#loll this is the last thing i had prepared

[corroded-hellfire]

Hi! I had this idea for the As you wish - series. What if reader finds her first grey hair or maybe spot the first lines on her face and panics because she thinks "Eddie was drawn to me because I was so young, what if he won't be drawn to me anymore?!"

Ah, the signs of aging. As someone who has had a line across her forehead for years now, I felt this lol. Despite what society tries to tell us though, aging is good! Never forget that.

Words: 2.1k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Waking up before your alarm clock used to be considered a sin to you. It’s not like you were always out partying all night in college when you were younger, it’s just the principle of the thing. How dare your body naturally wake you up just as the sun is making its first appearance over the horizon? The words “early morning” left a sour taste in your mouth, and you’d do whatever you could to get a few extra hours of sleep.

If growing up and becoming a productive member of society didn’t get your body accustomed to waking up earlier than in your teenage years, being a mom of three certainly did. 

The boys are both teenagers themselves now and won’t get up for school willingly, which means you’ve had to learn a few tricks over the years. But one of those tricks was seemingly fading as time ticked by as well. Eliza used to be up before the crack of dawn, her cries or laughter beating the rooster’s crow to the punch. Now that she’s pushing four years old, she often sleeps later than you or Eddie, which means she’s not readily available to bother her brothers into a wakened state. That still leaves Eddie though, and he considers it a joy to annoy his sons awake—payback for all the years they did it to him. 

But this morning you’re awake not only before your alarm, but before anyone else in the house as well. A few emerging beams of sunlight shine through the gaps in your blinds and warm the side of your face as you turn towards it. A content hum leaves your lips as you open your eyes, blinking away the bits of sleep still clinging to the corners. Your heavy head lolls to the other side and comes face to face with your sleeping husband. 

It’s impossible not to smile at his open jaw dotted with scruff, just a hint of drool pooling in the corner. Telling yourself to get up out of bed and not bury your face in his chest and cuddle back into the blankets feels like a Herculean task as you gaze at his handsome face. 

With a sigh, you push yourself up and stretch your arms up over your head. The bright side of being the first one up is that you can go through your morning routine in peace, you suppose. 

The plush carpet is warm on your toes as you slip from bed and pad over to the en suite bathroom. A fierce yawn erupts from your mouth as you turn on the faucet to wash your face. The back of your hands rubs against tired eyes as you wait for the water to heat to an acceptable temperature. The house is quiet and still around you, giving you a sense of calm that you’re sure won’t last once the kids are awake. 

A green washcloth hangs on a hook next to the mirror above your sink and you lather it with your apple blossom-scented soap before rubbing it over your face. The scratch of the cloth on your skin feels good, taking any remnants of the full night’s sleep off and preparing you for the new day. 

You let the wet swatch of fabric fall back down into the sink and grab the matching towel to pat your face dry. As you hang the towel back on the hook, you lean in towards the mirror above the sink and let your eyes roam over your features. Luckily, it seems like that small breakout you had last week has finally cleared up and your chin is blemish free. Your eyes trail farther up and once they get to your forehead your hands grip the side of the sink with enough force to crack the white porcelain in half.

There is a line across your forehead. 

Immediately, your hand goes up and tries to rub it away. Still there. Maybe it’s a smudge on the mirror. All your hand does is smear fingerprints across the glass surface, but the line on your face is still there. 

Gently, you rub the tips of your fingers over the crease in your skin. When you can feel the indent where it used to be firm, an involuntary whimper falls from your lips. Your forefinger traces the line back and forth from the left side of your face to the right. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes and your arms drop down to your sides.

You have a wrinkle. 

The ugly word has the tears spilling over your bottom lids and you squeeze your eyes shut. This is ridiculous, you try to tell yourself. It’s perfectly normal. Aging is a good thing. You force your eyes open and glare at the unwelcome addition to your face. But why does aging mean you’ll start to feel insecure about how your body changes? Wasn’t puberty enough of that bullshit?

A sharp inhale of breath and your hands fly to cover your mouth as a thought occurs to you. What is Eddie going to think? He was drawn to you because of your youth, so what now? Is he going to find this wrinkle gross? Will he find you unappealing now? Are younger, hotter girls going to turn his head?

The thoughts come on too quickly and you're flooded by a wave of panic and grief. Tears flow freely down your cheeks, and you make a conscious effort not to scrunch your face up, lest you get more wrinkles. 

A small sob wracks your body, and you tighten your hands over your mouth. Part of you knows this is an overreaction, that Eddie won’t care, but the irrational side of you has its claws too deep in you now to let go. 

“Babe?”

Eddie’s groggy voice calls out and his footsteps approach the bathroom door. As if it will keep him from seeing you, you press your back against the bathroom wall and keep your hands firmly clutched over your mouth.

A mop of frizzy bedhead pops in the doorway and Eddie looks in the other direction before swinging his gaze around and spotting you. Instantly, he’s more alert as he takes in your body language. He comes to stand in front of you and places his hands gently on your upper arms.

“Princess, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asks. 

Not trusting your voice, you shake your head, hands still covering your mouth.

“What?” Eddie asks. “You’re not okay?” Gently, he pries your fingers from your lips and holds them securely in his own hands. “Hey, come on. Please talk to me.”

Try as you might to find the right words to say, nothing comes to mind. Too much is rattling around your head and the only thing that comes out of your mouth are whines as your sobs pick up. Instinctively, you step in towards Eddie and bury your face in his neck. Strong arms wrap around you and hold you close to his warm, solid frame. 

“Hey…” Eddie coos as he rubs a large hand up and down your back. It’s a tone you’ve heard him use with Eliza a hundred times before when he’s trying to get her to take a breath and use her words. “Sweetheart, talk to me. Please?”

It takes a lot of your strength to pull back and wipe your eyes and nose off on your arm. The concern in Eddie’s eyes damn near sends you into another fit, but you manage to keep it together. 

“I-I…” I have a wrinkle is what you plan to say. “I’m s-scared.”

Your husband’s eyebrows pinch together as he studies your face. He’ll probably spot the problem on your face on his own if he keeps looking at you like this. 

“Scared? Baby, what are you scared of?”

At his question, a new round of tears does come. You try to ward them off though, shaking your head and wiping your eyes. I’m scared you’re not going to be attracted to me anymore. I’m scared you’re going to think I’m old. I’m scared I’m freaking out and don’t know how to stop it.

None of those words form on your tongue though, so with a shaky hand you reach up and point to the crease above your eyebrows. Eddie’s gaze drifts to where you’re pointing but this only seems to confuse him more.

“What is it? What am I supposed to be looking at?” he asks. When you jab repeatedly at your forehead with your finger, Eddie gently grabs your wrist and lowers your arm back down. “Angel, you’ve gotta talk to me.”

“A-A wrinkle,” you manage to squeak out just above a whisper. 

Eddie frowns and looks at your forehead again. He squints his eyes and shrugs his shoulders.

“I see a faint line. Why does that scare you?”

“Because it means I-I’m old.”

Laughter is the last thing you expect to hear from your husband. But when you look up at him there’s an amused look on his face as he shakes his head. 

“Babe, you’re twenty-nine. If you’re old, then I’m the damn crypt keeper.”

“M’not like when you met me,” you mumble, looking down in embarrassment. 

“No, you’re not,” Eddie says plainly. “And neither am I.” When you look up at him in confusion, Eddie sighs and gently tugs you closer to him. He takes a seat on the closed toilet lid and pulls you into his lap. “Pretty girl, we’ve known each other for about a decade now. Neither of us are the same. I’ve got gray in my beard now and these crow’s feet around my eyes.”

“They’re sexy,” you’re quick to inform him.

“What makes you think I don’t think your changes are sexy?” your husband asks with a raised eyebrow. 

“This isn’t sexy,” you say with a sigh as you rub your hand across your forehead. 

“Is to me,” Eddie says with a shrug. “I’ve got more tattoos now. You’ve given birth. Jesus hun, I’m in a different decade than I was back then. We’re not a couple in their twenties and thirties anymore—it’s twenties and forties.”

His fingers gently dig into your sides, making you squeak in laughter and squirm around in his lap. 

“Until I turn thirty in a few months,” you say. Words burn at the back of your throat, and you know you shouldn’t say them. But they need to come out and make themselves known. “You’ll still want me, right? When I’m thirty? With these lines starting?”

Eddie stares at you for a moment, his doe eyes scanning your face. You see the moment something clicks in his mind.

“Wait, don’t tell me that’s what you’re scared of?”

When you still avoid looking him in the eye and remain silent, Eddie lets out a long sigh. 

“There is no line or wrinkle that could make you anything less than the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Not a damn thing in this world could make me not want to be with you. I love you. Always have, always will. Wrinkles or not. Acne or not. Scars, gray hair, injuries, sickness, it doesn’t matter. You’re my girl and that’s all there is to it.”

Emotion swells within your chest and it’s difficult to keep it contained. Hoping to convey what your voice can’t, you lean forward and rest your forehead against Eddie’s. 

“Actually,” Eddie adds softly, “I think wrinkles and gray hair are pretty great things. Because it means we’re growing old with each other. No one else I’d want by my side, to go through this with.”

“I’m so lucky to be your girl,” you manage in a hoarse whisper, trying to quell the tears that build up—now for a different reason. 

A soft chuckle has Eddie’s breath ghosting across your lips.

“It’s absolutely me who is the lucky one, princess. I love you so goddamn much.” 

“I love you too—”

“Mama!”

Little hands beat on the wood of the closed bathroom door. You and your husband share a whispered laugh as you drop your head down to his shoulder. 

“What’s up, sweet pea?” Eddie calls back.

The banging stops and there’s a beat of silence before your daughter replies.

“I called for Mama.”

A snort of laughter leaps out of you at Eliza’s tone. Eddie shakes his head in amusement and lets out an overdramatic sigh.

“See?” He speaks softly to you. “None of us can live without you.” The banging starts up again, a little faster this time. Eddie winces and squeezes one eye shut. “Even for a second, apparently.”

[dipperscavern]

breathless and whiny robb u say?? 🫣🫣🧐🧐 can I then add that the first time he was dommed by r he absolutely loses his SHIT bc omg omg dying dead HUH!? especially if he’s so used to being the dom in the relationship the moment his girl switches it up on him he short circuits

BREATHLESS AND WHINY ROBB I SAID. I APOLOGIZE THIS IS ABSOLUTELY LEWD (thank you sm for this ily)

it’s not uncommon for you and robb to have to spend time apart. as children at winterfell, robb was often busy being prepared to be lord of it and all its people. back when the realm wasn’t in shambles, robb would study on politics, and sit in with his father on his duties. you didn’t mind, you knew you couldn’t have him all to yourself. you preferred to spend your time checking in on the other starklings, practicing your skills, and you were silently grateful to have a bit more leisurely time than he did.

but during war it was so, so much worse.

as robb’s lady, you went everywhere with him. but you usually didn’t participate in battles, and sometimes, things were so dangerous robb didn’t even feel safe taking you with him. you can be away from each other for weeks at a time, and you spend it praying he’ll return to you. it’s common for men at war to have other women warm their beds, but robb’s bed stays cold, no matter how long you’re apart. he would never betray you like that.

spending so much time apart sometimes makes him desperate. not just to be reunited, but to feel you. to be sheathed deep inside you, your hands pulling him closer & his roaming your body — to feel your lips on his again. and when he finally makes his way back to you, he can barely contain himself.

his hips roll, and he savors the feeling. his hand is intertwined with yours, and his other caresses the soft flesh of your hip. it’s been so long, and he never wishes to leave your warmth. his head drops to your shoulder as he slides himself fully in, and his brain malfunctions. you’re tight, wet, and warm — and it has his brows pinching, mouth falling open to let out a breathless whine. he can’t remember the last time he’s ever made a noise like that (never), but he can’t find it in himself to care. your nails are lightly scratching at his back, and pain mixes with pleasure in a way that makes him grit his teeth.

you love when he’s like this. breathless and losing control, losing himself in the pleasure you’re giving him. he’s taking, taking, taking — and so giving at the same time.

afterwards, when you both lay spent after sharing each others bodies, the moment replays in your mind. you want to make him sound like that again. again and again and again. that’s when an idea forms in your mind.

robb had agreed to trying out your idea, so here you both are. your thighs spread to accommodate his length, legs over his waist as you straddle him. it’s a different angle, a different feeling, and he’s patient in giving you time to adjust. you give an experimental roll of your hips, and his grip on them tightens. he’s not trying to stop you, he just didn’t expect it to feel so good. you gauge his reaction, raising an eyebrow at the single movement having him sharply inhale.

feeling more confident, you begin to move. you take it slower, trying to find movements that feel good for the both of you. robb is not complaining at your experimenting, head lolling back at every movement. eventually, you bring yourself up, and then down again. it has your eyes fluttering shut & robb gritting his teeth, and you silently relish in your triumph. you begin to move, setting a pace that has his grip on your hips tightening & you clenching around him.

robb doesn’t know if he can handle it. the view of you moving up and down on his cock, the way your tits move with your ministrations — the way you feel so good. and the pretty noises you’re making have his brain turning to mush, knocking the air out of his lungs. what have you done to him?

“Feel alright, Robb?”

your voice brings him back to reality (only for a second), and he nods his head. you’ve almost rendered his ability to speak.

“Don’t- mm! Don’t stop.”

you smile, enjoying the view. robb’s brows pinched (more than usual), mouth falling slack as breathless whines & moans spill from his lips. one of your hands comes to rest over where his own is on your hips in an attempt to ground him, as he’s done for you so many times. it works as well as it can with you continuing your pace, having him sharply inhaling as a groan rises from his throat. he’s distant, completely lost in the throes of pleasure. and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

it doesn’t take long before you feel the familiar warmth begin to pool in your abdomen, the angle hitting you just right. when robb brings his thumb to rub circles on your clit, it has the tight cord in your belly snapping, waves of pleasure crawling up your spine as you cum. you continue your movements, only slowing down to ride out the aftershocks. robb isn’t far behind, and when you involuntarily clench down on him, he spills into you with a groan of your name.

you look at robb, catching your breath, and smile once more. you think you’ll have to see him like this more often.

[yunhohours]

hellooo I saw you're taking requests and I wanted to ask for jeno + aftercare, praising you for taking it so well after giving you the best fuck of your life. ly<3

"don't move, baby," jeno mumbles with a kiss to your shoulder before skillfully climbing off you and disappearing into the nearby bathroom. you're not sure how long he's gone for, head lolling to the side and eyelids too heavy to open, but it feels like it's only moments before you feel the mattress dip again.

your eyes open when you feel a warm sensation on your lower legs, peering down your body to see jeno with a washcloth, taking his time as he makes his way upwards with it. he's so focused on removing the sheen of sweat from your skin that he doesn't see you watching him. "hi," you croak, voice still a little shaky. his eyes flit up to yours and he smiles, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your knee. "hi, beautiful. welcome back." you giggle and it makes his smile grow wider.

he continues like this until he's wiped every inch of skin from the neck down. he discards the towel before grabbing another prepared towel from the nightstand. he settles onto his side next to you, holding your gaze lovingly. "how do you feel?" he carefully nudges your thighs apart as his hand slips between them, using the fresher cloth to clean your more intimate area. "i feel good. tired, but good."

jeno hums his acknowledgment, a small pout on his lips. "almost done, baby. you can get some rest then, okay? i'll be your pillow." he winks and kisses your nose before he's getting up again. at this rate, every body part will have earned a kiss before your eyes get the chance to close for the night. you're not complaining.

you're replaying the night's activities in your mind when jeno comes back. this time, he sits beside your horizontal figure. "do you think you can sit up for me, baby?" his voice is so gentle. you nod and he does 90% of the work for you, lifting and supporting your back to make sure you're stable enough. he maneuvers your body only as much as necessary to cover you in a clean shirt of his, a content smile on his face when he gets to take in the sight of you afterwards. "perfect." you can't help but smile too.

he picks up a bottle of water he had placed on the comforter next to him and hands it to you. "drink a good amount and then we can get some sleep. promise." you do as he instructs, gulping down more water than you even realized you needed. jeno's hands busy themselves, moving any damp locks of hair from your face and smoothing them down. "you did so well for me, beautiful. you always do so well for me."

you can't fight the blush on your cheeks, closing the water bottle and reaching to place it on the nightstand. jeno grabs it from you and does it himself, pulling you into him the second his hands are free. he lays you down together, resting your head on his chest. "let's talk in the morning, okay? want to make sure everything went okay but i know you're tired." his arm is wrapped around your back, fingers drawing shapes on the fabric of your shirt. "can you spell for me?" he asks, and you know what he means. your brow furrows as you concentrate on his moving fingers, trying to picture what he's drawing. when he finishes, you smile. i love you, he said silently. it's the last thing you remember before you drift off to sleep.

[cum-a-calla]

you ever buy weed from a hot, deranged, psychopathic cult leader? no? well, sugar, do ya want to?

under the cut: Kappa/“reader”. coercion/dubcon/noncon. drugs. drugged fuck. knifeplay and blood kink. religious/cultlike ideologies. possessive Kappa. a general air of manipulation and abuse. wet, absolutely unhinged, hard fucking.

“Well, well - what brings you here?”

Kappa hangs in the doorway, resting his head on the frame as he peeks out from behind the door. He’s in the same thing he wore the last time you saw him, some flowy, open-necked bohemian top, so threadbare and worn that there are patches you can see through. He smiles his lopsided little smile and opens the door further, eyes dark and bloodshot. Trying to guess what Kappa might be fucked up on at this very moment is just as fruitless as buying a lottery ticket - the chance of getting it right is comically low.

“I need to… you know, pick up. And my usual guy is out of town, so… I know sometimes you have stuff,” she says, glancing around as if they aren’t on his wide, dusty property. Somewhere off in the yard, one of his strange friends plays fetch with a very filthy, very enthusiastic dog, tongue lolling from its grinning muzzle as it chases a frisbee and proceeds to shake it from side to side.

“Gunna have to be more specific than that, my dear. Kappa has it all.”

God, right - she’d forgotten about the third-person bullshit. She smiles flatly at him and mimes smoking a bowl, to which he laughs a little and moves to the side.

“Well, who doesn’t have that, right? Nature’s medicine. Come on in, don’t wanna let all the cool air out.”

She follows him into the dim, ramshackle home. Random furniture and cluttered countertops, sinks full of dishes with a couple flies buzzing lazily around them, hoping for lunch. The house is dark; most of the light comes in through the crooked slats of the blinds, drawn shut but damaged enough that the sunlight filters through in blazing shafts, illuminating all the dust in the air. Two woman doze off on each other, half naked and intertwined on the couch. One opens her eyes, takes in their guest, and allows them to flutter back shut in her lack of any real interest.

“This is Theta, Sigma… I think you remember them? We’ve met a few times. Girls, why don’t you go lie in the back room so that my… new friend, here… can have a seat.”

Theta and Sigma stir, but mumble and whine about Kappa’s request. He raises his eyebrows and purses his lips for a moment, hands on his hips.

“… are you going to make Kappa ask again?”

He looks like a parent preparing to lay down a punishment. His voice is even and low, something about its quality shifting the air in the room. Their eyes pop open and it’s like neither of them had been sleeping at all. Alert and obedient, they rise up while holding each others’ hands and scurry past him, squeaking apologies. Kappa watches until they’re out of sight, the sound of a door shutting breaking him of his sternness. He smiles again and everything feels even more disturbing, somehow. The switch. He holds a hand out to her and takes it gingerly into his own. He brushes his lips against her knuckles in a chaste kiss, watching her with his deep-set eyes.

“Sorry about that. They got a little fucked up and forgot their manners, it seems.”

“It’s… fine, it’s fine. No big deal.”

“Go on. Sit with me.”

