#my mouth tastes like something crawled into it and died

[rackartyg]

i have a cold and it’s started messing up the pressure in my head and god it sucks

[yanderenightmare]

Ryomen Sukuna

TW: NSFW, noncon, virgin reader, corruption kink, Sukuna in general

fem reader

Thinking about Demon King Sukuna and how he receives a virgin for his harem every new moon. Most are unfortunate townspeople who’ve come of age—but you’re something he can savor even more, something truly special.

The silk kimono you’d been dressed in is easily ripped from your body, leaving you bare. You’d been warned not to fight or run, that he’d only sooner kill and eat you—but you keep your faith and try and escape anyway. 

All your life, the temple has taught you of Ryomen Sukuna—that he’s a harbinger of carnage and death. You’d feel better offering your life to the Gods than allowing it to remain captive by the likes of evil.

He only grabs and manhandles you with nothing more but a sadistic laugh, catching your hair in a fist as he pulls you up until only the tips of your toes are left grazing the floors—and even then, he has to bow nearly half his length before he’s leveling your eyes with his.

“My patience is a fickle thing, turtledove. Run again, and I’ll treat it like a real hunt. Which would be a real shame… I so hate spilling holy blood before I’ve made it filthy with sin.”

You're thrown onto a large round bed next. It catches you with a bounce while he crawls after you, taking hold of both your ankles and swiftly pulling you beneath him. 

His chest is marked with demonic seals, and so is his face, where he looms above you with a deranged smile. Raking his claws up your legs and thighs, he spreads and pushes them flat against the bed while his other two hold your crying face, cupping your cheeks with both thumbs hooking into the wet of your mouth, playing with your tongue as you sob. When he shows you his and its black markings, you scream, feeling as though he’s pouring poison down your throat as he feeds you its length and knots it with yours.

You choke and sob while you share each other’s spit, feeling tarnished and forsaken by all that you held sacred—wondering why the heavens would allow this to happen as the weight of his manhood finds rest between your thighs, upon your mound and tummy, where it grows fat and warm.

His hands leave your face and switch places with the other two, freeing them for what he plans on doing next. Wrapping one around himself, he gives it languid tugs while soaking in the sight of your poor little cunt trembling in fear of something it only barely knows what is. His other hand pets it soothingly in mockery, tickling the slit, making you shake.

His stomach then splits open like a cut, baring teeth and a tongue that only earns your horrified expression—crying as it drools over you, jutting out to lick the tender place you so wished had remained untouched. You whine in shudders as he squeezes your throat and bares down over you, staring at you with keen bromine eyes, amused with your fall from grace as you come undone.

“You taste sweet,” he moans against your lips while his other mouth slurps at your core, also groaning.

You’re naïve for thinking it’s over where you blink away tears, but he doesn’t blame you. They never teach you the truth in temples, only childish lies that leave you ever vulnerable to the outside world and ever sweeter for him to ruin.

“I apologize for clipping your wings, angel. But I must say… depravity suits you better.”

Nothing. Not a prayer or plea leaves your lips as he tears through and fills you up. Only a choked gasp that dies midway. You bite into your lip, squeezing your eyes shut—ready to accept a death that never comes. Instead, there’s a living hell, and you can only scream as it consumes you.

Your whimpering is delicious, caught beneath him, panting every time his hips snap forth and storm your clingy insides, gushing for him like he knew you would be—sweetly surrendering all your worship to him and honoring him as your new god.

Perhaps he won’t feast on your flesh once he’s done as cute as you are. He wouldn’t mind keeping you around for a bit. Teach you how to serve him properly. Paint you with his seals. Make you his favorite pet.

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[2kiran]

“CAMERAS / GOOD GHOSTS INTERLUDE”

PAIRING: Ghostface x Reader Reader and Ghostface are men. KINKTOBER CW: SMUT, filming, #1 warnings: ghostface and his casual degradation, blood mention, blowjob (receiving), humiliation kink, teeth-kiss to your d., mild praise

“Look at the camera, baby. Look. At. The. Camera.”

Ghostface huffed in response, his arms obediently staying behind his back. He angles his head in a way that portrays he was staring into the lens, and you catch a glimpse of his chin just below his eternally screaming mask. With the instrument in the palm of your hand, you had evidence of his haunting arrival.

Actual blackmail against the cold-hearted, driven-by-bloodlust killer.

But you think you won’t use it any time soon. Not that it’s currently necessary.

You could barely fathom the whole ordeal, down to the tiniest detail. It was unbelievable. Ghostface was on his knees, his lips curving into a pout as his snark dies on the very tip of his petulant tongue. Additionally, his mouth was inches away from. . .your cock. Fucking hell, have you gone batshit?

Receiving a nasty, sloppy blowjob from him out of everyone you could’ve chosen past midnight wasn’t exactly ideal. Mostly due to how blood spatter clung to his wear, and who knows if it’s his or someone else’s—

The flat of his tongue drags a looong, stripe along your weeping tip. “At least pay attention to me. Is my mouth not enough for a filthy thing like you?” He’s speaking as though you’re bringing him physical harm, but you figure that’s the way he is.

Wrenching your hand into the fabric surrounding the back of his head, you yank him forward until his lips were stretched around the top of your cock. “Shut up,” you command lowly, letting out a shaky gasp as he swallows you in repeatedly in an attempt not to gag, “Look good for me. C’mon.”

That’s the resemblance of a warning you give him, not even close, before the recording begins. Ghostface swears his heart unlocks an unknown door and flees his mortal body at the familiar click, a feeling he’s unable to identify crawling up his chest and sinks into his cheeks. Almost suffocating him with the feeling and by all means, he’s so fucking turned on.

It’s embarrassing. He couldn’t be caught like this. You won’t seriously have that file uploaded. Right?

He redirects his attention towards breathing properly. Then, he runs his tongue up and down a vein, easing himself into the taste of you. The scent of you.

Shit, what is he doing? He barely knows you—a surprising first occurrence—and yet...

Ghostface squeezes his thighs shut, trying to chase after some relief. Drool piles in his mouth, acting as a lubricant for him to take in more of your pulsing dick. He groans, sending vibrations that makes you accidentally stop the recording. It had went on for two minutes—that’s something.

You click on for the flash, letting it spring upwards in place, then you take a picture. He’s startled by the light, and you suddenly feel his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. You have half a mind to jerk, but you definitely don’t need him biting you.

Instead, you simply put on the record mode again. It certainly doesn’t take long for you to feel him slowly sucking you as an apology, his own cock throbbing in his pants when you don’t react to the pain. He probably appeared as some useless slut to you, something that he isn’t. The thought alone has a whine creep into his throat, but he’s not going to let you hear that.

You bring the camera closer to his masked face, capturing the way his saliva coats your length. “There we go,” you sigh, watching him sink more of you into his pretty little mouth, “That’s a good boy, Ghost. Mnn, hhfuck, that’s a good boy.”

The sound of your voice. . .he wonders how you’ll feel inside of h—oh, he’s hooked.

[0bticeo]

lurk | feyd rautha

part four of five. (part 1.) (part 2.) (part 3.)

summary:

“i need you,” he rasps, etching a molten kiss on the dip of your collarbone. “need to get rid of his taste.”

his hand crawls up your thighs, the folds of your velvet dress gliding against your skin. you can still hear the soldiers outside, feel the low thrum of their clamour in your very bones. should you focus, you’ll perceive the baron’s suspensors sucking away at gravity, the servants’ roaming about, feet like neelde-ants on cold marble.

anyone could catch you.

“what are you waiting for, my lord na-baron?”

wc: 1.6k

tw: political machinations, reader being inches away from killing everyone in the damn place including feyd, kissing, biting, mentions of breeding, possessive & needy feyd, sub!feyd, oral (fem receiving), fingering, hallway sex.

you’re getting tired of dreams. 

there’s terrible, terrible purpose dripping from their edges. you see it all - snapshots of horror, fractals reflecting endless bodies dropping to the ground. sixty one billion people, dead. ten thousand worlds burning, the universe begging for respite under your brother’s crushing fist.

paul. little mouse, whom you’ve shielded all your life, whom you’ve sparred with, crysknife pressed against his throat, his shield a feeble protection against your blade. something shatters. blades. so many of them. your blade. jamis’ blade. feyd-rautha’s blade. 

your dream has you standing in what you know to be the emperor’s ship, shrouded in bene gesserit veils. two silhouettes stand against the bleeding sun of arrakis. 

the realisation embeds itself in your mind, marble-carved. fate is looking down upon you and tells you: one of them dies in the end.

when you wake up, there’s a scream dying on your tongue.

you don’t know where you are. you don’t know where you are, why your side is on fire, why you taste blood in your mouth.

slowly, you rise, heart beating furiously, breath laboured. i must not fear. your fingers dig your sheets. the infirmary. fear is the mind killer. you close your eyes, will yourself to breathe. fear is the little-death that brings total -

a hand settles over yours, bone pale fingers weaving with yours. warmth settles on your shoulder. you relax, ever so slightly, leaning into the touch, burying yourself in the crook of feyd-rautha’s neck. he’s all sharp edges, honed to deadly perfection. in the quiet midnight of geidi prime, he softens for you.

“what troubles you?”

you wonder if you should tell him. of the golden path, paved with blood, so much blood it clings to the soles of your feet, you see it rise, rise, eager to seize you-

a low mumble of your name.

“dreams are messages from the deep,” you whisper in the crook of his neck. 

his hold tightens over you, brings you closer to the warmth of him, thumb running over the smooth skin of your belly, over your unborn child growing there. from your position, you can feel it, the way his vocal cords vibrate. he’s purring, soothing you bit by bit.

you tilt your head, hand coming to cradle his face, knuckles brushing against his cheek.

“i should be plotting your death.”

a low chuckle, a flash of almost eagerness in his eyes.

“i don’t doubt you will.”

his hand wraps around your neck, resting on the soft skin of your throat, bringing you closer to him, shifting your bodies until you’re straddling him, arms wrapping around his neck. you could strangle him. you could use the voice. ask him to take the knife you know rests on the bedside and slit his own throat like the harkonnen beast he is. use it yourself.

but you’ve sealed your fate the moment you stepped on arrakis. so instead, you let the darkness swallow your confession.

“i don’t want you to die.”

