the typical human initiation for their greeting.

"I figured the newly crowned god of theatricals and showmanship would do well to acquaint himself with the deity of tragic deaths."

“Hey, it’s okay. This was meant to be.”

“Easy for you to say! You’re not the one hanging off of a fucking cliff!”

[vgilantee]

i'm right here {simon kalivoda}

requested by anon

word count: 1.8k

a/n: a large chunk of this was hand written on various a6 pieces of paper while i was at work, or when i was in the middle of a lecture, i won't lie. (if i miss any warnings please let me know!)

warnings: blood, nightmare/night terror

pronouns: [none used], petnames 'baby' and 'sweetheart' used

You ran until your legs were arching, lungs pinching as you desperately sucked in the frigid night air. With every step, you were physically closer to the building, but it never seemed any nearer. There was a light on in one of the downstairs windows which, especially for the hour, was strange, but you didn’t care. He was behind you, running at the same pace, a game of cat and mouse, one where the cat never drew closer, but never fell behind.

You opened your mouth to let out a scream, hoping to alert the occupants of the house that you were there and needed help. But instead, you let out a garbled cough, spitting up blood as you did. Bringing up a hand to wipe away some of the blood from your mouth, you were met with more. It was darker, some of it dried. The adrenaline thundering through your system had you all but forget about the wound in your side.

You let out a sob, before trying to scream again. The noise that followed was loud and bone-chilling, and for a second you didn’t realise that you had made it.

Another light flicked on in the house, this one upstairs, and you let out a sigh in relief that quickly became a sob.

At the new light, the literal sliver of hope that peeked through the gap in the curtains, you got a second wind, another burst of energy, and you pushed to sprinting harder and faster than you had all night. And finally, the house seemed to draw closer.

But the heavy footsteps behind you didn’t seem to get any further away. In fact they-

A tiny dip in the ground, the smallest of inconsistencies in the dirt, but it was enough to catch you, your ankle rolling out, and with all the momentum that you had built up, you crashed into the ground with a roll. The angle you landed on had to have been bad, because up through the ankle that rolled to the knee, and in the opposite wrist, was a sharp, shooting pain. Another scream, not as loud but just as haunting as the pain seared through.

“No!” Your voice was hoarse and wet with tears and blood. “No, no, no, no, no.” You begged as you tried to scramble to your feet. But your knee couldn’t support your weight, so you crawled. Fingers digging into the rough dirt in hopes for purchase, you dragged yourself forward. Your wrists screamed with every pull, your leg protested with every kick, and you were vaguely aware of the blood dripping from your nose. And through the roaring of blood in your ears, you could only just hear the sounds of the footsteps of your soon-to-be murdering closing in.

A hand wrapped around your injured ankle as you kicked out, and gave you a sturdy tug. Your fingers dug in further to stop the man from pulling you to a halt and you screamed again, ignoring the feeling of your nails struggling to grip.

There was a dull thump noise before another hand dug its fingers into your side and in a fluid motion, rolled you onto your back. In a single, harsh motion, he dropped so his knees hit the hard ground on either side of you, all his weight on your knees and shins, and you screamed at both the weight, and the way your knees bent back to press flush to the grass beneath you, and your already aching leg flared with a new pain. You desperately clawed at his hands, his arms, his face, but he ignored your nails pulling at his flesh. The attempt at defence was weak, not only because the digging and pulling of your nails was ignored, but because even if you did manage to get him off of you, you would still be completely unable to run.

“Please! No!” It was pointless to beg, especially when it was obvious that your pleas were falling on deaf ears. He let out a growl, inhuman and shuddering, and you let yourself cry and sob freely. Between the flailing of your own hands trying to push him away, and his hands grabbing at you, you were finally able to see the man who had been chasing you. His features were vague, looking almost smeared. As if someone dragged a paintbrush through a wet painting. His strong nose was pushed to the side with a blur, and his mouth was only defined by his snarling teeth. But his eyes. His eyes were terrifying. Like the rest of his face, the outlines of his eyes were blurred, undefined, but the eyes themselves were defined, a stark contrast. The whites were crisp and bloodshot, and his pupils were so blown that his already dark irises were almost black. There was nothing behind his eyes, no indication of anything human left, but they glared at you with complete concentration. There was a pause, a split second where you were distracted by how clear his eyes were, and that pause allowed him to grab your wrists in his large and bloodied hands.

“No! Please!”You twisted your wrists, trying to break free, but he had the advantage and pulled your hands under his knees, flattening them and pinning you down. You screamed again as you felt the bones shift and crack under his weight. With your hands crushed under his knees and you completely unable to fight back, he grabbed the axe from where it had been dropped to his side.

“Please!” He moved slowly, readjusting his grip so that the axe was held firmly in both hands. As the axe swung down, another hand met your shoulder, one that was warm and familiar. The hand gave you a firm shake and your eyes flew open as the pressure of the man sitting on your legs and hands disappeared.

You squinted, trying to adjust your eyes to the darkness of the room. You took shallow breaths, as you scrambled to sit up, expecting there to be pain from the various injuries you had collected. Instead, there was nothing. No pain, bar a scratch in your throat.

“Hey.” Beside you, a soft and very concerned voice caught your attention. Simon. He shuffled closer to you, cautiously to avoid further starling you. You whip your head to face him, and only when you tried to make eye contact with your very concerned boyfriend did you realise that your eyes were still very full of tears. You hastily wiped them away, still on edge.

“Simon?” Your mind was still a little fuzzy, in that in-between state when you wake up from a vivid dream. With the little visibility you had in the room from the streetlight outside, you could see him shift closer and raise his hand. All his movements were slow, as to not startle you in your clearly on edge state. Gently, he ran a thumb under each of your eyes, getting rid of the tears that were beginning to dry in their place on your cheeks.

“I’m right here, baby.” You hiccupped before rolling into his chest, fists curling up in front of you. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you, rubbing slow circles on your back as you shook. Every time you closed your eyes again to squeeze out any tears that fought to stay, you could see his face again. The cold eyes determined to kill you. The dirty, bloodied hands white-knuckling the axe as it swung down to meet your skull. You jumped slightly at the sudden feeling of Simon resting his lips on the top of your head, but quickly relaxed even further into him.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe.” His words were warm against your head, and he pulled you closer to him. ���You don’t have to tell me about it, but just know that I’m here, with you. I’ll keep you safe.” He pressed a kiss to your head between every sentence, and you gave him a small, feather-light kiss to his chest in gratitude.

Eventually, your breathing slowed and you stopped shaking, and Simon would have thought you had fallen asleep if it wasn’t for the occasional kiss you placed on his chest, just above his heart. He pulled back and you looked up at him with bleary eyes. His eyes softened even further and he leaned forward again to kiss you on the forehead.

“Better?” You gave a small nod in reply, rubbing your eyes with the ball of your palm. “Sleep?” You shook your head, nod ready to go back to sleep yet.

“Dunno if I can.” You moved your arms from being curled up in his chest, to wrap around his back.

“That bad?” That was something you cherished about Simon. With a few words, he could communicate with and understand you like nobody else. He could read you like a book and you, him.

“It was the curse.” You nodded slightly as you spoke, eyes watering as the vivid memory of the nightmare resurfaced again.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He gives you a light squeeze, his voice breaking. It had been a couple of years since you had helped Deena break the Shadyside curse, but trauma is trauma, and no matter how long ago it was, those few days were ingrained in you.

“I know, I know.” Your tone was defeated, said like an apology for bothering Simon or waking him up again. He stops you from continuing your thought with a hand placed on your cheek.

“It’s okay, I promise.” It wasn’t like Simon hadn’t woken you up in the middle of the night, thrashing with night terrors and memories that were too dark to talk about with anyone else. But you still had that guilt. You always felt bad when you woke him up with your own screaming and thrashing. It was worse in the beginning. When the memories were fresher and it was still on the news. You could barely sleep a full night, and Simon was the same. So when you started sharing a bed, there wasn’t a night for months where the pair of you got a full nights rest.

The nightmares were less common now, but the guilt of waking him up never left.

“I love you.” You said it softly, whispering them to him as the room began to slowly light up with the sunrise.

“I love you too.” Simon broke out into a goofy smile, still in disbelief that you did really love him. “And I’ll be here, always. Through every nightmare and early morning, I promise.” He pulled you down slightly so that you were laying in bed again, your head resting on his shoulder as his arms pulled you close. You knew you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep, not when your cruel brain kept showing you the image of the man with an axe. So instead you and Simon talked in hushed voices, as if trying to avoid waking the air, and watched as your room slowly warmed up with the orange tones of the early morning.

[yanderecrazysie]

If you don’t mind could I please request the yandere alphabet with Ushijima 🥺? Thank you 💜💜

OOOH Wonder Boy Ushiwaka! I swear I'm the worst with writing him- he's like simple and complicated at the same time-

Thank you so much for requesting!!! I'll do my very best!

Ushijima Wakatoshi (Haikyuu) -The Yandere Alphabet

🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅

Warnings: yandere themes,

A is for Affection: How do they show their affection for their darling? How often do they show it?

💖 Ushijima isn't the most affectionate type to be 100% honest. It's not that he won't ever show you affection, it's just that he doesn't quite know HOW to.

💖 Physical affection will pretty much have to be something you directly ask for if you want it. He won't pick up on hints well and he's not the type to randomly want to cuddle.

💖 He can be kinda protective/possessive though, so he may wrap you into an embrace or hold you close. That's not so much out of affection though-

💖 Basically: Ushijima's way of showing affection is his ever-constant presence, over-protectiveness, and gentle way of treating you.

B is for Blood: How messy are they willing to get for their darling? Why?

🔪 I don't think Ushijima sees the need to kill for you. It's not that he doesn't want to kill- I honestly don't think it'd bother him if he had to- it's that he doesn't see any real threats to you.

🔪 This guy looks terrifying and he wants to be around you 24/7. Do you really think anyone's going to try something on you with that giant, intimidating man hovering behind you?

🔪 If someone was stupid/drunk enough to try something, Ushijima would just casually toss him across the street. If that guy was strong/big too, you better believe Ushijima will fight as hard as it takes to get the guy to back down/become unconscious.

🔪 If someone tried something on you while he wasn't there, it just means he has to work harder to protect you. Which means being around you even more. Always...

C is for Care or Cruelty: How would they treat their darling when they kidnap them? Would they mock them?

💔 Ushijima wouldn't mock you in the slightest. In fact, he'd be genuinely confused if you tried to run away or were upset that he kidnapped you. He seriously just won't understand why you're scared.

💔 He'll take good care of you though. Honestly, he'll probably baby you a little. He'll want to be the one to feed you, he'll check in on you every 5 minutes, he'll make sure you're in his line of sight at all times...

D is for Delusion: How delusional are they when it comes to their darling? Do they believe their darling loves them?

💭 It's difficult to say with Ushijima. He isn't exactly good with social skills and he's a little awkward, to put it lightly. So, he does kind of expect you to love him back and will think you're confused if you say you don't.

💭 But I don't know if that's considered delusion because that's just Ushijima being Ushijima. Yeah, he thinks you love him. No, it's not any different than him being 100% sure he's going to win a volleyball match.

E is for Expose: How much of their heart do they bear to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling? How much time will it take to trust them?

💧 Uh... Ushijima will flat-out tell you what he's thinking and if you say "bear his heart" he'll think that you're trying to skin him down to his organs or something. He's kinda blunt, basically.

💧 Trust though? I mean, Ushijima trusts you in a way, but in a way, he doesn't. He doesn't trust that you can take care of yourself but he trusts you to be honest.

💧 Like I said, he's complicated. Best way I can explain it is: he trusts you completely but he kind of underestimates your abilities. He has no doubts in his mind that you won't try to run away but he'll also lock up all the exits tight because he worries that you'll get outside and get hurt. Contradictory, I know.

F is for Fight: How would they react if their darling fought back?

👊 Picture a confused puppy that you just pushed off your lap. Like this boy has literally no clue why on earth you're fighting back and he's going to stare at you like you've got a second head growing out of your shoulder.

👊 Ushijima's secretly wondering if you've caught some sort of illness that's making you delirious as he calmly picks you up and tucks you into bed. Your flailing fists and clawing nails are nothing compared to this hulk of a man carrying you away.

G is for Guilt: What would it take for them to feel guilty about their actions? Or do they feel guilty from the start?

😔 Ushijima truly, honestly doesn't see the wrong in what he's doing. Like, I don't think he can comprehend that he's doing something very bad. He's doing what's best for you! That's good, right?

H is for Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

🔥 Ushijima would NEVER hurt you and he doesn't really get angry either. I guess the worst experience would be the struggle of trying to gain freedom or even get the point across that you aren't happy about something. It's like talking to a brick wall. A very confused brick wall.

I is for Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

👩‍❤️‍👨 I don't think Ushijima's really thought too far ahead, to be honest. He loves you and that's all that matters to him. As long as you don't leave (which he's positive you won't) life is happy.

👩‍❤️‍👨 He'd probably want kids one day. Only one or two, but he'd be fine if you had more. He'd take good care of them and teach them to act just like him...

J is for Jealousy: How easily do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

💢 Ushijima doesn't get the concept of jealousy. Worrying about your safety when another guy talks to you? Sure, he does that. But jealous about it? Not really.

K is for Kidnap: How would they go about kidnapping their darling? How much do they plan it out?

🔒 You're just walking home and suddenly you're waking up in a bedroom that you don't recognize. Don't worry, you're not alone! Ushijima's sitting in a chair next to the bed, making sure you wake up.

🔒 Ushijima would plan just far enough to buy all the things you'd need to be "happy" with him. Medication, hygiene products- nothing will go unaccounted for. This man will have a shopping list longer than a roll of toilet paper dedicated to you.

L is for Love Letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

💌 I think he'd try to walk right up to you and he'd be very disappointed that you're kind of nervous around him. He can't really blame you, considering he looks kinda scary- from his stature to his expression.

💌 Okay, so trying to talk to you didn't work either. Ushijima's a little socially awkward. But that's fine! He'll just bring you back to his place and keep you there until you understand that he loves you. Flawless plan, right?

M is for Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they acted before?

🎭 Other than being a little softer and gentler towards you, Ushijima doesn't change in the least. Like, I'm not sure anyone would notice "odd behavior" because he doesn't find it strange or out of the ordinary himself. He's still the stoic guy we all know him as.

N is for Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

🚓 Ushijima really wouldn't punish you. If you're freaking out, he'll just calmly tuck you into bed and check your temperature because, surely, you're ill if you're acting like that.

🚓 In Ushijima's eyes, you can do no wrong. So, you're honestly safe around this giant of a man. Congrats?

O is for Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling? What rights can be earned with time and trust?

📜 You may be able to wander around his house, but you aren't leaving it. But you're kind of... babied. Anything remotely sharp will be tucked away and locked up, you'll have a set bedtime, and you'll probably feel like a kid again.

P is for Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

🕊️ Since Ushijima doesn't think you're doing anything wrong and, when you fight back, he thinks that you're having a hard time or you're sick or something, he'll be extremely patient. He could never get frustrated with you!

Q is for Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

🏃‍♀️ If you died, Ushijima would probably just turn to volleyball x100. He wouldn't want to think about it and would just try to distract himself from it all.

🏃‍♀️ If you escaped, Ushijima would just keep searching until he found you. You poor thing, you must be so scared and lonely out there, without him to protect you. Hold on, he'll find you and bring you back home again.

R is for Rage: How do they act when angry? How do they calm down?

👿 He doesn't get angry at you. I'm serious. He rarely gets angry in general but he could NEVER get angry at you.

S is for Soulmate: What made them fall in love with their darling? How did they first meet? When did they realize they loved their darling?

💍 You showed up at one of his volleyball games and he immediately noticed you. He's not sure what drew him to you, only that you were the most beautiful thing in the world to him. It really was love at first sight for him.

T is for Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

😭 Ushijima would be so confused. Why are you crying? Are you injured? Where are you? Oh, are you trying to play hide and seek?

😭 You're honestly digging your own grave because you're making him concerned and his protective instinct levels are off the charts. He's not going to give you time alone to cool down because he's pretty sure you need him by your side- even though he's the thing that's scaring you.

U is for Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

👌 Like I've said, Ushijima honestly doesn't understand your reservations about being kidnapped and forced into a relationship with him. You have no chance of reasoning with him- you'll have more luck trying to convince the walls of your new home.

V is for Visit: Would they allow anyone else to visit their darling? Do they trust their darling to talk to their loved ones (in person, on the phone, etc.) or not at all?

🧳 Ushijima doesn't trust anyone with your safety. No one can come over to visit you under any circumstances. It's not so much "hiding the evidence" as it is "protecting you from his insane buddies".

W is for Weakness: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

❌ I think some affection and some tactful persuasion is your best chance. Especially the persuasion.

❌ "Wakatoshi, did you know that direct sunlight is better for you? Not just through the windows, I mean. I miss the fresh air too, you know..."

X is for Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

🛐 Ushijima doesn't worship you, but he prioritizes your safety over everything in his life, even volleyball. He doesn't care so much about trying to win you over- he sees no need to wait for you to realize what he already knows.

Y is for Yearning: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

😍 When Ushijima kidnaps you, you're going to be VERY taken aback. You won't even know him personally- you're lucky if you even know his name. And even that's likely just by word-of-mouth, considering he's pretty famous.

😍 This man saw you and knew he had to have you. He doesn't wait long, trust me.

Z is for Zero Tolerance: What is the thing that always makes them snap? What things will they not allow their darling to do under any circumstances?

0️⃣ I mean, he won't let you leave. But like, even if you try to escape, he's just going to assume you're confused about where the bathroom is located or something. You cannot make this man mad.

0️⃣ Ushijima probably would be very hurt if you called him names. Even if he chalked it up to you being sick or confused or something, it still stings worse than any volleyball injury. His expression won't even change though...

🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅

HOLY CRAP THAT TOOK A WHILE-

I really hope you enjoy! Ushiwaka's so hard to write for, in my opinion! The wiki's description of his personality makes me laugh so hard-

[homerforsure]

Whumptober No. 20

trunk / trapped underwater / solitary confinement

No. 24

self-induced injuries to escape / flashback / revenge

(Follows prompt 11: Adrift)

Buck never really blacks out completely. His consciousness waxes and wanes as his limp body is driven through the city and there are moments when he remembers to try and fight, when he twists uselessly from side to side, when he struggles to see out the window like he might be able to tell where he’s going. Like it might matter. Other moments he’s hypnotized by the passing lights, the hum of the road. Each time he breaks away, remembering where he really is, Buck wants to scream for wasting time. But he can’t hold on. Inevitably he fades again. 

Fear sits like a devil on his chest the entire ride but when the truck pulls into a darkened garage and Buck hears the sound of the door closing behind them, trapping him, it’s like that devil puts its hands around its throat and squeezes. 

He hears the sound of keys pulling out of the ignition, flinches as the dome light comes on, and he knows what’s coming next. He knows he’s out of time. Summoning all of the strength he can, Buck kicks off the door, trying to sit up, trying to wake up so he can fight back. It’s like he’s in a dream, begging himself to remember how to run. His legs know the motions, but they have no power. He’s pedaling furiously on a bike that’s missing its chain and he can’t go anywhere. 

The door behind his head opens and Buck droops, his shoulders falling and hanging out the door. “Hey there, honey,” his captor says, smiling wide. “I missed you. Did you miss me?”

The man pats Buck’s cheek and as Buck shies away from the touch, his expression sours and he grabs Buck’s hair and drags him out of the truck. 

“When I ask you a question, I expect an answer. I asked you if you missed me.”