Lowering to the couch feels like a death sentence in some unexplainable way. It’s not unlike any other experience buying weed from the various small-time dealers in the area - dirty house, wasted buddies sleeping off a hangover, weird dudes that just want to have a chat while they sell their goods. Despite this, there’s a vibe here she can’t place. Something that makes the tiny hairs on her arms stand up, something off. She’s already anxious to leave, watching Kappa lift the top to the coffee table to reveal a hidden compartment inside. It reminds her of a much nicer version her grandparents have. She guesses confidently that their isn’t stuffed with different sized bags of weed and little jars full of dried mushrooms, of various pressed pills and powders.

Beside these goodies is a handgun and a hunting knife.

“So - what will do ya? A dub, a quarter? An ounce? We’ve got some serious couch-lock shit all the way from the U-Dub, uh… we’ve got a great Californian purp. Sort of a mid strain from Maine; yeah, real gentle stuff, in case you have a hard time handling yourself.” He smiles and leans back, reaching an arm behind her shoulders as he settles in. He offers her a little wink. “I’ll take care’a ya.”

“I mean… I’m don’t need a ton, it’s just for me. Maybe the Cali stuff, just, like… an eighth is fine.”

“You wanna try before you buy?”

Textbook pickup manners dictate the sharing of the weed, so share she does. His ensuing grin shows his teeth, eagerly packing a scratched-up metal pipe with a frosty, dark bowl. He’s not kidding about quality; his home may not be kept neat, but she has zero doubts about his ability to afford the property. He must make bank. She wonders idly about his roommates and friends as she allows him to push the pipe to her lips, lighting the bowl for her. A true gentleman.

“They say weed’s a doorway; that may be true, but not in the way I see it. Smoking weed didn’t lead me to, say, coke - I tried coke before ever smoking, actually. Smoking, and surrendering to something that’s been around as long as man has walked the earth, I mean… it’s meant for us to consume. You know?”

She nods as he takes his pause, hitting the pipe himself until his chest is puffed out and he’s snorting back the urge to cough.

“Yeah, man. I agree.” Placid, easy. “Weed’s rad.”

Kappa exhales through his nostrils, thick streams of it curling to frame his face, tendrils of it sneaking from between his lips as he smiles in agreement.

“It is rad,” he amends with amusement.

It’s hard to look away from his mouth. His mannerisms and friends are off-putting, and she hasn’t made any significant effort to be around any of them in any given social situation outside of attending the same parties, once or twice on this very property. A polite greeting, a loose comment here or there. All of this to say that she had never noticed just how shapely his lips are, how the way he smirks ignites a curious little spark in her guts.

“You want more?”

“Yes,” she says quickly, and she has no choice but to suffer that knowing smirk as he once again lights her up. It’s already taking effect and doing its intended job - she feels that she could relax back into the couch and let Kappa gaze at her for longer than she’d ever wanted him to, suddenly open to this experience. His hair hangs around his face, tangled and wild and wavy. His knuckles are chapped, fingers slim as they bring the little pipe back to his own lips. He is unblinking as he watches her over the flame, over the burning little leaves.

“You seem a little more relaxed. Seemed a little off just a few minutes ago. Nerves? Are you… you wouldn’t be scared of your buddy Kappa, would you, sweetheart?”

“Not scared,” she says carefully. She shifts a little in her seat and bites the inside of her cheek. “How would you know what I’m like, anyway?”

“Human interaction is a wonderful, complex thing. The energy we give off, the smells, the sounds, the animal magnetism. Animals - that is to say, living, natural beings, blood in veins and flesh on our bones - they can sense these things naturally. I’m very intuitive. Very sensitive. It’s my gift. It’s why I feel so strongly about experiencing new things, about… sometimes teaching other people the beauty of life, of living, of taking back what’s ours. Owning what’s ours.”

“You’re losing me, Kappa,” she teases. “I might need to smoke a little more before I’m on your level.”

“You understand my basic point. I know you’re a smart girl. Open-hearted. You know, you’d really get along with us - Sigma, Theta, Epsilon. That’s who you saw outside, with the pup - Epsilon.”

“What’s with the names?”

“Mmm.” He takes another hit and finally gives her a reprieve from his intensive gaze, eyes practically burning through her flesh. Deep-set eyes. Bedroom eyes. Smoke streaming from his lungs, he nods at himself. “Well. There’s a power in identity. I, as a living being, have the inherent right to choose my path. I give and take and protect the sanctity of natural life and the furthering of that natural life. Part of my process is choosing my own name. I was given my birth-name, and eventually took a new name for myself. Nature is fickle, breakable. Give. Take. Like life. Life is given, life is taken.”

“Getting pretty deep in here.”

“That’s my pleasure as well as my duty as a man,” he muses, licking his lips. “Getting really deep. Planting seeds.”

The urge to scoff, to laugh and look away, to haul her way into a distraction, another conversation, something, knocks her on her proverbial ass. It’s all she can do to pretend she isn’t turning red. It would be easy to blame the heat, to blame the smoke… but he’d see right through that. For all of Kappa’s philosophical ranting, he’s right about his perception of others. She can feel him reading her, studying her like she’s a specimen in some laboratory.

He follows her movement as she ducks her head down, leaning forward to force her eye contact. His lips purse a little and he licks them again, his fingers crawling over her thigh to squeeze. Again, the urge to brush or even slap his hand away is at the forefront, but she doesn’t. She sheepishly meets his eye, ashamed of her own discomfort, her own utter excitement.

“Darlin’ - there is nothing wrong or immoral about these… urges, our collective responsibility as a species. Animals are meant to breed. It’s all in the blood. We’re not - we’re not machines, we’re not meant to be cold, lifeless. Purposeless. The whole fucking thing - the entire idea of these replicants, of playing God and mocking mother nature, it’s… it’s disgusting. But this - us? This is the most natural thing there is.”

In his impassioned speech, Kappa leans closer and closer, hand creeping higher on her thigh. The graceful, long line of his nose is so close she could lick the tip of it. He tilts his head and only then does he break eye contact, watching her lips. His eyes flicker between them and her eyes, pupils wide. It’s hypnotizing, the low purr of his voice floating over the warm afternoon air to caress her ears.

“Kappa…” she can barely breathe. “I - I should… this is -”

“Hey.” Kappa is murmuring, voice soft, but the underlying authority shuts her up. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches with dread as he casually takes the hunting knife into his hand. “Listen, sugar. You have a choice to make. In a second, I could get Epsilon in here and he would be more than happy to hold you down while I show you the meaning of life firsthand. I can make it very, very unforgettable for you… and you have to choose whether that’s gunna be a good thing or a bad thing. If I have to interrupt Epsilon’s time with this task, I’m afraid that’s going to make everyone upset, and that would be very bad for you. Are you hearing me, sweetheart?”

“Yes…yeah, I hear you.”

“What I really think is that you’re tethered by the morals of society. You’re stuck in a prison of the mind, you’ve been poisoned. ‘Sex is evil, trust in technology, evolve, evolve, evolve’. There’s nothing wrong with the way things have been for thousands upon thousands of years; villages of people looking out for each other and keeping the natural balance and order. It’s up to us to restore that order.”

He slowly moves in, attention flickering between her lips and her eyes. Her heart beats so hard she can feel each thump in her ears, in the tip of her nose… between her thighs. It throbs secret and hot there, his hand inching closer by the second. He’s captivating - batshit crazy, but charming in a strange way that keeps her rooted to the spot despite the alarm going off in her brain. She should leave. She should just back away and get to the door - her car’s right outside.

… but she doesn’t. She drinks in his mean little self-satisfied smirk just before he kisses her. His lips are surprisingly soft, his kiss gentle and slow. It almost makes her forget about the knife in his hand. He snakes his hand around the back of her neck and holds her firmly there, knotting those slim fingers into her hair. It hurts as he curls them into a fist. He swallows the surprised little whimper she makes, moaning in return as he becomes more aggressive, her lip between his teeth.

“Now - I’m not in the business of indecency with non-human entities. I’m sure you’re a natural being, but… my convictions are strong, and I need to be a hundred percent sure. Okay?”

“Wait, Kappa… wait. What do you mean?”

“Gotta make sure you’re not one of them. I need you to be real good for me and take off your pants.”

Kappa runs the tip of his knife lightly up her thigh, tickling her with it. He traces it up the seam, breath picking up the closer he gets to her cunt. His lips are plush, kiss-bruised and parted as he stares down at the knife. His excitement permeates everything around them, the air thick with it, his eyes wide and bright and his chest practically heaving. She should have run. She should have run before he had his hand in her hair, a knife tracing her inner thighs. He looks absolutely hungry. He looks up from under those lashes and searches her expression, taking in every detail as though memorizing her terror, tattooing it permanently into his mind for later use.

“I don’t wanna hurt you more than I already have to. And I can’t have you running,” he murmurs. His voice so low, wavering a little as adrenaline rushes through his veins. They cord his forearms, his strong hands. She can see his rapid butterfly pulse in his throat. “Make this easy on yourself, darlin’. Faster you listen, the faster I can make you feel good.”

He uncurls his fingers, allowing her space to do as he asks. Still he hovers, knife ever present and threatening. His eyes are manic, sliding over each new inch of exposed flesh as she unbuttons and pushes her pants, her panties down her hips, off her legs in a few clumsy kicks. With the knife, he motions at her shirt - up, up.

“Kappa…”

“I could do it for you, if you like. But what I’m not gunna do is ask twice… this is your last warning.”

In contrast to his soft, smooth voice is the undercurrent of malice. Self-assured. Not a hint of doubt in his mind, focused on his intentions and making zero room for failure or disobedience. There’s a sense of authority, of somebody well accustomed to being followed without question. He reaches into the table to fish a small glass vial out, flicking the cork loose with his thumb before he sprinkles a generous line on the dull edge of his knife. He snorts it off and gasps a little, shaking his head, wiping the white off his nostril. He hums with pleasure and does another, much smaller line, before offering her one of her own.

“I’ve never done anything like that,” she says quietly.

“I look forward to the pleasure of opening you up to all kinds of new things.”

He nods encouragingly, as if to say, bottoms up. Like feeding a child medicine, like convincing somebody to drink poison. She pleads with him for a moment with her eyes and he pets her thigh, squeezes softly. He sets his jaw and waits, unwavering. She does as asked - what choice does she have with a knife in her face? - and snorts the baby line, wincing at the way it burns fire up into her sinuses. She paws at her nose like an animal, rubbing it, wiping it to relieve the discomfort.

“It fucking burns, fuck.”

“Yeah, that will happen. You get used to it with time. Now - come on, let’s… get this…”

Trailing off, he guides her to straighten up so he can peel the shirt off her body. Defeated, she raises her arms and allows him to pull it over her head, immediately crossing them over her body once liberated of her top. He clucks his tongue and pries her arms open, taking all of her in. Every curve, every dimple, every freckle, every detail. He wastes no time in pulling her bra off the same way, and her face burns with shame as she squeezes her eyes shut.

He angles her chin with his fingers, cooing down at her to look at him, open her eyes. She does as requested and he smiles tenderly down at her.

“I promise this will only hurt a little bit. But I have to do it. It’s my will and duty to do it,” he says, and there’s a feeling in the back of her mind that he’s convincing the both of them. The thing she can’t deny about his manic, lidded eyes, the way his mouth is set in a triumphant smirk, is that it’s utterly intoxicating. He’s beautiful in some strange way. The tension in the air is thick and palpable. Suffocating.

He turns his attentions to her thighs and draws in a shaky little breath. Without ceremony, without warning or preparation, he turns the knife and draws it efficiently in a line on her inner thigh. Blood beads up almost immediately and the skin splits open as though blooming, a red, dripping little mouth. The pain is immediate and she cries out, afraid to move but unable to recoil from it. He holds her thigh down, making a sound that could have been him clearing his throat or a grunt of pleasure.

“Oh, there you are. There you are. Natural as ever.” His voice goes low, hoarse, and he presses the heel of his palm against his hardening cock. “A real woman, flesh and blood and sinew. A real woman for a real man.”

He does it again, draws the knife in a quick, shallow slash, and then again, again. Most of them aren’t as deep as the first - most of them don’t yawn open and reveal the layer of flesh underneath, but they all run blood down her inner thighs, soaking dark little spots into the cushion of his old couch. He pants until he’s practically hyperventilating, and brings the blade up to his mouth. Closing his eyes, he savors licking it clean, moaning, pulling at his shirt until he tosses the weapon back into the table’s compartment and yanks it off. The body underneath is long, milky pale.

“The taste of you - I need more of you.” He hooks his hands underneath her knees and yanks, pulling her down and spreading her legs open. He kisses her abused inner thighs, ignoring her fingers tugging into his hair as she pleads softly for him to stop, to be gentle. He runs his tongue over them, pushes inside of the deepest wound just a little, just enough for her to grit her teeth against a scream, to trap it back in her throat. “That’s it. There’s a good girl. You let Kappa take care of you, let me show you - fuck, I want all of you. Every single bit, mine.”

His flushed face is smeared with red, lips wet with it as he licks them. Her blood is on his teeth as he grins, wolfish, kissing up and up and up until he presses a soft kiss against the lips of her cunt. He drags his tongue between them, slow. Calculated.

“Kappa.”

“Tell me how much you want it. Tell me you want me to taste your blood, your cum. Tell me you’ll give me everything.”

He goes back to work, awaiting her response with all the patience of somebody used to a little insolence. It takes time to break a new one in, right? And she’s so very shiny and new, a challenge. A territory to conquer and claim, all this soft, generous flesh, all this clean mind to furrow into and spread like a disease.

“I… I want… you, I want you.”

Kappa moans and the vibrations against her send her into a new realm of pleasure. Something rhythmic, quick, powerful - whatever he gave her is slowly worming its way into her bloodstream, into her brain, making everything soft and hard all at once. Electric. Vibrant. Time both stops and speeds by, sweat beading at her hairline as she writhes under his mouth, under the sensation of his fingernails catching into a fresh wound. It all boils down to some horrible base sensation. All of it has her grimacing in pleasure - there are a hundred reasons she shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be doing this, the bright red alarms in her body screaming for her to GET UP, LEAVE, RUN, STOP, STOP, ESCAPE ESCAPEESCAPEESCAPE—

And she lay anyway, the circle of her overstimulated thoughts coming back again to Kappa’s mouth, his tongue and lips and fingers and teeth, his body the color of moonlight even though she knows the sun is blazing hot and sticky outside. Girls trapped in a room. Her trapped on the couch. Kappa trained expertly on her clit, lapping, moaning, drooling. Something about all this must make sense, it all comes together, somehow - but exactly how eludes her. She’ll remember later, maybe. She’s responsible, dependable. Smart. Maybe this is why Kappa likes her so much. Maybe he has something to share, maybe what he’s saying makes a little sense. Maybe. Maybe, maybe. The only truth is the way he eats her alive, the way he clings to her thighs and moans into her cunt like he can’t live without tasting her another second.

“Kappa,” she gasps. “I’m gunna cum.”

Kappa lifts his face and wipes this chin on the back of his hand, pupils eating into the ocean of his bright irises. It’s like a perfect eclipse. There’s something there, something in the meaning of it all; she feels on the cusp on something important, life-changing. Kappa stares so deeply into her that she can feel him reaching down into her heart, into her fucking guts, into the core of her. Squeezing. Knowing. Exploring. Everything is heightened, everything feels like some kind of milestone; how could she have missed any of this before? How did she never notice the way his hair falls into his eyes? How did she miss the exact curve of his cupid’s bow, of the way his throat curves into the cradle of his collarbones?

“I know,” he says softly. He breaks his gaze to pull his trousers down - they’re so thin, the material. He unties the front and pulls them down his slim hips, cock bouncing out, and she has to hold her breath. He’s thicker than expected. He gives her a knowing look, again, constantly - he seems to pick up so much. Doesn’t he? Is this - is this her own mind? How did she not see how he sparkled before, how smooth his skin is? How good he feels even breathing against her?

What did he make her take? And how can she feel so much, and can she feel more, can she do this more often?

Kappa smiles, and it’s so kind. He strokes her cheek with his thumb like he hasn’t drugged her, cut her open, forced her into her current position. He smiles like he’s proud, like he’s glowing and the only thing in the world, and he is. He is the only thing in the world. She marvels up at him and waits for him to speak. He must be accustomed to this. He takes his cock into his own hand and strokes lazily, rubbing himself against her, up, down.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers. He lines himself up to plunge into her, and she can’t help but match his breath - panting, desperate. Sweating. He licks whatever tears remain on her face - she’d forgotten they were there. Tears, sweat, blood, cum - what’s the difference? “Oh, little lamb. Don’t worry. Kappa will take care of you.”

He thrusts into her with all the softness of a battering ram. He’s balls-deep before she can even utter the first shriek, high-pitched and whining. He breathes it in, leans down to seal his lips against hers again before they’re both taking in each other’s moans, melting together with each vicious thrust. He pounds into her, hands unable to decide what to do - to grab her by the face, to dig his fingers into her plush, aching thighs, to run them up over her chest to fondle her there. He slows his pace only to lean down and pay attention to her nipples, his tongue and lips and the threat of his teeth.

“Touch yourself.”

There’s no argument - there are barely any coherent words left inside of her. Everything is pushed out and filled by Kappa, his cock, his words. His drugs.

She reaches between her thighs and he slows his pace, the roll of his hips delicious. His hair hangs down and tickles her face. She can do nothing but rub at her clit and stare up at him, and he beams down at her, smirking. The sharp angles of his face, the traces of her own blood still present on his lips. Sweat, pulse, flesh, blood.

“You gunna cum for me, sugar? Can feel it - can feel your tight little cunt squeezing against me. Is - oh, is that the spot?” He settles into a new rhythm, the head of his cock dragging over and over the same hyper-sensitive nerves inside of her. Her breath hitches and she’s practically sobbing, begging him, nodding when words fail. Her fingers are so wet. The sounds their bodies make together seems deafening - her fingers making hurried circles around her clit, his cock relentless in filling her slippery pussy. Her whining, his soothing voice as he builds her closer and closer. It’s painful, it’s passionate. She could die right here. He could plunge that knife into her throat and she’d still cum for him.

“Kappa. Kappa, I’m so close, I’m sooo close.” Pathetic. Mewling. She hyperventilates and her body shakes underneath him, like she might come apart. His eyes are so bright. He’s so focused.

“I know. I know,” he says. “Tell Kappa what you need.”

“I - I need - I need you, I need you. Please.”

“I’m right here. You’re doing so well, look at you - trembling. Gunna cry for me? Go on - cry for me. I want all of you.”

She hadn’t realized the tears building until he brought it to her attention. As if on cue, as though her body has decided that Kappa’s word is as good as truth, they spill over her lashes and track down her cheekbones, and she’s sniffling, soft little gasps and whines as he leans down to trace those tracks with his tongue. He moans, breath hot against her face. He kisses her wet eyelids before kissing her mouth, and the feeling of those shapely lips pushes her past the edge. Every muscle in her body tightens to its limit and she’s cumming for him, finding her voice after all that pitiful whining as she moans and sinks her nails into his back.

“There. There you go, good girl, good girl, fuck! You’re so good for me.”

His pace picks up and loses its poetic, slow grind, and he’s grunting and growling like a beast, like he aims to fuck her in half. Their bodies slap together and she’s seeing stars behind her eyes, crying out when he bites at her throat and sucks her flesh between his teeth. An animal playing with its dinner. In a matter of minutes, he’s stiffening up, pace stuttering to a few deep, mean thrusts as he empties into her. There’s a part of her that thinks she can feel it, his seed hitting the tender curve of her cervix and coating her from the inside.

There’s a shared pause in which they catch their breath. He idly fondles her tits as he comes down from the thrill, careful with her. The mischievous spark is still in his eyes, but they’re softer, too. Subdued.

They re-dress in silence. She catches him staring at the cuts on her thighs as she grabs her pants, her shirt.