“i won't,” he mumbles against your lips, words like an oath as he kisses you.

they say the beat of a butterfly wing can cause a tempest on the other side of the globe. you wonder what tempest will be borne out of the fury beating in your chest. here goes: morning comes. the spice rules it all, even the baron’s affairs, so he gathers his troops to make a planetary governor out of feyd-rautha. 

the glorious sun of geidi prime shines its lifeless light upon you all. 

the finest harkonnen soldiers, ruthless hounds barking their sovereign’s name in fervent adoration, thousands upon thousands of ants stretching as far as you can see. they corrupt it all the harkonnen, eating away at the horizon. waiting. 

you’re waiting, too, hands folded before you, lone silhouette clad in dark robes, veils like a mask before your face. bene gesserit, the court calls you. 

not quite.

by bearing feyd-rautha a child, you’ve gained a modicum of respite. the bene gesserit will spare you, the mother of their precious kwisatz haderach. they will keep your survival a secret and bury it behind inscrutable eyes.

plans within plans within plans. you’re a pawn in the baron’s meaty hands, he’s a pawn in yours, and the bene gesserit have been pulling the strings for ninety generations. 

your gaze flits to the scene before you. feyd-rautha harkonnen, clad in dark leathers, silver embroidery like pauldrons over his shoulders. the mass of his uncle hovers above him, a hovering beast eager for power. two meaty hands encompass his face - absolute disgust coils in your chest as you watch vladimir harkonnen kiss his nephew. he kisses back. a show of dominance.

the soldiers howl his name, earth trembling under the clamour. they salute, arms crossed over their heads, a living, breathing organism, synchronicity at its peak. 

arrakis has a new ruler. 

a hand clasps over your wrist, drags you away from the adoring masses, in the sweet darkness of the palace’s hallways. you’re pinned against the wall, and feyd-rautha looms before you, terrible hunger burning in his eyes. slowly, he lifts your veils, high enough to bare your mouth to him. 

“my lord-”

you’re cut off by his lips on yours, eager, desperate, savouring you like fine arrakean spice-wine. 

“i need you,” he rasps, etching a molten kiss on the dip of your collarbone. “need to get rid of his taste.”

his hand crawls up your thighs, the folds of your velvet dress gliding against your skin. you can still hear the soldiers outside, feel the low thrum of their clamour in your very bones. should you focus, you’ll perceive the baron’s suspensors sucking away at gravity, the servants’ roaming about, feet like neelde-ants on cold marble.

anyone could catch you.

“what are you waiting for, my lord na-baron?”

he nips at your ear, grin sharper than his blade as he sinks to his knees. slowly, intimately, a shadow curling at his mistress’ feet. he unravels you, nails raking up your thighs, liquid desire burning in their path. 

“eyes on me.”

your eyes snap open. oh, he’ll be the death of you, with the way his eyes freeze you in place, willing, begging for his touch. you shiver, a low, needy sound escaping you. 

he grins, a flash of black teeth against the liquid darkness of your robes. shadows will swallow you whole - he will swallow you whole. already is, with the way he trails kisses up your thighs, teeth sinking in the meat of it until blood drips on your skin. 

he’s lapping at it, hands wrapping around your leg, spreading you apart inch by precious inch until he fits the broad expanse of his shoulders in the space he’s carved for himself. he raises his head, leans his cheek against your thigh, nuzzling in its softness. there’s blood coating his lips, sweet like forbidden fruit, and an unquenchable fire in his eyes.

“exquisite,” he purrs, nail digging in the blossoming mark he’s left, until your hips seek his touch.

he puts his mouth to you. you bite your lip, hard, as you feel him tease you, tongue lapping at you like sweet pomegranate, skilled fingers coaxing pleas for more. the cold of his silver ring has you keening - you're melting against him.

it’s obscene, how the only sounds you can hear are the pleased moans of your lover, the squelching of your juices dripping down his face, his wrist. it’s too much, too fast - your nails dig into his nape, bringing him closer. fucker’s purring, hands digging in your hips. he’s making a feast out of you, and you’ve never seen prettier sight. 

feyd-rautha, kneeling at your feet, a pretty, pretty blush dusting his cheeks, his soft mouth on your cunt, ruining you as he denies himself sweet release.

“feyd-”

a jolt - he’s just nipped your clit, and you’re falling apart with his name on your tongue, burning, melting in the pits of desire. you grow boneless, faltering on unsteady legs. he pulls you to him before you can fall, kissing you, moulding his devouring mouth to yours. 

distantly, you register that he’s breathless, that he’s pressing you against him, that you can feel the dampness at the front of his pants.

his voice is a low, needy rasp.

“you taste divine, my dear.”

there’s a commotion. someone, somewhere, is calling. a servant. a feast is prepared. blasphemy - the baron is a beast, and he will not have his nephew leave without obscene amounts of food. good. it leaves room for you to plan - you’re running out of precious, precious time. there are too many variables for you to act alone, yet you are.

you’re sitting at feyd-rautha’s side at a banquet table. on you watch, a mockery of a bene gesserit, nails digging in your palm. there’s a knife before you, of course. the baron’s sitting at the head of the table, stuffing himself until he’s about to burst. 

repulsive.

you could do it now. put an end to the harkonnen, avenge your family. plunge that knife in the baron’s throat and watch him die like an animal. 

but revenge is best served cold. you remember princess irulan being seated in front of you. you remember the emperor at the head of the table. you remember his knife slicing through unknown poultry. a falcon. he’s doomed your family to death. 

the emperor is old. paranoid. anybody would’ve seen that the atreides were far too loyal to even consider rebelling against him, rising influence or not. someone convinced him otherwise. the truthsayer, reverend mother gaius helen moriam. 

you take a bite of your own meal and find it tasting like ash. the only dish you yearn for is revenge.

you want the baron dead. you want the emperor stripped of his power. you want to watch the split second of horrified realisation on the reverend mother's face. 

you want them to burn, and burn they will.

taglist: @kpopnstarwars @moonsoulk @alexandrainlove @saturnhas82moons @coureurs-de-bois9 @kamcrazy123 @beebeechaos @avidreader73 @yzuposts @jaiuneamesolitaiire

[calzone-d]

So just saw your post about steve being an absolute much and i wholeheartedly agree. On that note i also believe he talks you through it so good when he fucks you. He comes off so poised to everyone else but when he’s with you? He gets so nasty and cocky with it, it’s all “that’s right baby take it” “oooohh is that right, that feel good?” “just let go sweetheart come for me” and when you get close and start gasping he smirks and mocks your little oh oh oh’s, like he knows he’s big and he knows he fucks you good, he just can’t help it

Thoughts?

pairing: Steve Rogers x afab!reader

warnings: unprotected sex, creampie, reader has a vagina, steve has a filthy mouth

a/n: 100% Think about it- Steve loves to help. Loves to help others, loves helping you take his cock. and yeah he’s americas sweetheart but he deserves a little moment to be cocky too!!

not proofread!

absolutely nsfw below the cut im warning ya

“Yes, Sir. Thank you for coming out tonight, your donation makes a world of a difference.”

Steve’s voice is firm but sincere as he shakes the hand of another rich friend of Tony’s. They’re all making their way to the door as the night dies down. Not fast enough, though. Not fast enough to where you can whisk Steve away upstairs like you’ve been dying to do for the past few hours.

You toss back the rest of your drink when Steve moves to wrap his arm around your waist. He brings his lips to your neck, peppering the soft skin with little kisses. The feeling makes you laugh, the only people in the room left are a few of the other Avengers so he clearly has let go of his inhibitions. The asguardian mead kind of helped that along, too.

“Let’s go upstairs, need to feel that sweet pussy wrapped around me, sweetheart.”

His words cause you to choke. Your face flushes as you turn in his arms to set your drink down on the bar. He gently pats your back with a blush that matches yours.

“Sorry, honey. You okay?”

You chuckle thinking of how his filthy mouth always catches you off guard. America’s Golden Boy definitely has a golden tongue to match, but you’re the only one who holds that knowledge.

On your tiptoes, you put a hand on the back of his neck to pull his face down to your height. Your soft lips brush the shell of his ear,

“You want my pussy, baby? That’s what you need?” you whisper with a kiss to his ear.

His blush ripens just as it began to fade. He nods, preoccupied with making an escape plan, always the Captain.

Steve drags you out a side door and makes a beeline to the elevator. The second the doors shut, his hands are on your hips. His fingertips squeeze you as he starts speaking again.

“Bet that cunt’s drippin’ for me, huh?”

His Brooklyn accent always comes out when he’s like this. Before you have a chance to respond his fingertips are slipping up your dress. They skate over the inside of your thighs before pulling at the waistband of your panties.

“Lemme feel, honey.”, a thick finger slips between your folds. A wicked smile spreads across his flushed cheeks.

“Sweetheart… already so wet for me..” the tip of his finger catches your clit and makes you whimper.

Steve pulls his fingers out right as the elevator dings and the doors open. You clear your throat and follow him to his room. Steve’s pink lips wrap around his finger as he unlocks the door, mumbling something about how you taste.

He’s pulling you in as soon as the door opens, hurriedly pulling down the zipper of your dress.

“Need this off, honey girl. Now. Panties too, need to taste that pussy again.”

Without a second thought you shimmy the dress off and kick your panties somewhere behind him. He drops to his knees before you and crawls the rest of the way, backing you up against the wall.

Steve unbuttons his shirt and yanks it off, “Got me crawlin’ on the god damn floor for that pussy. Like a pet.”

You bite your lip at that. Your hands reach out to make a home in his perfectly styled hair. Steve settles on his knees, pulling one of your legs up and over his broad shoulder.

“Am I your pet baby?” You chuckle softly and nod.

“Mhm.. a good pet too, Stevie.”

He groans and leans forward. One of his hands comes up and spreads your folds open, putting every inch of your soaked pussy on display for him. His tongue sets a path from your quivering hole up to your hardened clit.

Pulling away the slightest bit he groans “Fucking hell”. Steve’s dirty mouth isn’t new to you, but always takes you by surprise. Always makes you blush just a little harder.

Steve makes a rhythm of poking at your opening with the tip of his tongue and using it softly against your clit. He’s obscene with it, too. A mixture of your slick and spit coating his sharp cheekbones. He slurps and moans as you near your orgasm.

“Gettin’ wetter, honey. Gonna cum for me? You can cum, sweetheart. Been so good to me tonight.”

“Gonna make you cum on my tongue, honey. Don’t worry, just let go. Lemme taste it, pretty girl.”

His words are muffled by your cunt but it makes you squirm all the same.

The tension snaps when he shoves his tongue as far as humanly possible inside of you. His pointed nose creating the perfect amount of friction against your throbbing bud.

“That’s- that’s it.” He pants into your sensitive folds. He slows down, pressing gentle kisses against your clit. “So sweet, honey.” another kiss. “Could taste this” another lick “this pussy all night.”.

You don’t miss the way he wobbles just the slightest bit when he stands to pull you into his arms. He pulls you in for a kiss that’s all tongue. The taste of you on his tongue makes you moan.

Steve kisses you all the way to his bedroom. Once he has you on the bed he shoves his pants and underwear off, not bothering to make a show of it. His cock is heavy and wet, the tip glistens as the weight of it makes it hang down in front of him.

You instinctively spread your legs, your arms reaching out for him.

“Stevie..”

He’s over you in an instant, nose nuzzling your cheek, then the flushed skin of your neck.

“M’here sweet girl. I’ve got you.” he murmurs. He wastes no time in bringing the tip of his cock to your soaked folds. He runs the tip up and down, making sure he’s wet enough to not hurt you.

“This pussy will be the death of me, honey. You hear me?”

You nod and grab at his back, holding him to you.

He slides in, and you both moan at the feeling.

“Just needed this- fuck- this sweet pussy on my cock. Needed you wrapped around me sweet girl.”

Once he’s balls deep he doesn’t even pull out to thrust into you again, just grinds the head of his cock against your cervix. The trimmed hair at his base adds to the sensation of his pelvis putting pressure on your clit. His heavy balls are pressed flush to the dip of your ass cheeks.