Buck’s head is spinning. His tailbone hit the cement floor of the garage hard and his head feels like the hair is being ripped from his scalp. He reaches up to try and wrench himself free, but his hands are batted away easily. “Fuck you,” he grinds out. 

His hair is pulled again, lifting him off the floor this time and Buck howls.

“Well that’s not the answer I was looking for, honey. You want to try again?”

“Motherfucker,” Buck replies. There’s a part of him that wants to beg. He wants to cry and scream and promise to do anything if he gets to live, but Buck knows, even in his dizzy, drugged state that this man is going to kill him. The only real variable is how much it’s going to hurt. 

The man lets go of his hair to grab Buck under his arms and starts carrying him through the garage and fuck he’s strong. Huge and muscled like a barbarian. He shifts Buck’s dead weight with ease. Might be able to do it even if Buck was at full strength. 

“Now, that’s not very nice. I thought you were going to be sweet. You looked so sweet the first time I saw you. At that other little bar you like.” Somehow that’s the thing that makes Buck whimper. The knowledge that this man has been watching him. For god knows how long. “But that’s okay. I can teach you how to be sweet to me.”

He hoists Buck like he’s a child throwing a tantrum, hauling him through the door into a dim and quiet house. Buck knocks into every doorway they pass, reaching out futilely with numb fingers to try and grab on, doing nothing more than earning bruises for his trouble as the man slams him against every surface Buck tries to grab. He’s never felt this helpless. Not even as a child crying in his bedroom. 

It’s hopeless, but Buck kicks anyway and he thinks he feels stronger, whether his body is metabolizing whatever he was given or just overcoming it with adrenaline he doesn’t know. It’s still not enough to save him. His captor drops him as they reach a staircase and grabs Buck by his ankles. 

“This is what happens when you aren’t sweet. When you flail around and try to make me fall while I’m carrying you.” 

Every stair knocks a groan from him. Buck’s drawn down them deliberately slowly so that he lands on each step like a blow. His back is a mess. His head bashes against the landing. He tries to turn, tries to stop, but the fall is inexorable. 

“Stop,” he says. “Fucking stop.” 

Buck’s dragged to the middle of the basement, sliding easily on cool tiles and he knows better than to be relieved when he stops moving. Right beside a massive steamer trunk. It’s wooden with antique silver hinges and locks and a curved top like a treasure chest and when the lid opens, Buck finally begs. 

“No. No, no, no, please. I’ll be- I’ll- Please.”

A low chuckle comes from above him. “You’ll be what?” 

Managing to roll onto his stomach, Buck’s fingers dig at the tile, trying to pull himself forward. He should know it’s not going to work, but his brain isn’t working anymore. It’s only his instincts screaming run run run run away away away.

That hand seizes his hair again and it’s new and sharp on top of the lingering soreness from before and Buck makes a pained, pitiful sound. 

“Will you be sweet to me, honey?” 

Hating himself, Buck nods.

“Yeah you will. I know you will.” Lowering Buck’s head back down, the man pets him, his fingers carding gently through his hair, soothing the ache he left behind in a tender way that makes Buck shudder. “But I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet.”

Leather cuffs lock into place around his wrists and Buck lashes out as hard as he can, harder now but still not hard enough, still not fast enough. There are cuffs on his ankles and they’re attached by chains to his wrists and as he’s begging, a silicone bar is wedged between his teeth and fastened roughly behind his head. 

It’s the preparation more than anything that tips Buck from fear into near-hysterical terror. The watching. The planning. He can’t move and he can’t fight and man making little satisfied noises as he checks those too-tight restraints has been waiting for this moment. The sound that Buck makes when he’s lifted by those chains into the air is like nothing so much as the desperate wail of an animal caught in a trap. 

He struggles as he’s lowered into the trunk, bent and folded and contorted until his knees are pressed to his chest and he’s confined, completely, in the too-small box.

“Please,” he whimpers again around the gag in his mouth and the man pets his head again.

“I’ll come back for you, honey, I promise. In a few hours.” His hand trails for the first time down Buck’s side, over his bruised ribs, his hips, his thigh, and Buck trembles. “And when I ask you if you missed me. This time you’re going to say yes.” 

Buck yowls as the lid closes, thrashing against his restraints and against the wooden walls of the trunk, and as he hears a lock click into place, he thinks his heart might beat out of his chest. 

It hammers hard enough to mask the sound of the light turning off, of boots on the stairs. Buck’s left alone in pitch blackness and he can’t move, can’t breathe, he’s going to give himself a heart attack. Around the gag, he’s still managing to hyperventilate, going lightheaded and tingly. He knows he has to calm down. He has to think, but it seems impossible. Buck sucks in breath after breath until he’s on the verge of passing out. 

His pocket buzzes. 

Over-sensitive, on the edge of cracking in two, Buck almost sobs at the unexpected feeling. His phone is pinched between his thigh and the bottom of the trunk and he completely forgot it was there. He can’t believe it’s still there. That it wasn’t taken from him. Stretching against the cuffs on his wrists, he strains toward his pocket, but he can’t get his fingers any further than the outside of his hips. Frantically, he shifts back and forth in the box, trying to work the phone out of his jeans but he can’t lift up enough to press the edge of it against the floor and the call goes to voicemail. 

When it rings again, Buck doesn’t bother trying to reach it. He shuts his eyes and focuses on the vibration. What it means. Someone is looking for him. 

Buck has no idea how long it’s been since he was taken from the bar, but he knows that Eddie would have noticed immediately. He’d have alerted Chimney and Albert and all of them together would call for help. Athena would put out an alert. He’ll be a priority. He- Maddie will burn the city down looking for him and Eddie will find her the gasoline so Buck owes it to them to get it together. To stay alive. 

In and out, Buck breathes through his nose, calming down. The man told him he had hours. Buck knows he can’t trust that and he has no way of telling time anyway, but he does know that the person who has him wants him to suffer. He wants Buck going crazy alone in the dark and for that he’ll have to leave him for at least a little while. 

That time is going to be his biggest ally. Every minute that passes, Buck can feel a little more life coming back into his limbs. He thinks, if he could stand, he could walk now. He might not be able to hold his own in a fight, but he doesn’t have to. He just has to take it one step at a time. Start where he is. 

The trunk is an antique. As he takes more slow, purposeful breaths, Buck can smell the age of it. He imagines an evil grandmother passing it down to an evil grandson and the vision is ridiculous but it makes him angry instead of afraid so he uses it. There’s a little room--not next to him; Buck’s knees are wedged against one wall and his back against the other--but above him, the curved lid stretches up tall. He draws in his breath as deeply as he can, pulling his knees in even closer to his chest to give himself half an inch of space. Then Buck rocks hard, swinging his knees to the left, trying to roll. When he falls back, his knees are propped just a little higher on the wall so he takes a breath and does it again. 

Again and again Buck jerks his body around until he’s lying on his back instead of on his side. It takes everything he has and once he gets there, he drops his head back, just breathing, deep wet breaths around the bar in his mouth. His jaw is aching. His chest is aching. He can still feel every stair imprint along his spine, but he breathes. Buck’s hands are pinned beneath him. He can get one or the other on the outside of his hip but not both at once and they’ll go from tingling to numb pretty quickly. 

His knees are pulled up above him. With his ankles attached to his wrists, Buck’s knees are splayed in a position he absolutely does not want to be found in and he brings them together and tight to his chest the way he’d hold them during yoga before he can start to panic about it. 

The phone buzzes again and he uses the sound to ground himself. They’re looking. Everyone is looking. Buck doesn’t know if they’re expecting him to answer the phone or if they’re expecting his captor to answer it or if they’re walking past dumpsters and listening for the sound of it ringing, but he hopes they never stop. Even if it gets him caught. He hopes it doesn’t stop.

Once he has his breath back, Buck starts reaching out with his legs to see where and how he can put pressure on the box. Not the lid. It hurts too much to put the pressure he needs on his shoulders to raise his legs and even when he forces through it, his wrists only lift far enough to let him get his toes on it. Not enough. Buck can get his feet flat against the end of the trunk though. He can scoot a little bit in the box to give himself leverage and he can kick-

Fuck, it’s going to hurt. The chains between his hands and feet are too short to allow him to extend his legs like he needs to and even a test kick pulls sharply on his elbows and shoulders. Buck breathes deeply. He waits. Then when his phone buzzes in his pocket, Buck kicks as hard as he can against the side of the trunk. 

He’s surprisingly grateful for the gag and the way it muffles his scream. Pain rattles down his arms and he kicks again before it has time to settle in. The wood shakes under his feet. It’s old. Antique. A gift from an evil grandmother. Buck smashes it over and over again. Something gives in his left elbow and he yells and kicks harder and harder until his foot splinters straight through the wood. The fragments grab onto his shoe as he pulls it back into the box to kick again. And again. And then the side is open. 

Buck struggles through it, wriggling forward until he can get his feet on the ground outside the trunk. Once they’re planted, he drags the upper half of his body out and the wooden daggers pull up his shirt and and carve up his back but he gets a breath of cool air and it’s worth it, it’s so worth it. 

He lies on the floor, panting for a minute and when his phone buzzes again, Buck feels like he’s earned it. I did it, he imagines saying. I’m trying. I swear I’m trying.

He’s halfway up the stairs, head tipped back against the wall, trying to catch his breath and push back the pain that’s making his head swim when it happens. There’s a pounding on the door, a shout of “LAPD”, and then the shattering of wood that’s louder than what Buck just did in the basement followed by a gruff yell.

“Mark Valentine. We have a warrant for your arrest. Get your ass on the ground and your hands behind your head.” 

Athena yells other things, but Buck doesn’t hear them. Relief rings in his ears, makes him sway on the stairs and then there are footsteps in the hall. Doors to upstairs rooms are slammed open and then a thunderous voice shouts his name. 

A matching shout rips from Buck’s throat; it’s muffled and wet with tears but Buck is never not going to answer when Eddie calls. He levers himself up another stair, then another, calling again, and when the door bangs open against the wall, he’s nearly on the landing. 

“Buck.” The sound of his name on Eddie’s lips, desperate, terrified, relieved, makes Buck sob. He tries so hard to stand that he nearly falls and Eddie throws himself in the way to catch him. 

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby. It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re okay.” 

Eddie clutches him tight and pulls Buck into his lap in the landing like he’ll never let go. He’s wearing a bulletproof vest and Buck’s hands are numb behind his back and he can’t snuggle in close enough. He can’t fall into that feeling of safesafesafe and so he cries, whining embarrassingly into Eddie’s neck. 

“I got him!” Eddie shouts, turning his head so he’s not yelling right into Buck’s ear. “Shh, shh, shh. I know. I got you.” He fights with the latch on the back of Buck’s head until the gag loosens and he throws it to the floor. It hurts and Buck whines before breathing, “Eddie.”

“Right here. I’m right here, Buck.” Eddie’s voice is thick too and when he puts his hands on Buck’s cheeks to lift his gaze up, his eyes are rimmed with red. Like he can’t help it, he kisses Buck’s forehead, his cheeks, his temple and tears slip from the corners of Buck’s eyes for the first time since the bar.

As Eddie holds him, he’s also trying to fiddle with the cuffs on Buck’s wrists, but he quickly finds that they’re locked, “Shit. Buck. I have to move you. I know,” he says as Buck protests, leaning forward, reaching ineffectually with his bound hands. “I have to get my shears,” Eddie kisses Buck’s head again as he shifts them. “I’ve still got you. I’m not going anywhere. I’m never going anywhere.” 

A quick zip of the medical bag that Buck hadn’t even realized Eddie was carrying and heavy duty trauma shears are cutting through his (no. god not his never his) the leather cuffs. Eddie keeps up a litany of soothing murmuring as he goes and as each limb is freed, Buck uses the restored range of motion to cling to Eddie, grabbing his shirt and clinging on, planning to never let go. Once the last bit of leather drops away from Buck’s ankle, Eddie declares similar intentions, gathering Buck close again.

“I’ve got you,” he says, his voice and his hands shaking like he doesn’t quite believe it. 

“I know,” Buck answers. “I know you do. I knew you would.”

There will be questions later. Someone will pull them apart, pull them out of this house, and demand a recounting of every terrible second. Buck will ask how they found him, how Eddie talked his way into the house with the police, who Mark Valentine really is. Who kept calling him and why.

But for now there’s just this. Held safe in Eddie’s arms. Never ever letting go.

[malebodysuittf]

Thankful

I sniffed the air with a drool, smelling that delicious roast turkey that my dad was cooking up. It was a family recipe that we had used every Thanksgiving. Dad had never even tried to deviate from it since my mom passed when I was not even a year old. My dad told me it was hers, and cooking the turkey her way made it feel like she was back home for the Holidays. 

Thanksgiving has been a big family occasion ever since, though the “family” was just the two of us. My dad valued that family time more than anything. After what happened with mom, he was absolutely devastated for the longest time. But he worked hard to make his way up through the ranks, and told me every single day to be grateful for what I had so I could have a good future myself.

“Ritchie! The turkey is ready! Come eat dinner with your old man.”

I opened my drawer and pulled out a jar filled with a translucent, red liquid along with a syringe. “Coming, dad!” I pondered if this was really the right thing to do. With a sigh, I put the serum back. No, he had done a wonderful job of being a role model parent. I had bought this serum from the shady kid at school before we graduated, and he told me it could turn the victim into a suit by emptying them out. A wearable suit. My dad didn’t deserve that. He had worked hard and chose not to abandon me when he could have. 

I ran downstairs and saw the delicious Thanksgiving feast before me. Roast turkey, mashed potatoes with gravy, a homemade pumpkin pie, and a beautiful salad. I immediately sat down and started eating as my dad watched with a grin. ”Oh come on, no thank you?  On Thanksgiving?” He said jokingly. 

“Thanks, dad. And...I want you to know I’m thankful for everything. I know I’m going off to college soon, so...I mean, you’ve worked so hard to....to provide everything for me and get me where I am, I wanna be thankful.” 

Dad smiled, almost looking like he was on the brink of tears. “Let’s just eat, alright?” He started to dig in with me as we had a delicious Thanksgiving feast together.

-----------------------------------------

A few hours after dinner, and I rested in my, eyeing the drawer with the bodysuit serum. Perhaps I could use it on someone else, someone who might deserve it. 

Knock knock

Startled by the unusual late night disturbance, I opened the door to see Dad standing there, shirtless. Looked like he was getting ready to go to bed.

“Hey, Ritchie, you mind if I come in?’ He gave me the most wholesome smile, a reminder of the close bond we had. 

“Yeah, sure, what’s up?”

He walked in and plopped himself onto my bed, hunched over with his legs spread out as he rubbed his hands together. 

“Hey buddy, you’re going to college soon, and...I know, I know, maybe it’s not a big deal for you or whatever. I mean, you took this gap year, and you’re probably tired of your old man by now.” His body tensed up as he chuckled before giving a long sigh. ‘I just wanna say I’m really proud of you, and I’m thankful for you. I know sometimes...I know you told me that sometimes you feel guilty, because I had to raise you as a single parent...but I don’t regret it at all.”

 My eyes teared up as I head his words. It was true, it felt awful. He never gave me up for adoption, he was never selfish, he had been the role model parent for me. Accepted me the way I was. Even with my homophobic grandparents, my father had told me he didn’t care, because I was his son. He had supported me every step of the way. He never went out looking for another woman, truly in love with my mother, and wanting to give me 100% of his attention. 

“Dad...I have to be honest. I don’t want to go to college. It just...it doesn’t seem right to me. But-”

“You’re an adult, Ritchie. You get to make your own decisions. If that’s how you feel, go that route. Don’t let your old man try to live your life for you. I worked hard so you could have the life you want, not for you to be unhappy. I’ll support you, no matter what choice you make.”

At a loss for words, I jumped out of bed and hugged Dad and felt his arms wrap around me.

“Dad, I really meant what I said earlier. I couldn’t have asked for a better father.” 

“I love you, son. No matter what, don’t ever forget that.” 

As I hugged him, the option tugged at my conscience. in his compassion and fatherly affection, the guilt ripped me apart. I wanted it more than ever. 

I got up from him and turned to the drawer. As he got up to leave the room, I said, “Wait, uh...I’ve um...got something for you.” 

“Yeah? What is it, champ?”

I opened the drawer and slipped the syringe through the top of the jar, watching the liquid seep into the it. 

“Just...uh...hold on a sec, alright?”

He gave a deep chuckle. “Yep, I’m waitin’.”

“I’m really sorry, Dad.”

I looked behind me and saw his concerned face. He was loving and supporting, and wanted to comfort me. “I already told you Ritchie, I’m proud of you. I don’t want you to feel gui-”

I swiftly turned around and jabbed Dad in the neck with the syringe, injecting him as he was startled. He pulled my hand away and pushed me back.

“Ritchie, w-what the hell was that?” His large, meaty hand patted his neck as he gave me a confused look. 

“A...a bodysuit serum. I’m really sorry, Dad.”

“What the hell is that? What did you do? Is this some kind of prank?”

“N-no...I don’t....I don’t know...” I felt great guilt as Dad suddenly started groan and cup his face in his hands.

“Oh...fuck...i-it burns! WHAT DID YOU DO?” He tried to leave the room, but I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him back in, covering his mouth as he yelped. He was, of course, much stronger and bigger than me, but even in this moment of peril, he wasn’t willing to hurt his son. He pushed me back slightly as he fell back and hit the wall, slumping as his head hung down, struggling to keep it up. 

“Fuck...Ritchie, please, call an ambulance! W-what are you doing?”

“It’s gonna turn you into a suit. I’m gonna wear your skin, Dad.” 

His face was a mixture of confusion and horror. “THIS ISN’T FUNNY, RITCHIE!” 

“I already told you, I’m really sorry Dad...but I’m gonna have your body. I’m gonna wear that skin of yours!” I menacingly approached him, still unsure if this was what I wanted to do. 

“W-What do you mean? Did you...drug me?” The pain appeared to be ramping up as Dad’s face contorted and he wiggled against the wall, yelping every now and then while he clutched his stomach. 

“I told you I didn’t want to go to college. I’m really sorry to say this...but I’m going to go straight to work, Dad. I want to wear your skin. I want to live your life, talk to your friends, do your job...please don’t make this harder than it has to be. It’s just because you’re the man I want to be.”

Dad started to cough as he looked slightly paler than before, wrestling out what words he could. “W-what are you going to do?” He clenched his jaws as he built up the courage the ask. “You’re creeping me out Ritchie! W-what do you mean wear my skin? You’re not a monster!” He stumbled over his words in terror, in denial of his fate.

“Nothing like that! I just know that I can’t wait to slide into you, slipping into your empty, lifeless skin, stretching every wrinkle of yours, and to talk to everyone...and not a single person will know. I really am sorry.”

Looking disturbed by his own son’s words, Dad tried again for the door. This time, I managed to grab him and put him in a chokehold.  I could feel him getting softer as he was turned into a suit, and he was a lot weaker because of it. He started to panic with shallow breaths as I watched his bare feet scrape against my bedroom carpet, desperately trying to get out of my grasp. I could feel him almost ready. 

I stood up with him still in a chokehold and moved to drag him over to the bathroom. I kicked open the door and turned on the light, I threw Dad forward as he hit the bathtub.

“I told you, I’m thankful for you, Dad. You’ve given me so much, and you’re about to give me everything.”

I grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed his head into the tub as the goo started to eject from his mouth. My very unfortunate father flailed and attempted to back up from the tub, gaining momentary freedom. “R-RITCHIE! STO-MMMMPH!!!” 