“I should - I should probably get these fixed up,” she mumbles. In the comedown of their act, the fear returns in a cold trickle down her spine. Her heart never slowed down - where it was hammering in the cage of her chest for what he was doing to her moments before, it now beats for what he might still do to her if she remains. She feels like an alien, realizing for the first time that she’s done something she cannot undo in a territory that isn’t her own. Unsafe. Targeted. She’s a fucking idiot - how did this happen? Her mind races with trepidation, with the drugs still coursing through her heart in the thick, viscous blood there. There’s a thought, a mental picture of him with his hands buried elbow-deep beneath her ribs, naked body smeared with blood as he prizes his fingers around her heart to pull it out. The things he would do.

“Don’t,” he says simply. He pulls his trousers up and ties them. “I want to see them next time. Want ‘em to scar up nice. No ointment, no bandages.”

“What? Wait - next time?”

Kappa flashes a grin as he straightens up, shirtless and flushed. There are red marks where she’d dug her fingers into him, on his chest, on his back.

“You don’t think you can stay away from Kappa, do you?” He narrows his eyes and shakes his head a little, wagging his finger at her like a bad pet. “You know better than that, my dear.”

The fabric of her pants scrapes against her wounds and she has to wince. The sharp, prickling pain of them is intense, throbbing. Kappa’s territory. She almost forgets to grab her bag as she fishes some bills from her purse, tucking the weed into a pocket and tossing the money to the table.

“Thanks for the… uh. Thanks. It was…” she struggles to find the words. He stalks slowly up to her, and she wants to both back away and kiss him all at once. “It was - enlightening.”

“Right. Very,” he agrees, clearly amused.

“Well, I - I’ll see you around, Kappa.”

He leads her to the door and winks at her, like sharing a secret. Across the yard, Epsilon has stopped playing with the dog. He sits in a patch of dry yellow grass and smokes a cigarette, eyeing them from a distance with interest. Kappa glances at him and back at her, taking all of her in as his eyes trace the line of her body, lewd, hungry again. He tongues the edge of a tooth and watches her fixate on his tongue, clearly pleased with himself.

“You certainly will.”

[samgirl98]

Mending a Family 37/?

Prev | Next

Happy Death Day, Jason! Have some suffering

The snow was finally thawing, and it was getting warmer. (Winter lasted longer up north.) Though cold and miserable sometimes, Jason felt better as the days lasted longer. Things were looking up.

Then April 27th hit.

The day hit him like a wrecking ball. It’s not as if he had completely forgotten about the day he got murdered, but it had fallen on the back burner as he spent the days with his new family and practiced his new powers.

His body was lethargic when he woke up that morning. Jason could barely move. He felt his bones grinding against each other. He felt as if they were breaking like…like that day as that monster beat him with a crowbar. The only thing that would distract him from the feel of broken bones was the licking of an explosion on his skin, the feel of lack of oxygen in his lungs…

Jason heard the door to his room opening. He couldn’t turn his head; it felt too heavy.

“Daddy,” a small voice said, “are you okay?”

Jason wished he could reassure Danny.

I’m fine, chum, he wanted to say. Daddy’s just feeling a little under the weather—nothing to worry about.

Jason could hardly blink away the tears falling down his cheek.  

He lost track of time after that. When he came to again, the pain of broken bones had dissipated, but it was getting harder and harder to breathe. His lungs were full of smoke, his throat burned, and the tears felt good on his hot skin.

A cool weight on his arm helped bring him back a little. He suddenly noticed a red blob above him. As Jason’s eyesight cleared, he saw Jazz’s worried face. In her hand was a thermos.

“Hey, Jay. I won’t ask how you’re feeling, but the ecto in this thermos will help you feel better. Think you’ll be able to swallow?”

Jason’s throat burned worse at the thought of swallowing.

Jazz didn’t wait for an answer; she picked up Jason’s head and put it on her shoulder. She opened the thermos and poured a glowing, green liquid that reminded him of Lazarus' water into the thermos cup. She put the cup to Jason’s lips and dribbled some into barely parted lips.

She rubbed her fingers to Jason’s throat to encourage the citrusy-tasting liquid to go down.

After finishing the drink, Jason felt a little more alert. It was both a blessing and a curse. He could recognize Danny’s weight on his arm and hear Jazz’s calm breathing, but he was more aware of his feelings and the sensations he felt when he had died.

“Danny’s first death day was terrible, too. This is the first time you’ve experienced your death anniversary as a full halfa. Don’t worry; Danny’s second one was better. This time, his third one showed almost no symptoms. From what I could tell, he was just a bit tired.”

“Following that logic, your next one should be less bad. Danny told me the first time it felt as if he was relieving his death over and over again. I’m sorry you’re going through that, Jay. We should’ve explained this was going to happen to prepare you a little. I completely forgot, though.”

Jason could infer what a ‘death day’ was, but he still opened his mouth to ask.

“Shh, rest, big brother. You need your strength. Danny and I will explain later. I’ll be here to watch over you. Sleep.”

Jason couldn’t help but close his eyes. He felt comforted by his little family.

As the feeling of fire left his skin and he could breathe easier, Jason fell into a deep, dark oblivion he welcomed with open arms.

____

Red Robin and Robin flinched as Batman’s fist crunched under the goon’s face.

They both knew it wasn’t Batman who had been injured.

Red Robin had decided to patrol with Robin and Batman. He knew the date, coupled with Jason’s disappearance, would negatively affect Batman’s judgment. It was his job to keep Batman in line.

“Batman,” Red Robin called out as he hit the man’s face for the third time, “that’s enough. He’s unconscious.”

“Hn,” Batman dropped the man and handcuffed him. The man’s head lolled to the side.

Batman deployed his grappling gun and disappeared into the air.

“Was he this bad when Todd first died?”

Tim stared into the darkness his father had disappeared into.

“Worse,” he said before going after Batman.

Robin stared at the beaten goon for a second, contemplating. Then, he, too, followed his father. Todd needed to come home soon.

So, good news, I haven't updated not because of my depression or illnesses but because I moved from a little apartment we had been living in since I was a child into a house and also because I have a new job that I love!

Anyway hoped you liked this chapter.

@itsberrydreemurstuff @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @skulld3mort-1fan @theauthorandtheartist @emergentpanda-blog @jaggedheart11 @fisticuffsatapplebees @booberrylizard @fantasticbluebirdfan @thegatorsgooseoose @cyrwrites @kjoboo91 @crystallicedart @amaramizuki666 @spekulatiusmuffin @meira-3919 @kilasmess @bubblemixer @lexdamo @wonderland-daisy @mj-arts-n-stuff @amyheart19 @dolfay @the-church-grimm @undead-essence @aph-mable @lizisipancardo @purrloin77 @writer-extraodinaire @charlietheepic7 @sinfulloccultist @nootherusernameworked @coruscateselene @chaoticchange @itsberrydreemurstuff @gmkelz11 @feral-bunny31 @paroovian @thatonegaybitch68 @d4ydr34min9 @overtherose @fandomwandererer @vipower001 @thordottir45 @blackrabbitt3t @rosecinnamonbun @bianca-hooks123 @epilepticnerd @dat1angel @consouling @flamingenchiladadragon @all-mights-asscheeks @ender-reader @fuyu-bitch @ravenswife

[gyllenhaalstories]

LEG LOCK — ELWOOD DALTON 🏆

summary: happy international women’s day! let’s celebrate by getting absolutely wrecked by this this man who was sculpted by the gods.

warnings: i know nothing about the ufc, curse words, smut (the pet name doll is used, degradation, mild nipple play, worship kink, size difference* kink, marking, dacryphilia, blowjob & throat fucking, mild CNC, throatpie, choking, 69, pussy eating, fingering). 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 4465

photo credits: me @/gyllenhaalstories / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: *you do not need to be smaller than him, size kink applies to all heights & weights. when road house comes out, let’s all disregard the fact that my portrayal of dalton will most likely be so far off, okay? okay. i want to give a big shoutout to @jakegooglyeyes​ for the ideas, i had to steal them to make this fic as filthy as possible. ❤️ thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

“Come here, doll.” Dalton abandoned the magnificent view of the Vegas Strip he had from this hotel suite to turn his head in your direction. A couple of floors higher than where you were residing for the duration of the event and you would have your heads in the clouds. “I need you to show me how much you missed me.”

You walked from across the room, silk bathrobe wrapped around your body from when Dalton left to prepare for the fight and you relaxed in the tub that sat between the living and the bed rooms. Bath time was cut short, your eyes had been glued to the television screen while you watched the fight that ended incredibly quickly. In a blink of an eye, you got a text from your man indicating he was on his way (or so you assumed with the series of emojis he sent you, including an eggplant followed by droplets of sweat), then you heard knocking at the door.

The rest happened just as quickly, he replaced the hot and foamy water of the bath by cold one in which he dumped bucket after bucket of ice cubes to chill his worked up body. He hopped out of the ice bath and barely covered himself with a matching bathroom. He was still wearing the same compression shorts as from the fight, cup and all. A few glasses of electrolyte drinks, a pain killer as a safety measure and he was ready to go. His shorts were still damp. He was not playing.

You made your way to Dalton and wrapped your arms around his muscular shoulders. You had praised him enough, he could catch a break from all the ego inflation and try to get in touch with reality instead — with your help, of course. “You’re asking for a lot.” You smirked and pulled him in for a kiss. “You weren’t gone for a long time.”

“You’re so silly.” He mirrored your smirk as his tongue brushed over his teeth that had been covered by an official UFC branded mouth guard during the fight. His hands found their usual place at the small of your back. “I’m not asking, baby doll.” He rubbed his hands up and down on your back, surprising you when you felt some kind of pressure against your shoulders that was pushing you down.

You wanted to tell him he was needy, that he could enjoy the rest of his night and drop the bad boy act for an hour or two. You wanted to tell him you were still sore from a few days ago when he fucked you like it would be the last time, that he could wait a little longer. Your head wanted to tell him many things, your body, however, was only saying one thing.

His left hand was resting on top of your head, helping you go lower and lower until you dropped to your knees like the ‘good fucking girl’ you were. He gave you just enough freedom to take your time and leave a trail of kisses that started from his puffy pecs.

You traced the shape of them with your tongue before you gentle wrapped your lips around his small nipples. You flicked your tongue over the sensitive buds, drawing soft whimpers out of him. You gave his other nipple the same treatment and glanced at Dalton quickly, catching him as he was lolling his head back from the feeling of your warm mouth on his cold, hard nipples. You continued to paint his body with open mouthed kisses all the way down the small valley between his hard abs.

His eyes rolled backwards when you reached his Adonis belt — his sweet spot. His grip on your head loosened, you knew you were pushing all the right buttons. He would never get enough of you worshipping him. Whether it was with your words, your hands or your mouth; he soaked it all up and let it spark fireworks through his body. All those kisses and touches only made him even more aroused, pumping blood to his constricted cock.

Your kisses lingered on each side of his waist, making sure to suck just long enough to leave marks that were darker than his tanned skin. You gently licked over the groove of the muscle until you noticed a wet spot on his skin. You kept going until both sides looked bruised, unlike the rest of body. He left the octagon pretty much intact after the victory by knock out.

“I fucking knew it.” You raised your eye brows, looking up to meet Dalton’s darkened blue eyes. “You missed me.” He chuckled, satisfied by how you were treating him. He felt special a lot of the time, especially when cameras and spotlights followed his every movement on the stage while he threw punches at his opponents. However, nothing could compare with the way you made him feel like the king of the world.

From your position, down on the floor, he could absolutely pass as a king. He looked tall, impressive — intimidating. Dalton was towering over you and enjoying himself while he did it. You let your hands explore his toned legs, noticing how some muscles twitched under your touch. You continued to cover his lower abdomen with kisses and hickeys until you, too, got impatient enough to feel the urge to rip the shorts off his body.

Dalton’s arms moved out of the way after he let the bathrobe fall to his feet. He arched his back just enough to push his crotch impossibly closer to your face. He clicked his tongue as some imaginary clock was ticking as well. You needed to hurry up.

You squeezed your thumbs between his hips and the waist band of his shorts. You leaned your head on the hand was now caressing your cheek while you pulled down on the bottoms until he could easily step out of them. You discarded the damp fabric and let him adjust to the freedom. Your eyes widened with excitement — and hunger — as you watched his cock twitch and throb before you.

When you opened your mouth, awfully slow in his opinion, he quickly guided himself to the hole you were presenting. He barely gave you time to stick your tongue out that the tip of his cock was pushing deep in your mouth, a grunt of relief escaped his open mouth. “Been thinking of that mouth of yours all fucking day.”

You gagged around him, hands gripped on the smooth skin of his waxed legs. The trick that said to squeeze your thumb inside your hand had long stopped working for you. Dalton liked it rough — no stupid tricks could save you. You moaned around him and tried to bop your head back and forth to coat his veiny length with spit. You opened your eyes for a split second, meeting with his intense gaze while tears already started to pool and threaten to fall down your face.

“Gonna make yourself look all pretty for me, doll?” He started to thrust his hips, refusing to follow the pace you were setting. He wanted to feel you, all of you. He would not stop until he got what he wanted. His hands met on your head, he was already locking his fingers together.

Your eyes widened with fear and a small scream got stuck in your throat. You pulled away — while you still had time — to take as many deep breaths as he would let you.

“Answer me.” Dalton ordered.

“Yes. So pretty,” you obeyed, panting. “Just how you like it.”

“Just how I love it.” He corrected you with an arched brow. He guided your head to his crotch again. “Make yourself cry on my cock, baby.”

You nodded frantically and opened your mouth, jaw relaxed with your tongue out, already begging to taste more of his precum. Slowly, you took him in. Inch by inch, you adjusted to the size and weight of him against your tongue. You pushed your head as far as you could take it and pulled away. You spit on his cock and tried again and again, building speed and rhythm that made Dalton grunt of pleasure.

Whether you were moaning or whining around his cock, he did not care. He enjoyed the vibrations too much to stop and let you speak. With his hands on your head, he helped you move back and forth despite the strings of saliva that dripped down your chin and despite the tears that streamed down your face. He made you look up at him, and he could have finished right here and there in your mouth as he took in the sight.

It was messy. You looked so messy. Spit and tears had fallen down on your exposed breasts. You, too, were no longer wearing the silky bathrobe and it made him want to cover your whole body with various marks. Hickeys, spit, cum — whatever he could come up with to mark you as his, he would do it. And you would let him. Happily.

“Oh, doll,” Dalton chuckled in between moaning. “How could I not want to ruin you when you look so beautiful for me?” He gripped on your hair a bit, anchoring you down on his cock to keep you in place while he kept going with the dirty talk. “Let me hear your cute noises when you choke on me. Don’t fucking hold back.”

So, you did just that... Not that you had a choice, really. Dalton had taken over control of your strokes. All you could do was take it and let him hear how much you liked it. You reached to touch your neck and felt the size of the bulge his cock was creating in your throat. It hurt so bad. Your throat was hurting from the intense fucking, your eyes were hurting from the relentless crying and your knees were hurting from your position. You did not know what you should focus on.

Dalton figured it out for you as he made you hold his cock in your throat again. You could swear you felt him throb in your mouth, and judging by how he pulled your head away from him, he felt it too. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He laughed, his chest rising up and down from his breathing. “You’re so greedy, baby. You want me to cum already?”

“Yes, yes, please! You sounded so adorable when you begged.

“Nah,” He walked away from you, towards the bed. “You don’t deserve it yet.”

You put your palms on the floor and crawled on all fours, following him.

He fell on the bed, heavily, with a loud groan. The mattress curved under his weight and he waited until you were kneeling by his feet again. He reached his knee up to your chin — the same one he used to knock his opponent out for good — and made your head tilt up to look at him. “You good?”

You nodded and resisted the urge to wipe your face clean. It was uncomfortable. It was degrading.

He adored it. “Use your words.”

“I’m good.” You sounded confident enough to earn gentle taps of the back of his hand against your cheek.

Without losing anymore time, Dalton pushed you back down on his cock. Deeper than before. Deeper than he had done it in a long time.

You coughed and choked and gagged — a symphony of sounds that only got him craving for more. He could not move his hips a lot from this sitting position, so his expert hands did all the work for him.

The more you were fighting back, audibly yet incoherently begging for mercy, the deeper he was fucking your throat.

You could not even open your eyes, all you did was try and grab at anything you could reach to try and hold you back from running away from his cock. Not that you wanted to, it was just reflexes sending alarms to your brain to stop the torture. But it felt too good, but you wanted him too much.

He noticed you managed to slide your hands between his thick thighs and the bed, keeping you in place but also making it so that your head was at the perfect position. More back and forth, more strokes of your head on his sensitive cock and he made you stop moving.

Inside of your mouth, you twirled your tongue around his tip, while also trying to breathe as best as you could, guessing he was getting close and that the end was near. You were working hard to earn his release, to earn yours too so you could extinguish the fire burning inside of your lungs. You could have never guessed what he was about to do.

With impressive balance, Dalton leaned back and lifted his legs. First, he moved each leg on each side of your arms. He kept going, rather slowly, until his legs reached your shoulders. His feet were now hovering your back, heels pressing between your shoulder blades. Dalton crossed his feet together and erased the distance between his thighs — between his thighs and your head.

Soon enough, you felt the muscles of his thighs on each side of your face. Your eyes widened with surprise, with a hint of fear too. He stopped tightening until you were in a solid leg lock you could not escape. Well, you could, but that meant you would lose the privilege of feeling his cock in your mouth and that was much too high of a price to pay. The pressure of your position, locked between his legs and his cock, made you dizzy. That paired with the cruel lack of oxygen, it felt like you were choking without the feeling of his rough hand around your neck.

Dalton moved his feet, pushing his cock so far down your throat that you could not even physically gag around him, all that was left for you was to continue sobbing and to “Take it, take my fucking cock!” He grunt, nose scrunched and lips curled back. “The more you cry, the less I wanna let you go.”

Your eyelids started to feel heavy and your fists let go of the sheets you were strongly holding on to. Your hands travelled to the outside of his thighs were his muscles were bulging with the effort.

“You’re my perfect little doll.” He reminded you of your metaphorical position, just a toy for him to use until he unleashed all of his pleasure inside you. He also reminded you of your literal position, his feet digging against your spine to the point it started to hurt.

You gave three quick taps to his right thigh.

He smiled down at you, eyes and expression darkened with his lust. He bit on his lower lip while the pleasure was building dangerously big in his core.

You tapped him again as you started to squirm inside the fatal leg lock. You gathered all the strength you had to look up at him.

At the moment your eyes met, he shot his load of cum deep in your throat. Dalton came in many ropes of cum that you swallowed instinctively, not that you could do anything about it. He was lodged so deep inside of you that he forced you to take him and his cum until he was finished.

Boy, that first breath of fresh air felt even better than watching your man win fights after fights, belts after belts. Dalton freed you of the leg lock and pushed on your forehead to get you off him. Your knees gave in under you and you sat down with each leg caging you in. You were seeing dark spots and colours, or maybe that was the bruise on the knee he used to fly on his opponent’s face. It was hard to tell. And it was hard to think.

His chest was reddened from the force of his orgasm, his cock was a slobbery mess of spit that dripped down to his balls and the floor. Your chin was dripping too, but neither of you had it in you to clean up. If only he had thought of filming you being the best slut in this goddamn world for him. His right hand held his cock, trying to stop the twitching. His left hand stretched towards you with his fist closed. He smile when you bumped your fist against it.

“Thank you.” You whispered, more like mouthed. Your throat felt so sore that the vibrations of your voice were painful.

“You have such good manners, baby girl.” He was now cradling your head in both of his hands, not so accidentally smearing more of your spit over your face. “I trained you good.”

Your hands reached up to your jaw and you massaged each side of it lightly.