“Ohh fuck. Got me- got me so weak, honey.” he pants. One of his hands goes to the back of your head, pulling your face into his neck. You discovered pretty early on that he was so sensitive there. The second your lips touch his neck he’s a goner.

“You like that though, don’t you? Knowing you’ve got- mmm- got your captain so weak for you?” He pulls out almost all the way before slipping right back in, all the way to the hilt.

Steve tilts your hips backward just an inch or so, and the next move of his cock puts sweet pressure on your g-spot. The feeling makes you yell out, frantic hooded eyes searching for his as you grab onto his biceps.

“There it is, I got you, sweets. Just-“ another thrust, “Just taking care of my best girl.”

You whimper at the pressure on your g-spot. “Oh, steve! I- fuck.. So good..”

“I know baby, found your spot, huh?” he smirks as he hits it again. You nod as your eyes flutter shut.

“You can- you can take it, hun. That’s it..” he murmurs against your hair.

“I’ve got you sweet girl, just take it.” your moans only spur him on. “I know, I know, shhh. Taking it so well, sweets. Taking your captain’s cock.. god damn.. Squeezin’ me so tight.. Just creamin’ on my cock baby.”

He leans back and his thumb finds your clit. He thrusts more shallow now, jackhammering against your g-spot and putting you right on the edge.

“So sensitive here baby, such a pretty pussy. Love this pussy, oh fuck.. Got me- got me so close sweet girl.”

You lock your ankles behind his back, making him fall back over you.

“Cum in me Steve, I- fuck!- need it baby. Steve, please.. need- ohh- need it so bad.”

He drops his weight on you, face buried in your neck as he fucks you, spurred on by his most primal desire.

“Steve, I need to- m’gonna cum.. I’m.. I’m oh fuck!”

The way your pussy clenches on his cock sends him right over the edge.

“Shit, oh shit. m’cumming, honey. Ohh my god.” he doesn’t stop thrusting even as his cock twitches and empties itself deep inside you.

“Take it,” he buries himself as deep as possible. “Take your captain’s cum. All for you, sweet girl. Fuckkk, take it. Ohhh that’s it…”

He swallows thickly, nudging his nose against the side of your neck.

“Love..” he pants. “Love you, y/n. My sweet girl. Love you so much.” his voice is raspy.

He doesn’t even try to move. Your hand comes up to scratch at the back of his scalp and he wiggles a little against you, getting comfy for a minute.

You press a few kisses to his sweaty temple “Love you too, Stevie.”

He lays there on top of you until he goes soft and you’re poking him in the ribs to get him to move.

“Wanna shower, stevie. Get up.”

When he pouts, you giggle and press a soft kiss to his lips. After he slips his cock out of you, he uses his thumbs to gently spread your lower lips. He ghosts his thumb through his cum that’s starting to leak out of you. When he’s done admiring his handiwork he pulls away and brings his thumb to his lips.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, honey.”, he murmurs and pulls you to your feet.

In the bathroom, he gets the shower started while you pee and attempt to clean yourself up with some wipes.

“Jeez, Steve.. there’s just so much of it.”

Steve snickers and pulls the shower curtain back for you. “Been savin’ it for you, babe.” he says with a cheesy wink.

You laugh and fake gag, “Gross”. Steve leans in and presses a kiss to your scrunched nose.

—-

a/n: thanks for reading! likes/reblogs/comments are always appreciated, and requests are always open!

[bluessmutifyplaylist]

i am in desperate need of smutty lilia and idia x reader in which it ends up with taking their cocks and giving up on gaming

I don’t really know what this was saying, so I decided to do my own interpretation? I also decided to leave them separate?

Warnings: 18+, Gender-Ambiguous!Reader, oral (character receiving)/blowjob, under the desk situation, pre-established relationship, subby!Idia, dom!Lilia (you give him a blowjob while he’s unmuted… so public?)

Idia Shroud

“Just one more game…” You let out another sigh as you laid on his bed. He said that so many times since you arrived at Ignihyde. You were feeling needy… horny… and attention-starved. So what did you do? You got an idea.

While Idia was locking in on his game, you sneakily got down on the floor and crawled underneath his desk. You were careful to not disturb him… until you put your hands on his thighs.

He yelped slightly in surprise, and when he looked under his desk and saw you with that sinister… sexy grin… he’s only ever seen this happen in porn videos! “W-What are you doing?!” His hair went bright red, as did his face, and his stuttering only got worse when you pulled down his sweatpants. 

You always knew that Idia was on the bigger side… always giving big-dick-loser energy… but damn. It was on the limper side right now, but it still had some heft to it. Taking it into your hand, you were able to feel it twitch… and damn if it didn’t make your mouth water.

“P…P-Please…” His whimpers as you started pumping your hand turned you on. He was lucky to have his mic muted… but he already died in-game. It didn’t matter, though, because his significant other was currently jerking him off.

Leaning forward, you put his tip against your tongue, and you would have thought that Idia saw the Heavens. As you started sucking, you were basically taking his soul with it. It took a bit of work to adjust to his size, and you knew your jaw was going to be sore… but his moans were worth it.

Swirling your tongue on the tip before diving in… it tasted not at all like you expected. He definitely kept himself cleaned… maybe he was preparing for something like this to happen. Your mouth started filling with saliva to accommodate for his size, and that’s when he started thrusting.

“Oh, fuck…”

He gripped the arms of his chair as his hips started moving up, jerking his cock into your mouth. It wasn’t choking you… it was actually quite pleasant as you got to really enjoy the taste of his precum. 

It wasn’t long until he was busting a load into your mouth. A raspy whimper, and you felt your mouth be filled with warm cum. It was fairly sticky going down, and it had a somewhat salty taste. It wasn’t surprising, given his poor diet, but it wasn’t absolutely horrible.

Licking your lips and smiling, you look up at Idia, and he was panting as he released his grip on his chair.

Lilia Vanrouge

The second you crawled under his desk, he knew what you were doing. He didn’t even give you the courtesy of him muting himself. Everyone in the chat was going to hear him praising you while you suck his cock.

As you unzipped his pants, you were teasing him about how it probably looked ancient… only to be met with a very hard, very angry-looking dick… and your mouth immediately wanted it in your mouth.

“Are you going to be a good Prefect and suck the General off?” He tilts his head with a smirk, muting his computer. Never in this time did he mute his mic.

You had no idea what sorcery he was using… but quicker than you can say “Grimm’s annoying”, you had Lilia’s cock in your mouth.

There must have been an aphrodisiac in the air because you nearly immediately became cockdrunk. Within five minutes, you were drooling over Lilia’s cock. He had his hand on the back of your head as he thrust into your mouth, making you choke.

His member hit the back of your throat as he kept thrusting, and he chuckled lowly as he saw you struggling for air. “Are you about to tap out, Prefect? Is that perfect little mouth of yours growing tired? Oh, you poor dear… Perhaps you ought to let me take care of it…” He giggled softly as he held you still while he continued thrusting into your mouth, not letting you take a break until he was shooting his cum down your throat, forcing you to swallow all of it.

“I hope I wasn’t away too long…” He said into his mic as he resumed his game, much to your dismay… and arousal.

[postmoe]

Borisin Warhead Hoolay x Reader - All You’re Good For

: cum, piss, degradation, blood (lil bit), aphrodisiac, Hoolay is a gross meanie :( , but he’s also a powerful tyrant so :)

This was all written on my phone during sleepless nights haha I can’t fix the spacing ;-;

It’s hard being a foxian in this world run by borisins. Allies are far and few between, even amongst your own kind. All it takes is one threat, one little push and you’re being sold out or used in the worst ways.

It had been days and you’re exhausted, paranoid and running on nothing but a few berries you have yet to see if are poisonous. It’s been a few days and nothing, so you’ll try some more tonight… if you make it out alive.

You were part of a group of foxians that plotted to run from the farm you were held in, what’s started as 11 now dwindled to five as most of you were either captured and killed in the escape or gotten too sick and died along the way. It had been a plan in the making that would have been perfect, had it not been for one factor:

Hoolay was coming.

Everyone knows the visit of the borisin warhead always lead to large feasts, having most of the ‘stock’ dead by morning. It was either make a break for it then or succumb to certain death.

So, you fled. Which leads to now, having you shaking beside the campfire, fingers anxiously brushing through matted knots in your tail, and the four men now looking to you like you were a burden.

“All I’m saying is that there’s no use having dead weight when borisins could jump on our tail at any second. We all play a part in this pack, but, what do you do?” One stated as though it was a matter of fact, hand held out in expression.

It was true you hadn’t really contributed much, though one could argue you found the berries, you were the only one brave enough to try them. You did plan on sharing if they were safe; that’s out the window now. Your lips thin as you refuse to make eye contact. Trauma has rendered your vocabulary useless, you don’t remember how old you were when you last spoke. Now, only pitiful sounds are able to escape your mouth, little hums and grunts of pain.

They took this as another sign of weakness, one of the other foxians scoffing, “You won’t even make conversation with us? We want someone we can rely on, not a pet.”

Everyone seemed to have different opinions of your value, all of which lead to one conclusion: you’re useless. It wasn’t until the fourth of them spoke that anyone even considered otherwise, “C’mon, guys, don’t be so harsh, you know she’s a mute. She can’t help it if she’s… underwhelming. Females are only made for one thing after all. Surely I can’t be the only one feeling lonely.”

It was that comment that made your heart pound most of all. A debate broke out of whether or not you’d be worth keeping around for something as trivial as sex when their lives were in danger. You look to starry sky above, the smoke pluming through the canopy as you think about their accusations. You were the most quiet of the bunch. You watched one of your comrades get their head stomped in right before you and didn’t even scream. One of the men here almost got everyone caught because a centipede crawled past. All in all, it could only be boiled down to blatant sexism. Their entire lives they’ve been slaves, and now there’s a taste of freedom and they want to turn the tables.

You’re being regarded again, everyone awaiting your answer, “So, wanna spread them legs and we’ll keep you safe? Cmon baby, you can trust us to protect you.”

It was a no brainer on your part, though you’ve never been one for conflict, you were prepared to fight them on this. Exhausted, paranoid, starving. You a pop a few berries from your pocket and into your mouth, thinking this might be your last meal if things go south as you shake your head in a silent, ‘no’.

The main perpetrator loses his smirk, obviously not amused by your response. He stands and cracks his neck, “No? I think you just need a bit of encouragement, baby.”

Immediately, you stand to take the defensive against him. You wonder if you could outrun them, given that you’re all in the same state of distress. One of the first foxians stands too, holding his hand out in hesitance, “W-whoa, hold up. Don’t start a fight here. Besides, you can’t just force someone to have sex with you.”

Another stood up, following the others straps as he comes to crowd you, “No no, I actually agree here. I think she needs to show us some gratitude.”

The last one merely sat in silence, avoiding his eyes from the scene, looking visibly uncomfortable but not wanting to step in.

Your eyes darted between the two approaching and you threatened by taking a deep breath, mouth opening as if you to scream. Their eyes panicked, not wanting any sound to alert unwanted attention. Regardless of their beliefs on your voice, they didn’t want to risk it.