I quickly slammed his face back towards the tub when I noticed him desperately clenching his mouth to keep the goo inside, trying to retain what little was left of him. I reached my left arm over his face and the right under his chin. I used both of my hands to clip onto his lips; I knew Dad wouldn’t bite me, he was too good of a father. With my left arm and held his upper face steady as I pulled his mouth open with my right hand. He whimpered as he looked at me, as if one final plea to talk. Slowly, but surely, his mouth started to open with a cry as he weakened. Prying his mouth open, Dad shuddered and yelped as the goo plopped out of his mouth. Clearly unable to fight for any longer, I released the pressure and grabbed him by the hair with my left hand. I could feel his head almost...folding in on itself, as it emptied. I tugged his head back into the tub until Dad was mostly deflated and empty. His hands let go of the tub and fell to the ground in a folded pile, while his legs had completely folded at the knees, while his face drooped into the bathtub. I felt a severe guilt. Dad, the man who had given me everything, who had been supportive of me, who had been the best father he possibly could’ve been, was gone. All that was left was this bodysuit of him. 

I grabbed his hand, and noticed there was some goo left in him. I picked the arm of the suit up from the fingers and squeezed out the remaining goo as it fell right out from his mouth, until he was completely empty. Turning on the bathtub, the goo sunk into the drain.

I grabbed the bodysuit by the scalp and held it up, and his shorts and underwear slipped off. I could just barely hold the suit so Dad’s feet wouldn’t touch the ground; he was a man of incredible stature. Every crevice of his folded over itself, while the mouth and eye sockets dragged downwards, creating an O-face with bags. Even though I knew it was me who did it, the macabre visual of my own father’s lifeless skin could only seek to unsettle me. I intended to remedy that. 

Dropping the bodysuit to the floor, it fell as a haphazard pile of skin and hair with a slap. I took off my own clothes and tossed them onto the floor. I hooked my fingers onto Dad’s lips and started to stretch his mouth as wide as I could. I dipped my toes in, forcing one foot through Dad’s body, then the other, until both fit snugly into his feet. I wiggled my new toes, significantly thicker and with little tufts of hair on each one. I tugged harder at his mouth as I slipped Dad’s skin on, feeling his powerful legs overtake my own. I flexed my trunk thighs in awe, enjoying seeing his beautiful daddy legs move to my command. I had to stretch the suit to it’s limit to slip my hard cock into Dad’s fuckstick skin. Christ, the thing was massive. I shimmied into his ass, feeling it perk up. Dad was always such a humble guy, and of course, I hadn’t got to see him naked until now. He truly had an amazing body, it almost made me sad to imagine all that he missed out on in his loyalty to Mom. I gazed at myself in the mirror, satiated by the thought of my supportive and caring father, being turned into a sexual object by his son. The empty arms swung from my hip as I checked myself out, while the skin of his torso and head clumped around my waist. I continued to pull at Dad’s mouth, slipping my arms into each arm of the suit. His hands were strong and his fingers thing, veins running down the arm. A sign of masculinity and impressive musculature. Finally, I grabbed the upper lip from behind my head and, using my newfound strength, pulled the upper lip over my head as Dad’s face stretched to ludicrous proportions while I tried to stuff my own head into his, almost threatening to tear. 

I blinked a few times, and looked in the mirror. I was the spitting image of Dad, quite literally. Humble, supportive, friendly, caring Dad. Perhaps I need to start referring to myself by name. Alan. I was Alan, single father of Ritchie. I could only give myself a devious smirk in the mirror. As I started to jerk off this new fuckstick of mine. It was insanely sensitive, from nearly two decades of loyalty and family dedication. I rubbed it intensely as I recalled the events of the night. I did feel awful about what I had done, but there was such a dark appeal to it. I had decided on not turning  Dad into a skinsuit...but when he came in, and sat there on that bed, the impulse was too much. Recalling the nights events of pulling on Dad’s skin, and getting to see myself in control of his body...I ejaculated onto the mirror with a loud moan, rolling my neck as I felt the wave of pleasure overtake my body momentarily. The seed was thick, and I was able to roll it off the mirror and eat it up. I stretched a bit to fully situate myself in my new skin and picked up the underwear that I had been wearing, ready to slip it on and go to bed. A thought passed my mind as I stared in the mirror, ready to be just as good of a man that Alan had always been. 

Once again, Dad endured so many trials, to give me everything. Quite literally  this time. 

And I was finally, truly, thankful. 

[gumnut-logic]

G Protocol

I have finally written another Protocol :D I wanted this to be for Thunderfam, but I’m not sure it lives up to that. There may be a tissue warning, but there may also be a laugh or two. Sorry, my brain stopped working an hour ago.

Many thanks to @janetm74​ and @tsarinatorment​ for their amazing support over the last few hours.

I was determined to finish this and it is now past 3am. Excuse me while I fall on my face.

I hope you enjoy my zombie writing and all hail the caffeine in frozen Coke :D

-o-o-o-

Gordon glared at his oldest brother. “That’s not fair!”

Scott stared back, surprised.

Irrationally, it made Gordon even angrier. “It’s not fair, Scott, and you know it.”

“Life isn’t fair, Gordon. I know you know that.” It was said calmly and with finality. To top it off, his eldest brother turned his back on him and went back to doing important stuff at their father’s desk.

“You know what? Screw you!”

That at least got a frown out of his brother.

But little more.

With a hiss, Gordon spun on his one good foot and as furiously as he could manage, crutched his way over to the stairs and began hopping down them.

“Gordon, what the hell?! Take the elevator!”

“I don’t care!” It was childish and stupid and he really should apologise, but it was a last straw thing. He had had it. He wanted out, off these crutches, into the pool, away from here!

He almost made it worse by stumbling halfway down the stairs. His brother’s freaked out yell did nothing other than make him feel guilty. But he rescued himself and stormed through the kitchen past a wide-eyed Alan and out onto the pool deck.

Only to be faced by the fact he couldn’t go in the pool which was half the problem in itself.

Well, he could, but he couldn’t swim at any stress relief level.

One stupid broken ankle and everything had gone to shit. He had been stuck here for weeks and there were weeks to go and it reminded him of other weeks of his life that were too many and he was just over it.

The breath he drew in was shaky and had far too much emotion in it for comfort.

He hobbled further out onto the decking. All he wanted was out. But all the paths leading away were gravel and not very crutch friendly.

Screw it. That would be his new maxim. To hell with everything. And he took the first steps along the path towards the nearest beach.

It wasn’t easy going at all. The crutches seemed determined to slip on unstable rock. He nearly faceplanted at least twice within the first dozen metres, but Gordon was a Tracy as much as any of his brothers and pissed off enough to spout determination in a fountain of idiocy.

Idiocy which proved itself not two minutes later when one crutch slipped and he couldn’t recover. One moment his driving force was anger, the next it was fear as his brain flash-calculated the damage that was going to result from falling down the steep incline at his feet.

But there was the equally fast realisation that there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

And he fell.

But he didn’t hit the jagged rock or even fall very far. Instead, strong arms grabbed him and scooped him up with a grunt. A familiar grunt and the scent of aftershave and engine grease.

Virgil.

Gravel, along with his crutches, clattered down the path in echo of where Gordon would have ended up if it wasn’t for his big brother - who had obviously followed him down.

“Uh, thanks, Virg.”

“Uh-huh.”

Gordon stared up at his brother who now had him clutched to his chest as if Gordon was his blushing bride...or something.

“You can put me down now.”

“Uh-uh.”

“What?”

And Virgil began carefully walking down the path towards the beach.

“Virgil, put me down.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“G Protocol has been engaged.”

“What?! Why?!”

“Because you have reached your limit.”

“Virgil, I’m fine.”

“You told Scott to get screwed.”

“He wasn’t being fair! Alan got the last of the ice cream last time. It was my turn!”

“Exactly.” Virgil stopped at the edge of a small cliff just before the beach proper. Behind them a set of rockets fired and Gordon looked up to see the space elevator disappear into the mountain. “Aw, hell, you called down John?!”

“G Protocol, Gords. You know the deal.”

Gordon sighed. Did he ever. “Go ahead. Put me out of my misery.”

Virgil smiled at him. “That’s the aim.” And chucked him off the cliff.

For Gordon, flipping into diving form was instinctual and while the cliff was a small one, they had jumped off it enough in fun for him to know exactly how much time it took to hit the water.

And water it was.

It took away the sounds of the world in a rush of bubbles.

He didn’t try to surface immediately. He let his momentum carry him deeper, his arms taking the load of the work since one foot wasn’t functioning. Blue enveloped everything and lifted his heart by its mere presence.

Why hadn’t he come here earlier?

He wasn’t surprised when there was a nearby splash and Virgil, stripped down to a t-shirt and his green swim shorts appeared next to him in a less coordinated and much bigger splash, his frown a glaring one letting Gordon know he had hung underwater too long for his brother’s comfort.

Exhaling, Gordon pushed for the surface just as another body hit the water. A body that belonged to his eldest brother.

Scott threw a flotation ring at Gordon. “Use it.” The tone brooked no argument.

Gordon screwed up his face. He hadn’t used one of these stupid things since…the hydrofoil.

He swore under his breath, but shoved it over his head and under his arms like some stupid little kid who couldn’t swim. Admittedly, it took the strain off his arms and legs, but the pink donut for all its novelty brought back more memories of struggle than he really wanted to face right now.

Maybe Virg was right. Maybe he was at his limit.

He swore again, this time enough to earn himself an arched eyebrow from Virgil treading water quite healthily beside him.

Irrational anger at something as simple as that proved beyond doubt that Gordon had blown himself a gasket.

Virgil must have sensed something on that medic radar of his because he reached out and pulled Gordon closer. “Hey, take a deep breath.”

The wet hair in his brother’s eyes and the seawater on his eyelashes only emphasized his kindness.

Damnit.

Gordon wanted to be angry. He wanted to yell at the sky, scream at the injustice of a simple broken ankle.

It wasn’t fair!

Virgil’s hand caught the back of Gordon’s neck, possibly the closest he could get to a hug with the flotation ring in the way. “It wasn’t your fault. Sometimes things…just happen.”

Acute wingman senses. Damn them. Screw everything.

“I’m fine!” He kicked himself away with one pathetic leg.

And got nowhere.

Virgil had let go of his neck, but had a firm hand on the ring. “Virgil, let me go.”

“No.”

“Virgil, I’m warning you.”

“About what?”

“Goddamnit, let go!”

“No.”

He gave his brother’s arm a shove and might as well have tried to move the Island.

So Gordon did what he needed to do and let himself slip below the surface, out of the ring, and away from Virgil.

He didn’t get very far.

He had more than one brother, and while Virgil tended to be a little on the slow side underwater, their eldest brother was fast no matter the medium.

Scott swooped in before Gordon could gain any momentum and caught him around the waist.

But Gordon was a fish and Scott only a bird. Long honed reflexes had his big brother blowing bubbles and Gordon wriggling out of his grip.

Only to have Virgil clamp down on his wrist and yank him back to the surface.

Whereas Gordon had no problem with thumping Scott – they shared military training and a sparring mat on many an occasion – there was something ultimately wrong about raising a fist to Virgil. Almost as bad as doing similar to Allie. He just couldn’t, no matter how pissed.

But he could shove and scream and yell and curse and get grabbed again by Scott and pushed back under the water. With Scott he was free to fight and fight he did. But all Scott did was defend himself, and Gordon was reduced to flailing with more emotion than sense, honestly not wanting to hurt his brother, but just needing to fight against the unfairness.

Eventually, Scott grabbed a wrist, much like Virgil did earlier and dragged him back up for much needed oxygen.

By then there was more saltwater than just seawater on Gordon’s face. Less fight and more need than anything else.

And, of course, Virgil was there.

Again he was grabbed by strong arms, but this time he had no energy to resist. If anything, he welcomed them. Perhaps they could take the weight and the guilt.

If he was sobbing on his brother’s shoulder, he wasn’t going to admit it.

Fingers stroked through wet hair and Virgil repeated over and over again that it hadn’t been his fault. That he had done everything he could. That sometimes shit just happened and this time, unfortunately, it happened to that little girl.

The mention of the one he couldn’t save no matter what he did only had him sobbing harder

She had been so young.

He had tried so hard. Made the sacrifices. Fought for her life.

And lost.

It wasn’t fair.

The sea had claimed her anyway.

Part of him was horrified at his own weakness. Horrified he needed an old protocol that proved he was off his head. Horrified he was crying in his brother’s arms. Horrified that all his military training hadn’t given him enough spine to shake this off by himself.

“It isn’t fair.”

“I know.” Virgil’s voice was ever so soft in his ear.

Gordon swallowed and gathered himself together, trying to align what he felt with what was logical and sensible.

It was like trying to scale a crumbling mountain. It was hard and exhausting and it hurt.

What was meant to be was meant to be. He had to believe that. It was the only way.

Despite the need to wail against the injustice.

Virgil still had his fingers in Gordon’s hair.

He pulled away gently from his brother, looking up into those worried dark eyes. Virgil was hanging onto the flotation ring with one arm. It was the only thing keeping both of them afloat.

Gordon wiped his face with one wet hand and let out a breath.

Off to his left, a slightly bruised cheekbone supported equally worried blue eyes as Scott trod water like he was hovering.

Which he was.

Gordon squeezed Virgil’s arm gently before slipping out of his grip and paddling over to Scott.

A wordless moment and then he was hugging his biggest brother with everything he had.

Scott hugged back even tighter.

Gordon squeezed his eyes shut and clung.

“Hey, Gordo! Johnny’s got something for ya!” Alan’s voice echoed across the caldera like a warning siren.

Gordon let go of Scott and backed off. A glance at both of his brothers before he dove under the water.

He swam down deep into the basin of the caldera, skipping just over the coral edifices. A moment to settle his mind and rebuild himself.

The silence of the deep and the familiarity of his home were a balm.

He knew his time was limited by the worry warts on the surface, so he didn’t dawdle, but he did take the time he needed.

Ocean washed away all the signs of his emotional turmoil.

By the time he resurfaced, whatever was left had been shoved back into its box.

And just as well, because Alan and John stood at the top of the cliff with their arms full of pool toys. A giant pink flamingo, a huge duck, a red rocket ship – where the hell had they bought that from? A green turtle and a pile of pool noodles.

A blink and all the flotation devices were in the water, followed by a bomb by the name of Alan.

Seawater rained over all of them.

The flamingo was washed over towards Gordon and whacked him on the head.

John, dressed in a full body wetsuit providing his necessary gravity support, followed Alan in, but with much more elegance. John was almost as much fish as Gordon, after all.

Gordon grabbed onto the flamingo to save himself the energy of trying the keep afloat. He was suddenly very, very tired.

Alan, being the ball of teen-energy he was, flapped his way over and gave Gordon a hug. “Feeling better now you are in the water?” Innocent blue eyes that truly were far from innocent anymore stared up at him in hope.

“You still stole my ice cream.”

“I’ll buy you some more.”

Gordon narrowed his eyes a little. “Promise.”

“Tracy’s honour. Next time we’re in Aotearoa.”

“How about tomorrow? You and me, Auckland CBD. I’ll even take the hoverchair.”

“Really?”

“If you buy me ice cream.”

“Cool. Can we visit the game arcade?”

“I’ll consider it.” Wouldn’t want to make it too easy for his little brother.

“Mind if I join you?”

Gordon blinked as John appeared beside them.

“You want to spend time with the two of us?” Gordon may have pointed at himself and Alan with a lot of disbelief.

John wasn’t fazed at all. “Sure. Haven’t had a go an arcade for a while. Need to keep my reflexes strong.”

Alan frowned. “You’ll get us kicked out again. There is such a thing as being too good at a thing. Or something.”

Yay for Alan and English. “What he said. But you are welcome. If I can have the flamingo.”

John’s lips curled up at the edges. “It’s yours.”

“And I get the rocket!”

John snorted. “No, that’s Scott’s. You get the pool noodles.”

“What?! Why?!”

“Because you stole Gordon’s ice cream.” With that John turned and dove, disappearing long enough for Gordon to lose his location.

“Hey! That’s not fair.”

Gordon grimaced as he glanced at Scott and Virgil. “Life isn’t fair, Allie.”

“Not fair at all.”

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[mypoisonedvine]

Based on something I was writing some days ago... Dark!character, any of Chris', getting a new sex slave and she's new and haven't learn the basics yet. So he teaches her in his twisted way... 😈

oh wow, anon, I LOVE the way you think... that being completely perverted.  and of course I had to make it freezy, because who else??  obviously this is noncon, there is also degradation, kidnapping, slapping, spanking, bondage, master/slave dynamics and virginity loss under the cut.

“wakey wakey...”

you were slowly lifted from your sleep, slower than normal.  why was it so hard to open your eyes?

someone hit you on the face-- not that hard, but enough to make you jolt a little and blink a few times.

“cmon, show me those pretty eyes...”

you didn’t recognize the voice, but when you finally managed to keep your eyes open, fighting the heavy drowsiness that weighed them down, you recognized the face.  “freezy?” you wanted to blurt out, but you couldn’t-- there was duct tape over your mouth, and restraining your wrists behind your back.

“you recognize me,” he realized with a small smile. “you remember what I said last time you bought a cone from me, right? ‘I’ll be seeing you.’ I don’t think you knew what I meant.”

you felt your chest begin to shake as tears stung your eyes and wet your cheeks, falling down over the makeshift gag as he grinned at you.

“oh, don’t cry sweet girl,” he cooed, even though he didn’t seem too upset that you were sobbing as he knelt in front of you.  “it’s gonna be fine, as long as you follow my rules.  that’s what the tape is for-- I’m gonna keep you restrained until I know you can behave, alright?  so just do what I say and you’ll be perfectly safe.”

you considering struggling against the tape, until you glanced down to his belt and saw a gun tucked into it.  with wide and watery eyes, you looked back at his face which was twisted in sick delight.

“ready to learn your new rules, pet?”

sheepishly, you nodded.

“you will call me Master.  you will speak only when spoken to.  you will say please and thank you.  you will obey or be punished.  capisce?”

he slowly peeled the tape back-- and you wanted to scream, cry, beg him to stop, ask a million questions-- but fear pushed you to do what you knew was your safest bet.  “yes, Master,” you whispered hoarsely.

“good girl,” he smiled proudly.  “I knew I got my money’s worth with you... you’re such a sweet little thing, wanna please me so bad... go ahead and stand up, let me get a good look atcha.”

your legs were weak and bruised-- aftermath of the struggle you had with the men who must’ve been the ones to sell you to mr. freezy... or maybe he’d hired them himself.  shuddering at the thought, you weakly stood up and wished your hands weren’t restrained so you could cover yourself, since you were stripped down to your bra and panties.  it was cold in the room, too, meaning your nipples were hard and clearly visible through the thin cups of your bra.  it was obvious that he was staring at them as his gaze raked over you slowly, his smile growing wider.  “fuck, such a pretty little thing,” he sighed as he started to circle you slowly, like a predator eyeing wounded prey.  “you got any idea how hard it was to see you in those short-shorts and bikini tops in summer, licking on my popsicles like it wasn’t the most sinful thing imaginable?”

he stepped closer, his warm breath moist on the back of your neck.  “and of course, when I say ‘how hard it was,’ you know what ‘it’ is, don’t you?”

he pushed his hips against your hands where they were restrained behind your, and you gasped when you felt his hard cock in your palm.  he groaned and rocked forward into your touch, smiling when you whimpered quietly.

“ever touched a dick before, pet?” he asked quietly.

“yes, Master,” you admitted nervously.

“mm, dirty girl,” he winked.  “I bet all the boys were banging down your door, weren’t they?  everybody wanted you... but you’re all mine now.  is that all you did, sweetheart?  touch it?”

“I... I put it in my mouth...” you stammered nervously, remembering the night a few months ago where you fooled around with a boy you thought wanted to date you, but who disappeared when you said you weren’t ready to go ‘all the way’ yet.  the memory was humiliating enough... having to explain it to this man was even worse.