In the meantime, Dalton pushed himself further on the bed and laid down, squeezing a pillow under his head to prop himself up. He used his pointer and middle fingers in a come hither motion, ordering you to get on bed with him.

You happily obliged, definitely needing some recovery time after the roughness with which he had fucked your mouth. You both laughed when he saw just how much you were struggling to lift yourself off the floor, so he offered you a strong arm to hold on to and he pulled you up on your shaky legs.

Dalton clicked his tongue in disapproval when he understood you were trying to lay down next to him. “Who said I was done? I certainly did not.” He had you on your tired knees again, pulling you down so your faces were closer and he could kiss your swollen and spit covered lips. One of his hands travelled down your body, down to your pussy that had been left untouched this whole time.

You watched him, watching you. His eyebrows moved in funny ways and his jaw dropped while his fingers dipped between your soaked folds. You moaned softly when he smeared your wetness over your clit, the outside of your pussy and even your inner thighs that were just as messy as the rest.

“If you want us to stop...” He interrupted his sentence with a rough kiss that he ended by pulling on your bottom lip. “Why is this pretty pussy so wet for me?”

You failed to come up with any clever response, instead you let your moans and whimpers speak for themselves.

He slapped ever so lightly your pussy, making you flinch at his touch. “Come on, baby. I need to taste you.” He stretched his arm out to catch you as you tried, again, to lay down. “Not like that. I want you to sit on my face.”

You glanced at him quizzically. You were exhausted — definitely more exhausted than the man who had one of the most critical fights of his career just a few hours ago. You failed to choose between rest and pleasure.

So Dalton picked for you. He manhandled you around, helping you climb on top of his head in the position he wanted you in. You were on top of him, your core just a few inches away from his mouth and you were facing the rest of his body. His cock was still hard, throbbing with the need to be touched by you again. He wrapped his arms around your legs and forced you down on him.

At first, you felt his tongue that was poking out of his mouth. He licked over and through your folds, teasing your clit that he sucked on for a few minutes. Then, you flinched again as his tongue poked at your entrance. He switched between licking and sucking, so that you could warm up to the familiar pleasure that his mouth procured you. With goosebumps all over your skin, and his tongue abruptly entering you, you fell forward and your face met with his cock again.

He was not the smartest man, but when it came to having his way with you, Dalton would always come up with a reason or an idea to get his dick wet and preferably buried in your holes. It did not matter which one, as long as he was inside you, he felt like a champion.

You caved in to the urge of feeling his cock again, of tasting it and of worshipping him more than you already had. You leaned on your hands that were digging in the mattress of the hotel bed. You bopped your head up and down on his length, taking your time to feel every part of him. You wrapped your lips tight around his tip, feeling how it stretched you out. You licked over the bulging veins of his cock, moaning along with him when he let out noises against your core.

Dalton planted his feet on the bed, legs spread open to give you space. He would soon tip over the point of overstimulation, but you felt way too good to tell you to stop. He focused on you, on tasting you and on pulling the sweetest sounds out of you. And then, he jerked his hips forward.

You choked on his cock and coughed.

He sucked on your clit to make you forget about it. He did it again, replacing whatever reaction you had with more waves of pleasure that built up at the bottom of your tummy. He played this game for a little while until he could not stop himself anymore. He fucked your mouth, the more you drooled — the deeper and the harder he fucked it. Simultaneously, he pushed his tongue in your pussy and swallowed all of you, moaning at your taste.

You pulled your head away from him, a small scream emanated from you when you felt your hole being stretched by a thick finger. You mumbled a few curse words that earned you a second digit inside of you. Was it a reward or a punishment? You had no idea, other than it felt amazing and it made the whole night worth it, from the sobbing to the lack of breathing. When you adjusted to the blissful pain of the stretching, you continued to suck him off, focusing on the swollen, red tip of his cock.

He was not having any of it. Dalton clenched his abs, fought his own tiredness and sensitivity and fucked your mouth hard. His fingers matched the pace, pushing in and out of you fast and deep. “Attagirl,” He grunted. “ So damn hot.” he praised you and stilled his hips so that his cock was hitting the back of your throat and you struggled around him. “Love the way you clench around me when you’re choking on my cock.” You gagged as an answer. “Makes you tighter.”

Sounds of protest failed to provide you with any mercy, he was fucking your mouth and your pussy like he owned them. Which he did, and he was making sure you would remember that you belonged to him for many days to come.

He felt you coming. He felt you clenching even tighter on his fingers to the point he struggled to move them at all. He kissed and nibbled some more on the skin of your inner thighs that were squeezing his head just like his own thighs had squeezed yours. Quickly he focused on sucking your swollen clit into his mouth and moaning against it.

And you felt him cumming in your mouth for the second time that night. Your orgasms lingered together, grunts and moans melted into each other as you both tried to drag the wave of euphoria for as long as you could ride it.

Much to your surprise, Dalton was the one to tap out. He was squirming under you before you had time to swallow every drop of his seed.

You carefully licked what had fallen on his abs and pelvis until you cleaned him up. At the same time, he stopped sucking on your clit to lick you clean with a flat tongue and wait as you released his fingers from your grip. He sucked them in his mouth and released them with an audible pop.

He granted you with the permission to, finally, lay down on the comfortable bed. Your head rested by his hip as his rested by your thighs. His fingertips gently caressed your skin, not even minding that you were sweaty just like him. “Doll?”

You hummed in response, too tired to lift your head and look at him. Instead, you admired the view that you had from your spot, all cozied up against his body. Your eyes were not close, but not wide open either. You appreciated the quite blurry appearance of his puffy abs and v-line, of the curve of his hips, and of how his torso was rising and falling down to the rhythm of his breathing. You tried to match his deep breaths and slow releases.  

“You’re fucking amazing.” He turned his head to plant a few kisses on your thighs, smoothing over the spots where he had been gripping hard on you.

“I know.” You chuckled along with him.

You both agreed you would clean up later. The rest could wait, not everything though — Dalton was already looking forward to wreak havoc with room service.

“Sounds like a good plan to me.” You let him take a power nap next to you while you replayed the events of the night in your head. “El’?”

He leaned on his elbows so that he could look at you. You were so beautiful, fucked out of your mind like that. No wonder why his phone lock screen was a picture of your post orgasm glow. He noticed you were smirking. He carried the reputation of being a straight up pain in the ass. You helped with keeping him balanced and somewhat sound of mind. But he loved the way you matched his crazy just as well as you kept him grounded. That push and pull game of feeding into his unhinged antics and keeping his feet not too far up from the ground was one of his favourite things.

“That was so much fun.” You let out a sigh. He responded with a content “Yeah, I know”.

“I was thinking of something...” You refrained from pointing out it was an usual event for him to use his brain to do the thinking rather than his fists — or his cock. “What other battle moves can I practice on you next time?”

[jackhues]

bad reaction pt. 2 - mat barzal (au #2)

part one has been dubbed the 'bad reaction mat fic', so here's the second au of part two loll. here's the first au of part two! this kinda sucks, but it's not supposed to be a happy ending so yeah

gif not mine!

it was quiet. too quiet.

you peered an eye open, trying to listen to any sound of noise in the apartment. you couldn't.

suspicious, you got to your feet, making your way down the hall and into your son's room. finding it empty, you suppressed a groan.

if he was awake and not making noise, it meant something was happening. something you wouldn't be happy about.

you silently headed down the hallway and towards the living room, mentally preparing yourself to clean up whatever mess nico had made this time. he was a rowdy kid. always making noise, breaking lamps, or creating messes.

but he had a heart of gold.

"nico," you called out your son's name a little hesitantly.

"in here, mama!" he responded.

you followed his voice to the living room, stopping in your tracks at the sight on the t.v. screen.

it had been years - six years - and that time had seemed to do mat well. he hadn't shaved recently, growing out a bit of scruff, and his brown eyes were just as lovely as you remembered.

he was in the middle of giving an intermission interview, answering the reporter with the standard responses.

"he shoots... he scores!" nico's voice broke your trance.

nico had taken the broom from the kitchen and was holding it as if it was a hockey stick. the tennis ball he was using as a puck slammed into the leg of the coffee table, adding another dent.

you shook your head to yourself, reaching for the remote to turn the t.v. off.

"no, mama wait!" nico called out. "i wanna watch the hockey game."

"it's a repeat, bubba," you told him. "the islanders already won. besides, i thought you didn't like hockey."

"i changed my mind," he shrugged simply. "but leave it, i wanna watch."

despite your heart aching at the sound of mat's voice - no matter how monotone it was - you gave in to your son's wishes, leaving the game on. insisting on turning the t.v. off would only make him suspicious.

the last thing you needed was for anyone to find out who nico's dad was.

--

tags:@woodruff-edwards , @austinbutlerscaresme ,  @svechnikovvv ,  @hockeyboysarehot , @emptyflowerpots ,  @mysticaldonkey , @lam-ila ,  @babydollmarauders , @starjoyyy  ,  @kjohnson-91 , @gavinbrindley, @hischierdevils , @jackhughesily  , @panarin10 ,  @equallyshaw ,   @power2myheart  ,  @lynnismypseudonym , @beccaiscold , @akengii , @hischierhaze, @cinnamonpancakes , @mitchymainer , @lifeofpriya ,  @marshmallow-babe, @hughesx3 ,  @emsully2002  ,  @starsandhughes , @huggy-hischier73 ,  @doglady5678 , @thatoneblog , @exonct07 @hughesmedicine , @qwanelledingele , @mindless-rock , @ireadthensuetheauthors , @huggy-hischier94, @slaythehousedownboots , @diary-of-jj , @youunravelme

[m-ayo-o]

pair

18+ // alcohol consumption drunken night out with Aki Hayakawa wc 720 selfshiptember; 7

The night begins at a simple but welcoming ramen restaurant, the last thing seared into your brain being the shout of “cheers!!” clinking glasses with everybody around the table.

You order more food, loads more drinks, then head to bars and clubs, finally ending up at some house party with Aki. You can’t find anyone else, so you stick to him like glue, not wanting to get lost in the chaos.

After having your fill of alcohol for the night month, feeling numb from all the dancing, you grab Aki and pull him into the hallway, “can we–” you’re barely audible over the noise, “can we go home!?”

He nods and takes your hand as you stumble to the nearest train station.

You find yourselves turned around in the underground labyrinth, but you hop onto a train eventually, hopefully heading in the right direction.

Both of you near enough slump onto the sunken seats like they’re the most comfortable cushion in the world, your heads lolling to the side, collapsing into each other in your intoxicated state.

“Too much– beer” Aki groans.

“I knowww,” you moan back, “my head’s… spinning”

You grip onto each other when the train starts moving, feeling suddenly startled then bursting into fits of giggles.

But neither of you pull away, only cuddling into each other further during your ride home.

You’re far too drunk to walk, your phone’s dead, so Aki insists that you stay over while drunkenly setting up a camp bed for himself on the floor.

“Aki, Aki, sstop–” you slur out, “I’ll stay– if, if you come sleep in here– with me?” You bargain, frowning at each hiccup that interrupts you.

His expression shifts, looking hesitant, then he climbs up onto his bed and sits next to you.

“Help–” you start trying to lift up your dress, attempting to discard the smoke tinged, beer sodden garment before you sleep, “get this off!” you huff with defeat, your arms flopping down again. It’s just too tight and wet.

Aki sighs and unceremoniously pulls your dress over your head, throwing it away as you’re left in your underwear. He joins you shortly, stripping off his jeans and shirt, climbing in as you pull him in for a cuddle.

You’re just so comfortable with each other– he’s seen you in bikinis and underwear so many times now you’re not even shy.

But you’re starting to feel like you should be when you feel something hard poking between your thighs.

You can’t help but giggle, arching your neck round to give him a snarky comment, but you find his eyes closed. 

The devil hunter is sleeping.

You watch him for a second, admiring his peaceful expression.

Then sleep calls for you as well as you enjoy his warm embrace, feeling thankful for your reliable friend.

You’re awoken in a lightheaded and dreamy state, the unfamiliar bedroom swirling into your vision, suddenly overcome with panic.

Where the fuck am I?

As soon as the thought crosses your mind you already realise you’re at Aki’s, noticing the familiar clock on the wall, his bedsheets… his arm… wrapped around your… naked? waist?

Shit.

You lift the blanket, finding that you’re at least still wearing your thong.

You don’t feel like you had sex.

You’d know if you had sex with Aki… right?

You feel his hand twitching, grabbing at your waist as you shuffle around, agitating him.

“We didn’t.” he mutters against your back and pulls you closer.

A relieved smile washes over your face. Fuck knows what would’ve happened if you and Aki had sex last night. You wouldn’t have used protection, that’s for sure, and you were honestly so drunk one of you would’ve probably ended up injured.

He hears you giggle quietly as you grip onto his arm, staying in bed for a while longer as you both wake up and recount the night slowly.

You have a peaceful morning together, nursing each other’s hangovers, taking turns in the bath, borrowing a spare set of his pyjamas, then heading to the kitchen.

Aki prepares some coffee and breakfast, serving them up at the small wooden table in the living room. You enjoy the simple meal then step out onto the balcony, feeling the breeze and indulging in a sobering cigarette.

selfshiptember 7!!

likes, comments + reblogs appreciated! <3

[kabie-whump]

✧･ﾟ Ripe, About to Fall - Part 13 ✧･ﾟ

This is an 18+ slowish burn pet-whump story with added romance.

Title from 'Liquid Smooth' by Mitski

Series

First | Previous

Chapter Summary: Ventis is free, but believe it or not things are a little more complicated than that. Happily ever afters don't come easily.

Chapter Content: cauterization, drugs, drug addiction, rejected seduction attempt

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Onthyes wasted no time after Ventis’s body thumped into his arms. The genasi was clearly hurt - pale and barely conscious and covered in blood, but there was no time to do anything about it right then. This was their one chance.

So Onthyes ran.

Ventis’s head bobbed against his shoulder as Onthyes sprinted through the garden, the sound of Athos’s enraged screaming growing fainter and fainter. Ventis whimpered and made a weak effort to twist out of Onthyes’s arms and Onthyes just held him closer, whispering, “It’s okay. You’re okay now,” into his impossibly soft hair.

He slipped out of a garden gate just as a carriage pulled up on a nearby road. The door opened and Theodore appeared from the inside, waving Onthyes over frantically.

“He’s hurt,” Onthyes panted as he laid Ventis down on the padded bench.

The carriage jolted as it began to move, and Theodore came to kneel next to Ventis, pulling his robes away to reveal a stab wound in his side. “Shit. What happened?”

“Athos.” Onthyes tore away the bottom of a curtain, pressing the red velvet hard against the wound.

Ventis groaned, his eyelids fluttering.

“Can you heal him?” Onthyes asked, sparing a glance out the window to check for pursuers.

“No, I don’t practice healing magic. Only…” Theodore paused, considering something. “How far are we from your friend’s house?”

“A little over an hour. Why?”

“I could cauterize the wound. He might not last that long with us just putting pressure on it.”

Onthyes winced. He hated the idea of causing Ventis any more pain, but he knew it was necessary. “Do it.”

With a short nod, Theodore reached out and pulled the wad of velvet away from Ventis’s side. “Hold him,” he advised as his fingers began to glow with bluish energy.

Onthyes grabbed Ventis’s arms, holding him still. When Theodore touched the injury Ventis let out a scream, his legs kicking out as he tried to twist away from the source of the pain. The carriage filled with the sickening scent of burning flesh. Onthyes pressed his lips to Ventis’s forehead, whispering, “Shh. It’s alright. It will be over soon. Stay with us. You’re okay.” The genasi passed out fully moments later, and Onthyes and Theodore both let out sighs of relief.

They rode in silence after that. Theodore dozed off, his head lolling against the window as the swinging lantern cast flickering orange light across his face. Onthyes couldn’t bring himself to sleep.

It was the middle of the night when they finally arrived at their destination. Onthyes scooped Ventis into his arms gently, carrying him inside while Theodore paid the carriage driver generously - some gold for the ride and even more for his silence.

Shayah was waiting for Onthyes inside, ready to help him get Ventis into a spare bed, which had already been prepared for him. She had agreed to house them for as long as they needed and asked for nothing in return, and Onthyes had never been more glad for her friendship.

He had met Shayah during his time in the city guard. She was new then - a fiery half-orc who could lift more than half of their squad combined with her pinky finger. She and Onthyes had become fast friends, but she lacked discipline and it didn’t take long for her to get kicked out. They’d stayed in touch after that, but with Onthyes’s promotion to squad leader and eventual move to working in Athos’s manor they didn’t see each other much. Still, she’d accepted Onthyes’s request for aid happily when he’d gone to her a few days ago.

“So, this is him?” Shayah mused as Onthyes undressed Ventis. “He’s pretty.”

“He’s hurt.”

“I see that. I ain’t much of a healer, but I’ve got some supplies, and there’s some old clothes of mine in that dresser I don’t mind him wearing.”

“Thank you, Shy.”

“Don’t mention it. ” Shayah left the room, nearly running into Theodore as he entered. She patted him on the top of the head, between his horns. While his expression remained neutral, visible lightning crackled between his fingertips at the touch.

“Do you need me for anything?” he asked Onthyes, his voice hushed.

Onthyes shook his head. “No, I think Shayah and I can handle it for now. Thank you for your help tonight.”

“I’ll be back in a few hours. I’ve got business to take care of.”

“Where are you going? It’s the middle of the night.”

Theodore was already headed back the way he came, soon followed by the sound of the front door opening and closing.

Shayah helped Onthyes undress Ventis, carefully peeling sheer white fabric away from his blood and sweat soaked skin. The garment shimmered in the dim lantern light as Shayah folded it, gold and jewels clinking together.

She whistled. “It’s a shame - all the bloodstains. We could’ve made a fortune off of this outfit alone. Probably still could, honestly.”

“We should burn it,” Onthyes countered. “If we sell anything of Athos’s he might find out, and then it would only be a matter of time before he finds us.”

Shayah huffed. “You’re no fun, as always.”

They finished cleaning and dressing his wound, wrapping bandages around his midsection. Shayah’s clothes fit him about as well as a grain-sack would fit a mouse, but at least he seemed comfortable. Ventis would surely be hurting in the morning, but for the moment he was stable and firmly unconscious, which was good enough for Onthyes.

Onthyes settled into a chair at his bedside while Shayah turned in for the night. It felt surreal - seeing Ventis free and safe after many long months of planning and biding his time. It would be a lot of responsibility, helping him heal after everything he’d been through, but it was a responsibility that Onthyes was eager to take on.

His biggest concern was the nightspill. From what he’d gathered, Ventis has been taking it daily since even before he became Athos’s pet. It brought him comfort; an easy escape. It must have a firm hold on him by now, and it would surely be an ordeal to get him sober. Still, Onthyes didn’t think he could truly heal while he was still taking it, so it would have to go.

Then there was the matter of Ventis’s… conditioning. He’d mentioned it offhand a few times - the idea that he wasn’t a person, that he couldn’t see himself as a person.

When Onthyes had first proposed the idea of escape to him he’d laughed it off, insisting that he wouldn’t be able to survive outside of captivity. Onthyes believed him to a certain extent. He probably wouldn’t be able to adapt to life without his gilded cage; not without help, at least. Onthyes had no idea how much of Ventis’s apparent submission and subservience was a genuine part of his personality and how much of it was conditioned into him. He would have to be careful, lest he risk forcing Ventis to change himself in the name of what Onthyes believed his personality as a free man should look like.

Onthyes wanted Ventis to embrace his freedom, of course, but how could he do so without imposing his own beliefs on him, without controlling him just like Athos did?

Eventually Onthyes drifted off in his chair, his upper body slumped forward onto the bed, his hand inches away from Ventis’s.

Ventis was still asleep by the time Onthyes woke up. His complexion had a little more life to it than it had last night, but he clearly still had a long way to go before he could be considered “better”. Theodore was there, his back turned as he stood at the dresser and quietly busied himself with something Onthyes couldn’t see. The scent of sausages seeped underneath the door and into the bedroom and he could hear Shayah shuffling around in the kitchen.