A slight freeze from them was all you needed, you turned tail, beginning to run when a critical mistake caused your foot to get caught on the log you were sitting on. You went tumbling down, only barely managing to turn on the ground when you were tackled by your former comrade. His hand already over your mouth as he laugh, straddling you, “See? Pathetic! You can’t even run away by yourself. You need us.”

Your hands tense as your nails sharpen, ready to thrash when the other grabs your right wrist, pinning you down. Not long after, the first one grabs your other, his instinct telling him this was better than having you fight back and alert their position.

It wasn’t until his hand trailed under your shirt and caressed the bare skin of your stomach that something truly snapped inside of you. Pupils dilating, mind quieting and teeth sharpening, you managed to tilt your head enough to bite painfully into his hand, blood quickly spilling from the punctures.

His scream was loud, startling, the one on your right wrist jolting enough for you to wrench your arm away. Just as you were about to scratch at him, he gave you a swift punch to your face, nose cracking and pooling blood over your mouth. It disorientated you enough for him to grab at your throat, holding you down, “Fucking bitch. Maybe it’ll be easier to use you if you’re not breathing.”

His taste for violence was the perfect opportunity. As his face drew closer and no one retrained you, thinking you were knocked out enough to not need it, you thrust your hands to his head, nails digging into the back of his skull as you pushed him forward and impaling his eye over your thumb.

The others stepped back now, stunned and scared, leaving you to leap forward before he could recover and drive your teeth into his throat like a wild animal. Frenzied, scared, hurt and adrenaline coursing through your veins, it was enough to drive anyone to do drastic things.

You didn’t notice the rustling of bushes, the way your comrades bolted from the scene. Too busy focusing on ripping his throat out and showing him that you’re not just some foxian that’s going to roll over and heel. Tears streaming down your cheeks as the taste of blood came rushing over you, you are going to fight, too.

Once he goes limp is when you stop clawing and attacking, sitting back with a squelch as you reach up to wipe the water from your eyes. You were drenched. Blood painted from the lower half of your face, down your throat and over your teeth. Nose bruised and broken and leaking. Nails filthy and you’re sure there is flesh under them. You’re not a killer. You never wanted to be a killer.

And then the clapping began. Thuds of heavy footsteps rush past you as you look up, paling and almost vomiting from the surprise. There’s no mistaken that the borisin that stands before you now is Warhead Hoolay, and beside him is his right hand man, Mok Tok. The pack with him was chasing down the others that ran before.

Hoolay seemed very amused, crouching down and grinning as he picked up the foxian’s head by the ear before letting it hit the ground again, “Only the strong survive. This whelp was nothing more than all bark and no bite. You, however,” he gazes back to you, standing, “I’m impressed. Even foxians in the fighting ring have more compassion. You truly didn’t hold back.”

Running isn’t an option. In the fight he had gotten a few good hits and kicks in, your ankle throbbing in pain. Not to mention the stench of blood on you. Foxians had a great sense of smell - Borisins, an even better one. Your only option is to fight, and even you know the single outcome here is death.

Mok Tok stepped around, standing behind you as he examined your state of well being. He hummed gingerly before saying, “Dine in or take away, master?”

Another once over from Hoolay had him walking over to you. He didn’t have a care in the world, hand larger than your head reaching out towards your face. It was enough for you to kick into gear, using what was left of your strength and latching onto him with all the fight you had left. Your teeth barely dug through the fur on his paw, nails only strong enough to hold you to his arm without so much as pricking blood, your legs feebly kicking into his large chest. It probably felt more like a massage than any form of pain.

You tried with all your might and the only response you got from him was a boisterous laugh. He easily yanked you off and threw you to the ground, rolling until you hit Mok Tok’s foot, “Take away. This one amuses me, see to it she doesn’t succumb to her wounds.”

In no time you had some form of metal around your neck, clasping with the rattle of a chain. You’re dragged a few feet before being hauled onto your aching souls. Mok Tok handles you with little care, tugging you to a pace you couldn’t keep up with.

…

It was only you, the bystander foxian that didn’t stand to help, and the initial foxian that tried to keep everyone quiet that remained. The lackey of the culprit you fought had been tied at the end of your chain link, only to fall to his wounds and die on the road. The borisins had snapped his portion of the chain off like it was nothing, leaving his carcass to rot in the mud.

You were at the front of the line, trudging behind Hoolay and his bitch boy with your hands cuffed in front of you, connected to a chain on the thick collar around your throat. A longer, thicker chain trailed behind you to the others, walking in a single file.

It was quiet, the night turning from black to the blueish hues of morning. In the distance thunder rumbled, promising the relief of rain to come. Your feet were filthy from the mud, having lost one flat, uncomfortable shoe days ago and tossing the other at a wild animal that tried to bite you. It turns out bare feet was only marginally more uncomfortable. At least the dirt of the road and squelch of the mud was nicer than sticks and brambles in the forest.

Every closing of your eyes almost had you tripping in sleep. You tried not to blink but since the adrenaline was wearing off, all the pain and exhaustion was coming forward tenfold. It was probably stupid, but the man behind you decided to try their luck with a conversation, “Are we-“ they coughed, their voice a lot scratchier than you anticipated, starting again when they noticed their ears pricking back to listen, “Are we going back to the farm?”

Mok Tok was the first to sneer, his scarred face glaring at him as he snapped, “You weren’t given permission to speak, whelp.”

Hoolay raised his paw to silence him, “It’s fine. Let them wonder, the smell of fear is a welcome sense.” Once the smaller borisin bowed in submission, Hoolay glanced at you from over his shoulder, his intimidating size only making you feel all the more caged in this otherwise open countryside, “The farm owner doesn’t want runaways such as yourselves. You’re coming to our den. Those who can’t serve as servants will be meals before battle.”

One of the men behind you whimpered in fear, the chain slightly rattling as they quaked. You wish you could have the energy for such an emotion. You felt yourself lagging, needing to pick up the pace if you didn’t want to end up lunch for the trip back. With a pained sigh, you skipped forward and listened as they continued questioning, “Did you search for us on purpose, or was it all a coincidence?”

It seems Hoolay was in a generous and talkative mood as he humoured, “Your previous owner informed us of the escape. Such a foolish plan, don’t you know we wolves love to hunt little foxes like you? You couldn’t have picked a worse time to…”

As Hoolay spoke you were progressively losing focus. The sunlight peeked behind a cloud and pierced your eye, a strain feeling like it was hitting your brain. Your hands weren’t low enough to see if you had any surviving berries in your pocket, food maybe being a cure. By this point it was difficult to make out the words anyone was saying.

The next moment you know is your face in the mud. It’s cool to your cheeks, comforting from the recent events. Mok Tok’s voice cuts through incredulously, “Me? Master, she is just a pitiful fox. I suggest we eat her and be done-“

“Are you questioning my decision, Mok Tok? I’ll gladly fight you over it, think you can take me in a battle,” Hoolay says, already knowing the outcome.

Mok Tok surrenders immediately, breaking off your chain and throwing you over his shoulder. Your lungs are pushed of air, and though he isn’t careful in the least, you despise how warm and inviting his fur is. It isn’t long before you’re drifting off, passing out in the hopes that this is your end and you don’t have to experience another day in this hellhole.

…

It was a long ride, your trio of prisoners thrown on the back of a wagon full of leftover foxian meat when it was established you were walking too slow. Most of it was wrapped in cloth and sat on crates with misshapen ice inside to keep relatively fresh. It only became hard to stomach when one of them got hungry.

A few borisin were striding alongside the cart, keeping in pace with the quieter man of your group. They were shoving an amputated foot in his face, laughing and urging him to try it. “You’ll never know if you don’t have a taste~”

You did your best to keep your gaze away, he may be an arsehole but you still regarded the corpse’s leg with the dignity you feel it deserves. Though your kind believes the spirit moves on, it was still hard to witness in the living realm.

It seems your ignorance of the scene didn’t grant you any relief. However, instead of the group of mutts hounding him, you were graced with the mighty presence of the Warhead himself. He held out an arm to you, fingers daintily hovering before your face, calloused skin proving their hard work in life. Hoolay eyed you with interest as he said, “What about you, small one? Have you developed a taste for your own kind?”

The stains of mud and blood still remain on you, your nose only having a brief look at once you reached the wagon of ‘goods’. If your aggressive fight had taught you anything, it was that living prey wasn’t your ideal meal. You shook your head and turned away from him, hoping he would give up this pointless endeavour.

Hoolay brought the arm to his maw, ripping the flesh and chewing loudly, as if to accentuate just what exactly he was eating. Without warning, his sharp claw drags roughly from the base of your skull and down your neck, stopping between your shoulder blades when you jumped forward in shock, the chains rattling as you eyed him with malice. Whatever he saw in you made his lips part in a smirk, then he laughed loudly, the rest of his pack watching their leader toy with you in silence. “What do they call you?”

Even if you could talk, you wouldn’t want to tell him your name.

He raises an eyebrow at you, “Oh? Even still defiant over such a simple question?”

Mok Tok was clearly more offended than his leader, “How dare you ignore our Warhead Hoolay! Master, please allow me to show this whelp just how grateful she should be-“

Sensing the growing tension, your other prisoner comrade interrupted fearfully, “Sh-she doesn’t talk, lord warhead. She’s been silent for as long as we’ve known her.”

This seemed to interest Hoolay even more. “Oh?” With ease, he jumped onto the wagon and sat opposite of you, right next to the prisoner who had spoken on your behalf. Teasingly, he caressed his face with the back of the foxian’s hand, “Then you can tell me. What is her label?”

Shakily, he looked to you as if you could help, too scared to move away from the amputated hand. You merely shrugged, then sure what to tell him, so he said what he could best remember, “I think… I think she was part of B block so… it may have been B132.”

You’re not sure with how you got away with not being branded. Perhaps it was because you kept your head down and didn’t cause trouble, mixed with the fact that they forgot. The farm wasn’t the best run, order and structure not something they’d place in their résumé.

Hoolay looked back to you, “Is that correct?”

Again, you shrug. You were told it once and then never again. The only ones who really remembered were the branded ones.

Hoolay picks at his fangs with the nails of his meal, humming in thought before tossing the arm far away into a field, “I suppose it matters not. Servants will be renamed, as will food.” Another amused rumble comes bubbling from his chest as he stands, a large paw grasping your injured face and turning it from side to side, making you wince as he growls lowly, “Food always tastes better when there’s… personality.”

You took that as an omen for your future.

…

The rain and humidity was a horrible combination, though you found yourself enjoying it more as the grime was sort of washed from your face and your wrists were lubricated from the blood that was washed down. Quietly, you had been working on wriggling your hands out of the cuffs to give you some more space to work with when you try to escape again.

There was nothing you could do about the choker around your neck, however if you could at least get your hands free then you’d have the ability to use the environment around you easier. That, paired with the fact that your chain was no longer connected to the others thanks to Mok Tok, you think you had a fighting chance.

Or else you’re condemned to be food.

It stung, the way your flesh ripped and teared when you shimmied it back and forth in the metal. The others had seen you but didn’t speak up, thankfully, not wanting any of their attention.

You felt sick with anxiety when the new blood made it easier to pull through, almost slipping out, your bones bruised and aching before you pushed your hands back in to avoid them being freed completely.