“did you let him fuck this innocent face?” he chuckled.  “did you like it?”

“no, Master,” you stammered.

“which question are you answering?”

“both.”

“don’t worry, you’re gonna like it this time.  you’re gonna love having your Master’s cock in your mouth.”

you heard him unbuckling his belt, and winced when you felt the hard, silky member pressed into your palm.  

“your hands are so soft, pretty baby,” he sighed.  “feel how thick it is?  I bet you’re drooling for it now,” he chuckled.  “your mouth and your cunt.”

his hand wrapped around yours and guided it to stroke him, and you grimaced when you felt a warm drop of precum slide over your wrist.  his little grunts behind you made your stomach turn as he rubbed himself on your bound hands.

“turn around and get on your knees,” he instructed suddenly.  “show me how you treat the boys when they ask real nice.”

“i-it was only once,” you stammered, “I’m not very good.”

“I’ll teach you,” he promised.  “now do what I said--” he suddenly twisted your hand painfully, making you yelp-- “or I’ll hurt ya worse.”

“yes, Master,” you whispered weakly as you spun to face him and fell to your knees, ignoring the discomfort of the concrete floor beneath you.

you’d felt it, but seeing it was another matter entirely-- thick, red and bobbing slightly, a drip of clear precum running down over his shaft.

you hesitantly put the tip between your lips, feeling the foreskin slide forward slightly when you took him a little deeper.  the taste was subtle but masculine and not as gross as you’d expected.  what was gross was how it looked, staring forward at his undone belt and fly.  he corrected that quickly, though.  “look up at me, babydoll.  I wanna see those eyes.”

he groaned as he grabbed the back of your neck, pushing deeper until you gagged and tried to pull away.

“keep choking on it,” he moaned, “feels so good in that tight little throat of yours, fuck.”

you sobbed a bit as you fought for air, afraid you’d pass out before he let you go, but he finally gave you some relief as you fell back and gasped for air.

“aw, poor thing,” he faked a pout as he watched you cough and sputter.  “want some more, pet?”

you shook your head, croaking out a “no, Master.”

he slapped you across the face and you cried loudly.  “you should know you can never deny me.  you give me whatever I want, whenever I want.  now keep sucking or you’ll regret it.”

you whined but opened your mouth for him to shove his cock into, holding your face steady as he fucked it roughly.  spit dribbled down your chin and onto the floor, and it made you feel disgusting and used.

“god, I could come just from this, just from your hot, wet little mouth,” he purred.  “but I need to break in that virgin cunt first.”

you stumbled over your words as he pulled you up and bent you over a dirty table, holding you down with a thick hand tangled in your hair while the other smacked your ass sharply.

“n-no!” you sobbed.  “please don’t.”

he hit you several more times, making your legs flail as your ass stung from each hit.  “you know you can’t say no to me.  why do you keep fighting?  you’re mine, and the more you misbehave the worse I’m gonna treat ya.”

“I’ll do anything, just don’t do that,” you bargained.

“so you want it in the ass?”

you tensed up, and he laughed darkly.  “yeah, that’s what I thought.  don’t worry, I’m not gonna fuck you there, yet.  it’d be a waste of a perfectly good little pussy.  but be careful what you wish for, pet, and be thankful I’m so generous.”

you swallowed thickly.  “thank you, Master.”

he ripped your panties off easily, growling when he saw the wetness that had gathered between your legs.  “if you get your attitude right, I’ll get you ready with some fingers first.  you gonna behave pet?  or do you need to learn a lesson?”

“I’ll be good,” you whimpered.  he leaned down and licked the shell of your ear, making you shudder.  

“do you want my fingers inside you, sweetheart?”

“yes, please, Master,” you nodded weakly.

you winced when he slipped a finger inside you, twisting it around and adding a second quickly.  you could hear the clicking and sloshing noises of your own wetness, and it made you hate yourself for the pleasure you felt.

when he added a third finger, you kicked your legs and breathed through your teeth.  

“you need these if you have any chance of taking my cock,” he explained gruffly, moving his hand faster until your back began to arch.  “mm, feels good, huh?  I bet you wanna come all over my fingers.”

instead, he pulled them out, and you heard him spit into his hand and smear it all over his cock before you felt the head slide through your folds.

“ask me nicely,” he instructed coldly.  “beg for your Master’s cock.”

you whined and closed your eyes, your delay punished by a slap on your sore ass.  “please!” you cried out.  “please put your cock in me, please fuck me, Master.”

he groaned deeply as he pushed into you, and even for all the warm-up you’d gotten, he still stretched you so wide; he still filled you so deep, deeper than you thought anything could reach inside you.

“fuuuuuck,” he sighed, “what a tight fuckin cunt, damn you feel good.”

he chuckled when he felt your walls tense around him.  

“you like making your Master feel good, pet?” he taunted.  “I knew you’d be such a good little girl for me, once you learned your place.”

with that, he began to fuck you in earnest, ignoring your cries and please for him to slow down.  he fucked you so deep that it was starting to give you a stomachache-- but you realized, much to your dismay, that it was really the first swells of pleasure of an orgasm more intense than you’d even known was possible.

“can’t wait to use this pretty pussy every. fucking. day.” he grunted, hitting deep inside you with each word hissed through his teeth.  “can’t wait to fill you with my come whenever I want.”

you opened your mouth to tell him he can’t come inside, before realizing it was useless and stopping yourself.  finally, you were learning.

he held your hips roughly as he pumped into you, his head falling back in a gasp of pleasure.  “fuck yes,” he moaned, “best little cunt I ever had, feels so much better knowing you’re gonna be mine forever, that nobody else is ever gonna touch you but me.”

you felt sharp jolts of desire shoot up your spine as he started to fuck you faster, his balls slapping against your clit just enough to add to the overwhelming sensations inside you.

“at first I thought I wouldn’t really care if you came or not,” he admitted, “but now I’m thinking it would be fun to see you cream all over my fuckin cock.  I wanna see you give in, pretty baby.  I wanna feel you squeeze my cock and hear you scream for me.”

you wished it was avoidable, you wished you could stop yourself from giving him what he wanted, but with a sob you felt the peak of it slam into you, making you cry out and clench your insides around him in desperation.  worst of all, it felt like it would never stop so long as he kept slamming into you like this, and soon you really were screaming until your voice went hoarse.

“yeah, there you go,” he encouraged lowly all throughout, “grip me with that tight little hole, gonna fill you up...”

he made a sudden choked noise as he slowed down, and you realized with a whimper than he was coming, each hot rope of come filling you and warming you from the inside out.

his movements came to a stop as he caught his breath, a new wave of tears dripping down your face with the realization of what he’d done (and what you had done because of it).

“god, you’re everything I dreamed you’d be,” he mumbled.  “can’t even think how many times I came all over my hand and imagined it was your sweet little virgin cunt.”

you winced when he pulled out, the sting still present even with the numb pleasure that protected you from most of it.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, pet,” he promised as he stuffed his cock back into his pants and left you locked in and alone again.

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

Hey! I just read the last part of the BTHB and I can't get enough of it!! So, if you'd like, for BTHB, is it okay that after supervillain gets all healed up, he leaves. Then when the hero agency gets to know that hero saved him, they want to punish her/execute her by death? And supervillain saves her? But she's still too injured to do just anything

And, if you're not comfortable with this, feel free to ignore!

Thank you for the ask! I changed it up a bit, just a smidge, like a little bit because I think it would make it more dramatic, but not too much. Hope you enjoy!

And this got long... so I apologize. I still don't have the ability to put a readmore.

Muddy Rain Part 4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 ... if you guys like this series, I will have to make a masterlist for it soon!

@shydragonrider

Warnings: (i made two lists, one for Hero and one for Supervillain for those who aren't comfortable with lady whumpees) alcohol mention, broken bones mention, attempted murder,

Supervillain: chloroformed, drugged state of mind, limping, not healing, past trauma, memories of torture, low self-esteem, shocked by stun gun, tranquilized

Hero: restrained, kidnapped, shocked by stun gun, bleeding, knife wounds, unconsciousness, manhandled

~

Hero awoke slowly, finding her arms wrapped protectively around her ward. She sighed, looking down at his slowly breathing figure in the darkness. She didn't know if he would ever get better.

Six months later...

"Hero?!" Supervillain called from the other room. "Breakfast is ready!"

Hero smiled, biting her lip as she set down her book, and walked into the horrible smelling kitchen. She wrinkled her noise, taking in the state of her kitchen. The windows were opened with tiny fans blowing the thick, smokey air out of the hot room. Egg yolks and melted butter practically painted the counters with their yellowness. Strawberry juice was splattered across the white sink with at least ten kitchen knives tossed carelessly into a pile, waiting to be washed.

The waffle iron, coated in batter, was steaming hot and did not look like it was properly doused in canola oil.

But, amongst the mess, Supervillain beamed over two plates of charcoal colored waffles and cut up strawberries.

"Why thank you," Hero said and tried to grab her own plate, but Supervillain ripped it out of her reach.

"I got it," he said, smiling a wavering smile. Almost instinctively, Hero looked away, but knowing curiosity got the better of her.

She glanced back at Supervillain, trying to avoid looking at his shaking arm- the bad one, the one with the broken clavicle- as he carried both plates to the coffee table in the livingroom. She tried not to take much note of his funny gait either- the way his knees seemed to buckle as he walked, completely devoid of strength.

She tried not to look because of how hard Supervillain tried. How he tried to cook meals for Hero and how he dealt with jobs that he didn't necessarily enjoy- all to support Hero for all she did. He worked as a graphic designer, playing around with computers, when he would've rather been a baseball coach or an engineer.

"Thank you for breakfast," Hero said, sticking her fork in the waffle and eating it like a popsicle, trying her hardest not to grimace as her tongue was temporarily numbed by a clump of baking powder.

Supervillain blushed, his still pale cheeks turning rosy in color, as he winced at the state of his own plate.

"I could be better," he whispered, more to himself than anyone, so Hero ignored his obvious show of self negativity.

They remained in silence until a loud knocking interrupted them. Hero looked up, heart pounding, as a foreboding feeling rose in her gut. Supervillain half stood up, using his hand to balance his shaking body, but Hero gently pushed him back down.

"I got it," she told him softly and walked over to the door. Her hand hovered over the knob for a moment before she turned it and-

She was thrown backwards onto the ground and before she knew it, she was pressed against someone's stomach, arms pinned.

"Let me go!" She growled, kicking and stepping at her attacker's feet, but someone else came and quickly zipped her ankles up with cable ties.

"Hey!" She cried, using momentum to thrust herself forward. Only, she had no balance with her newly tied ankles and fell to the ground.

Her wrists were tied next and she was lifted to her feet, but suddenly, her attacker froze, giving her time to assess the situation.

There were five of them, masked. One held a bag a cable ties, the others were completely empty-handed, and one was manhandling Hero.

"Let her go, now!" Came Supervillain's familiar voice, though this time taut with rage and fury, but also a hint of fear.

She didn't see it, but felt it. The one holding her nodded and the other four rushed towards Supervillain. One grabbed a bottle of something most likely nasty and dumped it over a rag. Hero's heart jumped. No, no, no, no, no...

Her attacker spun her around, kicking in her knees to make her sit on the floor. She looked up and saw Supervillain with a gun in his hand.

"Knock him out," her attacker ordered. His voice, frighteningly familiar.

"No!" Hero screeched. "Stop! I will do what you want, just don't touch him, please."

Her hair was grabbed, head yanked back.

"I know you will, because if you don't, he will die and you know it," the man snarled. "But he will still fight for you, no matter our terms of agreement."

The four masked strangers attacked Supervillain, pushing him to a sitting position on the floor. He struggled, but only for a moment before a drenched rag was stuffed into his face.

"No," Hero whimpered, hardly able to watch, but her attacker held her head up to watch the whole event.

After a few minutes, Supervillain's frantic struggles turned into sporadic twitches as his body screamed for air.

"Stop," Hero said, voice thick with tears and face wet with them. "You'll kill him." She said the last bit in a whimpering tone.

"Who cares, he'll be out of the way."

Supervillain sunk into the stranger's arm, not yet unconscious. For a moment he hung there, head lolling in the rag and the hand holding it. Then, he looked up at Hero, his gaze faraway and glassy, before his eyes rolled into his head and he collapsed to the ground.

"Please," Hero begged. "At least bring him to the couch, please. He-" She stopped, not wanting to spill Supervillain's weaknesses, but it already seemed that all was lost. "He has a hard time standing up when he wakes and the drugs won't make it easy. Just, please." She melted into her attacker's arms, crying.

"Bring him to the couch," her attacker conceded after a moment’s hesitation. Two men each grabbed an arm. Hero stiffened when one cruelly pulled on his bad one. They dragged him to the couch, his head rolling uselessly on his chest.

"As for you," her attacker spoke. He stood up, walked in front of Hero, and ripped off his mask. Hero's body gave a nervous twitch when she recognized her colleague, Superhero.

"You are going to come with us," he finished, grabbed Hero and dragged her out of the house.

《~~》

Supervillain came to rather slowly, whimpering and crying out in pain as his head banged ruthlessly around. A dense feeling of nausea rose in his throat as the room, when he managed to open his eyes, spun.

For a moment of incoherence, he believed that he was hurt again, laying half-consious on Hero's bed as she gingerly cared for him.

But, as his senses returned, he realized that her touches were vacant and his legs weren't wrapped in the immobilizing padding.

Only then did he muster the willpower to completely open his eyes and draw his memories towards any prior events. Though, he found that if there were any, they were distant and vague- much like his memories of the month in which he hardly woke up, unless for necessities like medicine or food.

He became aware of his breathing, and then the placement of his body. Arms were strewn all over the place as if he had no control where they ended up. He flinched as a few moments of recollection came over him. Panic, rush, and the feeling of many hands on him.

His nose and mouth stung painfully, though he knew he didn't have a cold or a sniffle or anything. Not even allergies.

Then it hit him. His memories. Hero being restrained with cable ties, grabbing the gun, the rag over his mouth, lungs burning, Hero's screams, then nothing. Nothing at all.

He was drugged.

He suddenly pushed himself to his hands, only for them to crumble under his weight as an intense feeling of lightheadedness overwhelmed him. He groaned, hands flailing as they tried to clutch at his rollercoaster for a head.

He had to get up. Hero was in danger.

He swung his legs over the side of the choice, only for them to go extremely weak and splay out from underneath him. He let out a sob, head pounding painfully.

Get up.

He used his arms as leverage to shove himself up, then stumbled towards the wall, leaning against it heavily. He took in a shuddering, deep breath, lips pressed into the cold material.

He didn't know how long it took, or exactly remembered it either, but eventually he found himself slumped over Hero's motorcycle. He felt like he was going to throw up and then collapse.

But he couldn't, had to save Hero.

He swung his leg over the seat, ignoring the agonizing grinding of his still-healing bones, and sat there, waiting for the dizziness to fade.

His vision cleared and he turned the vehicle on. Revving it up, he drove sloppily out of the driveway.

He recognized the voices of the men who came. Heroes, particularly the gang that tortured him all those months ago. Supervillain's thoughts drifted for a moment, but then he found himself veering off the road.

"Snap back into it," he whispered to himself, voice hoarse. He concentrated on the road the best he could, but the way the yellow lines melted into each other was very confusing.

Okay, think, think, think, he willed himself, gripping the handles until his knuckles went white. The garage, a mechanic's garage, where he was kept at was on the far side of town. He knew it because that was where Villain worked, and Villain...

No, stop. He couldn't go that route, but his drugged mind was still traveling down that path. The sledgehammer, food just inches from his reach, the utter helplessness...

A car honked, loud and earsplitting. Supervillain sighed, he had to keep his thoughts under control. So he blocked all thinking and paid attention to the way the road melted under the motorcycle's tires.

Before he knew it, he was pulling up to the familiar building. Old, broken cars guarded the entrance to where his torture took place and with that knowledge, he went there, knowing that was where Hero was.

He crept through the cars, legs throbbing and moving stiffly. Every so often he would stop, grab at a car, and catch his breath. He was so useless, so, so useless.

Don't think that way, you have a job, you make money, you support Hero...

He stood up straighter and walked into the garage, fear clutching his chest. In there was a world of pain- something Supervillain wanted to forget.

For Hero, he would do anything. She saved his life.

Supervillain slid his hand over the doorknob, freezing as he heard the ringing of the bells- a sound that used to bring him such hope. A hope that someone would see him, or care enough about him to save him.

"Be there in a minute!" Came a familiar yowl. Supervillain started backwards, panic rising in his throat as anticipation clawed at his chest. The woman that spoke was not one of the people who broke in. No, she was more sophisticated than that. She was...

Villain.

Supervillain looked at the tall lady in front of him, trying not to glance at her heels- oh the memories of those steel prods digging into his already gnarled flesh.

"Hey honey," Villain spoke sauntering over. Supervillain slid down onto the floor, overwhelmed with anxiety and fear, just as Villain's cold hand ran through his hair. He stiffened, muscles tensing.

"It has been a while. Want some tea to drink as we catch up?" Her petting increased, her fingers pulling at the strands.

Supervillain risked it and shook his head. "I-uh," he stammered. Gosh, he was scared. So scared. Him, the greatest supervillain in the city, was scared to the point of trembling. Maybe he would blame it on the chloroform, but deep down he knew that was a lie.

Oh how he wished he was home, trying and failing to make a batch of muffins.

"What was that, dear?" Villain murmured.

"Where's Hero?" He rasped, instantly cowering in fear.

"Oh Hero? That little bastard? Oh yeah, she's currently bleeding out at an alarming rate," Villain purred and stopped rubbing Supervillain's head- much to his relief.

Supervillain whimpered, his body screaming at him to find her, but primitive instinct kept him rooted to the ground.

But, after a few moments of fighting himself, Supervillain stood up. Villain backed away, face taut with amusement.

"What are you going to do?" Villain taunted. "Hmm? You couldn't even save Hero from five men and now there are ten out there, armed with deadlier things than chloroform."

Supervillain squeezed his eyes shut. Don't listen to her, don't listen to her...

"Her life is worth more than mine," Supervillain growled, as he pushed past his former captor. He could see a smirk rise on Villain's lips.

"Yeah... it really is, isn't it," Villain chuckled. "You worthless scum." She spun around and kicked Supervillain's knees. He tripped, blood rushing through his ears, but stayed upright as he gallantly walked into his old home.

The smell of countless oils and grease hit his nose, and following that, the familiar scent of exhaust. He grimaced, remembering his utter inability to breathe on busy days.

But even those memories washed away at the sight of Hero, bloodied and unmoving, with people shocking her endlessly with stun guns.

"Hey!" Supervillain yelled, grabbing a pipe wrench in one hand. The people torturing Hero, stopped and turned around to face Supervillain who was swaying on his feet- from the lingering fatigue and fear.

"Leave her be," he growled and stalked up to them. One shrugged and zapped Supervillain in the side. His body seized as white flashes illuminated his vision. Gasping, he fell to the ground, right next to Hero's body.

"Well now we have two to have fun with boys! But, let's head in and grab us some whiskey first!" A chorus of cheers followed that.

Supervillain was still out of breath by the time the men left to go get their alcoholic beverages.

"H-hey," he rasped, slowly bringing his hand to caress Hero's face. She was unconscious, but at his touch, her eyes blinked open.

"Hero?" Supervillain croaked, relief flooding his veins. He slowly sat up and dragged her limp body onto his lap. She groaned, and that was when he realized that he jostled a whole array of injuries.