“Morning,” Onthyes said through a yawn, sitting up stiffly. The way he’d slept had left his back sore and achy, but at least he had stayed by Ventis’s side. There was no way he would have found himself a more comfortable place to sleep and risked missing any changes in Ventis’s currently stable condition.

Theodore turned and Onthyes finally got a look at what he was doing. In his hands was a glass vial, filled with shimmering blue liquid. It glowed softly, casting a ghostly light up onto his face. Nightspill.

“Do you know how to do this, or should I figure it out for myself?” Theodore asked, picking up a syringe in his other hand. “Or maybe Jasper knows…”

Onthyes couldn’t figure out what to say at first. How could Theodore be handling that stuff so casually? “What? Where did you get that?”

“There’s a den nearby. I saw it from the carriage. I went last night and bought a few vials, since we didn’t manage to steal any from Athos.”

“But…” Onthyes shook his head, perplexed. “Why?”

“Jasp- sorry. Ventis takes it, remember?”

“Not anymore.”

“Hm?” Theodore’s brow creased in confusion.

“He can’t keep taking that stuff, Theodore. It’s not good for him. We talked about this.”

“Oh. I thought… When you said you wanted him sober I thought you meant in the future. As in, weeks or months from now. You want him to stop taking it right now?”

“Of course I do.”

“But that…” Theodore shook his head. “It won’t work.”

“Why not?”

“First of all, he’s far too weak right now.” Theodore moved to perch on the edge of the bed, the vial still in his hands. “I have doubts that he will be able to survive the withdrawals even going into them completely healthy. That hole in his side definitely won’t help matters.”

Onthyes bit down on the inside of his cheek, his gaze tracing Ventis’s face. There was a tension in the genasi’s muscles that suggested his sleep was less than restful.

“Secondly, I don’t believe that you and Shayah are prepared to face the consequences of him getting sober,” Theodore continued. “He may act human enough when he’s sedated, but the reality is that he’s not. I knew him before he started taking it. His magic is volatile. He struggled to control it on his best days, and on his worse days…”

Theodore took a breath, his gaze flitting away from Onthyes. “He got himself killed once, five years ago. He lost control of his powers - of his emotions, really. That’s what triggered it. His magic got away from him while he was on the palace roof and the winds pushed him off. Our physician resurrected him, of course, but he was never the same after that. That’s when he started using the nightspill, I believe. Faced with the pain of withdrawal, he might hurt himself or us if we aren’t prepared.”

“What do you suggest we do, then?” Onthyes asked bitterly. “Let him stay addicted to it?”

Theodore shrugged. “At least until he’s healed, yes. Then maybe you can suggest the idea to him. But don’t force it, especially not now. If you make him quit now it will surely kill him.”

Onthyes hated this. He hated this so much. But Theodore was right - Ventis was too weak right now to face nightspill withdrawals. “Fine. You’re right. He’ll stay on it for now. But forever is not an option. Not while he’s under my care.”

It was then that Ventis’s hand twitched, his fingertips scraping against the well-worn blankets. He let out a soft gasp of pain, his face twisting as he returned to reality.

“Ventis,” Ontheys said softly.

Ventis groaned, his eyes fluttering open. He started to sit up and Onthyes and Theodore both reached out to stop him.

“Don’t move,” Onthyes muttered, keeping a hand on his shoulder. “You’re hurt, remember?”

Ventis blinked hard, seemingly struggling to take in the room around him. “I… What? Where am I?”

“You’re at my friend’s house. You’re safe. Athos isn’t going to find you here.”

Ventis only seemed more confused. He tried to sit up again, then winced and settled back into the blankets heavily. “I jumped… I jumped off the balcony?”

Onthyes nodded, relieved that Ventis was beginning to remember what happened last night. “Yes, you did. I caught you, and we escaped.”

“He stabbed me.” Ventis’s hand drifted to his side, hovering over the bandages. “It hurts.”

“I know.” Onthyes took his hand, drawing it away from the wound slowly. “I’m sorry.”

“My medicine?” Ventis looked up at Onthyes, his eyes wide and vulnerable. “I didn’t bring any. It all happened so fast.”

Theodore had shrunken into himself as Ventis woke up. Onthyes had gleaned from talking with him that the brothers weren’t exactly on friendly terms, and he could tell that sharing in this vulnerable moment with Ventis had him wanting to crawl out of his skin. Still, he cleared his throat, holding out the vial of nightspill. The liquid lit up as it shook in the vial, and Ventis’s eyes locked onto the blue light with uncharacteristic intensity.

“I got you some,” Theodore said.

Ventis heaved an audible sigh of relief as he rolled up his sleeve with shaking fingers. “Thank the gods.”

The vial was passed to Ventis, who took it reverently. He stared at it for a long moment, then looked back up to the other two. “I do not know how to do it myself,” he admitted sheepishly. “My mast… he always did it for me.”

Theodore and Onthyes shared a look. Theodore clearly didn’t know how, and Onthyes would never ask Shayah to, given her uncomfortable history with the substance. That left him.

“I watched Athos do it a few times. I’ll try,” Onthyes offered reluctantly.

Ventis shuffled closer to Onthyes, his fingers cold as he handed him the vial. Onthyes drew the contents into a syringe carefully, then took Ventis’s arm. “Try to relax,” he muttered.

Ventis nodded, but his breaths were too quick, his muscles too tense. Onthyes didn’t blame him for being anxious. He would be nervous if someone with absolutely no experience was trying to inject him with drugs too.

The genasi turned his face away as the needle touched his arm. “Try not to miss,” he whispered.

Onthyes tried to repeat what he had seen Athos do a few times before, finding a vein on the inside of Ventis’s elbow before inserting the needle at a shallow angle. There was a moment of resistance before it slid home. Ventis flinched.

Slowly, Onthyes pushed down on the plunger, watching the blue glow follow the spider-web pattern of Ventis’s veins under his skin until it dispersed completely. Ventis sighed, his eyes falling closed as his body finally relaxed.

Onthyes removed the needle, feeling a little sick. He really hadn’t wanted to do that. It was a connection with Athos that he had never imagined himself having. He helped Ventis settle back into the pillows, and soon his breaths evened out into a deep sleep.

Ventis slept through most of the day after that. In the meantime, Onthyes stayed by his side while Shayah went to the market to buy food for the four of them as well as some new clothes for Ventis. Theodore had wanted to accompany her, but he hadn’t even made it all the way to the market before the pair had had to duck out of the way of some patrolling guards and tear down multiple posters of him, Onthyes, and Ventis. The three of them surely wouldn’t be able to appear in public for quite some time.

By that evening Ventis was awake and sitting up in bed, finally alert. Onthyes got him to eat, but the genasi only had a few bites before claiming to have lost his appetite. Onthyes wished he could know what was going on in his head. It must be so strange - being free for the first time in all these years.

That night, after Shayah had gone to her bedroom and Theodore had fallen asleep on the couch, Onthyes laid out some blankets and pillows on the floor of the spare bedroom, just past the foot of the bed Ventis occupied. He kneeled on the light padding, humming to himself as he arranged the fabric to make a makeshift bed.

“What are you doing down there?”

Onthyes paused, looking up at Ventis who peered down at him from the bed. “Just… getting comfortable,” he said.

Ventis tilted his head, the crystals on his cheek glinting. “When I said you could sleep in here with me I had no intention of banishing you to the floor.”

“Oh. You mean…?”

“Yes, hero,” Ventis said with a soft laugh. “Join me. I will not bite.”

Onthyes was careful to give Ventis his space as he climbed into the bed, slipping under the covers but keeping a respectful distance from him. Even then, he was hyper-aware of the mere inches of space between them.

Ventis turned onto his side face Onthyes, the tip of his horn pressing into the pillow under his head. Their faces were so close like this and Onthyes couldn’t help but recall the night of their first escape attempt, that tiny moment when their lips had brushed - so short that Onthyes hadn’t had a chance to react. Ventis seemed to be thinking about it too, his gaze flicking between Onthyes’s eyes and lips.

Onthyes turned onto his back and decided it would be best to just stare at the ceiling until he fell asleep. Then he heard Ventis huff, felt his cold hand on his opposite cheek, turning his face towards him so they were looking at each other again.

Ventis had shifted closer and now he moved in slowly, his eyes fluttering closed. His lips parted slightly…

Onthyes jerked back.

Ventis opened his eyes, frowning as he stared at Onthyes. “What?”

Onthyes cleared his throat, his heart pounding in his ears. “I… We can’t.”

Ventis smiled softly and started to lean in again. “We’re alone. No one’s stopping us this time,” he whispered.

“But we shouldn’t. You’re injured.”

“I can barely feel it.”

Of course. The nightspill probably numbed the pain. But it also numbed his emotions, his ability to think clearly. Onthyes would be taking advantage of him if he let this happen.

“You’re high.”

“I can still perform, I promise.”

And yes, maybe the low, sultry way he said that made Onthyes’s blood run hot, but he knew better. He had to control himself. “No. I can’t. It’s just not right.”

Ventis finally scooted back, letting go of Onthyes’s face with a sigh. “I don’t… I don’t understand. You worked so hard so you could have me to yourself and now you just… You don’t want me?” There was genuine hurt and confusion in his voice.

Was that really what Ventis thought? This whole time, did he really think Onthyes just wanted to take him for himself, to own him just like Athos did? He tried not to feel hurt, but it still stung. He thought he’d made it clear that he was better than that, that he didn’t see Ventis as something to be owned.

“Ventis…” Onthyes bit his lip. He didn’t want to lie. It would surely be a lie for him to say he didn’t hold any desire for Ventis. “It’s not like that. I… I care about you. And yes, I am attracted to you. But I don’t think it would be right for us to do anything right now. I want you to decide that you want this, not just out of some feeling of obligation but out of genuine desire on your part.”

“But I do want this,” Ventis insisted.

“I just can’t trust that you really mean that right now. How do I know that this isn’t the nightspill or Athos’s conditioning talking?”

Ventis’s face fell. “It feels real. It’s real to me.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment. Onthyes didn’t know what to say. He wanted Ventis, really. But he just couldn’t trust that he wouldn’t be taking advantage of him. He was still a pet only yesterday. But how could Onthyes decide that he was the only who could tell Ventis what he really wanted? His values were at war with each other.

Sighing, Ventis turned onto his back, the motion making him wince. His hand drifted to his side, pressing gently against his stab wound.

“I’m not saying no,” Onthyes started softly.

Ventis glanced over at him. “I’m listening.”

“I’m just saying… Not right now.”

“Then when, Onthyes? I want this, but I don’t want to wait around for you to decide that you believe me when I say I’m ready.”

“When you’re sober,” Onthyes decided. “If something happens between us I want you to be in your right mind. Get sober, and then maybe I’ll give you what you’re asking for.”

Ventis hummed. That clearly wasn’t the answer he was looking for. “Alright. We’ve waited this long. I guess we can wait a little longer.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

@scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-whumpstuff @morning-star-whump @yeetmyskeet

@sleepyiswhumping @bitchaknso @unicornbeck @wounds-seen-and-unseen @3-2-whump

@looptheloup @lindsay00000008 @rainydaywhump @scoundrelwithboba

[renata-has-thoughts]

W/c: 2.2k Pairing: Dom fem Reader x Sub P.Bateman Includes: PLEASE READ!!! Dubcon, very dominant reader, physical assault, blood play, blood drinking, scratching, degradation, riding, p in v, dacryphilia, choking/breath play, Patrick is into it but only slightly admits to it at the end, therapeutic sex? If that’s a thing? ‘I/My/Mine’ pronouns for reader.

A/n: First of all, always read tags, but I mean it this time! This is very intense but I had a LOT of fun writing it. I’ve read the book, and I can assure you he’s an insecure slut, and he’s so babygirl. Need I remind you, INTENSE. If you don’t like it don’t read it. That’s on you. No minors. Have fun~

My fist came down sharp across his face. I reveled in the electric contact stinging my knuckles as the hook of my arm drew away. What I savored even more was the pained, groggy gasp Bateman emitted, his head lolling to the side with the motion of my punch before snapping back, and his half-lidded eyes meeting my gleeful, anticipatory ones.

He made a movement like gritty biting to fix his jaw back into place, the grotesque crunch causing his expression to sour.

“I bet that hurts, doesn’t it?” I teased, loosening his tie with two fingers, curling them upwards suggestively with a coy smile. His face stayed stone cold and annoyed, but there was something behind his eyes. Like the poised stature of a scared rabbit preparing to dart off. The threat of adrenaline. It pulsated, alive and steady. I could stare into those eyes for hours. I could claw them out with the edges of my nails, ruining them.

Beauty is only that when it’s temporary. And Patrick is beautiful. With a swift tug, his tie was thrown somewhere far beyond my peripheral vision. Beyond my care.

“I’m pleasantly surprised you haven’t told or forced me to stop yet. Either you’re secretly into this or you have some insecurity about dignity…seeing what you can take,” I mused as I undid the buttons of his shirt meticulously, adding in a whisper, “whichever one it is, it’s absolutely pathetic. I find it adorable.”

The farther I got down, the more I could sense his restraints heightening. I couldn’t sense his breathing getting faster, nor as in feel it from where I was straddling him or hear it from where I was bent over his chest, but rather knew it. Call it intuition.

For my enjoyment, I didn’t undo the last button, I simply ripped it open, ruining some of the stitching in the process. Patrick yelped.

“You’re going to pay for that,” he hissed, more solemnly than with bite.

“Physically or financially? Because I don’t see you making any moves to get me off of you.”

“That was Versace.” He mumbled from somewhere low, and went silent again, save for a few small noises while I stripped the shirt off his arms and out from underneath him. I rewarded it with the same discarded fate of the tie into the abyss behind me.

I splayed my hands across his abdomen. So warm…so humanly warm. If I didn’t have any self-control I would slice him open from every vantage point I had. He is just so perfect.

“Maybe one of these days I’ll eat you alive,” I said, turning my attention towards removing his pants. He made a brief, inaudible high-pitched sound. It caused me to smile.

With a tug and a toss, I had him. He was as good as a cornered mouse. He looked like it, too, eyes boring into mine, alert and unsteady. I bared my hypothetical fangs at him in an open-lipped grin. His eyes darted away, off to the side as if in humiliation.

“You do maintain your physique quite well for me, Bateman.” I complimented, letting my eyes run wild around his almost exposed body, except for his silk boxers. Of course they were silk.

I removed my robe-the only thing I was wearing-while examining the man before me. This seemed to grab his interest, his own eyes making their journey across my flesh. I do have my own insecurities, as an unspoken custom to any person, but I relished the way Patrick looked at me. He was intimidated. What a pretty response.

I hoisted myself, in my straddle position, just a bit higher up his body so I was sitting on his abdomen. Just an inch or so closer to his face.

Without any warning, I punched him again, this time with my non-dominant hand. The bliss of it all consumed me again. The contact, the thrum of my veins and his, the sound, in all its harshness. I could’ve orgasmed right then and there. I suppressed a pleasured moan when Patrick coughed and whimpered. When his head returned to look at me again, I was ecstatic to see I had drawn blood in his mouth.

“Fu-uck…fuck!” He groaned. Maybe he bit down too hard on his tongue, maybe the clash of teeth caused one to loosen. Excitement coursed through me as I leaned down to kiss him, eager to figure out just how I had demolished the insides of his mouth.

It was open-lipped and I spent no foreplay before pushing my tongue in. For the first time that night, I moaned with a newfound wanton fervor. I tasted blood. His blood on my tongue. Even though my eyes were closed, I felt as if rolling them back into my head. As I drank in his flavor disguised in hurried kisses, I spent careful notice on the heartbeat deeper in my body. Need. Heat. Something beyond craving.

I desired to kiss him longer, to enjoy the blood I drew for myself, like wine from a vineyard, but my body demanded he be inside it.

The need almost hurt, I admit. I sat up, smiling down at him benevolently, and pushed back and over his groin. I can’t say I was surprised to feel he was desperately hard. I almost felt bad. I tsk-ed with pity. Teasingly.

“Fuck, Bateman, you’re hard,” I muttered, observing the obvious and licking my teeth for any remaining blood, like going in for seconds after a decadant meal. I palmed the intrusion through his clothes, biting my lip when he moaned. I wish I had a keener ear. I wanted to transcribe that onto a sheet of music. To play it for myself every night. Feeling each note under my fingers on the piano. Feeling his vocal chords.

I looked up at his expression, and decided I would’ve titled the music ‘ruin’, for his eyes sprang tears, blood pooled from his mouth, a vague bruise blossomed on the side of his face. Yes. He was ruined.

I cursed something holy and beautiful under my breath as I hooked my finger in the waistband, eyes glancing up to him to note his submissive expression. His cheeks were red. Flushed from my assault or the obvious situation at hand, I didn’t know, but I assumed both.

I pulled it down. Away. Off his ankles. And there he was, ready however I would take him.

I sucked in a harsh breath, either of my hands coming up and digging into the tissue of his thighs, my nails just barely piercing his flesh. Much to my enjoyment, he made a pained sob as I drew blood from one point where my fingernail was pressed just hard enough to do so. I grit my teeth to maintain some composure.

A small amount of blood coalesced under my right hand, where, as aforementioned, my fingers dug into his thighs. I grinded myself against his other leg to satiate me in the meanwhile as I bent down and licked the blood from his left one.

Y’know those conversation starters, that go something along the lines of ‘if you had to drink one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be’? I have a new answer, thanks to the events detailed. His blood was orgasmically fantastic in my mouth. It’s like it was made to go there. To be devoured by me. To take it for my own.

“Oh, fuck, Bateman,” I droned, lips shiny with his blood, a trickle down my chin. I sat up, and the sight before me was heavenly.

The slut was leaking precum. From me drinking his blood. And his face-Christ, his face-I can still see it when I close my eyes. Even more tears glimmered around his groggy eyes, drunk on me, blood from before still on his pretty lips. He was painfully red elsewhere, too. I felt self-gratified knowing he was likely agonizing over how hard he was. Fighting to not just cum without any contact whatsoever. That made me fucking throb, and I’m not embarrassed to say that.

Equanimity be damned. I practically threw any leftover poise I had behind me like I did his clothes.

I licked up the still bleeding wound on his thigh again, but I dragged my tongue up and onto his burning erection this time. He seized. Spasmed at the contact.

He moaned so despairingly I honestly can still hear it reverberating in my head. I, in turn, moaned as well. I kept moving my tongue, focusing on a vein I found, exploring its edges and curves. His precum went well with his blood, a good flavor combination I made a mental note to try again at a later time.

I needed our bodies close so badly. Together. To take him inside my body, permanently instating him as mine, and a physical part of me. So I sat back up, still straddling his leg, and hoisted both of mine over to lock him in place. I steadied my breath. I had appearances to maintain. I slid myself up, and finally, down.

He gasped. I gasped, too, but made an effort to suppress it. He felt…I don’t know if there’s really a word for it. Incredible will suffice.

“Is this what you wanted?” I asked, beginning to thrust up and down upon him.

“I-I-“ He replied, per say. His voice was battered and broken.

“Ugh, speak up,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes. Half from pleasure half from feigned frustration.

“Yea…yeah…” Patrick finally sighed. All vulnerable. Defenses crumbled. Mine to pillage and desecrate.

“Slut,” I chuckled, barely audible. I knew he heard it by the way he choked out a sob. That sparked in me a deviously brilliant idea.

Still with him inside me, I careened down just enough to wrap both my hands around his throat. With each thrust, I applied more and more pressure to my grip around his throat. Soon he sputtered and coughed, chest heaving as he tried to breathe through his bloodied nose. His eyes were off somewhere distant-like an animal looking at something not there. A ghost. Maybe it was the ghost of who he was before I ruined his facade, tore it down to pieces. Evaporating from his body as he fought for air. I moaned.