The rain had lessened, which wasn’t ideal but you could tell it would stop soon and you wanted to go with as much covering as possible. You were in another dense forest, it would be the perfect time. So, you got work, stomping your foot on the wagon to get someone’s attention.

It was Mok Tok who turned, glaring at you with a harsh, “What?” Your tail was squeezed between your thighs, jumping up and down to indicate you needed to pee. He seemed he was about to refute it when he had a second thought, turning to Hoolay and saying, “Master, the last toilet break for the prisoners was 12 hours ago. Shall we stop once more or wait until we arrive to the den?”

Your stomach dropped, did that mean you were close to their home? It really was now or never. Hoolay looked back to you, and you tried hard to show how desperate you were to go. He motions for everyone to stop, coming to you, “Fine. You two take the other prisoners. I’ll handle this one myself.” Like a giant claw - and you suppose it technically was - he grasped you by the top of your head and lifted you from the wagon, placing you down in the mud, your toes sinking into the mushy soil.

He had to nudge you to walk as you panicked. Why was splitting you up now? Every other time it has been one borisin watching you three, you were counting on that to have their attention diverted. Now the Warhead himself wants to watch you pee?

You get a considerable distance before he stops, staring at you with a heavy gaze. When you make no move he scoffs, smiling with a row of sharp teeth and a flick of his tail, “What, you can piss in front of my grunt but not me? Do I really make you that uncomfortable?” His voice lowers to a dangerous octave, “You flatter me.”

Now’s not the time to play his games. You turn around, using your tail to lift up the long, tattered dress that was uniform for everyone at the farm. Due to the first toilet break, a borisin had ripped your knickers off and tossed them so they wouldn’t have to keep doing it whenever you needed to go, so all you had to do was squat and bunch the cloth in your hands once you were low enough to reach. You glanced over your shoulder, seeing him watch you with boredom, huffing and averting his eyes lazily.

That was the best you were going to get. From this angle, it could be seen as you adjusting your clothes again, yet you were slipping your damaged wrists out of the cuffs. It was a little harder since the last time but you managed to do it, eyeing him from the side to see him focused on the raindrops off a leaf. Taking a deep breath, you bolted head on, scurrying over logs and bushes.

There was no noise behind you. As far as you’re aware, borisin aren’t silent hunters, they like to toy with their prey. So why wasn’t he chasing you? Not that you’re complaining, you hope to never encounter his kind again-

The reason for your lack of chase became apparent as you came skidding to a halt. You were at the edge of a canyon, forest on this side and a large, dusty and rocket desert on the other. Along the walls of the canyon were layers of stairs, openings, borisin. Not to mention the foxian slaves, digging and picking, holding food out to guards. Along the floor of the deep canyon is a rushing river, fast enough to be swept away should one fall in.

Hoolay casually walked up behind you, “the outside of our den. On the inside is long, winding halls and plenty of rooms. Should you get lost, there’s no telling what your fate is.” You were still in despair when he grabbed your hand, holding it up as he brought his nose down to inhale your wounds. Your fearful eyes looked to him when he licked up the torn skin, the saliva and pressure on his tongue stinging the sores which you tried to pull away from. He groaned in delight, yanking you closer to gently bite on the flesh, squeezing more blood out, “You think I can’t smell the difference between old and fresh blood? We knew of your little plan from the beginning. Even so,” his large hand slides up your back, claws tracing your spine tantalisingly and forcing you to push into his hard chest as he growls lowly in your ear, “You still tried to run from me, a bold move. I’ve decided, I’m going to keep you, personally. I will train you from a savage foxian into the obedient pet you were born to play.”

To be dismembered or to be a pet? Which is worse is hard to say. Your chattering teeth grit, the fear turning into desperate anger. Quickly, you duck under his arm to escape, only for him to grab the base of your tail and hold you in place. So you change tactics, trying to hit the base of your heel hard enough to hurt his chest and loosen his grip. However, as your foot makes contact with his torso, he doesn’t flinch and instead grabs your ankle and turn you upside down.

You’re left flailing in the air as he carries you like meat on a hook, holding your dress between your legs as you struggle so that you’re not blinded by the fabric. There really is no use. His pack watches in amusement as their leader returns with you, dropping you back into the wagon, “This one is mine. No one is allowed to touch them, understand?”

Frustrated and scared tears stream down your cheeks as they reply with a clear, “Yes, master!”

…

You’re not sure where the others went. Once you made it over the bridge and into the den, you were given to a purple borisin who commanded a bunch of servant foxians. She had supervised your wounds being treated before ordering them to take you to the bathhouse and clean you.

No one made eye contact, no one spoke to you or each other. It was frighteningly quiet, so you kept your head down as they scrubbed your ears and brushed out the knots in your tail. The tub you were in was cramped, a wooden bucket essentially. Hoses came out of the walls and a long gutter was imbedded in the ground to drain the water out somewhere. Even if it was awkward and daunting, you couldn’t deny how good it felt to get scrubbed raw by water that was almost too hot. Even at the farm, room temperature water was the highest form of luxury.

You actually felt clean for once.

Once you were done and dripping dry, the borisin from earlier reentered with a fluffy towel. She looked you over, clawed hand throwing the towel over your head, “You know how to dry yourself, yeah? I don’t know what you did but our master has taken a liking to you. Come.”

You wetly follow her through the winding halls with plaps of your feet hitting the floors, the servants behind you trailing diligently. You were too focused on trying to memorise the path that you hardly dried yourself by the time you reached your destination. A room was opened to you, chests and clothes along each wall, a mirror standing on the floor.

One glance at the mirror was enough for you to turn your head, not wanting to see yourself as the captive you are just yet; surrounded by slaves and a vicious wolf. Out of the corner of your eye though, you saw the enemy rummaging through chests until she found what she was looking for.

When she came back, she began putting golden chains on you, hanging from a gold collar around your neck, falling down your biceps, down the curves of your naked breasts, low enough to fall just past your hips. You dared another glance in the mirror, wondering if something so cold and with no fabric could still be called lingerie.

“Done. Let’s go,” she shoved at your back, the chains clinking slightly from the jolt as she pushed you out. The metal felt kind of nice, slinking along your skin with every step you took. The collar got hotter with your body heat, being a little uncomfortable but who were you to complain when you had no rights. It wasn’t until you were stopped beside her, a VERY long table with various foods and alcohols, mainly meats and few vegetables - don’t look at the foxian torso and thighs, don’t look at the foxian torso and thighs - that were slightly skewed from everyone picking at it that you felt a shot of self-consciousness. She bowed her head and addressed the warhead, “Master, she is clean and adorned for you.”

Since the day you were born, you were taught that nakedness and privacy didn’t matter. Farm animals didn’t get that decency, foxians don’t get that decency. You can count on one hand you’ve felt the need to cover yourself in front of someone, yet somehow right now, you feel like you need to cover every inch of skin and curl up in a hole to stop the eyes of their leader from clawing into you. Everyone stopped to stare at the new meat that had walked in, yet it was Hoolay that openly ogled you like you were more than just food.

You pretend not to notice the twitching under his belt, cloth moving over a large mound that you were hoping wasn’t for you. He grinned and leant forward, hooking his index under your collar and pulling you towards him, “Perfect, you’re dismissed.”

She and the slaves bowed before leaving you alone in the room full of beasts.

“C’mere,” Hoolay demands, already pulling you tightly against him, sitting you sideways in his lap. He’s so large, colossal, from his shoulder to his elbow alone almost the size of your body. He brings a chunk of meat to your lips, demanding you to eat. When you don’t part your mouth, he huffs and wedges a claw between your teeth, forcing you to open, “Relax, it is just bird.”

Sure enough, you’re inclined to agree, taking the meat from his hand so he’s no longer shoving it down your throat. As you slowly nibble on the meat, you’re lost to the words everyone is speaking around you, their language a mix of your common tongue and their own. You’re pretty confident, however, that they’re discussing about his new prize - you - and how you’ll taste.

Hoolay laughs after someone says something, easily moving you to sit flush against his torso with your back, spreading your legs wide over his thighs. You almost drop the bird meat when you see what he’s doing, releasing the confinements of his half-hard cock to hang over his leg. A low growl rumbles from his chest as he strokes it, moving it to stand hard and leaning against your tense torso. His knot is throbbing between your legs and the tip of him is poking the underside of your breasts, you can’t even imagine what he would feel like inside of you that doesn’t involve pain.

A slave comes beside him with a platter and a golden jug. Hoolay grabs it roughly before pouring the contents over his cock, the substance oozing out and over his dick like a sheer, golden syrup. He tosses the jug away with a clank, disregarding it in favour of smearing the liquid over your thigh, lightly squeezing, his giant maw hotly breathing against your cheek, “Go on. Have a taste. I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

He’s so large that there’s no way you could swallow him more than his tip. You go in for a taste, holding the heavy weight below the glands to dutifully suck. The pungent under taste that you’re expecting is overshadowed by whatever he had coated his dick in. The pupils of your eyes blow wide and suddenly you’re suckling on the head like you’re trying to coach his cock to dispel more of the deliciously sweet substance.

Hoolay laughs at you, a low, growling groan emitting as his paw pets back the ears on your head, “Fffuck. That’s a good girl.” You whimper around him when he pushes you down, choking on what little you could swallow. His pre is enough to guzzle down your throat and bubble out of your mouth, it doesn’t ready you for when he cums, buckets of semen forced down your throat and into your stomach. He must’ve been pent up because even after he pulls away, he’s still very much hard. He opens his mouth beside your head, his jaw wide enough to encompass your skull if he really wanted to, laughing at the visage, “Such a tiny mouth for a pitiful creature. I wonder if the hole between your legs will be more accommodating, hm?”

You’re lifted and placed on your back, glistening in syrup and cum under the dim lighting by the candles around the room. Everyone stares in amusement as you dazedly bring your fingers to your mouth, sucking on the digits to get some more of the sweet syrup and hoping to overthrow his taste. It isn’t until you feel a rather large tongue lick up the slit of your pussy that you jerk, a string of saliva connecting to your fingers as you pull them away to gaze between your thighs.

Hoolay’s claws touched as they held one of your thighs up, out of the way for him to get a taste. You were already so wet and waiting, the desire to consume was rushing all throughout your body. Air was forced out of you when he let his heavy cock thud against your stomach, a little cum seeping from the corner of your mouth. Graciously and carefully, he slides a finger inside you and worms it around, stretching your cunt and causing you to moan, “So defiant you were on the ride here. Now look at you, arching into my hand like a pet looking for love from its owner. It feels good to give in to instinct, wouldn’t you agree?”

Even if you could talk, you wouldn’t need to as your tail swishes side to side underneath you, as though accepting his declaration. Your stomach is so full that even with just his fingers you feel you’re about to pop. Your legs fall open for him when he pushes his cock head down your slit and into your hole. You’re so grateful he helped you with the aphrodisiac, even if you wish you hated it, you know being absolutely torn apart would be too brutal to handle.

As a mercy, perhaps for being such a good girl, he takes it slow but doesn’t stop - not until he’s reached as far as he can inside you. Your legs are now propped up and of your stomach wasn’t distended from the mouthfuls of cum before, it certainly was from the massive dick inside you now. Your cheeks puff when he puts pressure on the lump he forms, “I’m impressed, little fox. Even with the amount of syrup used, I didn’t think you’d be able to hold out.”