They were tiny, nothing that a strong and healthy person like Hero wouldn't be able to recover from, but they were aimed to kill.

Unlike Supervillain's torture that aimed to cripple and harm him mentally and physically.

Those lethal injuries were knife wounds, some small, others large. They spanned from her chest, all the way through her torso and down her arms and legs. It was to be a slow, and painful death, Supervillain noted. None of the wounds touched a major artery.

"I'm gonna help you," Supervillain whispered, tucking a long, wavy piece of her hair behind her ear. "Like you did for me." When did he get so cheesy? Hero did this so much better.

"Y-you don't need to pay me for what I did," Hero murmured in reply, unfocused eyes focusing for just a moment. "I-i," she winced, groaning loudly, as her bloodstained hands gently brushed a particularly nasty gash.

Supervillain shushed her, putting a finger to her bruised lips. "Quiet," he said, and brought an arm under her knees and another supporting her upper body.

He gasped for breath as he lifted her limp and heavy body. His limbs shook with exertion, but he forced himself to walk... one step at a time.

He was nearly at the door, ready to press the botton to open the large, garage door, when something shot into his neck.

He gasped. Aching pain sprouted from the spot. Glancing down, he saw blue and white feathers.

A dart.

"No," he gasped, using his elbow to press the botton. He knew the tranquilizer. He had maybe ten minutes before the sedative would kick in.

He had to move.

Slipping under the door, he ran. Moving his stiff legs faster than they had in a while. He didn't look back- that would just slow him down.

He sat Hero on the seat, slid in behind her and drove away.

After about ten minutes, like Supervillain predicted, he started getting horribly tired. He glanced behind him to see an SUV slowly following him.

"Think," he whispered to himself, pressing his face into Hero's back. Around him was a dense forest. If he just turned...

His body acted without thinking it through. He turned sharply, only for the motorcycle to crash into the guardrail. Him and Hero went flying, crashing into trees.

Just before their bodies connected with the river below, Supervillain flipped Hero's body over so he would take the full shock of the fall.

His body hit the rushing water. Pain shot through his ribs. But before the tranquilizer fully hit, Supervillain was able to grab onto a tree trunk and throw Hero over it.

Then he blacked out as a wave of water crashed over his face.

[ghoultramp]

golden [hawks x reader]

▷       bnha

↳ pairing: hawks (keigo takami) x f!reader

↳ content: injured/wingless!hawks, hurt, comfort, soft & gentle sex, (some) cunnlingus, (kinda?) cockwarming, emotional, aftercare

↳ words: 4.1k

⇢ summary: the morning after the night before. a follow up to his voice resides.

also available on ao3

⇢ note: this took me far longer than i thought, i shall spare you the gory details of it all, aha! please, i do hope you enjoy ~

It was the gentle morning light filtering into through the blinds that stirred you, rather unwillingly, from the most restful sleep you’d had in a long time—the best sleep you’d both had in a very long time. It was nice to be back in his arms, the one place you felt safest; the only true place you could call home.

You lay curled on your side, his bare chest pressed tightly against your back, his legs tucked as closely to yours as possible. The warmth of his body, and the weight of his arm on your side as it tucked around into your stomach, reassured you that last night wasn’t just some delusion brought on by your fragile state.

You gently rolled over, the arm that he’d tucked beneath the pillow, and under your head, wriggled. His soft, protesting grumbles as he tightened his hold on you made you smile.

He looked so serene with a delicate, sleepy smile across his lips, his eyes closed and his long eyelashes resting against his cheeks.

You lay a hand against his chest, tenderly tracing the scars there; in truth, they covered most of his body. When he winced, you felt the tears start to sting in your eyes. Trying to stop yourself from crying again—so many tears shed already—you buried your face into him. Upon firmly planting your cheek against his skin, you let out a relaxed sigh, allowing his warmth to envelope you. You breathed in deeply, his subtle, earthy scent was soothing. 

He let out a gentle hum, moving the arm he had clamped around you, bringing his hand up to rest on the back of your head. You responded with a purr when you felt his lips brush the top of your head, gifting you with a kiss before firmly pressing his cheek against the same spot.

"I don't wanna move," he complained, his voice was barely a rasp as he strained against his damaged throat and the overnight dehydration.

You pressed your palm harder against his chest when he coughed; his body shook violently against you.

“Sorry,” he croaked, sighing heavily.

Reluctantly, you peeled yourself away from him; an involuntary whimper escaped your lips, breaking contact with him now felt inherently wrong. You rolled over and propped yourself up on your elbow.

Keigo watched as you peered over at the bedside

table, shifting onto his back and resting a hand on his chest. He admired the way your ill-fitting shirt hung off your shoulders, the sight of your soft, pale skin made his stomach flutter.

“A-ha!” you called, struggling as you stretched over to reach a glass of water.

He felt a gentle heat in his cheeks when you leaned over, catching a peek of your underwear as your shirt rode up. It took all his strength not to reach out and squeeze the plump flesh of your rear that was on display.

The beaming smile you wore on your face when you turned back to him with the glass was so endearing.

“Here you go,” you sang.

He grimaced as he tried to push himself into a sitting position; he groaned loudly and uncomfortably when he tried to remove his arm from beneath the pillow. You watched as he struggled moving it, eventually conceding by gripping his bicep with his working hand and tugging.

You tried not to laugh as he waved it about, more like a dead weight than an arm.

“Oh god,” he grunted. He let go of his arm and watched as it fell lifelessly to his side, he looked at you, a devilish smirk on your face.

You swore you heard a panicked squeak from him as he batted at it a few times, wincing when the tingling and prickling intensified.

Keigo narrowed his eyes as he received the glass from you. He smacked his lips together loudly, even room temperature water was better than nothing; it was satisfying enough. You scrutinized him as he chugged back the rest of the water and set the glass to rest on the table on his side of the best.

“Stop it,” Keigo narrowed his eyes at you, the smirk on his lips was unmistakable, no matter how hard he tried to conceal it. “I know exactly what’s going through that evil little mind of yours.”

You feigned surprise, but not before laughing at his attempt to guard his arm.

“Me?” you gasped. “Evil? Well, I never!”

You wiggled your eyebrows as you brought your hand into view, poised and ready to poke him at any second. He raised his pointed finger in response, lurching toward you.

“Uh oh,” you squeaked.

“Uh oh, is right,” he was smirking as he wiggled his finger playfully at you, hovering around your ribs.

He distracted you with his tormenting finger while he flexed the fist of the arm by his side, he was starting to regain the feeling. His eyes narrowed, watching you intently as you fumbled back on yourself, flailing against his finger; he hadn’t even touched you, but it was the simple threat of being tickled that made you panic. He was relentless.

“Keigo, please,” you squealed, hands grasping at anywhere he might strike as he climbed over you.

You were only fixated on his finger, so when the sudden warmth of his palm embraced your cheek, you melted. Keigo laughed as he relaxed his pointing hand on the pillow next to your head, spreading his palm to hold himself steady.

Gazing up at him, bathed in the golden light of morning, it never failed to astonish you just how beautiful he was; the way he allowed himself to be so vulnerable with you made your heart swell, aside reserved only for you. Timidly, you brushed the tips of your fingers against his skin before tucking a long lock of his sandy hair behind his ear. He closed his eyes when you brushed your thumb along his brow and then stroking his cheek with the back of your hand; his body rose and fell with a soft, inaudible sigh.

His eyes fluttered open, smiling down at you.

“I really have missed you so much,” you told him for the umpteenth time since last night, you had to make sure he knew.

It was all too easy to feel overwhelmed.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he cooed, watching as the tears brimmed at the edges of your bright eyes.

You pushed your cheek into his hand as his thumb brushed away the first tear that fell.

“I missed you more than anything,” he told you before pressing his lips to the other side of your face, kissing away the tears.

A loud sob blurted out from deep within you; his affectionate, forgiving touch, his comforting words…

“I-I’m sorry,” you wept, watching as he blurred through your tears. You knew it was irrational for this to make you feel panicked and yet you lay there, feeling your chest tighten, your palms

beginning to sweat. Impulsively, Keigo pushed the hair away from your face, shushing softly as he ever so lightly brushed his thumb across your brow, around your temples, back to your brow, and up and down your nose.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, repeating the rotation of soft touches.

He hummed, quite satisfied when you tittered in response to his barrage of kisses to your nose, cheeks, and forehead.

You watched as he raised himself onto his elbows, his bright tawny eyes gazing down at you; your heat was beating uncomfortably hard against your chest. With both hands, you reached out to hold his head between them. Keigo placed a hand on yours as you pulled him into you, your lips colliding impatiently—wildly.

You inhaled sharply, breaking your kiss to rest your clammy forehead against his, feeling his warm hand brush against your hip.

You felt Keigo shudder as he palmed at your hipbone, fingers greedily kneading at your soft skin. With his head still between your hands, you locked eyes with one another.

A surprised rasp came from Keigo when you pressed your lips against his again, harder this time. You whimpered against him until he parted them, tongues frantically darting and dancing with each other.

While Keigo’s left hand was loosely pressed against your face, his fingers entwined in the hair above your ear, his right hand wasn’t quite satisfied now. At first, he only played at the elastic of your underwear, it made you gasp which was greeted by Keigo gently suckling at your bottom lip. Reuniting your lips, he inched his way further and further under your shirt.

His hands may have been damaged—like the rest of his unfortunate body—but feeling the sensation of your warm skin beneath his burned fingers was a blessing. It was his turn to fight back his tears as he mourned the loss of feeling the true softness of your skin again; his grip on your hair instinctively tightened.

It was unexpected, you let out a short yelp; Keigo sniffled.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered, lifting his head a little.

“Mm-mm,” you whined, wrapping a hand around his neck and pulling him back.

It sent a needle-like shiver down your spine when he moaned—low and throaty—when you rolled his bottom lip between your teeth. Keigo shifted, allowing you to widen up your hips and raise your right knee.

He leaned his weight to his left, allowing the hand beneath your shirt to resume its needy exploration. Burying his nose against your neck, he breathed in deeply; the shuddering moan that escaped while he exhaled ignited a flutter within your core. Whimpering, you held him there, arms clamped around his neck.

You didn’t want to open your eyes to see his back, content to lose yourself in the pleasant sensations you felt beneath his touch, more than happy in your ignorance for now. But you did allow your hands to wander, ever so lightly and timidly, across the map of skin that pulled tightly across his back. You felt along the ridges where it raised—the deepest of his scar tissue—where his wings had once been; in truth, he saw them as a mere testament to his shackles.

Your hands came to meet in the middle, the tips of your fingers touching ever so slightly as they brushed over his painfully protruding spine.

Keigo felt you shudder beneath him, the way he was still so attuned to you told him it wasn’t the good kind of shudder that might occur in these situations. He pressed his lips to your beck, laying a tender kiss against your skin.

“I’m free now, Songbird,” he murmured.

His chuckle was kind as he rolled his head to rest on your shoulder; you relaxed your arms, allowing him to move, and allowing you to look at each other.

He saw your big, sad doe eyes and gave you that smile of his that, even if the world was ending, could reassure and console you with ease.

“You don’t have to worry anymore,” he told you, nudging your cheek with his nose, “all that free time? Think of the possibilities.”

You chuckled at that a light chuckle, but it made him smile.

“That’s right,” you agreed, sniffling as you wrapped a hand around his left wrist. You gave a shuddering sigh when your fingers wrapped all the way around.

“C’mon,” he told you, lifting himself up and back into position, “none of that.”

This time, when he pressed his lips to yours, your mouth was open, ready and waiting. You moaned softly as his tongue explored your mouth, the distinct twinge within your lower abdomen vibrated wildly when he moaned in response as the hand he held beneath your shirt came to life.

You whimpered, his fingers inching closer and closer to the plump flesh of your breasts while the ferocity of his kiss increased. You exposed your neck to him, throwing your head back against the pillow. It was delightful, the way the golden light glistened off the sheen of sweat against your porcelain skin.

“I love you,” he purred, his lips pressed to your neck.

Keigo reveled in the way your needy mewls fluttered behind your lips as his thumb ever so lightly brushed over the tip of your erect nipple.

“So much,” he added, signing off with a light peck to your neck.

You watched him with heavy-lidded eyes as he shifted back and up onto his knees, your body quivering as his hand brushed softly against your skin. Keigo’s fingers played idly with the hem or your shirt, his lips twitched against words he didn’t seem about to articulate.

“It’s not like you to be lost for words,” you said, a light giggle in your voice.

Keigo blushed, balling the hem of your shit in his hands. Gently, you placed your hands on top of his, smiling and nodding. You watched as he sheepishly lowered his head, pushing your shirt up and under your breasts; he chuckled when you gasped, hurrying his hands to remove your shirt.

Keigo gazed upon your naked breasts, absentmindedly nibbling at his bottom lip; hypnotized for a moment by their movement under your quivering breaths.

“You truly are breath-taking,” he whispered, lowering himself.

You whimpered as his lips teased your skin; pressing his lips against your hip, peppering his kisses along the exposed flesh above the band of your underwear, and finishing with a kiss and a light nibble on your other hipbone.

You were both breathing rather heavily when he pressed his hand against your abdomen, raising his gaze to meet your eyes.

You whimpered, shifting your hips impatiently now; Keigo chuckled as he traced his finger in a heart-shape against the fabric that concealed your sex. You wanted to curse at him for doing it above your underwear.

“I shouldn’t tease you, but…” he murmured, fiddling with the elastic, “I want to savor this. I want to savor you.”

You were so sure your cheeks were unable to get any redder or hotter, that is until he told you that; a choked squeak came from your throat.

Keigo pressed a finger down and along your concealed slit, his breath shuddered at the dampness and warmth that you produced. It was a domino effect; his quivering breaths elicited sweet, strained whines from you, only arousing him further, and you in return.

And that’s when you realized…

It wasn’t just pure lust; the need for comfort—for home—was overbearing.

He tucked his fingers beneath the band on either side of your hips and as he pulled your underwear down, you moved your hips. Keigo found it ever so adorable when you looked away from him, rosy cheeks with your sheen of sweat; he thought you were delectable.

He found it so endearing, the way you looked away from him, those rosy cheeks burning brighter and brighter. He gently lifted your legs so you wouldn’t have to move, pulling your underwear down until he held them in his hand.

“Won’t you look at me, Songbird?” he asked as he crept down, you could feel his warm breath against your sensitive sex.

You whimpered when he hooked his arms under your thighs, with his hands on either side of your hips.

“Is this okay?” he asked you, raising his head.

When you looked down at him—looking quite content between your thighs—and nodded, he flashed a grin.

"Don't you look like the cat that got the cream?" you giggled.

He pressed his lips against your sensitive inner thigh, you squirmed. Keigo growled playfully, tightening his hold on your hips; he was so tantalizingly close to your aching cunt, it wasn't fair. He planted another gentle kiss ever closer to that sweet spot but not quite, and another.

"Keigo~" you mewled, trying to coax him to where you wanted him—needed him—by gently grabbing him by the hair.

"Mm-hmm?" he murmured, planting another teasing kiss, this time on your other thigh; you bucked your hips into him, whimpering.

"Please don't tea--"

You didn't have the chance to finish your plea when his warm, wet tongue lapped at your clit; it was a strangled yelp that ended the sentence instead. 

Keigo moaned as your grip on his hair tightened, feeling the vibration against your sensitive nub. Whimpering, you lifted your hips, you were rewarded with a sensually slow lick against your quivering entrance.

It was impossible to hear Keigo’s moans over the volume of your own as his tongue slid in and out; it was agonizing how he was teasing you but, deep down, you enjoyed it.

Of course, you did.

“Please~” you begged, followed by the pathetic little whines that fell from your lips when you failed to buck your hips into him more; he was pinning you with his grip on your hips.

“Please’ what?” he implored before engulfing your already swollen clit in his mouth, creating a vacuum as he suckled.

 You wailed.

“Songbird,” his tone was low—a growl, heady with arousal—against your clit; you weren’t sure how much more you could take before you came there and then.

“P-please,” you were stuttering, pleading with him, “I n-need you, Keigo.” Throwing your head back, you gripped onto him harder when his tongue penetrated you. “I… Keigo! Please, fill me up!”

You yelped when his nails dug into your hips; he was delighted when you wriggled beneath him, his tongue savoring your taste as your walls fluttered at the intrusion. It was more than an addiction, the way his tongue roamed your velvety cunt as he hungrily drank in your sweet juices; it was comparable ambrosia to him.

Keigo raised his head, your cheeks flushed when he licked his lips; your abdomen fluttered wildly when he began to crawl up toward you.

“As you wish,” he whispered before planting a delicate kiss against your forehead.

You were a whimpering mess beneath him, whining and mewling unintelligible sounds while he busied a hand around his already throbbing erection; you felt him butt the head of his cock against your tight hole, a bolt of ecstasy shook your entire body.

He watched your body contort beneath him, smirking at the reaction he was eliciting from you. You bent your knees up, opening up your pelvis. Keigo rubbed the tip of his throbbing hard cock up and down; against your clit, against your entrance, and back again.

He stopped, hovering desperately close against your wetness, your warmth; you gave him a timid nod. You braced yourself, holding your arms around his shoulders and neck. Keigo gently pushed the pre-soaked, engorged head of his cock into you, when you winced, he lowered his body close to yours. You felt his warm chest against your naked breasts.

As he pushed further, he felt your entire body tighten until he filled you, his cock stretching you out nicely around his girth. When your walls clenched down on his cock, Keigo let out a desperate, reflexive moan in your ear; it was a domino effect, the more you tightened, the more he moaned.

With his cock nestled deep within your walls, he gently rocked back and forth against you. Feeling him twitch inside you

“Keigo~” you whined while your hands roamed through his long hair, tugging ever so slightly.

He pressed his damp forehead against yours, both of you trying hard to catch your breath. With your senses heightened, everything—everything—felt that much more intense.

He gently slipped his right forearm under your neck, supporting your shoulders, and his left hand gently stroked at the side of your head; his touch may have been soft but it was also electrifying.

Keigo’s lips collided with yours, a mess of spit and tongues. The pull between the desperation of release and the want to savor this moment was unbearable.

You felt the arms he had beneath you tense as he slowly, slowly rocked backward; he was the one whining as his cock pulled from your warmth. His hitched breaths sent a jolt down your spine and your hips arched involuntarily.

With your impatient thrust, his full length filled you to the brim. A pained cry caught in your throat as you gripped onto him tightly; Keigo whimpered and whined into your neck.

“I-I’m sorry,” you told him breathlessly.

A light chuckle broke through the noises he was making.

“N-no, d-don’t be s-sorry,” he stuttered, burying himself further into your neck, “it’s—” your hips gave another buck and he moaned loudly, he felt your slick, tight walls pulsing around him, “—too intense, I—”

As Keigo slowly began to thrust—in, out—you mirrored his movements, hips swaying in unison.

You lifted your legs, panting as you wrapped them around his waist. Keigo hungrily took to your lips again. Keigo moved his left arm move from your head—the light touch of his fingers as he trailed them down your stomach made your nerve endings flutter—he tucked it behind the small of your back.

You yelped, a tightness began to twist inside you.

Nibbling your lip as he broke the kiss, he lifted his head enough for you to see his eyes, like molten gold beneath his heavy eyelids. Using the placement of his hands, he pulled you into him, carefully as he shifted his weight to the side.

Your eyes widened, understanding a little too late what he was doing. His arms gripped you tightly as he pulled you on top of him. A lengthy, desperate moan erupted from within you while his throbbing cock hit deeper and deeper still; the weight of your body bearing down on him roused something immeasurable within you both.

You cried out, falling against his chest and Keigo’s arms were quick to hold you as close to him as possible. You whimpered, grinding and thrusting with neediness against him. Keigo’s head rolled back against the pillow, an incomprehensible grumbling moan escaping from his lolling mouth.  