From this position, me leaning down, he hit a spot that felt just right. My knees felt weak upon their own accord.

He tried to grab my arms, as if making a move to pry them away. I wouldn’t be having that. I slid my thumbs down to the dip of his windpipe in a silent threat, and he instantly dropped his hands, making the correct and logical choice.

I toyed with him a little, abusing my power over him. I loosened my grasp on his neck completely, letting him get in one shaky, anguished gasp, and then clamped back down again. Upon doing so, he bucked his hips up, consequently getting deeper inside.

I laughed with joyous disbelief. “You-you like being choked? You’re getting off on it?” I guffawed in hilarity from the situation at hand. No pun intended. “What-is it…don’t tell me it’s gonna make you cum, now. That would be mortifying for you.”

“I-I’m-“ he writhed.

“I’m guessing that’s a yes.”

He shook his head meekly. That, or trembled.

“Well hold on, if you would be so kind. I’m get-fuck-I’m getting about there too, but…we wouldn’t want you to become all overstimulated, would we?” I broke out into a broader, toothy grin, “I don’t want you to get hurt, Bateman.”

He whined and whimpered, as if wounded. Which he was. I picked up my pace, managing to rub my clit on his groin every now and again, groaning each time I did so.

Finally. Now I was ready.

“Alright. Whatever. You can cum.” I muttered, syllables asunder, half to myself and half to him. I bared my teeth and growled lowly as I came, mentally releasing something spike-edged and dark in my mind that had been plaguing me for a while. Like admitting something deep to a therapist. I needed this like a salaryman a vacation. Throughout this, I didn’t stop, making Patrick follow rapidly, breathing with loud groans and short, pathetic wails when he came. I had a feeling this release meant something more to him, too. A letting go. Literally.

Eventually, I slowed and gently peeled my hands away from his throat. His inhales were deep and steady, exhales shaky. I pulled off and everything about him went limp, coping with the events. I chuckled inaudibly. I swung my legs off and over the bed, standing up and headed towards the bathroom. I heard no commotion from his room, and after cleaning myself off, I emerged to see him unmoved except for the rising and falling of his chest. I fetched my robe from its crumpled spot on the ground, lithely wrapping it back around me. I went to leave to the kitchen to grab myself a snack, but paused in the doorframe

“Water? Tea?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“Are you alive?”

He nodded.

“You’re sure?”

Nodding.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

Very enthusiastic nodding.

I smiled to myself as I left to raid his fridge.

-

End

-

If you made it this far you’re messed up and I love you and we should get married. Repost and comment if you feel inclined.

[readyforthegarden]

For the confession dialogue prompts can you do 11 and 20 with Jake?

11. "don't make me say it. i can't say the words." & 20. "it hurts me, just how much i ache for you."

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?" Jake looked up from the book in his hand, glancing at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Would I also be a worm in this hypothetical?" he asked.

"Mmm, no, just me. You'd have to be my caretaker, build me a terrarium and all that." you watched Jake consider her answer.

"Yeah, I'd probably still love you if you were a worm." he shrugged. "I'd miss human you a lot though."

"I would miss being human too, I think." you nodded, going back to your e-reader. One of the few thing you and Jake disagreed upon was your use of the e-reader. He preferred the physical book in his hand, while you would use the electronic copy, and purchase the physical book later if you liked it enough. But if he aggravated you enough about it, you were always quick to point out the horribly wrecked and dog-eared pages of his books.

"What prompted this question?" Jake asked, glancing over at you again.

"I don't know, just saw it online and was curious." you shrugged. You didn't notice Jake dog-earring his page, and setting the novel down on the arm of the couch, you only noticed him plucking your reader out of your hands and tossing it behind him onto the cushion before latching himself to you.

"Jake!" you giggled, as he rolled you from the couch onto the living room floor. He continued to roll the both of you until you were on top of him, your hair cascading around his face. He looked drowsily up at you, his smile making your heart flutter.

"I would love you if you were a worm, a duck, a crawfish...even if you were an ant." Jake told you, his hands on your thighs.

"Really?" you laughed. Jake sighed, his face softening, but becoming more serious.

"Don't make me say it, I can't say the words." he muttered softly.

"What words, Jakey?" you hummed, leaning down and pressing kisses along his jaw line, making him groan underneath you as you giggled. "What can't you say?"

"How much I love you," Jake hummed, pushing your hair back and out of your face.

"You just did, you dingus." you chuckled at his offended face, and he rolled you both over so you were the one on your back now.

"Dingus?" Jake gasped, sitting up as he straddled your hips, hands over his heart, clutching it like you fatally wounded him. "That hurts, I profess my love for you, and you call me a dingus?" Strands of hair had fallen from his small bun, and framed his grinning face.

"I called you it out of love, you know." Jake leaned down, kissing your cheek before giving it a soft nibble. Suddenly, he straightened up again, clutching onto his body and groaning, falling over to the side. You couldn't help but laugh at his dramatics, watching as he reached out for you.

"Yes Jake, what's wrong baby?" you cooed, coming over to him as he pretended to gasp, a small smirk tugging at his lips as you cupped his face and coddled him.

"It hurts," he rasped out.

"What baby, what hurts?" you urged him along.

"Just...how much I ache for you, my love," he sighed, before closing his eyes and played dead.

"Oh noooo, Jake!" you held back your laugh as he lolled his tongue out of his mouth, his head turned to the side. "Oh no, whatever will I do to bring you back?"

"Fla sure this" you furrowed your brow, leaning closer to hear exactly what Jake was murmuring under his breath.

"Hmm? What was that?"

"Flash your tits," his voice was high-pitched, making you giggle.

"Oh I don't know, the last time I flashed my tits to a dead guy, he turned out to be a real stiff." you muttered, and Jake fought a laugh, his chest bouncing giving him away. "I have heard a kiss can wake the dead, though, maybe I'll try that." you giggled again as you turned Jake's face towards you, watching him lick his lips in preparation for your lips. Leaning down, you grazed your lips against his, seeing his fingers twitching on the hand on his tummy. Before you knew it, that hand was lifted and in your hair, deepening the kiss.

When you pulled back, Jake blinked his eyes open, gasping in another dramatic fashion.

"Oh my god, I thought I was a goner!" he sat up, grabbing your face and kissing your cheeks. "Thank you for saving my life, baby!"

"Of course, my love." you giggled.

"How about I take you upstairs, and as a reward for saving my life, I'll reenact whatever was in your book that made your thighs clench earlier." Jake smirked at you.

"How do you-"

"I watch you sometimes. You make the best faces when you read."

"Shut up!" you gently swatted his arm as he tugged you up, scooping you in his arms and carrying you towards the stairs.

"So, are you gonna tell me or do I have to pick up that damn device?"

"Well, there's this tattooed mafia boss who's dark and twisted but secretly has a heart of gold..."

"Say no more." Jake winked at you, kicking the bedroom door shut with a thud.

[afreakingdork]

Weak Spot - Chapter 66

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

The last thing you see before you lose a hand or as I like to say, this week's chapter art by @aimike17

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Love, AFAB Reader, Vaginal Sex, Sex Rough, Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Teasing, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Marathon Sex, Somnophilia, Bondage, Feral Behavior, Feral Donatello, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Public Sex, Dom Donnie, Human/Turtle Relationships, Turtle Noises, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay

Synopsis:  A love story of villainous proportions! Though it hadn’t come easily, as these things rarely do, you found yourself in a whirlwind romance with a handsome and mysterious mutant. His idiosyncrasies had been easy to ignore as attraction grew into something more. However, will love endure when the unknowns about him end up being far darker than you ever considered?

SCREECHING AFTER THE FACT SHOUT-OUT TO @tmntxthings for helping me out with this chapter too! She's a freaking saint when it comes to helping me cook!!!

Fem!Reader References/Warnings Below Cut

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

LAST WARNING FOR THE 🍋 UNDER THE CUT. MINORS DNI!

Fem!Reader References/Warnings: gun, robbery, threats of murder, blood, broken bones, bra removal, clit suck, folds, and the typical pregnancy mention

“Tarp.”

“Check.” You patted down the many plastic sheets.

“Mirrors.”

“Big and small.” You tiptoed around a floor length one and over to the table where a handheld one lay.

“Paint.”

“Check.” In a little swivel, you held out a hand in demonstration to the litany of choices.

“Brushes.”

“Check!” You turned your outstretched hand into a pointed finger to the cup sporting many.

“Spot testing for allergic reactions, check. Scheduled time is blocked so we have the entire day. This leaves mess where tarps have been laid out in accordance to my mapping.” Donnie lifted his head from a screen to stare down where plastic sheets disappeared into the bathroom. “Bedroom otherwise prepared, which leaves clean up…”

You nodded in time, itching to get ready.

“Clean up.”

His repeated line brought your attention.

He was in motion toward the bathroom before you could even ask.

There you heard the clatter of the shower curtain as you followed.

“No, no!”

You reached the door frame and looked in where he was holding a bottle of his soap. “What?”

“Colloquially I may say body wash, but this is technically a cleanser!”

“Okay…?”

“Cleanser retains skin’s natural oil!”

Your fingers squeezed the jamb as you waited for him to elaborate.

“It won’t properly clear paint! Water-based or otherwise!”

“Oh…”

He shook the container. “We would need excess which I have not planned for! The new formulation isn’t due for another week!” 

You grimaced sheepishly. 

Donnie sighed and then turned to gripe at you. “While I may have increased my order to account for your utilization, it will not be enough. If you recall, we had the addition of your soap for grimier circumstances. With my wash it would take multiple lathers to scrub away all residue. This would leave us without cleanser before more arrived, id est, we were meant to have purchased a separate and appropriate soap.” 

He hadn’t been shy about his complaints. When you had first moved in, you had your own body wash, but after a while it seemed easier to just use his. While the formula was supposedly made for him alone, it also made your skin feel comfortably supple.  “Uh huh...”

“Y/N, this is a problem!” He brought the bottle over to you.

You took the offering, found it light as described, and turned your head toward the sink. “Okay… We have other soaps… How about the hand soap right here?”

He made a noise of revulsion.

“Or dish soap?” Your head lolled as you looked at him.

His features curled into twisted horror. “You are describing a replacement worse than simply letting the paint dry!”

“If it dries, it just flakes off, doesn't it?”

“I won’t even dignify that with a response.” He spoke caustically.

“Donnie, the dish soap is good enough for ducks and oil spills. It’s their whole branding, it can’t be that bad-”

“These are neither oil based paints nor are either of us waterfowl!”

“That’s not what the marketing scheme is trying to-!”

“I refuse!”

You made an annoyed sound and were just shy of stomping your foot. “Donnie, it took forever to get the tarps down according to your plan!”

He folded his arm.

“Donatello!”

His beak rose with a haughty turn of his head.

“So, that’s it!? No body painting because you forgot soap!?”

“Me?” He came down with a fiery gaze. “We made the list together!”

“And you’re Santa Claus checking it twice! You ordered everything!”

“Blame goes both ways. You wound me and therefore I’m even less inclined to continue our activity!” In a flap of his hands, he shooed you.

Irritated, you stepped away only for him to begin to kick up the tarp behind you. “What are you doing!?”

“As you so kindly put it, there will be no body painting today! I am cleaning up!”

“Don, come on!” You blocked him from messing up the ground cover further.

He towered over you.

“We spent all that time testing brushes to make sure they felt right against you! Hell, we spent forever trying to figure out the best way to write on each other. Markers grossed you out and there was so much trial and error for smell and texture and everything! Then, getting the stuff and the time and setup! Please…!”

“We have a process for a reason. This is an undertaking, not to be done on a whim.” His eyes were down, ready to calculate moving you out of the way.

You stepped around his toes to cage him in. “Do you still want to?”

He reared with an annoyed shake. “Have you not been listening!?”

You whacked your hands against his plastron. “Obviously I have! I’m asking if you’re just trying to find an excuse out.”

“Of course not!” He was further offended. “I put forth the effort because I wanted this! We both did!”

“Then why are you giving up so easily!?”

“I’m not! I’m rescheduling. We can attempt another after we have the proper wash.” He found that to be his last word on the situation and moved to get around you.

“I can go to the closest store. There’s a shop two blocks from here and I know they have body wash!”

Donnie stalled, but didn’t look.

“It’s not going to be a great brand, but all soap strips right? As long as it’s for the body, that’s good enough?”

He was clearly processing.

“Please…?”

“Not all.” He glanced. “I have stipulations.”

“Shoot.”

“The product must be free of sulfates, parabens, phthalates, mineral oil, retinyl palmitate, coal tar, hydroquinone, triclosan, triclocarban, formaldehyde and its derivative releasing agents, and even the slightest form of fragrance.”

Your lips parted as you weren’t prepared for such a long list. “You need to send that to me.”

“I will go with you.”

“Yeah!?”

“Calm, this is still your task. I would only rather waste a portion of my time.”

You frowned.

“I don’t care if I ruin the mood.”

You gave one tepid sigh before looking at him with a withered expression. “Your skin care is important.”

“As how it feels and what goes on it.”

“Yes. I’m not making light, I’m just…” You gestured out to how your bedroom was coated in plastic wrap. “We worked so hard. I… no, we were really looking forward to this…” 

“I acknowledge the frustrations.” He dipped in to press his beak to your head.

You lingered only for a moment. “Now?”

“Now.” He agreed and you both moved to leave.

Getting shoes on, you were both out the door and heading to the store. Right where you said it was, the micro grocer was a dingy, but serviceable place. Donnie made his stand outside and only helped you by writing out his request list in an app. With your phone in hand, you entered and only glanced at the shopkeeper. A young guy scrolling on his phone, he ignored you while you headed to where the toiletries were. Several options, you picked up the first to start reading ingredients when the door opened again.

Background noise of another customer, you sneered at one of the banned ingredients and moved for the next bottle. Scanning through that one’s tiny print, you squinted to examine it closer when you heard a huffy voice.

“Hurry up…”

Your head lifting with an odd weight, you leaned just enough to look past the shelf you were at.

At the register, whoever had walked in was clearly robbing the place with a gun shaped figure lifted up through his jacket.

Staring, you saw the man at the counter struggle with the machine. “It won’t open unless you make a purchase. I don’t really know-!”

“Fake one, stupid!” The gunman hissed, jerking his coat.

You looked toward the front window, but couldn’t see Donnie.

“Trying to be a hero!?” You weren’t sure how, but the gunman must have caught a glimpse of you because he spun around.

Donnie had been right next to the front door. 

He would have seen the guy enter. 

He would have heard the commotion, no matter how quiet. 

“Hey, you listening?!”

You didn’t move your pupils, but the guy at the register chanced a shaky hand toward the phone.

“Dipshit!!” The gunman stalked toward you. “You hear what the fuck I’m saying or not!?”

Without moving your head, you looked the man up and down. 

He appeared small.

He was technically taller than you, but you couldn’t help but shrink him in your mind.

He appeared pathetic with his spindly form and terrible stance.

He looked like he’d jumped into this store on a whim to steal a quick buck in the middle of a slow weekend day.

One thing out of place was sending him into a rage. 

You arched a brow. “I’m kind of busy.”

“You’re…?” The flared anger was snuffed out in a confused instant.

“Yeah, my boyfriend is really particular about his body wash.” You shook the bottle in your hands so he could see it better.

“I’m… What the FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!?” Doubling down, he yanked the gun out of his jacket pocket to properly point it.

In a way, you were surprised he actually had one. 

You expected someone like him to have just faked it with his hand. 

Your heart rate barely blipped at the matte black object.

In contrast to your steady blood pressure, you saw a very familiar rush of black behind the gunman. 

It was a move imperceptible to anyone else.

When had your senses become so honed?

You guessed it was somewhere along the pipeline of generally dating a mutant and having almost died.

You had seen things the average person couldn’t dream of. 

Guns seemed so archaic in comparison. 

That explained why you weren’t scared.

You’d dealt with enough.

This pathetic trash wasn’t worth your adrenaline.

You had full faith in your mate and yourself. 

“He’s very particular, ya know?” You shrugged.

“Wha…?” The gunman wilted again at your second rebuttal.

“About this…” You looked at the shelf. “About me…” You turned your attention toward the barrel. “He’s waiting for me.”

“If you think your stupid ass sob story is going to-? You know what, fuck you! Empty your pockets, NOW!” The pistol shook and rotated.

“No.”

He blinked.

“I don’t think you understand.” Your head tipped and you could feel the unhinged quality your features took on. “I’m warning you. Put that gun down and walk out or else.”

If the man’s initial anger level was at a one and he doubled it on your first refusal, then his current boiling point broke mercury. “STUPID, FUCKING-!”

Metal crunched so loud it caused the racks of goods to reverberate.

Standing beside you was Donnie.

Extending out from his body were two of his mechanical arms.

One of which was clasped not only around the gun it had just devoured, but the gunman’s hand.

“I tried to tell him.” You gave Donnie a sugar coated look.

Your partner tipped his head toward you in acknowledgement.

Pain delayed, the gunman screeched and the first drops of blood began to trickle out from where his firearm was now part of him.

“You.” The other mech arm blurred as it caught the man by the chest and slammed him into the ground so hard that the floor depressed around him.

You tucked into Donnie’s side and overlooked the crater. “I have an idea.”

“Yes, my love?” Donnie turned to you with faint interest.

The gunman gurgled.

“We’re busy. Let’s have him take himself to the police. He can confess and we won’t have to deal with cover ups or statements.” You touched Donnie’s arm.

Donnie hummed, unconvinced.

The gunman pawed at the mech arm crushing him with his only available hand.

“What do you think?” You looked down at him. “You go or you die?”

“M-my h-hand!” He squawked.

“You point a gun at my mate.” Donnie leaned back with you moving in tandem and the mechanical arm hoisted the gunman up into the air. “Now you ignore their generous offer?”

Reality struck the gunman and he twitched. “I-I-I-I’ll g-go!”

“I’ll know if you take a single step otherwise.” Donnie’s grin split excitement. “I do hope you will.”

“N-no! I-I’ll g-go r-right t-there!!! P-please!!”

Donnie glanced at you with a smoothed out expression.

“Sounds like he gets it.” You rested your chin against him.

Donnie’s lids lowered with affection and the mechanical arms released.

The man hit the floor with another squeak of pain before he scrambled. He smeared blood from his broken hand out in a wet streak before he stumbled on a twisted angle straight towards the door. As if in a movie panning shot, you and Donnie both watched after him and caught sight of the young man at the register. 

His hands were up in surrender.

A phone hung from one of his palms.

“He called the police.” You told Donnie. “ETA?” 

Your boyfriend checked his gauntlet for a tiny screen projection. “Ten minutes.”

“Hey, we really just wanted to buy some soap. Is it cool if we keep looking?” You raised your voice a little to address the shop attendant.

The guy gawked.

Donnie seemed to realize something and in a slow withdrawal, the mechanical arms retreated and morphed back into his battle shell.

As if on cue, the attendant’s hands similarly lowered. “Seriously?!”

“Yeah.” You held up the body wash bottle still in your hand.

“… Whatever, sure!” The attendant slumped in a stool and mumbled about his day.

“Okay, I was almost done with this one.” You walked back to the selection with your eyes glued to the tiny print.

Donnie came with and curled around your back, pressing impatient kisses to your neck.

“Sweet, I gotta focus.”

“Love you.” He husked in your ear.

“Me too.” You spoke distantly. “Ugh dangit, not this one either.”

The moment you reached to put it back on the shelf, Donnie took advantage of the real estate and groped under your lifted arm.

You held back a moan. “D-Don…!”

“Want you.”

“I know, but the paint…” You fumbled the last bottle, but kept it from falling off the shelf.

He churred honey into your ear.

You shuddered as you turned the bottle over to read. “I saw you run up behind the asshole. I’m surprised you waited.”