It’s not until his hips start snapping against yours that you cringe, the movement jostling your insides, motion sickness hidden behind layers of pleasure. Your mouth is open, panting, the cool air the only thing keeping you from losing your mind. However, as ‘kind’ as he’s been, he seems to want to take more from you. His long, flat tongue enters your mouth, you’re gurgling around the muscle in this ruthless kiss. Your eyes roll back and hearing wavers as the oxygen in your lungs is stolen away.

Heavy balls plap against your arse, cum and syrup creating an odd, warm, wet sensation over your skin. You hadn’t realised you were clawing at Hoolay’s face until he retracted, his paws holding your biceps flat in the take with a heavy chunk to hold you down. Bruises were the least of your concerns as you could finally breathe again and consciousness came back, adding with a strong seizure of pleasure corrupting your body. Your clit pulsed and your pussy tightened from the euphoric buildup of oxygen and cock breeding your insides.

A round of cheers and clinking steins was heard in the background during your orgasm, but it was too intense to care and Hoolay had no intentions of stopping. The way your cunt suckled his dick was more than enough to keep him going.

Of course, it wasn’t the last time you would cum in his cock. The way he nipped at your skin and kissed you and licked over your body like he was getting ready to devour you; it all shot straight to your aroused core. Whenever you could form a single thought, though, you would concern yourself with the inevitable worry of his knot.

Hoolay’s knot was swelling to a considerable size and pretty soon you doubt you would be able to hold him. He seemed to realise this, however, because his thrusts were getting deeper and stuttering more often as his knot struggled to enter and escape your cunt. It wasn’t too soon that his hips closely hit against yours, balls tightening and jerking with every spurt of cum. His knot kept him stuck deep inside you, the low growls and groans making you tremble. Your legs were hiked and your stomach was folded, you felt like you were going to throw up as your stomach got fuller… and fuller… “Just look at you,” he grunts, pushing himself against you and making you groan, “Fucked out of your mind, at the mercy on our dinner table. Foxians like you are only good for one thing.”

You couldn’t keep it in, with the amount he was breeding you with, and the position he had you folded in, it was only a matter of time before it came back up. It wasn’t vomit, it was more like his cum didn’t make it all the way down. The semen you swallowed poured out, as though the cum he fucked into you had overflowed out of your mouth. Tears streamed from the corners of your eyes in shame and confusion, your chin, chest, stomach, legs, everything was dirty and smothered in Hoolay’s dna.

He laughed heartily at your pitiful display, cool still nestled deep in, one hand coming under the arch of your back to lift you up and rest against him. He sat back on his chair, idly dragging a claw down your spine, your skin alight with goosebumps. His voice seemed a lot more content now, “Bring out the slaves. It is time for everyone to enjoy themselves.”

You barely recognised what was happening, your consciousness slowly returning to you over time. Crying, means, laughing, scared whimpers were all present thought your minor rest. Eventually, you had the strength to lift your head, seeing you’re not the only unfortunate soul to be used as a plaything. This place truly is horrible.

Finally, Hoolay’s knot had reduced enough to be plucked from your hole. He grabbed one of the chains around you and half heartedly threw you to the floor. You were confused and struggled to push yourself up, only to halt when a hot stream of liquid hit the top of your head. Piss. He was pissing on you, making sure to cover your body in his stench. The face you made could almost be described as betrayal, save for the fact that you had no faith in him to begin with. Once finished, he lets go of his half hard cock and stares into your eyes, “Everyone will smell who you belong to. You will not be able to take one step in this place without me knowing where you are.”

All you can do is grit your teeth, nails digging into the ground. The piss makes the wounds on your wrists sting like crazy, your hair and fur drenched in both cum and urine. It stinks. The bruises on your arms were forming nicely and you can only wait to see how pretty they’ll bloom by morning.

To add salt to the wound, Hoolay pours water into an empty bowl and places it in there for beside you, “You can bathe again later, we must let it soak in so the pheromones stick.” He stands, cocking his head in admiration of his work on you, smiling wickedly, “It’s about time I got myself a pet. And I know you’ll be such a good girl for me.”

Your head falls forward in this defeat, eyes making contact with your exhausted reflection in the water bowl.

[amoreva]

GHOST IN THE WIND

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pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

summary: after a rough turnout of the quest assigned to you, you began to see your ex-boyfriend as the poison slowly kills you.

warnings: angst, post luke betrayal, poisoning, mentions of effects of poison

a/n: so sorry, was taking a slight break on requests for this fic and the fic series that is in the works. I promise i will answer the requests at some point.

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“Medic!” The door to the medical cabin slammed open. The door knob made a hole in wooden walls at Annabeth’s strength. “Will…”

She rasped out, carrying your dead weight. Your breath coming in short bursts as if your lungs couldn’t hold any more air. Veins darkened to the color of night, crawling up your flesh like a parasite itching to take over the host.

“Oh my gods…” Will Solace, head counselor of Apollo Cabin, gasped and helped you onto one of the uncomfortable cots.

You were mumbling nonsense as black liquid dribbled out of your mouth. Will called out your name, desperately trying to grab your attention. Annabeth was standing over you, concerned.

“Oh gods! Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods!” The other Apollo kid on duty piped up, scrambling to find the ambrosia. It was scary how you looked.

It was like something from the Underworld took hold of your body. There was a puncture wound on your abdomen, which was the probable entrance for the poison.

“Hey, hey—stay conscious for me, okay?” Will spoke as your vision began to get cloudy. He can see you withering away and demanded for information.

“Will…” You managed to croak out. Your friend looked at you with worry, to see the brightest camper succumb to an unknown illness was…bone-chilling.

“Don’t sleep—just don’t black out.” Will muttered as you tasted your favorite fruits as ambrosia slid down your throat easily. “Please…I don’t know if you’ll wake up—”

You were out like a light. The ambrosia combating the poison overwhelmed your body. It was too much for your mind to even find a sliver of energy to try and stay conscious.

Your name was shouted, but sleep pulled you away from the medical cabin and throwing you into a different scene.

It was dark, like you were walking in an empty void. “Judgement.”, you think. You must’ve died and was waiting to get judged on whether you can enter Elysium or not.

What a shitty death. Dying from poison, it wasn’t hero worthy nor significant to a war. Just death to some ghastly poison that you were careless to figuring out what it was.

But…it’s not Judgement. It’s not because you see him. He’s walking around in clothes you last remember him in. Orange Camp Half-Blood shirt, khaki pants and sneakers. The beads on his necklace moving each time he walked.

You know he isn’t dead. He Iris-messaged you yesterday to apologize for his betrayal. He can’t be dead. You wouldn’t have it.

“Luke!” You tried to call out, but no sound is made from your mouth. It terrified you. You tried to scream your lover’s (ex-lover’s) name again as you saw claws wrap around Luke from the ground and drag him in.

You tried to scream his name again, running to him, but your legs felt like sludge. He stared at you indifferently, accepting his reality—maybe…maybe just maybe you could save him if you run fast enough.

He slipped between your fingers. His chocolate curls disappearing into the floor of whatever abyss you’re in. You let out a silent, dry sob. If…if you had just noticed sooner…you could’ve saved him.

The same hands wrap around your limbs, tugging you down into the floor. Crying out for help, your heart tightened as if someone had a grip on it—squeezing ever last bit of life out. A sharp pull engulfed you into the void.

You gasped deeply. Body launching forward as you grabbed at your chest. You expected the familiar wood floors of the medical cabin or even Will’s warm smile, but…you were on Half-Blood Hill.

Soft, calloused hands were gently placed in your spine. It doesn’t take an Athena kid to figure out who it was.

“You alright?” His deep warm tone filled your head making yourself dizzy. For moment…you allowed yourself to believe he was here, truly.

“Yeah.” You spoke, surprised to hear your voice again. What happened before becoming less and less memorable as you turned to look at Luke.

“You can tell me, y’know? What’s bothering you.” Luke reassured and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

A familiar smile graces your lips, allowing yourself to relax, you lean up against his chest. “I know.” You mumbled as his toned arms wrap around you. “I just…miss you.”

“Miss me? I’m hardly ever away from you.” Luke playfully teased.

The breeze blew against the two of you causing Luke to squeeze you a little tighter. You always claimed he was a human body heater.

Everything dropped. Faded in an all too quick manner before you could even scream for Luke. He was ripped away from you—but you were supposed to be in his arms.

“Hey! She’s up!” Someone called out.

You mind felt fuzzy. Mumbles, moans and groans tumbled out of your lips. You felt like you were outta your own skin—you jerked. Uncomfortable with this sudden irritation.

Annabeth yelped. The sudden reaction from you almost hit her in the face. Another groan of discomfort and pain escaped. Accompanied by it was another struggle to get whatever was out of your body.

To you, it felt like you were shifting a little to get comfortable. In reality, your body was violently twitching and reacting you hit a few Apollo kids. The veins darker than before, your skin paler than usual. What did this poison do?

“Get her—restrain…I—” Will demanded, worried you’d end up hurting yourself.

You screamed as something grabbed you, someone grabbed you. Your brain could only register it as danger and hurt and agony and—

“Stop it—!” You begged. Your voice sounded demented, as if it was the poison talking.

Black liquid oozed out of your mouth as you begged for whatever to stop. Ambrosia was forced down your throat. Lights were too bright. The panic was defeating.

You fell.

But you felt no pain.

It was “Judgement” again. The endless void surrounding the distinct figure, you. “There you are…” Luke grinned once he spotted you. Your legs carrying you to the Hermes’ counselor before you could think of the action.

The void morphed into the familiar forest used to play Capture the Flag. Luke laced his hand with yours. “S’just up ahead.” He tugged you along.

Once more, you let yourself relax like this was the reality that fate has set and not one where Luke betrayed Camp, betrayed Percy, betrayed Annabeth, betrayed…you.

“Where are you taking me?” You laughed. A bright smile on your face as you maneuvered through the forest.

Slipping through the trees and branches, Luke brings you to the dock. The water washing up on the small beach.

A small cliche red and white checkered blanket laid out across the wooden dock, masking the potential splinters. There was chips and two soda cans on the blanket and six roses bunched up to make it look like a bouquet.

“Oh Luke…” Any confusion or anger evaporated when you saw the scene.

He smiled, smiled that charming grin and pulled you to sit down on the blanket. “Used up the rest of my money for the snacks and to bargain with a Demeter kid for these.”

He held up the six roses. The petals a delicate red, soft as a baby’s bum. They smelled nice. He went through all this effort for you?

“Luke…” You repeat in the same tone and took the roses from his hand. You noticed the thorns were cut off and a couple of band aids were around his fingers.

A show of his effort to rid the thorns so you didn’t prick your fingers.

“This…this is all wonderful.” You said, albeit a bit breathless. The roses, the snacks, the blanket—all the thought put into this date. It made you forget you were dreaming. You should’ve known…this was too good to be true.

But you stayed oblivious and in denial, tackling your (ex) boyfriend in a grateful hug. Luke laughed and wrapped your arm around your waist.