The friction against your swollen clit was too much and Keigo groaned beneath you as you clenched around him; his cock convulsing. His hands quickly found purchase at your hips, holding you tightly against him. You both panted loudly between your intimate sounds.

“Ke—“ you were unable to finish his name, crying out when Keigo lifted your hips with his hands.

You panted heavily against his chest. Your body may have become limp, but you allowed him to move you as he wished. In—you whimpered—out—you cried; his bulging head brushing back and forth against your most sensitive spot.

You felt as though tiny neurons were firing off in every which direction as the tension continued to build within you; you felt like you were about to explode. You felt Keigo’s movements waver, his breaths shallow groans. You welcomed the wave of pleasure that was sending you both into a frenzy.

“Songbird~” Keigo groaned, his hips thrusting once, twice, a final time.

You sobbed, you felt electric as the pressure built, and built, and built, until that final thrust. Deep within you, the pressure of his thick, hot cum against your enlarged cervix made your vision speckled with white dots. You felt your muscles finally push against his cock, your own cum releasing at your climax.

No words were remarkable enough to describe just how much you’d missed this, this closeness, the comfort—being as one.

Truly home. Truly safe.

Truly free.

Keigo’s fragrant scent enveloped you when you buried your head into his neck, your body trembling under the weight of your sobs; overawed with this pleasure, overstimulated by his soft touch, still so overly sensitive—it was heaven, pure bliss, but it also made you incredibly emotional.

He hugged you tightly, you felt him gently kiss the top of your head.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he told you, his voice sounding so raw, “I gotcha.”

You felt yourself sniffle more, reality had hit you hard and you were suddenly so unsure how to process it. After numbing your pain for months on end, to finally have released in the arms of the one you loved, the wall you’d built finally collapsed. Nothing could take this away from you.

Keigo held onto you with his arm, trying to not move too much, while he grabbed the duvet with his other hand. He did his best at covering you both the best he could, given the circumstances; you were in no rush to remove yourself from his cock, keeping it warm within your slick, velvety pussy. The weight of the duvet added an extra layer of comfort.

He kissed your head again.

“I love you, Songbird,” he breathed, “forever and always.”

“Forever and always,” you repeated, sniffling as euphoric tears flowed freely down your cheek to drop against Keigo’s hot skin.

You lay in each other’s arms, basking in the golden light of the morning, pretty pink shades beginning to take over as the day began anew; as your lives began anew.

[whump-me-all-night-long]

The Jewelry Box: Carnelian’s Undoing

my contribution to Spiral Day, started by @brutal-nemesis

Did I cry while writing this? Absolutely, it was like Niagara Falls over here. This is probably one of the most emotionally draining pieces I’ve ever written. It took me several different sessions, spread out over quite a few days, to get it completed. It’s also one of those where I feel like it’ll never be really and truly ready, so here it is anyways. I hope y’all enjoy it because this was one piece that I was extremely nervous to post and share.

Taglist: @newbornwhumperfly @unicornscotty @itsleighlove @whump-scribbles @getyourwhumphere @skunkandgrenade @penny-for-your-whump @lektric-whump @just-a-whump-lover @thelazywitchphotographer @restrainthenmaime @angstyachesplus @lilbitwhumpy @leaderofthebeanarmy @aquard-skaii @whumprincess @thatgaysnail @finaldreams1106 @reveriedeludesme @kemonoinuzuka @circlingravens @whumpasaurus101 @spicy-wendigo @femmewithadhd @wafflestakethecake @lonesome–hunter @as-a-matter-of-whump let me know if you want to be added/removed!

CW: thoughts of death, like so many thoughts about death, that’s basically the entire piece, acceptance of death (not in a suicidal way, more in a “I’m okay with dying” type way), beating, painful wound cleanings, noncon touching (nonsexual), implied death (but no real death), referenced grief, intimate whumper, creepy whumper, pet whump, being sold, noncon drugging, please please please let me know if I missed anything, this is a rather heavy piece and I want to make sure everyone can read it as safely as possible!

Masterlist

-

He was laying there, unable to move, every single inch of his body aching, a pain he’d never experienced before. Distantly, as if from another life, he heard screams, sobs, pleas that went unanswered. He wanted to move, to get up and comfort the person that had become his entire world, but he was stuck; he couldn’t move a fraction of an inch, no matter how hard he tried.

Soon enough, the horrible sounds of grief and guilt and death were replaced by the shallow, near-silent rattle of his own breath and the pounding of blood in his ears. He knew there was something important that he needed to do, something that he knew his life depended on, but he couldn’t remember what.

So instead, he just stayed there, his broken body sprawled out on the hard floor, blood pooling out from under him like a halo of death.

-

There was movement around him, stirring him from the half-conscious daze he was in, delirious from pain and blood loss. He blinked slowly, vision so blurry he couldn’t make out a thing, surprised to find his eyelashes meeting something wet.

Am I crying? When did I start crying?

A hand in his hair pulled his head up, the part that had been pressed into the floor feeling damp and sticky. Dark eyes met his own glazed gaze, and he saw the flash of teeth. He would’ve flinched if he could, but he couldn’t. 

“Hey there, sugar,” a low, soft voice said. “You took your punishment so well. Played your part like a champ. Now my sweetheart’s breaking, all thanks to you. I knew you’d be absolutely perfect.”

For some reason, he started crying harder at that. No, he thought, I didn’t want to do this. You made me do this. He can’t break, not now. 

Not over me.

The other dropped his head back down, and he went back to drifting, letting all the thoughts fall out of his head.

-

He woke next to the tap tap tap of footsteps. Blinking groggily, he tried to sit up, tried to get up, but the pain lancing through his body prevented him from doing more than rolling over a couple inches. 

A shiny shoe resting on his cheek, pressing his head down, kept him from attempting it again. A face settled in his line of sight, and his lip curled.

The Jeweler stared at him for a moment, a pleasant smile on his face. “Hello, sugar,” he said, removing his foot and replacing it with his hand, which stroked his face in a way that made him want to push him off, but his body was still not responding to him.

He swallowed several times before cracking open his mouth. “What-” His voice was rough and hoarse, sending a cough through him. “What did you do to, to me? Where- where is he?” Panic started overwhelming him, crashing over him and pulling him down, drowning him.

He couldn’t remember anything. He had been in his cell, whispering with his world, and then there was nothingness, blankness, emptiness. Tears pricked in his eyes, and he took a shaky, shuddering breath that ended up sounding like a sob. 

The Jeweler moved his hand to comb through his hair, still softly smiling. “Shh, shh,” he soothed. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about any of that. You don’t need to remember any of this. What you need is to forget. You’re going someplace new, and you’re leaving all of this behind. Okay, sugar?”

He tried to shake his head, but it was barely more than a twitch. No, no I don’t want that. Please, don’t kill me, don’t make me leave, I can’t leave him, please.

The Jeweler laughed softly. “My silly sugar,” he said, voice dripping with condescension. “Just relax, okay?”

“Please,” he managed to whisper before his head was set back down.

The Jeweler stood, grabbing something out of his line of sight. When he did see what it was, the fat tears rolled down his face even harder. The large needle, filled with a menacing amber liquid, came close to his neck, piercing it easily with him weak and nearly paralyzed. His mouth opened to whine softly at the cold flooding into him, before it withdrew and was left alone again.

His eyes found the Jeweler and he sobbed, begging, “Please, not this, anything but this.” He just smiled.

-

He didn’t so much as wake up next as he did rise to consciousness, suddenly and roughly. Hands, too many hands, were touching him, grabbing him, manhandling him.

A low groan slipped out of him as he tried and failed to open his eyes and he heard a muttered curse. 

“It wasn’t supposed to wear off yet, was it?” someone asked in a hushed voice.

“Who cares?” someone else responded. “It’s not like it’ll remember any of this anyways.”

He whimpered and the hands resumed their work. He could feel them harshly cleaning out his wounds, bandaging them up. The people surrounding him were thorough, his gently throbbing muscles telling him that much, and it felt like an eternity before they were done.

He sighed as they set him back down, ready to slip back off to oblivion, but then they were back, pulling at his clothing, taking it off-

He yelped as the cold air hit his sensitive skin, struggling against the hands. Weak as he was, it barely affected them, but he still heard several more curses as flailing limbs knocked into them. A backhanded slap had him stilling, though, knocking all the fight out of him and leaving him even more dizzy and disoriented than he was before.

He let them pull new clothes onto him, although they felt less like clothes and more like scraps of cold, thin cloth that barely covered him. He shivered and whimpered, high in his throat, face burning, desperately wishing he was anywhere else in the world.

Another voice joined the fray, this one too painfully familiar. “Is he ready?”

A chorus of “yes, sir”s followed, and then hands grabbed at his arms, lifting him up and dragging him along. His head rolled wildly, completely out of his control.

After what felt like an eternity, he was dropped yet again onto cold floors, crumpled in a heap. He whimpered as his head knocked against the hard tile, eyes struggling to stay open. 

Distantly, he heard the Jeweler barking orders. He let the words wash over him, floating around him, unable to pierce his drug-induced bubble of semi-consciousness. 

Instead, he let his thoughts drift back to him. The him that had started all of this, that he’d known since day one, that had helped him and held him, guided him and encouraged him. The him that had loved him. The him that he had loved.

It took him several moments to realize that he was crying again, silent, salty tears dripping down his face, causing the small cuts littering his skin to burn faintly. He knew he was about to die. He wasn’t scared. Angry, yes. Sad, yes. But scared? No, he wasn’t scared of death at all.

He used to be scared of being stuck in this hell on earth for the rest of his life, of never escaping, always stuck in this stasis. Now, he was scared of leaving him behind, not knowing what was going to happen to the person he was about to die for. Wherever he went after this, he didn’t want him to follow very quickly.

No, he wanted him to escape, to forget, to live. He wanted him to find someone else, someone new, to make him happy, who understood and forgave. Maybe one day he’d tell this new person about the old one, the one who had been sacrificed to get him there. 

There was only one regret he had. The one thing they’d sworn never to say, he wished he had said. And he wished he had heard it in return.

I promise, if I make it out of this, the first thing I’ll do when I escape - when, not if - is find you and tell you that I lo-

He was yanked out of his thoughts by hands grabbing him, lifting him. One last tear rolled down his face, into his hairline. He took a deep breath, one of his last. He felt ready to die. He didn’t mind dying, not for this reason.

He wondered, vaguely, how he would go. Would it be a bullet? Fire? Knife? Poison?

It was none of those things. 

He was placed inside a large wooden box. His hands were easily tied behind his back with what felt like silky ropes, and his ankles were forced together with the same material. A cloth gag was placed in his mouth, securely fastened around his head. He blinked slowly, confusion evident on his face. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

Somewhere above him, the Jeweler stood, seen through flashes of dark hair and pale skin, sparkling teeth and bright eyes. He reached down into the box to cup his cheek, stroking a smooth thumb over his skin, pressing lightly into a blooming bruise there.

“Just a bit beat up, right, sugar?” he said, almost.. gently? “By the time you get there, you’ll be nearly back to full health, I dare say.” There? Where was there? “Just close your eyes now, and stay calm, alright? You’re doing such a good job here, making me a wonderful sum along with a new business associate. You’ve really been the perfect Jewel for me, sugar.”

The hand withdrew, and he almost found himself missing the warmth of it when the light above him was cut off, something large being placed over the top of the box. It wasn’t until a painfully loud whirring sound started that he realized that it was the lid, and it was being drilled down, secure and unable to be broken.

Then the box was being lifted into the air and he went rolling as much as he could, unable to stop himself due to his restrained limbs. There was a hard thump and he banged his head against the side of the box, immediately losing consciousness.

-

When he woke up next, he was still in the box. It seemed like it was in some sort of plane, gliding smoothly through the air, occasionally tilting to one side or the other. He breathed in a ragged breath, most of his memories coming back to him. As he struggled to pull himself up into somewhat of a sitting position, he remembered three things, three very important things:

One. His name was Carnelian. He’d all but forgotten the name he had before that. The name that mattered was Carnelian.

Two. He was supposed to be dead, but he wasn’t. Instead, he was being sold, shipped off to God knows where, to God knows who.

Three. He had to get back to Sapphire. He had to find the love of his life again, rescue him and tell him that he loved him.

[trulivin]

All I Want

A/N: Surprise surprise! I actually finished another request yay! So here you all are my JJ people. I would like to say this is a little deep I’d say. There is mentions of rape which was a little hard to write, and it’s centered around anxiety. 

Both of those topics are serious matters of discussion and if anyone is in need of help speak up. It’s best to be heard and get help with whatever situation you find yourself in. 

AND y’all I do NOT hate Drew whatsoever. He played a great Rafe. Honestly, love that man as much as Rudy (ok maybe not that much), but just wanted to point that out. It’s just the character so don’t give me shit about hating on Drew for all you Rafe fans out there lmao. 

To the nonny who requested, I hope this is what you were looking for! As always please send feedback! Comment, like, etc. I’ll get another request done at some point so keep baring with me please.

JJ x Reader, Outer Banks

Warnings: mentions of rape and anxiety

*Credits go to original owner!*

It was a particularly warm day on the Cut when Y/N, JJ, and Pope were going to make a grocery delivery to the Figure Eight. Kie was off with John B and Sarah doing something probably more fun than delivering groceries, but Y/N had been kind enough to offer Pope some help, dragging her boyfriend along. JJ complained the entire way to Heyward’s. 

“I don’t see why we have to help,” he whined as Y/N dragged him along. “It’s a perfect day to go surfing.” “Which we can do afterwards,” she said, tugging him along by his hand. JJ groaned, but ran into Y/N as she stopped. The tan girl turned to face him, placed both hands on his chest as he wrapped his arms around her, and looked up at him through her long lashes, a hint of mischief in her eyes. 

“If you would stop complaining, we can do more than just surf later,” she drawled, standing on her toes to whisper in his ear. JJ practically melted as he felt her lips brush his ear and trace his skin. He leaned down trying to steal a kiss, but Y/N slipped out of his arms and ran down the dock with a giggle. “Seriously?” JJ called after her, jogging to catch up.

Y/N and JJ had been together for a solid two years. John B never would have thought his best friend would be able to hold down a relationship for that long, but alas, the blond proved him otherwise. Of course the crew had the no-Pogue-on-Pogue macking rule, but did it really apply to Y/N and JJ? They had been friends long before he met John B and the rest of the crew. 

Kie knew the moment Y/N’s feelings changed from friendship to romantic, and John B knew he’d never seen JJ so smitten with someone, so the rest was history. 

“Hey, what did we say about PDA?” Pope groaned as Y/N and JJ approached the boat. “That it’s perfectly okay as long as we aren’t groping each other?” Y/N offered with a smirk. Pope rolled his eyes and JJ let out a hearty laugh as the two climbed on board. 

“As long as it doesn’t stop you from making these deliveries,” Heyward commented. 

The four worked as a team, loading all the groceries on board. Finally, they got everything packed in and were off to the other side of the island. Y/N watched the homes roll by and slowly transform into huge mansions. She wrung her hands a bit at the thought of entering Kook territory, but pushed her nervousness aside. 

“You’ll be okay,” JJ said, coming up beside his girlfriend. He knew she struggled with a bit of anxiety, and it didn’t help when Kooks would mess with her. 

Y/N shot him a small smile as he wrapped an arm around her. She leaned in a bit and listened to his steady breathing, matching her breath with his. A wave of relief washed over her and she felt herself back to normal. 

Y/N absolutely hated this about herself. No matter how many times JJ would tell her that’s what made her who she is and how much he loves her because of it, Y/N would still find herself shying away from help. Of course she let JJ help whenever she was in one of her spells, but she had always been reluctant. Her anxiety made her feel weak, and the Kooks could practically smell it on her. 

That wasn’t to say she couldn’t throw a punch and handle herself in a fight. She was a Pogue after all. But, Y/N had never been a fan of small spaces and seemed to be nervous over small things such as social interactions. Somehow, some of the Kooks figured out she was never good when she was cornered either. 

The Pogues were always careful not to leave her alone when any Kooks were around despite her protests. That just made her feel even weaker when she had personal bodyguards, but they still wouldn’t listen. JJ was the most concerned. She knew he meant well, but he would lose his shit if anyone laid a hand on his girl. Especially now that he had the gun. 

Y/N really did appreciate her friends’ efforts to keep her safe, but it still annoyed her a bit. Yet, what could she do? Her friends were the closest thing to a normal family. 

Sighing a bit, Y/N and JJ went over to help Pope dock the boat. “So most of this stuff is going to the club house so Y/N can come with me,” Pope said sorting through the bags. JJ gave him a skeptical look, grabbing a few of the resident’s orders. 

“I’ll be fine JJ,” Y/N said. Pope shot the pair a glance, deciding it would be best to let the couple work out the situation. “What if we made two trips and you can go with me?” JJ suggested, failing miserably at hiding his concern. Y/N rolled her eyes, “Seriously, I can take care of myself. Besides I haven’t had an anxiety attack in like years so I’m fine.” 

“I just think it would be better if you were with me,” JJ shrugged. “Quality couple time.” 

“As if you two don’t already spend every waking moment with each other,” Pope muttered under his breath. JJ shot him a glare. 

“Pope is right,” Y/N said, starting to get irritated. “It doesn’t make sense to make two trips when there are three of us. The club is kind of far too.” JJ studied her for a moment realizing she was genuinely annoyed with him, so he let up. “Fine,” he muttered, situating the bags on his arms and hopping off the boat. “See you ladies later!” JJ called over his shoulder, his voice returned to its normal goofiness. 

Y/N grabbed the rest of the bags and followed Pope off the boat as well. “You know we are just trying to look out for you,” Pope started. Y/N rolled her eyes a bit. “Look I get it, but I’m not weak. I can take care of myself. Pogue-style, baby,” Y/N replied. 

Pope laughed a bit and nodded in agreement. “You sure can throw a punch,” he said causing the girl to smile. “And you rival JJ in the craziness a bit.” “I do not!” Y/N laughed, playfully shoving him. The two went on like this bickering back and forth as they made their way past one of the tee boxes. 

Unbeknownst to them, two Kooks watched as the Pogues made their way across their golf course. “Hey, hey,” Rafe said, smacking Topper’s chest and pointing to Y/N and Pope. “Shiiit,” Topper said watching the girl and boy. “Yo, when did Y/N get hot?” Topper commented. “Bro she’s always been pretty hot for a Pogue,” Rafe responded as he started walking towards the pair. 

“Hey!” he and Topper called. Y/N’s face paled immediately as she heard the sound of the infamous Kooks. Pope sucked in a breath and said, “It’ll be fine.” “Yeah after they caved your face in last time you were here,” Y/N hissed, turning to face the boys coming towards them. 

“What’d I say about coming back on our side of the island?” Rafe snarled, reaching Pope. “Oh so you want to go pick up your own groceries then?” Y/N stepped up in front of Pope. She may have anxiety, but she sure as hell wouldn’t let any Kooks walk all over her friends. Topper smirked and stepped forward too. 

Y/N did her best not to suck back as two Kooks towered over her, but Rafe caught her flinch a bit, a wicked smile curving up on his lips. “Where’s blondie, Y/N?” he smirked. “Not here to protect you?” 

Pope shoved him back away from Y/N who now seemed to be at a loss for words. No she told herself. “Get your nasty Pogue hands off me,” Rafe snapped, lunging at Pope. All the groceries were spilled as Y/N was knocked out of the way. She hit the ground feeling the side of her face scrape on the gravel.