He released a hot breath from where he was nibbling your ear lobe. “You were stunning. I wouldn’t dare interrupt. That control, incredible.”

“I didn’t do anything…” Your eyes drifted and you leaned to give him better access.

He latched to give you a hickey close to your hairline.

You released a shaky breath.

He gave a final hard suck before moving his lips away only long enough to mumble. “I see sodium palmitate, which falls in a similar group. Try the bar.”

“I-is that on there? Damn…” You put the bottle back and he moved with you as you grabbed said rectangle.

A churr rumbled in your ears as you found the ingredients list scant and to the point.

“This one’s perfect, fuck, this one.”

“Very good.” He pressed a wet kiss below his mark and removed himself from you.

You stumbled a few steps before making it to the register to pay.

“Uh, thank… you…?” The young man mumbled unsure as he rang you up.

“Sure.” You shrugged and caught the soap bar to leave after the transaction.

“You’ll receive payment for the floor.” Donnie tossed casually as he followed you out.

You heard the attendant give another confused thanks.

Your legs pumped with power walking purpose back towards your apartment. Donnie’s longer legs kept him easily in tow and he had a light hearted air as you walked. Reaching your apartment in record time, you both jockeyed at the front door and in doing so a question popped out of you. 

“You going soft?”

He slowed and turned to you with a curious shift of his pupil.

“Hot or not, there was a gun pointed at me. I doubt there’s much what if, but it just feels like usually you would have killed or maimed anyone the second they tried a stunt like that.”

Donnie sugared his gaze before he bent in, nice and slow, to put his face on level with yours. With a lethally cute tip of his head, his gaze simmered. “So what if I am?”

Your stomach somersaulted.

“So what if I am going soft?” He repeated and the tip of his beak took the faintest whiff of the air.  “Maybe I prefer domestication…? Doesn’t smell like a problem.”

You murmured his name and the door felt especially heavy where you were stuck holding it.

“Being kept…” He flicked a low lidded gaze over you. “I was not aware of the advantages. It seemed a noose, but a docile predator has the same bite while no longer having to fight to be fed.”

“It’s about how they use it…” You whispered and ghosted your lips over his before charging inside.

He followed close after and, as you tried to deviate toward the elevator, he hooked your waist. You were launched up several flights of stairs in a way that reminded you of a tender version of your first night together and this time there was no need to fumble at the door. You slipped in first and took a few dancing steps with your purchase obvious in hand.

Donnie leered behind and you deposited the soap bar in the bathroom before meeting him in the bedroom. The kiss there seared intensity, but starkly contrasted the slow way he worked up the bottom of your top. You mewled against his lips, struggling with quick urges and he scolded you with promises of more. You relented and broke apart long enough for him to disrobe you.

Bra as a last hold, you took your turn to steal his sweater away and did so with far less grace. You dragged him with his long arms on a tug and he chuckled his way to wrapping them around you. Both for a hug and then for the greater purpose of unfastening your bottoms, you peppered him with kisses. He lounged in them, slowing as he shimmied fabric down your hips. By the time your bottom hit the floor, he was drunkenly shoving his tongue into your mouth.

Winding and sipping on heat, you melded together. Your bra was soon popped and you tipped your body to let it fall from your shoulders as he did his own fly. Coordination had you both naked and clothes were kicked away toward the living room before you pulled him to the paint selection.

“Mark me as yours.” His voice ghosted your ears.

You both exhaled and sighed dreamy as you picked black for its sharp pigmentation. Selecting one of the soft brushes that he’d designated for his skin, you dunked bristles to pigment before bringing up a darkened tip. He eyed it and then you with trust so full that it threatened to drip the same as your implement. Moving forward with a flexible wrist, you swiped black over his neck. A reclamation of his brand, he handed himself over and the loll back of his head said the sensation felt good. Stroking to enhance and taking care in making a bold collar, streaks dripped and rolled along his musculature. It adorned his painted choker with black pearls that beckoned you to swipe over the plump tips of. 

Donnie surfaced enough to try to watch you as you finger painted from the pool and wrote your name amongst the drip just under his blackened throat.

“If found, please return to…” You teased and kissed his cheek.

He churred lightly. “May I?”

“Of course.” You held the brush out for him and he politely declined.

You followed him to the table. He took a long time selecting his own instruments and in the meantime you cleaned your brush. Capping off the black paint, you set the brush off to dry in a little section of the table that was set up for that. Donnie then approached you, ready, with a carefully turned paint canister in one hand and a medium sized precision brush in the other.

“Stand over here.” He gestured and walked himself toward the middle of the bedroom.

You trailed after and strained to see what color he had.

“Don’t look.” He grinned knowingly. “Eyes on mine. I want to surprise you.”

You adjusted your posture to look at him comfortably. “Won’t I be able to tell from the strokes?”

He hummed with little interest. “Maybe.”

You watched the way his lids fell as he uncapped his paint. His little lashes moved as a brush of their own, protecting the dimensionality of his eyes. You watched every little dip and dart of his pupil as he acquired paint. His focus shifted, all engrossed, as the brush dabbed wet to your arm. First with a blot so he could test the thickness and viscosity of the paint, he swiped and adjusted his brush’s load before he committed to a full stroke.

A swift line that he focused on cleanly finishing off, there was a curl of movement. In an attractive turn of his head, he must have looked at the paint pot to get more on his brush. You were enamored to watch your mate work with this new point of view. So often when you were on the receiving end, he was doing his best to distract you. Now you only had clear attention and with it you could commit all of him to memory. From another swipe to your current arm and then moving to the other, you tracked him the whole way. With his eyes focused on the task, you got to see every emotion pass over them.

You understood the phrase windows to the soul, but the phrase took new meaning when you watched him like this. His dedication flowed out in acts of service and he was a machine ever taking information in. If you were to agree with his domestication comment, you’d only do so because he’d allowed it. He was a wild animal that had judged you in a lengthy trial period before he ever chanced bowing his head to your worth.

It was an honor bestowed as great as knighthood and, as such, Donnie knelt before you. You wished you still had your paints to both lay your decree and also because you could now see you had missed a spot on his collar. With his head down you could see the missing connection clearly and wanted to belt off the green. It would match his villainous color scheme nicely where he’d left his mask on and you hardly noticed him painting your legs until he lifted up with a satisfied smile.

“Done already?”

Donnie grinned and went to put his brushes up. “One moment for the reveal.”

“Yessir.” You tried to parse out the damp skin and what it marked off.

It was clearly each of your limbs, but hadn’t seemed to be a complicated design.

Before you could ponder further, Donnie appeared behind you to lead you over to the mirror. “Eyes.”

You let him move you and followed only his gaze in the reflection.

In a quick shuffling to get you full framed, he then nodded for you to look at yourself.

You did and found the slightest purple on your arms. You turned first to the right, finding two connected blocks on your upper arm, but also revealed two disconnected ones on your legs. Your smile grew as you turned the other way and found more purple pixels, all identical replicas of Donnie’s markings. “Interesting brand.”

“I do appreciate a theme.” He kissed your cheek over your shoulder. “You look ravishing.”

“If it’s a theme, you forgot the green.” You chewed your lip and leaned into him. “I love it. Understated, but you.”

Donnie chuffed. “Skin needs to breathe. A full-body paint job would cover your pores and chance a disruption of the sweating and cooling mechanisms in your body. if we were to test something like that, might as well have a cloaking broach.”

You turned toward him. “What is that? You’ve said it before and I think Shelly has like… alluded to it?”

“It’s a stone that allows one to cloak their appearance.”

“Got that much.” You teased and made it obvious you were returning for the paints.

He followed you to clean his brush. “A mystic item then.”

“Do you have one?” You picked the same pair you had before and gestured him to the bed.

He sat on the crinkling tarp covering and waited for you. “No. I liken my visage.”

Half sitting on the edge, you leaned around him to close the painted collar and then drifted brushstrokes down his front. “I do too.”

He churred affection.

You tried to paint his plastron and frowned at how the different texture streaked the paint. “How does the stone figure out what you should look like? Do you think of an image in your head and it makes it happen?”

“Some thought, but as with most mysticism, it trends illogical. Let’s imagine if you were to don it and you chose to cloak as a turtle mutant.”

You nodded both to him and how you tested various brushing techniques to get the black to lacquer.

“You may not be a softshell.”

That caught your attention and you sent surprise toward him. 

He had latent irritation creasing his features. “Unfortunately there’s a certain luck of the draw. There’s a high chance you may be, considering my DNA…” He reached out and pressed a targeted digit into your pelvis. “… is soaked into yours, but I digress. It isn’t assured.”

You stalled a stroke and kissed him hard.

He held you a metered amount away to protect your paint work.

You tapered off for a few needy presses before reluctantly continuing. “Is that why you chose to disguise yourself with make-up instead? Didn’t like the way the broach changed you?”

He gave a faint chirp of approval at your memory.

You stole another kiss. 

“I feel compelled to clarify: I’ve never used one.” 

“Don’t like the chance of how it’ll change you.” You corrected. 

You chuckled and felt his approving air follow you down onto your knees so you could have better access to painting further down his plastron. 

“Share?”

“I was just thinking this would totally turn into washboard abs.” You gestured to him and layered on extra coats to thicken the lines you’d drawn.

“You’re curious?”

“Not really.” You tried to make a circle, but it wasn’t clean. “You don’t like it, so I’m not really interested.”

“You wouldn’t prefer me human.”

It was a statement and, though he hadn’t asked, you knew he needed reassurance. You sent it up to him by fully stopping and giving him your full attention. “Never.”

He had a wickedness to his gaze. “Monster fucker.”

You splatted your brush right into his beak and he chuffed droplets to clear his nose.

Still, he laughed and you continued your work with a pout.

Criss-crossing lines, you did a few touch ups, before you sat back to look at your work as a whole.

“I could acquire two.”

You moved your attention to his face.

“For science. I appreciate that sort of intrigue.”

“Only if you’re sure.”

“It’s not a physiological change. Only cosmetic.”

“And mystic.” You gave a lazy grin.

He sneered.

“Anything with you.” You stood.

He took a deep breath before doing the same. “Shall I see your masterpiece?”

“Please.” You swept your hand in a gesture to the full length mirror.

He moved to his reflection and recognition hit him immediately. “A harness.”

“Yes, my pet.” You pressed to his carapace and kissed his arm. “That’s kept.”

“I never considered…” He tilted his head.

“Wearing one? I doubt that.” You came around to look him over again.

He shook his head. “You didn’t connect the collar.” He pointed at this throat and then down. “I never thought to wear a harness without.”

“Oh…”

“Oh.” He mimicked your interest. “I’ll whip something up.”

“Use the link rings.” You leaned into him.

“Of course.” He kissed your forehead and took your chin. “Make-up gave me an idea.”

“What do you need?” You held up your brush and paint.

“Same purple paint, thin square brush.”

“Got it.” You moved to trade off your equipment and brought his requested materials back.

“Eyes closed.”

Your lids drifted and you tipped your chin up for him.

He startled you by catching your lips first then he moved to paint. Careful around your eyes, you felt him make more rectangles skirting down your cheeks. He then was careful over your lids and brows. He blew lightly to seal his art and then moved you gently over to the mirror. You held firm with closed eyes until he gave the signal and opened them to find he’d done an inspired extension of his markings on your face.

“I look cool…” You admired his work around blinks.

“Very…” He breathed warmth into your ear.

You tipped your head for him and he pressed kisses down the side of your neck.

A distraction, a cool brush dabbed your lower back and you arched with a small gasp.

“You k-know…” You managed as he painted what was clearly another rectangular shape. “I’d figured you go womb tattoo before a tramp stamp.”

He slowed only for a moment before he ducked his head to ensure his design. “Dangerous.”

“How so?”

“I would only need the correctly imbued ink.” He skirted your ass and you twitched with sensitivity.

“What…?” You drunkenly slurred as he exchanged his brush for a hand to squeeze the thick of a cheek.

“With such and the correct branching symbol, my birth control would be rendered useless.”

“Ah!” One of his fingers skirted between your legs.

“Best not to give me that power as of yet.” A finger ghosted your sex before another came around and pressed a thick stroke to your upper mons.

Your voice pitched and your head fell to see he’d smeared red paint across your lower belly. “Wha…?”

“Bed.” He nudged you in the direction, but kept himself out of sight. “I need to mark your inner thighs.”

You nodded and the moment you took a step, he slipped a finger into your folds. Knees weakening, you stumbled towards the bed riding his digit. It tested and teased your entrance and you were left to catch the edge of the mattress. He manipulated you only enough so you were sturdy before he disappeared. It took a moment to catch your breath, but you rotated and sat. He appeared, already on his knees with a brush in hand. With him before you, you spread for him and hiked your legs up against the tarp on the mattress. Your feet slid a few times as you tried to find a foothold and he lost his patience to bury his face into your core with a churr.

You cried out his name as he tasted you. His hands occupied with his brush, he rooted deeper with only his snout and lapped at your essence. Your appendages free in contrast, you fisted his mask and pulled. He clearly resisted and you saw through your delirium to how he was specifically keeping his snout from bumping that red blotch he’d made. An odd adornment hanging above your crotch, he licked up a fat stripe to suckle your clit and you bucked against his face once before he retreated. “Damned I can’t do both!”

You slumped a metered amount. “Can’t both cum in me and eat me out?”

“Yes.” He growled lightly before lifting an arm with a brush. His other appendage dipped to support the first and his perfected posture reminded you of a calligraphy master. You meant to ask if that was a skill of his, but the moment the moistened brush tip touched your thigh, you felt a current rip through your flesh. In expert strokes, the feather light tip wafted over you leaving blocks in its wake. You couldn’t help but compare it to the saliva and slick dripping from you. In contrast, it clung to you thick and wrote out a binding contract.

Property of Donatello down one inner thigh.

A prepared table that was ready to house marks of his ownership was left blank on the other.

You were leaned forward to look them over when he rose up enough to reveal his throbbing erection.

“Oh fuck…” You gasped.

“Shall we begin? See just how much of me you can hold?” He carved out a promise in scalding breath as he lined himself up with your weeping sex.

“D-Donnie, we have time. It’s not a race…”

“It’s not?” He smiled and was slow in bending forward to claim your lips. “I believe it is. Did you honestly think I wasn’t still competing with that inane heat-brained bastard?”

“That’s you-u-u-u!” Your word warbled as he pressed his glans in.

“Me.” He spat and shifted his angle with his hips alone to sink into you.

You moaned and moved to hold him.

He caught your limbs before he gave his body over to you. 

You felt something wet smear higher than anything between your legs.

For a moment, his weight dropped onto you and he gave a needy wriggle as if his cock wasn’t fully stuffed to its usual depths. 

You groaned at the pleasurable weight and felt how his entire body retreated as he pulled a calculated amount out. 

Look down. 

You looked. 

Where there had once been red, there was now purple. 

Looking up, you saw the same purple blotch on the bottom of Donnie’s plastron. 

Only his was rimmed with blue where yours had red. 

He had mixed the colors to create his own on your body right on the spot where you’d balloon with his kid. “Fuck me.”

“My pleasure.”

You wished you could say you lost track, but it was patently untrue as. Donnie, without fail, stopped each time he filled you up to make a tally mark on your inner thigh. He’d then wait, regardless of how far along you were, to ensure the dash would not smear. It was only then he’d return to you with a vigor that seemed to only grow with each symbol. 

By five you were delirious and he broke from sex to spill paint. Moving to abstract, he brought you back through slick digits that slid smoothly over your skin. He forewent brushes and dotted off designs until you were present and returned the favor. Together you tumbled and Donnie marked off zones with reminders of the memories they carried. It was a list of his downfall and you told him so. He churred warmth and between affectionate kisses, you drew lazy lines that covered his scars. The constant slick turned the many paints a neutral brain tone and with it an idea struck you.

Instructing him to get on his belly, you straddled his thighs with several bottles. You mixed outside the canvas of his body before you descended on his carapace with purpose. He was initially unnerved as you filled in the scarred gaps to his shell, but he settled at the firm pressure and reassurances that this is what you did in exchange. For each piece of him that he’d offered over, you patched them carefully to where they were meant to be. You’d never allow him to regret his decision to love you and it was when gnarled skin was filled in did you press your full palm down to the center of his spine.

“Donatello, you have my heart, my word, my everything. Whatever you choose, soft or domestic or otherwise, I’m going to make sure you can do it to your heart’s content.”

You stilled thinking he’d give a mating call or something of the like, but he sat silent.

You stared down at your hand that blended in with the color of his rough shell. 

“Y/N.”

His voice sounded watery and you tried to quell concerns. “Yeah?”

“Let go so I can gather you.”

You hadn’t considered you were holding him back. The moment your hand lifted, he flipped you over and made a thousand vows in return.

💜NEXT💜

What can I say other than I love my betas @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83

[winterproductions]

FOR TONIGHT | JJK

For tonight, I'm yours, so deny the truth. We'll stay behind closed doors. 'Cause all I wanna do is lie with you. Even though it's wrong to lie with you.

Pairing: idol!Jeon Jungkook × Y/N

Genre: Angst, Smut

Word count: 1.9k

Trigger/warning: ANGST, PURE ANGST and some sex. Loll.

Their bodies glistened under the morphing lights and artificial stars. Her nails scratched his back as she listened to his soft grunts and moans in her ear. She stared up at the ceiling, thinking about their position and the way they got to this point.

She’s engaged, her wedding is in three weeks but instead of preparing and celebrating she’s in bed with another man.

He paused at her silence and looked at her, he swept her hair which was stuck to her forehead behind her ear or backward to meet the remaining locs. “What are you thinking about?” She turned to him and did the same before speaking “I shouldn’t have done this, we shouldn’t.” She pushed him from her softly which he obliged. “Y/N” He mumbled and she shook her head. “I’m getting married, I broke my vows and I haven’t even sealed them.” She picked up her ring and he held her hand from looking at it, subconsciously hiding it from his sight once again. “this is just for tonight.” He whispered unconvincingly and picked up her chin. “this is our secret.”

“Jungkook…” She dragged off as he kissed down her neck. “Sh..” He hushed her as he removed her ring from her embrace then intentionally throwing it across the room without a glance. Tears fell down her face and he wiped them away softly “babe.” He whispered, she shook her head and held his face as she kiss him. He held the small of her back, pulling her closer.

He refuse to let her go, literally and metaphorically. He was selfish, territorial, possessive some may put it. Ending their relationship was one of his biggest regrets, he experienced the Pinterest quote he once laughed at, he didn’t realize the love he had for her until she loved someone else.

Their lips broke as she rolled her hip on him, their foreheads touched as they both enjoyed the euphoric feelings they both seemed to only achieve with each other. “I love you.” His voice shook, she shook her head once again. “Y/N, I love you-” She kissed him and he groaned as he felt his climax coming. He tapped her thigh and she got up, but he laid her down and entered her once again. His fingers trailed down to her small nub and began to caress it as he stroked her repeatedly. “Oh God, jungkook.” Her stomach felt tight and she clenched around him.

“Shit.” He exclaimed before pulling out for a moment, replacing his manhood with his fingers. She came undone beneath him and he re-entered her and chased his climax which wasn’t far. His ego boosted as she screamed out his name repeatedly, he came undone in her before collapsing above her. He trembled a bit from his ejaculation and stayed on her chest for a moment.

Y/N stood up and made her way to the bathroom and he heard the toilet flush and the shower running. He laid on his back thinking about ways to make her stay. He can’t let this marriage happen, he refuse for this to be the last night he can ever touch and lay with her.

He watched her appear from the bathroom looking refreshed and dressed. “where the fuck did you throw my ring jungkook.” She turned to him and he shrugged. “Help me find it, I have to go.” “No” She paused and looked at him. “Do you love him?” She glared at him “I do, but I know it sounds hypocritical considering I just slept with you.” He chuckled humorlessly. “you didn’t say you love me back so, I figured.” She exhaled and turned to him. “Why can’t you let me go? If you let me go, I’ll do the same for you.” She vented and he stood up putting on his boxers. “That’s the thing, I don’t want that to happen.”