Yet, your subconscious pulled you from the happy moment. An uncomfortable feeling itching to tear your guts and organs to shreds. It was as if your own organs and nerves did not belong there—like they were in the wrong body. A warbled scream left your throat. Hands desperate to claw at your flesh.

You wanted it to stop—you would do anything to get this feeling to stop. Your heart breaking. To be ripped away from Luke again and again. In both subconscious and reality was cruel.

Your veins now tendrils crawling up your face, stopping just a little above your eyebrows.

“Hey, hey—breathe!” Someone comforted. You couldn’t recognize their face. It was like as if your sense of familiarity disappeared, triggering your fight or flight (mostly fight) response.

“Will—the antidote?!” A girl called out. Her voice somewhat familiar.

You struggled against binds. You wanted to run far, far away and stop this pain. The pain in your body, the pain in your mind…the agonizing ache in your heart.

“Luke—” The name left your lips desperate for any sort of answer to what was happening.

A small pinch.

Fire. White hot pain sprouting in your body. Burning your insides out. Another cry for help. Another scream of desperation. His name leaving your mouth. It hurt—it hurt all too much. Both the burning in your body and the reality of him being gone. Truly, gone.

“Luke! Please…please—help!”

Overwhelmed, you were sucked back into the dream. This time on a cabin bed. It was unclear on whose cabin you two were in. Luke had his arms around your waist, head on your stomach. The pain fleeting, but lingering.

The stars shined brights whilst the moonlight blessed you two. It was peaceful, almost…dare you say—normal. No gods, no goddesses, no prophecies, no quests, no betrayal, no hurt. Nothing.

You found yourself humming, running your fingers through his curls, and feeling your eyes close with fatigue.

“Falling asleep there, sweetheart?” You could feel his smile against your skin. He pressed a kiss to the flesh nearest to his lips.

“Mhm…” Your body flared up due to a burn—but there was no fire in the cabin. You stayed put. “I—I could spend all of eternity with you.”

“I could spend all of my time in Elysium with you.” Luke mumbled and turned his head to look up at you.

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, then his hands, so he was close to you. Lips connected like hands clasping for prayer. It was soft, yet it spoke a lot of words that he could not get out.

“I love you. Never forget that, okay?” Luke whispered against your lips.

His beaded necklace hovering over you. You placed your arms around his neck slowly and kissed him again. Never wanting the moment to stop.

Even then, you never had the courage to say those three simple words to Luke. Realizing this might be the last time you see him, dream or not. It made you sad he never heard it from you.

Maybe this will make up for it?

“I love you—I love you. I love you.” You repeated. Your voice shaky, holding back tears. This wasn’t real and you know it’s not real—but…you missed Luke. You missed him so much that it hurts. You didn’t believe he would betray Camp Half-Blood and you without Kronos’ manipulation.

“Hey…” Luke cupped your face and kissed your forehead. He grabbed your arms to sit up. It wasn’t good to cry laying down. “Don’t tear up. Everything will be okay, okay? I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What are you—?”

“I’m sorry, but you have the wake up.” Luke sighed and pressed his forehead with yours.

“Wait—“

“You have to wake up.” Luke grasped your hands. He held you as if this was the last time.

“What?”

“I love you very much and—and I’m so sorry for leaving you there—“

“Luke—wait!”

Your eyes shot up to be met with wooden walls of the medical cabin. Will and Annabeth shot up, ready to take necessary precautions. A dry sob left your mouth.

“Hey…” Will spoke softly.

You sat up, tears cascading down your face. You started to helplessly wipe them. You could feel his touch lingering. His hands grasping yours. Will pulled you into a soft hug when he deducted the poison was out of your system.

The mind is cruel, the poison was cruel. Fate was cruel, life was cruel.

You missed him.

You buried into Will as if it was him. Will and Annabeth thought you were crying because of the overwhelming feelings of what happened when you were poisoned.

You missed him.

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

[nethhiri]

Part 1:

Warnings: None

The last thing you remembered was passing out from hunger. You had lived in one of the small villages outside Wano’s capital. You were so hungry and starved that as a last resort, you decided to walk to the capital. If you could even get some scraps out of someone’s trash, that would be better than eating whatever roots you could dig up. Ever since learning what had become of Ebisu, you had avoided any of the adulterated fruit that was sent your way by the capital. Sometimes you had to resort to eating dirt to keep from feeling hungry.

The night wasn’t cold, yet you felt cold, with no fat to retain your body temperature and no energy left to create your own warmth in the first place. Your legs had given out not even halfway there, and now you crawled on the ground. This was your last chance to survive. You could either do this or eat the cursed fruit, and you would rather die than be doomed to laugh eternally.

Your crawling slowed until your stomach was dragging along the ground. Only your arms moved forward, scratching at the dirt, trying to move yourself forward. Oh well, you had tried. You blinked. That was weird, you thought your eyes were closed already. All you saw was black. My body is shutting down. You lay on the dirt, grateful to the sun for warming it during the day so that you might feel a modicum of comfort while you died. The sounds of the night abruptly stopped as footsteps approached. You hoped whoever it was didn’t bury you. The least you could do as a useless pile of bones was feed some hungry wild creature.

You had been floating for some time. Most likely on your way to finality. Curiously, warmth crept into your skin, then your muscles, and then your bones, or maybe it was the other way around. Wasn't it supposed to be cold? Death? You never really believed in the afterlife, but it was nice to feel something pleasant for once.

The sound of crackling and the feeling of more intense heat came from one side of you. A fire? Your head was propped up on something and you were under a blanket. Something was slipped between your lips and suddenly warm broth flowed slowly into your mouth. The taste of salt and umami took brief control of your mind and you were grabbing for the bowl to tilt it into your mouth faster. How long had it been since you had something warm in your belly? Something that wasn't rice or stale bread? You were slurping greedily at the liquid, nearly bringing you to tears with how good it felt to quell the gnawing of your hunger. Whatever your head was resting on shifted and the bowl was taken away from you. You whimpered after the bowl, wanting more, and tried to sit up but a hand placed over your forehead kept you in place. A hand? It was a very big hand. Was it... a god?

A shiver ran through you as some of the cool outside air streamed under the blanket. Oh. Your clothes were gone. And you felt... clean? That couldn't be right. On the other hand, you were in the afterlife so maybe you didn't need clothes and all the dirt and grime had been lifted from your skin. But if that was true, then why could you still feel cold, or hunger, or weakness?

You froze when you felt a finger trace down your cheek. It was thick and rough, and it made you uneasy. Yet, it was warm and caressed your skin with such gentleness that a sense of security bloomed. The hand was big enough to crush your throat with ease, and still, you were alive. The finger slid under your chin, propping it up so the bowl could be placed between your lips again. The hand let you have more this time. You took as much as you could before your stomach started to hurt, not accustomed to this much food at one time. It was only broth, but it was more nutrient dense than anything you had ever eaten. When you were done, the hand went on to stroke your hair until you fell asleep again.

______________________________________________________________

When you woke again, you were sure that this wasn't the afterlife. There was no fire and it was dark. You were cold and shivering. You couldn't move. There were ropes binding your wrists and ankles, though you were still under a blanket at least. Looking around the room, it was pretty bare. There was evidence that someone lived here, in the form of a few sparse cooking utensils and food sitting on a low table. The mat you laid on wasn't anything special, though it was essentially luxury to you, who hadn't slept on anything but dirt in the past.

Maybe you should have been trying to escape. Friendly people didn't usually tie anyone up. Your body was simply too weak, and it didn't seem like you had been violated in any way, at least not yet. The food in your belly had woken your mind up, but your body was lagging. You were so skinny that your skin looked like it was dripping off your bones. Trying to outrun starvation was the most moving you had done in a long time, usually staying as still as possible to conserve energy.

Soon the sky outside began to lighten. You could tell from the cracks in the thatching of the shack. That was when you heard footsteps returning. You scrunched to hide under the blanket as much as you could. The door opened and shut. A loud metallic clanging followed, then footsteps approached and you tensed. They lingered for a few seconds and walked away. There was a grunt and shifting noise as the stranger sat down. A short time after that, you heard the sound of chopping.

Building up the bravery, you slowly peeked around the sheets. You had to stop yourself from ducking back under them. There was a very large man covered in blood, sitting on the floor, chopping vegetables. He was turned so you couldn't see his face, but you could see he had long, fluffy blonde hair in a high ponytail. You could see his shoulders, how broad they were, and how much muscle rippled under the kimono he wore. You shuddered. You were right, he could definitely crush your throat, any part of you, actually.

When your eyes moved from his back, you saw that he was looking at you with piercing, unsettling blue eyes. Fear froze you. You didn't move, didn't say anything. When he turned back to what he was doing without so much as a word, you let the breath you were holding out. It was like he could sense you staring at him.

The man lit a fire in the hearth and tossed the vegetables he was chopping into a pot with some broth. He disappeared for some time again. At least the fire was warming the room. You sat up, holding the thin sheet to your chest with your bound hands, wondering where you were and who this person was that had taken you in. Whatever was in the pot over the fire was starting to smell good. You were so hungry. Your eyes found the scraps of what he had cut on top of the low table. He had been gone so long, and you had no idea when he would come back.

You thought you could inch your way to the table. The sheet tangled around you as you rolled and scooted across the short distance to the table. You were out of breath once you made it there. You had overestimated the amount of energy you had regained from the meager amount of broth you were able to consume. You mustered enough strength to pull yourself up to the table. There were scattered pieces of different vegetable scraps on the surface that you struggled to gather with your hands stuck together. You dropped the sheet you had been clinging to, choosing instead to snatch up the scraps and shove them into your mouth.

The door shut behind you, startling you. You dropped whatever was in your hands and hastily pulled the sheet to cover yourself, still chewing the bitter, raw food in your mouth. You half-turned, enough to see the man, who was now free of blood. His hair was wet and hung down well past his shoulders. He was so massive that you couldn't see the doorway behind him. You knew instantly that he had been a victim of the cursed fruit. His wicked-looking smile covered whatever real emotion he was feeling.

You flinched as he reached for your wrists, grabbing them in one hand. He lifted you off your feet and let the sheet fall to the ground. You shivered when the cold air hit your bare skin. You clenched your eyes shut, not wanting to be aware of what was going to come next or to see him looking at you.

His other arm slipped under your knees and scooped you up, bringing you uncomfortably close to him. Then, he placed you on top of the sheet on the floor in front of the fire, bringing the edges up over your shoulders and around you so that you were cocooned. He put the corners of the sheet in your hands so that you could keep yourself wrapped up.

That was not what you were expecting. You kept sneaking peeks at him while he focused on making food. He had a scruff on his chin that matched his hair. His jaw was strong and his nose was handsomely pointed. He was a little less frightening without blood all over him, though you could see that one of his arms was scarred and his unnerving smile never left his face. Every so often, as a result of the cursed fruit, he would quietly let out a haunting laugh.

The man drew a bowl of soup from the pot when it was done and sat next to you, turning you towards him by grabbing your feet and spinning you on your butt. He put a spoonful to your mouth and you sniffed it, unsure if it was safe to eat. You still didn't know what was going on, and although nothing happened last time, there was no guarantee that he hadn't poisoned or drugged it this time. Maybe his plan was for you to pass out and so he could take you to town and sell you. You had heard of that happening. Though, he was big enough, and you weren't much of a threat, so drugging was completely unnecessary.