Y/N groaned in pain, but pushed herself off the ground to see Rafe and Topper shoving Pope around. “Get off of him Topper!” she screamed, jumping on his back. The Kook easily shoved her off as he and Rafe kept messing with her friend. His nose was bleeding and he was covered in a can of beer that Topper thought it would be funny to dump on him. 

“Stop!” Y/N screamed again. “What, he your boyfriend now?” Topper mocked. “No wonder Sarah dumped you! Jackass,” Y/N snarled, shoving him away from Pope. Rafe stopped punching Pope in the face and stood up. Pope lay on the ground groaning in pain. 

Topper’s face went dark. “Don’t you dare,” he hissed. “When did you get a mouth on you?” Rafe smirked again slowly approaching Y/N. “It’s kinda hot.”

Y/N gulped and felt her legs subconsciously back away. She felt the walls begin to close in as the two boys stalked towards her. “Please, don’t,” her voice cracked, giving her fear away. It was like a feeding frenzy for sharks. Y/N turned to run, but Topper caught her before she could get anywhere. 

“Get off!” Y/N yelped, as she struggled with her back pressed against his chest. “You’ll pay. You Pogue’s took one of us, so we’ll just take you for an even trade. Seems fair? Right Rafe?” Topper said. “No,” Pope tried getting up but Rafe punched him in the face again before turning back to Y/N.

“That’s right Topper,” Rafe grinned, “I’m sure your boyfriend wouldn’t mind.” Y/N was still flailing as she felt the walls begin to close in every step Rafe took. 

“Please! Just let me go!” she felt tears burn in her eyes. “Now now, don’t cry,” Rafe cooed, brushing a stray tear from her face. The wall was right in front of her now, sucking her air out. Y/N began gasping.

“I haven’t got laid in awhile,” Rafe said. Y/N’s stomach dropped to the ground. Even Topper seemed to release his grip a bit. “Wait, bro--” Topper started. “Might I remind you Topper,” Rafe cut in, “Her idiotic boyfriend put a gun to your head, and that long-haired surfer friend of hers stole your girlfriend.”

Y/N let out a choked sob. “Please,” she flailed again, but Topper still didn’t let go. Y/N literally screamed as Rafe grabbed her hips, allowing her to shirt to ride up a bit, his hands grazing over her exposed skin. “Stop!” Pope jumped up, but was shoved off by Rafe. “Dude seriously. This isn’t cool,” Topper cut in, releasing Y/N. Rafe ignored him, pulling Y/N up off the ground and digging his hands into her waist. 

“Pretty hot for a Pogue,” he whispered in her ear. Y/N’s eyes were watering as she took shallow breaths. Y/N let out a blood-curdling scream as Rafe placed a chaste kiss on her neck. She fought, scratched, kicked, flailed, trying to get out of his grasp. Her lungs burned and she felt like she was being crushed. 

As she tried to let out another scream, Rafe clamped a hand over her mouth and she felt like she was drowning. “Dude!” Y/N faintly heard Topper. “Rafe, c’mon man! Let her go!” Pope yelled, struggling to get up. 

In a matter of seconds, though, Rafe was ripped off Y/N. “Get the fuck off!” a familiar voice shouted. But, it wasn’t the voice she was looking for. “Rafe, what the fuck?” a girl’s voice shouted. Sarah. Y/N was sobbing and trying to take in air, but she couldn’t stop trembling. 

“Hey hey it’s okay,” someone’s hand was on her back. Kie. 

“Bro! Bro!” there was a lot of shouting. 

“John B! Get off, you made your point man!” 

“Let’s go!” 

Y/N saw two blurred shapes running away from them. A familiar figure approached her. “JJ?” she gasped. “No, no, it’s me, John B,” he said. Y/N flinched away and started crying harder. She just wanted JJ. 

“No hey hey you’re okay,” Kie’s voice rang out in her ear. Sarah knelt down on her other side and helped her up. Y/N’s lungs were on fire and she still found herself being suffocated by the walls. “Where’s…” Y/N gasped, more sobs coming out. “I--I don’t know, but we should get back to the boat. He may be there waiting,” Sarah said rubbing her arm gently. 

Y/N cried harder, collapsing into Kie. John B went to help but the girl shot him a look telling him to stay back.

“All...” gasp. “I want…” gasp. “JJ…”

With the help from Sarah, the girls managed to get Y/N back to the boat with John B and Pope trailing after them. JJ was not back yet. 

Y/N collapsed onto the ground in a corner, jumping away from all of her friends who were trying to help. As they tried approaching her slowly, all the girl felt were the walls getting tighter. Sadly, none of the Pogues really knew how to help her besides JJ. They had never seen her in this particular state.

At this point, Y/N was struggling for air as if she were drowning and was on the verge of passing out. “Guys, guys, back up,” Kie said. “We’re making it worse.” 

“But how are we supposed to get her to stop?” John B snapped, running a hand through his hair. “Where the hell is JJ?” Sarah said looking around. 

The group all tried reassuring Y/N from a safe distance, but nothing seemed to work. 

“Yo! You will not believe how well these old guys tipped!” the voice they were all waiting for yelled on the dock. 

“They gave me like--whoa what happened? When did you guys get--” JJ stopped in his tracks at the sight of all of his friends circled around his beat-up girlfriend. What the hell? Why’s her pretty face damaged? He started fuming. 

JJ immediately shoved past Pope and Kie towards the girl in the corner. 

“Hey! Hey! It’s me,” he said, not hesitating as Y/N tried backing away. As if something in her mind clicked, her body went limp as JJ pulled her into his chest, leaning himself back on the wall. Her breaths were still straggled and she was still trembling but she quit fighting. 

“Hey, Y/N,” JJ said softly. “H-hey,” she tried taking a breath, but it caught in her throat. “Shhhh,” he held on to her tighter, wrapping his arm around her head and putting her ear to his chest. “Listen to my heart, and breath with me.”

The Pogues watched silently in awe as Y/N began breathing normally. 

“Good, keep going,” JJ encouraged kindly. John B had never seen JJ this way, but he really saw how close the two actually were. He pulled Sarah tight to his side. 

“You wanna tell the group what we’re gonna do when we go full Kook?” JJ asked, glancing down at Y/N before looking up at their friends. He felt Y/N flinch after he said the word Kook. His gut turned at the thought this was brought on by a Kook. 

“Never mind,” he said quickly. “Tell them about that dream you had of us. Off the island.” He knew his friends were studying him closely. They’d never really seen this side of him. He was always coping with his own problems in his own way, but this was how Y/N got to see him. JJ let his guard down with her the most. And while he loved to joke around, get stoned, wasted, and all that, he was still human. 

Y/N slowly nodded, her breaths becoming more even. “I--I had this dream,” she started with a shaky voice, “JJ and I were in a uh little house, away from here.” 

Sarah clung to John B as tears welled in her eyes as she watched the girl in JJ’s arms. She always saw Y/N as this tough Pogue who wouldn’t take shit from anyone regardless of her own problems. She never knew Y/N struggled like this, and it broke Sarah’s heart. 

Kie had a faint idea of what Y/N was really struggling with but she had never seen her friend in this state. The sight of her, curled in JJ’s arms, trying to talk about something that was for certain extremely personal between the couple, made her heart break as well. 

“W-we had a little house, and two blond headed boys running circles around us,” Y/N cracked a weak smile as the group let out a light laugh, the tension finally breaking. “And you,” she raised a more steady hand pointing at John B and Sarah, “you two would come over for dinner with your girls and we’d watch Kie and Pope on the news being superstars.” 

“That sounds wonderful,” Sarah smiled. 

Y/N, at last, took a deep strong breath. Color was already returning to her face as she slowly regained her composure. John B and Pope went to untie the boat and soon enough, they were on their way back to their side of the island. 

JJ didn’t release Y/N, but looked to Pope for answers. 

“What happened?” he tried holding in his anger for Y/N’s sake. 

“We were taking the stuff up to the club and Topper and Rafe came up,” Pope said slowly. JJ felt Y/N tense under his arms and he gave her a reassuring squeeze. 

No one dared speak a word as to what happened next. 

JJ got the hint, though. “Then?” he pressed. 

“R-Rafe,” Y/N started, and he was shocked to hear her talking about it. “No, no, you don’t…” the words died in JJ’s mouth. “He, he tried--” 

JJ knew immediately. Y/N felt his body go rigid and didn’t say the words. She didn’t even want to think about it. “I’ll kill him,” JJ hissed. 

“John B about did,” Kie said. Sarah seemed to be looking away from them. Y/N knew what she was thinking. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Y/N said softly. Sarah turned to her with a sad look on her face. “But he’s my brother,” she whispered. Y/N shook her head, “He’s not you Sarah. Stop beating yourself up.”

“Y/N…”

“This is how it is for us Pogues. We’re all a little broken somehow. Well maybe except Kie,” Y/N chuckled a bit, leaning back on JJ who was still seething. Sarah gave her a small smile and sat down by John B’s legs. “Anyways,” John B continued, “Kie, Sarah, and I were getting ice cream by the course, and heard Y/N scream so we came and helped.” 

JJ stood up completely knocking Y/N over. She shot him a glare rather than going back to hyperventilating. “Pope! Turn around! I’m going to rip his face off,” JJ snarled. “No,” Y/N said, standing up facing him. “Just forget it. Don’t give him the satisfaction.” 

JJ stared at her in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?” he was trying not to yell at Y/N. However, the girl just stared at him with a raised brow. JJ stared back. 

“What is going on?” Sarah asked. 

“Shh, they do this all the time,” John B replied. 

Soon enough JJ broke his gaze and sat down pulling Y/N back into his arms. Y/N had a triumphant look in her eyes as they continued on. “Oh my god,” Sarah laughed. 

“Shut up,” JJ mumbled resting his head on Y/N’s shoulder. 

Later that night, in the Chateau, Y/N and JJ were curled together in the small bed of the guest room. “Are you okay?” JJ finally asked after hours. Moments like these were saved for behind closed doors and just the two of them. 

Y/N thought for a moment and then nodded. “I am now,” she said in the darkness. His arms gave her a little squeeze. “But, how,” JJ hesitated, “how can you let me hold you like this after what happened?” he asked shyly. Y/N rolled over to look at him in the darkness. 

JJ’s eyes were swimming with concern. She pressed her lips to his, savoring his warm breath and body before pulling away. His kisses were always soft and sexy at the same time. 

“Because you’re you,” Y/N answered, resting her forehead on his. “I’m still a guy,” JJ muttered. Y/N let out a laugh. “You don’t get it. You’re the only one I want. You’re the guy who knows me the best. You know how to deal with my problems. You’ve known me since we were literally babies. Sure, we’ve known John B for a long time, but he doesn’t know me like you,” Y/N said. 

“But--” JJ started but was cut off. 

“JJ, you’re the one I’m in love with and have been since as long as I can remember. I trust you with my life. Yeah, you baby me sometimes, but I’ve accepted that’s how it comes being with you.” 

“I love you too,” he whispered.

It was JJ’s turn to place a kiss on her lips. She sighed, content at how soft his were. Their lips molded together like two puzzle pieces as he pressed his body closer to hers. She let her mouth open as he ran his tongue over her lips resulting in a low moan. His hands tugged her waist and pulled her on top of him just as they did plenty of times before. 

This time, though, it wasn’t like they were going to have sex. It was more of a tender kiss. A declaration of their love for one another as cheesy as it sounds. 

Eventually, they both turned up for air, and Y/N fell back next to JJ. He wrapped his arm around her again as she rested her head on his chest. “We’ll get out of here one day,” JJ said with a promise in his voice. “I won’t doubt that,” she smiled. “But I’ll kill Rafe first,” he said. Y/N laughed a bit again. 

“No you won’t. Then you’ll go to prison, and I don’t want you to go to prison. Besides, Rafe is always tweaked. Everyone knows that,” Y/N snorted. “Well I’m always smoking weed,” JJ offered. 

“Aren’t all the Pogues though? There’s a difference between weed and cocaine too.”

JJ groaned causing Y/N to let out another laugh. “You’re always so optimistic.” 

“Yes yes I know,” Y/N giggled. “But I know you love it cause otherwise you would’ve dumped me a long time ago.” “I would never dump you. You’re too good for this place, Y/N” JJ mumbled squeezing her again. 

Slowly but surely, the couple then fell asleep, content and safe from everything the cruel world would throw at them, in each other’s arms.

_______________________________________________

Not really sure I like the ending but it is what it is I suppose. It’s more about the story in the middle. Plus I really don’t think I’m good at writing endings so yea. Enjoy m’dears!

xoxo

[jay4firefic]

“Get Me”

You didn't give me characters so I picked! I kind of split the difference between this and "break me", sorry not sorry. TW for mentions of suicide (not our boys), drinking, implied alcoholism, and Kelly Severide being a giant goddamn mess.

Matt Casey has talked a lot of people off ledges, both real and figurative, in not quite twenty years as a Chicago firefighter. It’s just as terrifying now as it was the first time, holding a life not in his hands but with his words. Knowing that if he doesn’t find the right thing to say they’ll step over an edge they can never come back from. Knowing that sometimes even if he does they’ll do it anyway. But just like he told Boden years ago, these days he can usually tell whether they’re going to go through with it or not.

For one horrible, endless moment after he steps out onto the roof he has no sense of whether Kelly intends to step over the edge he’s teetering on.

“Sev,” he calls, forcing himself to take slow, deliberate steps across the rooftop. Past the tipped over folding chairs they dragged up here not long after Kelly first moved in, past cigar butts, past a six pack’s worth of shattered glass and drying beer, past scattered drops of red that make his heart rate creep upwards. Kelly barely even twitches as his footsteps crunch on gravel near the half-wall that surrounds the roof. “Sev, man, why don’t you come down from there before you trip?”

“He’s gone.” Kelly’s voice is a rasp, like he’s been smoking or screaming for hours. Maybe both. This close Matt can see the blood dripping slowly down the outside of the whiskey bottle in his hand before freefalling three stories to the alley below. A superficial wound, thankfully, probably inflicted by one of the many broken bottles behind them. “He moved his flight so he wouldn’t have to talk to me.”

Matt winces. “I know. Kidd told me.”

Something vaguely like anger bubbles up through his concern - how could Buck leave like this? Leave 51, leave Kelly? Leave Matt to pick up the pieces of his best friend for the third or fifth or thousandth time? - and dies away just as fast. This is the end of the road Kelly was headed down with or without Buck. It was always just a matter of which one of them was going to be left trying to make him see that there are other paths still open.

“He’s gone,” Kelly repeats, his voice breaking. Matt side steps until he can lean his hip on the wall and get a good look at Kelly’s face in the dying light, bites back a sigh of relief at what he sees there. Plenty of hopelessness and heartbreak - but anger, too. As long as Kelly Severide is pissed off, Matt figures he’s got the will to live. He’s too damn spiteful to die without settling his scores.”I thought - I thought we could fix it. I was going to…”

Propose, Matt finishes silently when Kelly holds up the object in his other hand. He remembers Kelly showing him the ring months ago - before Benny died, before the drinking started, back when Matt ordered a replacement turnout coat that just said Buck because he figured it was easier than ordering another one following the inevitable name change. Now Kelly bounces the velvet box carelessly before winding up as if to throw it, his whole body swaying drunkenly as his balance shifts.

Matt takes the opportunity presented by Kelly’s distraction to grab his raised wrist, throw his other arm around Kelly’s middle, and haul backwards with all his strength. They hit the concrete rooftop hard and struggle wildly for a moment. Matt is man enough to admit that on an average day, Kelly would win the struggle easily. But it’s not an average day, the whiskey bottle that rolls out of Kelly’s hand is nearly empty, and the only reason Matt catches an elbow in the eye is because Kelly’s drunken flailing is unpredictable. It doesn’t take long after that to subdue him.

Kelly curses and spits with all the dignity of his three legged cat - is she still his cat? Her bowls and tree were still there in the entry, but maybe Buck picked her up on his way out of town - until Matt drops more weight onto the knee he’s using to pin Kelly to the ground and the fight drains out of him. Matt counts to thirty in his head before standing and giving Kelly space to roll over, holding out a hand to help him up as well. Instead of taking it Kelly sits up and curls in on himself, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes with a raw, keening sound, the ring box forgotten on the ground near his hip.

It dawns on Matt slowly that Kelly is crying. Not the suppressed sniffles from Darden and Shay’s funerals or the silent, angry tears he shed when Buck was hooked up to too many beeping machines in the ICU, but big ugly drunken sobs. Matt freezes. There’s a manual for how to handle possible jumpers, but he’s never found a guide for what to do when someone cries and no one ever showed him how. Emotions like that were frowned upon in the Casey household.

He figures Kelly probably doesn’t want the only solution Casey has ever found - a crushing hug for a crying partner - and he doesn’t feel like getting hit again for trying. Sitting down next to him and bumping their shoulders together seems like a reasonable compromise, and conveniently allows him to palm the ring box and shove it into his coat pocket for safekeeping. He thinks - he hopes - that Kelly is going to need it back someday.

“He’s gone,” Kelly keeps repeating, his words beginning to slur together. Matt eyes the empty bottle a few feet away, the broken glass behind them, and does the math on how long it’s been since Kidd called to say Kelly was leaving her apartment in a rage after finding Buck gone. He doesn’t like the result.

“How much did you have to drink, buddy?”

Kelly makes a wounded noise.

“I’m serious, Sev. Do you need a hospital?”

“No,” Kelly mumbles, his weight against Matt’s side growing heavier as he seems to lose either the will or the ability to sit up. “Just had a few drinks. ‘S not a problem. Don’t have a problem.”

Matt has heard the same refrain off and on for months now. I don’t have a problem. It’s just a few drinks. I don’t need a babysitter, man. Buck’s making it sound worse than it is. I can stop anytime I want, I just don’t fucking want to.

“Yeah,” he sighs, digging out his phone one handed to send a text: Need help. Bring IV. “You do. But we’re gonna get you through it, alright? You and me, we’re gonna get through it, just like we always do.”

[arcane-apathy]

F Drider X F Reader

AN: Welcome to a new little mini-series of mine. I have been dying to write a drider story for the longest time now. This story is the first of my high fantasy genre, all my other stories have been modern fantasy or sci-fi. But this one is pure fantasy. I’m very slowly trying to make my content applicable for a wider audience as well. Anyways... Thank y’all for your support, and I hope you’ll enjoy! 

Warning(s): Swearing, Violence, Injuries, Mention of Sexual Assault, Death, Alcohol, Brief Mention of Nudity

  The Bloodroot Forest was the last place you expected to make camp in. When you first saw it on the map you tried everything to avoid it. But, the forest was massive and would take weeks for you to circumvent. Upon arrival you discovered the name of it is scarier than the actual forest. Simply named after the dark red sap that flowed from the otherwise normal trees. The forest was calm, the paths well worn and old, and the deer were brave. 

  Your camp was measly and made of the bare necessities, product of a rushed escape. War has ravaged your community, forcing everyone to seek refuge in new places. You have yet to find a suitable home, one far enough away so you wouldn’t need to flee again. For now you lived out of your bag, foraging for food, and with a stiff back. But, whenever you wanted to complain, you had to remind yourself of what your fate would’ve been if you hadn’t left home. 

  The forest was peaceful at night as you laid on your makeshift bed, tightly wrapped up in your cloak. The wind gently tosses the branches above you and the occasional noise of an animal. Just as you were about to sleep, the noises changed. The nocturnal birds stopped chirping and you could hear the animals running further away from you. And you didn’t dare to move. Animals only left when they were scared and if the deer that were brave enough to mosey into your camp earlier were scared, something big was coming. 