“jungkook, you broke up with me.” He closed his eyes for a moment then look straight into hers. “Just because I did, doesn’t mean I wanted to. I thought I was doing something that was beneficial for both of us!” he watched as she continued to look for her ring “right, beneficial, it was really beneficial since you got to fuck that bitch without having a guilty conscience.” She chuckled at his shock “yeah, I knew.” His eyes dropped and he shook his head “I’m sorry” he apologized. “why are you apologizing, we broke up. I moved on.” He clenched his jaw again.

“as you said, this was just for tonight.” She kneeled and looked under his clothing drawers, finding it instantly. “I regret my choices.” Y/N stopped all movement as she heard his voice crack once again. “jungkook—” he wiped his face and held the following tear back. “Y/N, please be honest with me. Do you love him…more than me?” "That’s an inappropriate question.” She responded. “why do you need that answer so much?” She added and got no response. “why do you keep redirecting?” He combatted.

She breathed in “I’ll always have love in my heart for you, but….I don’t think that I’m in love with you anymore.” He frowned and nodded “but you are with him.” He wiped his face again as she apologized “your body didn’t just say the same thing Y/N, it didn’t!” “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME JUNGKOOK!” “Stop denying it! I don’t want to leave you Y/N, I refuse to let you go! I refuse to let this end! Especially for someone who can never love you the way you want to be loved!" He argued. "All I want is to be beside you at night, talk about nothing until we’re asleep, I just want to hold you! Take in your scent again! I regret making petty choices with this thought that you’ll always have an excepting arm welcoming me back!” tears fell on both of their faces. “I love you, Y/N and I’m sure if you give me the time, I can get you to love me back. Please, just dont go through with this.”

(This is an open-ending)

[larsisfrommars]

The Light Won't Die (Part 6)

Halsin x Tav

Rating: T for Teen (Canon Typical Gore)

Chapter: 6/??? (<- Prev Chapter)

Word Count: 1596

Genre: Adventure, Hurt/Comfort

Content: Halsin x Tav, Male!Tav, Fighter!Tav, the meat of the matter, oops turns out this is also a sickfic, budding feelings, Tav mini lore drop, Shadow Cursed wounds are the best kind of wounds don't you think?

"Tav knew Halsin was in no state to travel, let alone defend himself if more Shadows came. They had to find somewhere and fast."

———————✨🌿✨———————

“Well,” Halsin coughed “that’s curious.”

He took an uneven step forward, about to explain himself or theorize the nature of his previously uninfected wound. What came out instead is something between a cough and a groan.

The strength left the Druid’s body before Tav could get a word in. His eyes rolled back, his knees buckled, Nature’s Snare clattering to the ground. It took the majority of Tav’s strength to catch him and prevent them both from crashing onto the cobblestones.

Halsin regained his senses at the sudden jostling. But it was clear that the Druid could no longer stand on his own two feet, not without help at least.

“Easy, easy, easy! Let’s sit you down for a moment. Gods Halsin! Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt so badly?!” Tav hissed incredulously as he set himself and Halsin down against the low stone barrier beside them.

Halsin’s his head lolled back against the wall, grimacing, breathing heavy, trying to piece together a reply.

“Your wounds… from the fall… more urgent… did not know, though it was a flesh wound. Clearly… I was mistaken.” The elf spoke between labored breaths. Letting out a half chuckle that dissolved into a wheezing cough.

Tav couldn’t even pretend to be amused, they were both in danger now because Halsin had put his needs above his own, the selfless oaf.

Then again, Tav had been unconscious when they hit the bottom of the cliffside.

Tav had assumed he’d died, perhaps that wasn’t far from the truth. Halsin had looked unusually relieved when he came to, maybe he feared the worst… maybe…

Tav shook his head, he had more important things to worry about than a personal brush with death. Those were a copper a dozen for him. It was Tav’s fault they were down here anyway, a healing potion was the least he could do.

“Looks like some kind of poison, I thought you told me about all the dangers of the shadow curse already?” Tav glanced up at the wound as he rifled around his bag. Looking much stranger and angrier than it had as he watched it made by those accursed Thorn Blights.

“This is new… I have neither suffered nor seen a wound like this before.” He turned to look at Tav now. “There are a great many things that have changed since I last saw this place, not just the landscape. When the Curse first fell, most were either transformed, killed or were the precious few like myself who escaped with minor injuries. Perhaps the sun cured whatever ails this wound, or perhaps… I shudder to think-”

Halsin’s conjecture was interrupted by a coughing fit. Tav finally unearthed a potion of lesser healing from his bag. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. He uncorked it for the Druid, prepared to help him choke it down if it came to it.

“The curse may be evolving.” Halsin finished soberly, gingerly taking the petite glass bottle in both hands. Emptying it in a signal swallow.

They waited with baited breath, Halsin’s breathing did not ease, nor did the narrow, angry gash in his side show any signs of closing. Not even a fading of bruises, not a thing done by such a valuable vial of magic. They looked at one another, Tav didn’t have to ask whether or not he felt any better.

“Bone Chill.” Tav realized with a nasty feeling in his gut. So much for the least he could do.

“We need to get you somewhere safe. Can you stand?”

“I will try.” Halsin breathed.

It took the staff and Tav’s help, but he was able to get back to his feet. Their travel speed now slowed to a crawl. Though he would if asked, Tav knew Halsin was in no state to travel, let alone defend himself if more Shadows came. They had to find somewhere and fast.

Slim pickings to put it lightly, less searching for a decent shelter and more so “which one of these ancient buildings is the least derelict”. Tav eyed a large silo shaped cobblestone building with barely any roof. At least the walls were intact, and he didn’t know of anything that would attack them from above.

It would have to do.

“Come on, just a little further to go.”

The Druid only nodded in reply.

Tav helped Halsin ease himself onto the dirt floor of the strange old silo, relieving himself of his pack. Rifling through it for bedroll, torches, anything that would help, he had one more health potion but obviously that wasn’t going to do any good until the Bone Chill wore off, if that was even what it was. Up until recently Tav had been a complete stranger to necromancy.

He wished he still was.

Four torches, they’d have to be relit every few hours but that could last them two, maybe three days, not counting using the Mace for backup. He had enough rations for the both of them for much longer than that thanks to raiding the Creche.

Halsin obviously needed the bedroll more than he did, he’d sleep on the floor, lightly, sitting up, just in case a torch died. Now, if only he could put a flare together to show the others where to find them.

No, bad idea, that could draw the Absolutists right to them, not to mention all manner of light hating beasts that slathered these lands in their ravenous pitch. No matter how ominously Halsin had described the Curse it was nothing compared to actually being inside it yourself. It was oppressive, if only you really could cut air with a knife. Then maybe he could think straight. He already had enough incomprehensible forces gnawing on his grey matter as it was!

“You should rest.” A shallow voice rasped from the corner.

Tav gasped, immediately putting hand to mace hilt, he almost didn’t recognize the elf’s voice.

It bothered Tav how slow he was to take his hand away from the mace although he knew full well even if Halsin were well, he’d never lay a hand on him. Even as he thought that, his mind wandered to the thorns in his chest… The mace clearly wasn’t enough, he really must light a torch!

So he did, and all the anger and fear washed away in face of a new and more powerful force. One that he’d become all too familiar with in Halsin’s presence.

Care. Not only that but the self assured sense of protectiveness he felt for all their companions, something he hadn’t quite realized was ebbing away in face of this gloom.

“Are you… well?” Halsin asked wheezily, half-conscious.

Beads of sweat speckled the Druid’s brow despite the omnipresent chill the Curse bestowed on the land, one of its many gruesomely charming features.

“I am. But you’re not.” Tav brushed Halsin’s hair from his forehead with the back of his hand “Gods Halsin, you’re burning hotter than the Hells. You’ll be competing with Karlach soon enough. You should lie down.”

The Druid not argue, perhaps he couldn’t. Strong, warm, dry hands were made cold and trembling by the strange poison running through Halsin’s veins. A hand in hand to ease. A hand laced through russet hair so that the weakened elf would not hit his head too harshly on the ground.

Gingerly, tenderly, his hands did what was necessary, what was right, as they always did. It took no real effort, so why was his heart pounding so violently in its cage then? Why did he feel as though he needed to catch his breath? He had practically been ready to cave this man’s skull in not moments prior just for startling him! Gods it had been a long day.

Tav took out his canteen.

“Drink.”

Halsin abided, with a bit of propping up.

“Thank you, Tav.” Halsin managed, followed by yet another coughing fit.

Tav was no healer but, you don’t become a Flaming Fist without getting some rudimentary first aid training. “No bleeding out before the Clerics show up!” His drill sergeant used to bark.

No Clerics around here Tav thought bitterly. Removing a water jug and a bundle of clean linens from his pack.

“I’m going to have to remove this.” Tav spoke mechanically, gesturing to Halsin’s armor. Trying focus on the task at hand and not the sudden return of that same rush of feeling from before.

Halsin nodded his understanding, doing his best to make it easier for Tav. The wound looked even worse beneath the cuirass. He wasn’t particularly squeamish given his line of work, but this wound was magical, alien, and Tav couldn’t help but wince.

The initial shock passed Tav got to work, methodically, gently cleaning the dirt and blood and ichor away until all that remained was what continued to well-up from the wound, which was quickly tapered off by the makeshift bandages he’d rustled up.

Tav had done what he must, and Halsin had finally given into exhaustion. Hopefully what people said about Elves only sleeping to heal was true. All that could be done without magic had been.

Despite his efforts, despite the Blood of Lathander, despite the lit torch, one haunting lingering anxiety for which no curse could be blamed lingered in Tav’s mind.

That fever, the dark magic in that would could kill Halsin in his sleep, and there would be very little Tav could do about it.

He fought his own tired body to the last, just to watch his breathing.

Just in case.

[spctrsgf]

movie nights

summary: [prompt] Friday night was movie night for you and steven. but tonight, the romance might not just be on the screen. 

word count: 1.3k

warnings: language, fluff

a/n: i've been in such a writers block so it was really great to be able to produce something for you all! please send in requests if you have them before i burn out of ideas again

“Hey, Steven!” You greet enthusiastically after whipping the door open, brushing back a stray strand of hair that decided to reach out and greet the man as well. “Ello!” He brings his hand up and around in a semicircle in a cute little wave, his teeth showing as he smiles up at you. You step aside to let him in, not missing the way he politely wipes his feet on your doormat.

“I brought some–” he peeks into the plastic bag he’d just placed onto the table. “Chicken parmesan.” You smile at him gratefully. “Thank you, but I thought you were vegan.”

“I am. It’s for you.”

“For me?” Your cheeks tint red.

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Steven.” The richness of your voice shocks you. It drawls almost like syrup.

“No problem.” If he notices your voice or your red face, he doesn't mention it as he moves to take off his shoes. 

“So,” Steven cut through the silence. “What’re we watching today?” The prospect of what movie to watch had consumed his thoughts last night, when he lay awake in his bed. Movie night was his favorite tradition, where he got to spend his Friday nights with you, watching any movie that struck your fancy. He always found himself looking forward to the night throughout the week and hating when the moment had to end.

Marc teased him for being soft, Jake laughed at the way he’d lie awake at night, planning what movie he’d ask to watch next, but Steven couldn’t bring himself to care about what they thought. He was too preoccupied to argue. 

“Hm, well,” You emerge from the kitchen with popcorn, your chicken parmesan, and Steven’s favorite salad (you’d prepared it beforehand to make sure it was perfect) balanced cautiously in your arms. “Why dont you choose tonight? I always do.”

“That's because you have good taste.”

You chuckle. “So do you.”

“Well— thank you,” he grabs his salad, peering into the bowl and then shooting up his head to meet your eyes with a bright gaze. “My favorite! How’d you—“

“I pay attention to you.”

Something undecipherable flashes behind his eyes, and the prospect slightly dampens your smile. Too far? “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

Your cheeks flame. “Anytime.”

“How about a rom com?”

“Sure,” you plop yourself beside him after setting down the food. “Which one?”

“I’m in the mood for 10 things I hate about you today, does that sound okay?”

“Oooo! Of course, I think I have the CD somewhere over there.” You point to the CD case, grabbing your food and sinking into the couch. 

“I'll grab it, yeah?” 

“Mhm. Go on now.”

He glares playfully at you. “Rude much?”

“I’m just playing. I can get it if you want.” You laugh, sitting up straight in a move to stand.

He surges up suddenly, placing a hand on your chest and shoving you back into your seat with an impressive amount of strength. You hit the cushions with a surprised oof! as he winds his way over to the shelf and searches for the CD.

You watch silently as he shuffles about the TV, sliding the DVD and grabbing the remote as he plops himself back down next to you. His fingers flick at the buttons and knobs as he navigates to watching the movie, your attention draws reluctantly to the screen. 

You two fall into the normal pattern as the movie trudges on, you yelling every once in a while at the TV and Steven having to shush you. The popcorn and food are long gone by the time you two hit the middle of the movie, and your head lolls to the side in slight exhaustion.

It’s then you realized Steven’s predicament. He had curled his legs into himself, and was rubbing his arms in a show of cold. Your cheeks flame as you realize you’d bundled up in warm clothing while leaving him with nothing but his dress shirt that he’d forgotten to take off after work. 

You slide off the couch as silently as possible, hoping to evade Steven’s gaze leaving the movie in front of him. Once you reach your bedroom, you scramble through your closet for an embarrassing amount of time before producing a warm navy blue hoodie.

Your favorite.

You run a hand along it, smoothing out the wrinkles, as you make your way back into the living room. Steven’s already looking your way when you enter the room, and you freeze in place, caught red handed. His eyes dart down to the article in your hand before bouncing back to your eyes.

“Everything okay?” His voice rings out in the silence. “Oh, um, yeah,” you cross the room and sit down next to him again. “Just grabbed something.” 

“What is it?”

“My sweater. You looked cold.” You hold it out towards him with a shy smile.

His eyes dart again down to your sweater and then back up. “For me?”

“Yeah.”

He takes it gingerly. “Thank you, that’s so sweet.”

“Anytime.”

Soon, Steven’s attention is drawn to the TV again, and you watch him silently. You see the way his fingers curl around the sleeves, the way he brings his hand up to catch his thumbnail between his teeth, the way curls his legs into the warmth of the sweater, him in your sweater. 

It feels borderline romantic. He’s nuzzled into your clothing, just like every single fucking romance movie you’d ever seen. Your cheeks go red yet again at the realization, and your brain goes between hoping Steven will notice and hoping he won’t. 

As a pro, maybe he’d notice and then act accordingly. Maybe he’d ask you out, maybe you’d get out of the icky in between feeling you’d felt yourself stuck in. On the other hand, if he never noticed and he didn’t feel the same way you did, you’d never have to encounter the awkward sting of rejection. 

Your eyes catch on the credits starting to scroll by on the TV screen, and your head swivels quickly in surprise. “It’s already over?” The words slip from your mouth before you can stop them. “We can watch another?” Steven offers like the gentleman he is.

“Oh, I couldn’t hold you here for another two hours.”

You could.

“Really, it’s fine.”

“Don't you have to get to work tomorrow, Steven?”

“I do?”

You smile at his hecticness. “Yeah, you said Donna wanted you to work an extra shift for being late yesterday.”

“Bollocks,” he smacks the side of his head. “She totally did.”

You grab his hand, pulling him to his feet. “C’mon. I’m not letting you be late again cus we were up watching a movie.”

“Alright, alright!”

You chuckle, playfully shoving his things into his hands. “Hurry up, Grant!”

He stumbles over his feet in a hurry, and in an automatic response, you grab his shoulders to set him upright. “Thank you.” He blushes lightly, swiping a fallen curl from his forehead.

“Of course.” You try to keep your voice from speaking at the sight of him.

He steps out into the hall. “Well, this was fun.”

You lean against the doorframe. “It was.”

He turns to walk away, but after a few steps, he turns back to you. “Thank you, and I’m going to wash the sweater you lent me and give it back to you as soon as possible.”

You smile earnestly. “Oh, please keep it. I like you wearing it.”

“Really? I thought it was your favorite one.”

“It is.”

Steven frowns. “Then why are you-“

“It suits you better anyways. Keep it,” you grab the doorknob with a shaky hand. “And don’t trip on your way out!”

“Wait-”

You shut the door quickly before cringing. “Don't trip on your way out??” You mock yourself. “Seriously, what the fuck was that?”

[jedimordsith]

SUNDAY SIX

I keep telling myself I’ll write another installment or two in the Triumverate Verse. I haven’t found the time yet, but have a snippet from an alternative look at how things might have gone on Naboo…

The ornately wrought spoon hit the fine china with a clatter. Conversation stopped and Mara felt the weight of every eye on her as she pushed her chair back from the long table, shoving unsteadily to her feet. Thrawn’s hand caught her hip as she wavered. It was warm and steady, but his eyes narrowed as he tipped his chin back to examine her face.

“For-forgive me, Keeper,” she said shakily, one hand curling around the carved knob that topped his chair. “I’m — I need to —”

Luke’s sense brushed hers in the Force again and this time he responded better than she could have hoped. Knocking his own chair back with a rough motion, he planted a hand on the broad wooden tabletop and vaulted over it, over Thrawn, landing in a crouch behind her.

Mara let her knees give out. Voices rang out as she crumpled artfully to the floor.

Luke caught her, cradling her against him and leaning over her, shielding her from the others’ view.

“Jedi,” Mara whispered urgently into his shoulder, the fingers of one hand curling into his tunic. “Approaching. Fast. You have to get Thrawn to safety. Now.”

Luke sucked in a breath and she could feel him turn his attention outward, feel the spike of rage and betrayal as he found the same presences she had. They were coming faster now; they must have sensed the disturbance her little scene had caused.

“Luke.” Thrawn’s tone was an order — something he’d carefully avoided since setting foot on Naboo — and Mara felt Luke’s mother and sister bristle.

Luke paid neither of them any mind. Instead, he scooped her into his arms and stood hastily. “Mara’s unwell,” he announced flatly. “Excuse us, Mother.” Turning on his heel, he stalked off, calling behind him for the rest of them to stay at breakfast, not to trouble themselves.

Thrawn was on his heels and, as soon as they’d taken their second corner, Mara lifted her head from where she’d let it loll against Luke’s chest. “I need a comm,” she demanded. “And put me down before we reach the stairwell.”

Thrawn produced his own comm as Luke swung her to her feet.

“What is happening, Cheo-bunis?” Thrawn demanded.

“Ambush,” Luke bit out, catching their Keeper by the arm. “We need to get you to safety. There’s an old panic room. If we hurry —”

“I’ll comm the garrison.” Mara was already keying in one of the codes she’d memorized in preparation for the trip. “Don’t come out until I tell you it’s safe.”

“Mara —” Thrawn frowned, his hand darting out to curl around her wrist.

“They won’t hurt me.” She shook her head. “I’m nothing to them. A whore. Even if they did,” her chest tightened. [in Cheunh] “Better that I die in your service than live without you, Keeper.”

“You will not.” Thrawn commanded, his voice a hiss.

“We have to go,” Luke cut in, urgently. “Now. Leia is coming, and if she figures out where we’re going —”

The comm line clicked open and Mara darted away, stealing one last glimpse over her shoulder at her lovers as Luke pulled Thrawn into motion. They bolted up the stairs, both of them fast and nearly silent despite their booted feet. Their anger burned in the Force, fueling her own fierce intent.

They were hers, as she was theirs. Padme Amidala might have been a queen for decades, legendary on her own world, but this time she would not get what she wanted. Luke no longer belonged to her, and if bloodshed was required to prove it then Mara would bathe the estate in it.