  Very slowly you sat up, straining your ears for any hint as to what was coming. The silence was bone chilling. Then there was a rustle. You couldn’t tell exactly where it was coming from, which didn’t put you at any ease. Slowly your hand landed on the blade at your waist, a gift from your uncle after coming of age. 

  “Well, what do I have here?” You quickly cover your mouth to keep from screaming, turning around to look behind you. Yet no one was there. “Look up.” Out of sheer curiosity you obeyed, your eyes quickly met with large pure black eyes and pincers. You try to scramble away from them, only to find yourself hitting the tree behind you. Driders were a force to be reckoned with, most of them being mercenaries or guards to those of importance. But, encountering one in their natural habitat was another story. Here they were territorial and followed no laws. 

  The Drider smirks as he hangs above you, his black and white legs twitch in anticipation as he watches you, “I knew I smelt something off earlier. Now I know what it is.” His pitch black hand reached out to touch you, “and you do smell divine.” Normally when a scent-sensitive person no matter what race they were compliments you on your scent, it would fill you with a sense of pride. But this just felt wrong on so many levels. “So girly, what are you doing in my territory?” 

  You shy away from his hand, glancing up and the red and black abdomen above you, “just passing through, I promise to be gone by morning.” 

  He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, his pincers rising as he frowns, “see I can't just let you through without any way to pay." You could now feel the heat of his breath fanning over you as he gets even closer. Sadly with his advantage of four arms he managed to grab a hold of your wrist. "But, I can easily think of a way for you to pay." 

  Now it was your turn to frown, "I don't think so." His grip tightened, promoting you to tighten your grip on your blade. Thankful it was hidden within your cloak. 

  "You don't have a choice", he hisses and tries to pull you off of the ground. You pull out your blade as fast as you could, using the momentum to slice his arm. The Drider hisses in pain as you scurry out from underneath him, bolting into the foliage not even bothering to look back. If you were lucky you'd be able to return for your things at a later time. But your safety was more important than your measly possessions. 

  You knew it was crazy to try and outrun a being with eight legs and the instincts of an apex predator. But it was all you had. It didn’t take long for the muscles in your leg to start to burn. The cool night air felt like freezing on your skin and like a fire in your lungs. And you could hear him gaining on you. 

  “Get back here you little bitch,” he hissed. Which only prompted you to run faster, despite how much it hurt. You could hear that he was taunting you, but you didn’t bother to actually listen to what he was saying. All you focused on was the ground in front of you, avoiding the tree roots at all costs. But what you didn’t account for was webbing. The silk was basically invisible in the dark, and thick enough to trip you. 

  You fall onto your shoulder with a cry, pain blossoming along your left-hand side like a spiteful flower. The branches and roots doing little to cushion your fall. Desperately you crawl to your hands and knees. Doing everything in your power to keep any semblance of distance between you and the Drider. But his laugh was already too close for comfort. Before you know it, you're grabbed by the hair and lifted off the ground. You couldn't help but scream as he pinned you to a nearby tree. His two pairs of arms being a natural advantage, "got you now."

  You kick at his chest, using every ounce of strength to push him away. But it just wasn't enough. You couldn't reach for your blade, and any attempt to wiggle out if his grasp was in vain. "Let me go!" 

  "Yeah right, after you've cut me with your blade. Nice try you little wench, but I'm going have fun with you until you take your last breath," his grip on your arms tightened to emphasize his point.  

  “Put her down brother,” a more effeminate voice calls out to him. Your breath catches in your throat as the source of the voice steps out of the shadows. The male Drider was large in comparison to you, but the female that entered the clearing made him look small. Much like the male, her skin, eyes, and hair were a pure black. Instead of a red and black abdomen, her arachnid body was pitch black. As she got closer the more the male dwarfed in comparison. 

  “The bitch was in my territory and she cut me.” 

  “And now you’re in my territory and I don’t care, let her go.” 

  The male looks at you, then back to the larger female with a frown, “fine.” Then he literally dropped you. You fall to the ground with a whimper, using your good arm to sit yourself back up. “Why even bother protecting her? She’d make a better meal than friend.” You struggle to get up, only realizing you were caged in by his legs and the tree. 

  “It doesn’t matter. My territory, my rules,” she slowly walks closer. “Step away from her.” Nobody moves, especially not the male Drider. All you heard was her sigh, heavy with disappointment, then all hell broke loose. The two Driders charge at each other, the male desperately trying to claw at her before she pushes him away. You watch in fear and awe, scrambling back into some bushes for safety. The male notices you moving and tries to lunge for you, but the female beats him to it as she stands over you. 

  “You really want to fight your own family over a pathetic human?” 

  “My morals mean more to me than you ever will.” She charges him again and picks him up before slamming him onto his back. Her pincers rise as she lets out a bone-chilling hiss of anger. With ease she climbs atop him, using her weight to hold him down. Her hands swiftly find their way around his throat. His legs flail and try to push her off, and he claws at her arms. But she did not let up. Instead you heard a sickening crunch, and his legs and arms fell to the ground. 

  Silence surrounded the two of you as she stood up and backed away from the lifeless Drider. Her chest heaving from the action and her hair in her face. You couldn’t help but stare at her in the moonlight. She sighs and looks at you, “I promise I won’t hurt you.” You watch her legs curiously as she steps closer to you. “You are hurt, please let me help you.” 

  You look back to the body and ask meekly, “he was your brother?”

  She nods, “one of thirty.” 

  Your eyes widen at the number, yet it made sense. Spiders lay a ridiculous amount of eggs, so Driders must do the same. You look back up to her as you try to stand up, “I think I dislocated my shoulder.”  

  “I have medical supplies back in my burrow, and light,” she smiles a little as she lowers herself down to look at you. “Can you walk?” 

  “I believe so, but it’s hard to stand up with one working arm.” She nods and grabs onto your good arm, gently pulling you to your feet. “Thank you.” 

  “Your welcome,” she smiles and gently holds your hand, “the forest will get darker the closer to my burrow we go. The trees are really thick over here.” You nod a little and let her guide you through the trees. Every time there was a log or boulder in your way she would pick you up and carry you over it. Her strength, agility, and endurance were nothing but impressive. No wonder why Driders are so sought after to be guards for nobility. Soon the opening of her burrow was in sight, a pair of bushes strategically planted alongside the opening to give it a little bit of cover. 

  The burrow was cozy to say the least, and was bigger than it looked on the outside. It was cool inside due to being underground, yet it was bright with the help of oil lamps and candles. The walls and ceiling were smoothed down and holding shape with the help of webbing. “Sadly I don’t have any furniture for you to sit on cause… well,”she motions to her abdomen before going to a large trunk. She pulls out a large blanket and leaves it folded up so it was like a pillow, “but this will be better than the floor.” 

  “I’m plenty used to sitting and sleeping on the ground by now. But thank you,” you sit down and wince as you bump your shoulder into the wall. You watch as she digs through a different trunk, reading the bottles and containers. 

  She walks over to you and sits on the ground in front of you, her legs sprawled out all over the place. Even without the added height of her legs she was still a few feet taller than you. If you had to guess, she looked to be around nine feet tall when she stood at her full height. “I don’t have many pain killers, but I do have a bottle of brandy if that will help.” 

  You chuckle as she hands you the bottle, “anything is helpful at this point.” 

  She motions to your cloak, “may I?” 

  You nod, “of course.” Her fingers were nimble as she undid the pin that held the garment closed. The cloak fell to the floor around you as she gently ran her hands along your shoulder. 

  “You’re right, it’s dislocated,” she offers a small smile, “but, I can easily put it back in.” 

  You sigh and take a swig of the brandy, “that would be greatly appreciated… After a few more sips.” 

  “Of course,” she chuckles and watches you drink. “I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Lalia.” You smile a little and introduce yourself as she watches you curiously. “So, what are you doing in the Bloodroot at night?” 

  “I was trying to sleep.” 

  “So you’re a traveler?” 

  “I’m trying to find refuge,” you wince as she lifts your arm straight. “I had to flee home because of war, and I’m just trying to get as far away as possible.” 

  “I’m sorry to hear of your loss.” 

  “It’s fine, I’m safe and that’s all that matters to me.” 

  She smiles a little and slowly lifts your arm, “this will hurt.” 

  “I fully expect it to,” you nod and close your eyes. The brandy only helps so much, even if you got wasted off of it. She notices your determination and nods. One of her hands gently resting on the back of your shoulder as she guides your bone back into the socket. You bite back a scream as you feel the bone pop back into place, then the pain immediately subsides. Simply an annoying buzz versus the piercing sensation that it was before. You let out a breath that you didn’t notice you were holding while Lalia tied something behind your neck. 

  She was using a scarf as a makeshift sling, “you should keep your arm like this for a couple days at least. So, it doesn’t pop out of place again.” 

  “Thank you Lalia, you truly are a lifesaver.” 

  She waves a slender hand dismissively, “it was nothing.” You glance at the claw marks that her brother had left along her forearms, the wounds already clotted. “Don’t worry about it, it’ll take a lot more than some claws to hurt me.” She gets up from sitting down and goes to put her supplies away. Now that your pain was gone, you finally got a chance to fully take in the woman in front of you. 

  Even in the lighting of the cave she was entirely black. Her skin, eyes, hair, and arachnid body were the color of ink. The light only reflecting off of her arachnid body made her look like she was made of velvet. Her face, just like her body, was slender and angular in nature. Then you also noticed she was completely bare, her lengthy hair being her only modesty. She was as beautiful as she was intimidating. And you couldn’t help but stare. 

  “Are you alright,” she tilts her head.

  “Uh yeah,” a little bit of heat rushes to your face, “just the brandy is starting to catch up with me.” 

  “Oh,” she looks around her living space before going to a shelf. She brings back a pitcher and a cup, “water from the nearby spring.” You smile as she hands you the cup, taking a large drink out of it. Not only was your pain dying down, so was your energy. Your exhaustion from traveling the woods all day and from running for your life. Lalia chuckles as you loudly yawn, her  legs making their way back to one of her many chests. She pulls out a bed roll and another large blanket from it, “I’ll make you a bed real quick.” 

  “I can make my own bed, it’s fine.” 

  “You have one working arm, I have four. I’ll make your bed.” Her tone left no room for arguing, so you simply sat and watched as she laid out the roll and the thick blanket atop of it to make it more plush. “Then you can use your cloak and the blanket you’re sitting on to cover up with.” 

  “Thank you, again… I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.” 

  “There’s no need hun, I’m just doing what’s right.” You couldn’t help but feel a little flustered by the pet name, but you didn’t let it show. Instead you got up from your spot and made your way to the bedroll. Using your good hand to pick up your cloak. You kick off your boots, something you usually didn’t do while on the road. Then made yourself comfortable on the makeshift bed. Lalia brought over the blanket you were sitting on and gently laid it down around your feet. “Do you think you’ll need anything else?” 

  You arrange the blanket and your cloak to your liking, “I don’t think so.” It took you a little bit, but you were finally able to lay your head on the bedroll’s built in pillow. Which was hard with only one working arm. While you try to get comfortable, Lalia is walking around the main area of her burrow. Turning off the oil lamps and blowing out the candles, leaving only one lit so you weren’t drowned in darkness. You silently yawn as she moves about the burrow with ease. Making you wonder if it was purely by memorization or if she had enhanced night vision. 

  “I can feel you watching me.” 

  You blush as you were caught red handed, “I’m merely curious… You’re only the second Drider I’ve ever talked to.” 

  “I hope my brother didn’t make too bad of an impression.” 

  “There have been worse.” 

  Lalia slowly makes her way closer to you, her voice slowly becoming quieter, “I will have to go back out soon… To hunt and to claim my new territory…” 

  “I see, are you nocturnal?” 

  “Not exactly, but it’s easier to hunt at night. I’ll be sure to find your things as well.” 

  “That would be greatly appreciated. It’s all I have.” Her smile falters a little at your words, “no pressure though.” 

  She scoffs a little, “that’s not what I’m sad about.” 

  “Please don’t be sad for me. Like I said earlier, I’m alive and that’s all that matters to me.”  

  She comes closer to your bed and crouches down. Her warm and slender fingers gently brushing your hair off your face. "That is quite the noble thing to say. I don't know many people who would say that." 

  You couldn't help the heat that rushed to your face, "I'm nothing special." 

  "I would say otherwise,” her kind smile illuminated by the distant candlelight. You return the smile before having a jaw splitting yawn. She chuckles and gently pets the top of your head before standing up again. “You should sleep hun, it’s been a long day.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” you sigh and you try to get comfortable. “Good luck hunting.” 

  “Thank you, I’ll be back before morning.” You nod and watch as she walks towards the mouth of her burrow. Your need for sleep makes your eyes too heavy to hold as soon as you lose sight of her. Despite being alone within the burrow of a Drider, all you felt was comfort.

[mediocre-writerr]

don’t be a fool [leah rilke]

leah rilke x reader

bring us through pt.6

requested: Omg I just got the best idea for part 6 of ‘ I have questions’ maybe after Shelby gave Leah the talk, things take a nasty turn and Leah says something like ‘I wish I never met you’ during a fight and the reader storms off in hysterics and Shelby follows her and has to calm her down like never before and Shelby is scared something bad is happening (reader is hyperventilating like never before) and screams for Toni. Make it as angsty as you want I WOULD LOVE TO READ IT THE LEAH SERIES MIGHT BE MY GAVE THING EVER

*not my gif*

All of you have been stuck on this island for far too long. The burning hot sun causing everyone to be more irritable than usual. 

Especially for your girlfriend Leah. 

She has been struggling with the thoughts in her head. All of the thoughts telling her that something’s wrong. And with all the stares she’s getting from everyone especially Rachel, she snaps a lot quicker than before. 

You know she doesn’t mean to, but it’s been happening a lot lately. 

You and Shelby were just sitting out away from the rest of the crowd, having a serious conversation with one another. About your girlfriend Leah. 

And unbeknownst to you, Leah’s irritably fumed a green flame inside her. The green flame of jealousy. 

“How do you feel about her?” Shelby whispers softly. 

You shrug at the thought, “I love her, more than words than express.” 

“More than-” she’s about to say, but you cut her off.

“Yeah I think so,” you whisper, “But is that even appropriate?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” 

You shrug, “I don’t know. Just everything that happened between me and her. Should I even move on?”

The blonde places her hand on her shoulder, “It’s been what? 6 months. You’re always going to love her, no matter what, but it’s time to move on. And especially with Leah. She’s everything to you.” 

A small smile forms onto your face, “How do I even tell her?” 

“Just go from your heart.” her face lit up like a lightbulb clicked off in her head, “Okay practice on me!” 

“Are you sure? I don’t need Toni beating the shit out of me.” you say and she laughs, playfully rolling your eyes.

“I’m sure.” 

You nod, grabbing both of her hands, “I’m just gonna come out and say it-” you begin.

But what you didn’t know was that your girlfriend was walking past not too far from behind the two of you.

“I’ve been in love with you since the first time I met you. I know these circumstances are terrible, but I need you to know that I love you. More than words can express.” you confess to your best friend who was struggling so hard to stifle a laugh.

Someone cleared their throat from behind you. You immediately drop your hands, looking at your girlfriend with wide-eyes before placing a smile on your face. But that smile did not mirror onto hers.

“I should’ve known.” she whispers, shaking her head.

You look at her, tilting your head to the side, “Should’ve known what?” 

“That this was going to happen. You and Shelby have always been so close, there were times where I thought that you were dating...” she begins.

And both you and Shelby shake your head, “No, no, no. That is not what’s going on here.” 

“I thought I could trust you.” Leah says.

“You can! Me and Shelby, there’s nothing going on between us!” you try to convince your girlfriend, but she was not hearing it.

Leah’s face looks from yours to Shelby’s, her piercing blue eyes sending ice daggers into her heart. “Does Toni know?!” 

“Know what? Leah there is nothing going on between me and Y/N!” she exclaims, flailing her arms.

“You’re just like Jeffery. You’re gonna get me to fall for you, just so you can pull the rug from underneath me. Break my heart like everyone else.” 

Your eyes widen yet again, so much that you think they’re gonna pop out of your head, “No. No! Please just let me explain.” your voice cracking in the process, “I was just practicing-” 

“Don’t. No I don’t need to hear anymore excuses from either of you,” she whispers, “You and Shelby took this as an opportunity to break people’s heart. Fuck everyone over like people did back in your hometown.” 

“Lee no.” you begin to say, but she cuts you off yet again.

“No! I wish I never met you!” she yells, getting the attention from all of the other girls. 

“If that’s how you really feel, so be it.” you whisper, before running off towards the jungle. 

Shelby shakes her head, “One thing...I asked you to do one thing for me, not even two days ago and this is what you do? You don’t even deserve to hear what she was doing, but I’ll tell you anyway, so it can make you feel like an idiot. She was going to tell you she loves you.” 

Leah face falls from anger to shock.

“Yeah, you fucking idiot.” Shelby takes off running into the jungle after you. 

“Shit.” Leah mumbles, placing her head in her hands. 

The jungle starts to feel like it was caving in. Soon you felt like you couldn’t get enough air and tears were filling your eyes so you couldn’t see very well. You slid your back against one of the tall trees.

“Y/N?!” you vaguely heard what you thought was Shelby’s voice, but you couldn’t get yourself to focus on anything, but Leah’s voice echoing through your ears. 

Your body suddenly draining of its warmth before a cold sensation creeped its way through your veins. 

Your chest rose and fell slowly, rapidly picking up pace to the point where simply taking a breath was a large effort. Breaking out into a cold sweat. The whole world began to spin faster and faster as adrenaline coarse through your body. 

“Hey, hey, I’m here.” Shelby says, brushing the hair out of her face, “Can you breathe?” 

You shook your head, gasping out harshly, “I-I can’t breathe.” 

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” she whispers calmly, but you could sense the panic in her voice.

She’s dealt with your panic attacks before, but this was something different.

Your gasping didn’t stop and your panic only continued to grow.

“I wish I never met you!” Leah’s voice echos in your head.

“Y/N, breathe. Can you hear me?” 

All you could hear were your own thoughts and Leah’s voice, which overpowered the sound of her voice.

Luckily, you didn’t get too far from camp so Shelby screamed out, “TONI!!!” 

Not even two minutes later, you could hear Toni’s footsteps following into the jungle, “Shelby! Are you okay?” 

She finally found the two of you. You were sweating and crying hysterically, continuing to gasp for breath. Your lungs felt like you were on fire.

“I don’t know how to help.” she whispers, getting teary eyed at her best friend.

Toni squats in front of you, putting both of her hands on your legs, “Hey it’s okay. I need you to focus on your breathing okay.” 

She takes your hand in hers, placing it right where her heart was, “You feel my heartbeat?” 

You nod softly, “Okay I want you to focus on that.”

Your breathing slowly starting to become more even and your lungs didn’t feel like they were on fire.

“How did you know to do that?” Shelby asks, sitting next to the two most important people in her life.

Toni shrugs, running her fingers through your hair, “Martha would get really bad panic attacks in the middle of the night. And I tried everything for months, but nothing seemed to work better than a heartbeat.”

“I’m tired.” you whisper to the girls, your face puffy from crying so hard.

“I know, Y/N. Everything’s going to be okay.” Toni whispers, “You can rest now.”

After a few minutes you fell fast asleep with your head resting in Toni’s lap.

Toni picks you up bridal style as you nuzzle your head into her chest, “I can carry her.” Shelby offers, but she just shakes her head with a soft smile on her face.

“No it’s okay. I got her,” she says as the two trek back to the campsite.

Leah was sat next to Fatin, her eyes red and puffy. Tears still streaming down her face. She immediately gets up from her spot and rushes towards the three girls.

But Shelby places her hand on her chest, stopping her from getting any closer.

“You’ve done enough for today.”