He grabbed your chin impatiently and opened your mouth, giving you a spoonful. It was so good that every doubt left your brain and you barely chewed. Before you knew it, all shame had exited your body and you had your mouth open waiting for the next bite before he could refill the spoon. You didn't even care if he killed you at this point. You had a full stomach for the second time in two days, the best you had eaten in your lifetime. This stranger was better to you than any person in your village, who had completely ignored your starvation. You couldn't blame them really. They were starving, too.

After he finished the rest of the meal, he put the pot and bowl to the side and straightened up the bedding. He picked you up and placed you on top. You hadn't seen the blood on his kimono earlier because its color was so dark. He noticed you staring and pulled the kimono from his body. You quickly looked away, seeing that he had almost nothing on underneath. You saw his feet approach and you felt the blanket be lifted from your body. Your knees were pulled up to your chest trying to be as small as possible. You swallowed nervously when he knelt down in front of you. What was he doing? What was he going to make you do?

He pulled your legs out straight and pushed your shoulders down so you were laying flat on your back, exposed. Your lip started to quiver. Of course someone being kind to you would have a price. You waited for the feeling of his rough hands grabbing you and leaving bruises. Instead you felt the bedding shift as he laid next to you and pulled the blanket over you both. The feeling of his rough hands came, but it was to rub the soft skin of your stomach. He ducked his head under the fabric and half-sighed half-laughed as he laid his head down on your stomach. It couldn't be comfortable with how skinny you were, but the snores that came a few minutes afterwards proved otherwise.

Tears fell over your cheeks. You were so confused. Clearly this was a violent man, yet he was taking care of you. Any minute, it could be your blood covering his skin, no matter how doting he seemed to be so far. He had you bound, and did everything for you. It almost seemed like you were more of a pet than a person to him.

Next

[unicyclehippo]

Prompt: stumble

ok following on from the other one (regret)

//

a four-man band, all drums, had taken up residence inside her skull and her mouth tasted bad. really bad. something-crawled-in-there-and-died bad. licked-a-new-york-alleyway-floor bad.

kate groaned. lifted a hand to rub her gritty eyes and smacked herself in the face.

it stung. not the smack—well, okay, that stung a little—but the sluggishness of her body. it felt…

bad, her brain supplied, too hungover to go looking for a better word.

one of the band members started grinding coffee in her coffee machine, the noise like a drill in her ear, and—wait.

kate threw herself out of bed—don’t puke, bishop, hold it together, you got this babe—and grabbed up the closest weapon. she swung out of her bedroom and down the stairs to the landing with only a single stumble, readying to throw, when the blurry world resolved itself to blonde hair and a green coat.

‘uh,’ kate said, like a genius.

yelena turned and threw her an unimpressed look. ‘you did not even have bread, kate bishop.’

kate gulped. ‘what - how -‘

‘are you going to attack me after our girls night? with… what is that?’

kate glanced down at her chosen weapon. ‘it’s, um, a pet rock.’

‘pet rock,’ yelena repeated. ‘does it have a name?’

‘no.’

‘no? come now, kate bishop, we had so much fun. why do you lie to me? what is the name of your pet rock?’ she eyed kate knowingly. ‘it is like pizza dog, yes? tell me it is not rocky.’

kate scoffed. ‘of course not. it’s…’ her head gave an almighty throb. kate sighed. ‘yeah, fine, okay it’s rocky.’

‘kate, kate, kate,’ yelena tutted. ‘you are not so good with the names. it’s okay,’ she added, surprisingly nice, ‘you are good at other things.’

‘really? i mean, yeah, of course. um. but if you had to say what those things were…’

yelena only looked at her with a funny little smile and turned back to the coffee.

kate rubbed her eyes hard. curse her hangover! how was she supposed to keep up with a black widow if she couldn’t even get her eyes to focus up? okay. this called for a tactical retreat.

kate scurried back to her bedroom. she put rocky back on his toothpick chair and changed quickly—and definitely did not blush when she realised that yelena, who looked like she’d stepped fresh out of a catalogue, had seen her in a tank and boxers. she splashed water in her face and brushed her teeth, gargling mouthwash when toothpaste alone didn’t fix the disgusting taste in her mouth, and hurried back downstairs.

yelena was still there.

kate didn’t know why she was surprised but part of her thought that the other girl might have vanished in those two minutes. she was so pretty and mysterious and quiet that kate’s brain was having a hard time believing she was real and really in her scorched apartment. she hovered at the bottom of the stairs, watching yelena help herself to milk and mugs and anything else in her pantry and fiddled with the metal aglet on her tracksuit string.

‘coffee?’

‘um. sure. no—‘

‘cream or sugar. i know.’

‘…right. you were stalking me,’ kate muttered, more a reminder to herself than upset. ‘and you haven’t poisoned it? drugged it?’

yelena feigned offence. ‘why do you keep saying such things to me?’

keep saying? kate frowned.

it took a painful minute for her brain to dredge up memories of last night. right. the bar, grimy and grim. yelena, a bottle of vodka. watchful green eyes. the rest of the night was…hazy. kate itched all over.

what had happened last night? what had she said? done? her eyes dropped to yelena’s lips, folded in thought as she drizzled hot sauce across her plates, then further down. green coat and underneath, not yelena’s cool style at all (but of course she still pulled it off), a faded camp tee.

‘is that my shirt?’ kate asked, tone strangled. yelena nodded. ‘okay. um. why? what did—‘ she bit down on her tongue hard, forced a smile when yelena glanced up at her weird tone. ‘cool. that’s cool.’

she couldn’t just ask what happened. yelena would lie, because she could or because she thought it funny or because a girl like that came with a limited number of favours and kate had to have used them all up by now what with the not being killed and the information about—

‘you are panicking.’

‘no i’m not,’ kate snapped.

‘oh, my mistake. you are not panicking when you breathe very fast and your eyes go all—‘ yelena mimicked her, eyes wide and flicking all over the place. she laughed, then, shook her head. ‘yes, that is normal for you. sit, sit. drink your not poisoned coffee—‘

‘not reassuring.’

‘—and relax, kate bishop.’

sure. sure. breakfast with the…not enemy, maybe, but not really a friend.

kate sat gracelessly. her body hurt too much for grace. but the joke was on her because it actually turned out that if your body already hurt and then you slumped into a chair like a sack of forks, it hurt even more. even yelena winced when kate groaned and put a hand to her ribs.

‘drink. eat. this will fix you.’

she shoved a bowl across the table, a big bowl of cafe perfect scrambled eggs.

‘is that…chorizo crumbs? and scallions?’ the hot sauce went without mention. ‘where did you even get this stuff?’

‘it is new york. new york has everything.’ she shrugged. ‘i found a deli.’

‘that place down the block? pickles?’ yelena only shrugged again. ‘okay, i know you’re like, secretive or whatever but there’s gotta be a difference between mission stuff and where you went shopping.’ now yelena was fucking with her, kate knew, because she smirked and shrugged again. ‘whatever.’

she dug her fork into the eggs. light, beautifully cooked. hot. kate sucked in a noisy breath around her mouthful. she gasped and gulped and swallowed it down, still a bit too hot, and shovelled in another forkful when yelena smiled smugly at her. ow. hot.

‘it’s good,’ kate said when she’d finished half the bowl. good was honestly a major understatement but yelena already looked too smug.

‘i know. you are done? my turn.’

‘yeah, yeah, just lemme wash the fork, hold on.’ kate levered herself up—fuck her ribs fuck her back fuck that one weird spot on her knee she couldn’t even remember what did that—and hobbled to the sink. she washed it, and filled a glass for herself of water. ‘you want one?’ kate asked, glancing over her shoulder.

yelena was watching her. she nodded slowly.

kate hobbled back, two glasses and a clean fork in hand.

‘thank you.’

‘don’t mention it.’

kate sat more gingerly this time and, as yelena ate, found a way to sit that didn’t aggravate her aches and pains. much. her thoughts drifted—yelena, mom, kingpin throwing her around the room again and again, her mom sitting in a room with the guy, so comfortable, so familiar, a bruising hand around her throat, her shoulders. an empty room.

the eggs churned in her gut.

‘what happened last night?’ kate asked softly.

yelena talked with her mouth full. it was weirdly endearing. it was a relief when kate’s brain lingered on that, on yelena, rather than…everything else. she had a little bruise on her cheek. not from the slap, kate hoped. probably from something else kate had thrown at her.

‘well, let’s see, there was a gala and i hunted down clint barton. you got in my way. again.’

‘no, i know, i remember that. i mean, at the bar.’

‘ah.’ yelena dragged the tines of the fork between her lips. ‘i brought vodka. we drank.’

‘and came back here.’

‘yes.’ with a mocking smile, yelena asked, ‘what are you afraid of, kate bishop?’

kate’s teeth clenched tight. her jaw ached. her neck ached. she couldn’t just ask—but yelena already had the upper hand like forty times over. she relaxed and, impressively casually, said,

‘i don’t drink much. just wondered what i did. if i did anything stupid.’ she sent yelena a lopsided smile. ‘i mean, it’s me so, probably. right?’

yelena didn’t smile. face brutally blank, eyes brutally bright, she said,

‘you talked, kate bishop. quite a lot. and vomited on my shirt. i have taken the cost of it from your bank account. i took new shirt and slept on the couch. happy?’

‘mortified. sorry. or, i mean, thanks. you didn’t have to stay.’

stupid thing to say. yelena knew that already and it wasn’t like the assassin could be forced to do anything. kate’s skin itched. she felt hot all over.

‘it was a good night for me,’ yelena said after a moment.

kate blinked. brightened. ‘really?’

‘yes. you gave me clint barton’s number.’

‘fuck.’

yelena chuckled, the sound rich and low. ‘don’t worry, kate bishop, i will not kill him. we…talked.’

was it just kate, or did yelena look surprised? the expression vanished faster than kate could compute, fast enough that she doubted she’d even seen it.

yelena continued smoothly, pulling kate’s phone from her coat pocket.

‘he has been messaging you. he will be here any minute to collect you.’

‘wait - what?’

kate lunged for the phone, hungrily reading clint’s messages. he was a man of few words which, fine, kate could get used to that but more likely she’d badger him into using more words and messaging way more often.

(10:52) MY WIFE HAS INVITED YOU TO BARTON XMAS. PICK YOU UP TMRW.

(11:03) ARE YOU ALIVE

(07:40) IM COMING OVER. BE THERE IN 20

(07:42) YOU BETTER NOT BE DEAD, KATE.

kate glanced at the clock. 7:56.

‘oh my god, he’ll be here any minute. why didn’t you tell me!’

yelena scrunched up her nose and gestured to her phone like, there, i just did.

‘no but - and i have to pack and i smell like a bar rag -‘

‘much worse than that.’

‘thanks,’ kate hissed.

‘finally. manners. you are welcome, kate bishop, for getting you home safe and making breakfast.’

she said it extremely pointedly but that wasn’t unfair. it was very fair, actually. k

kate sunk down in her seat.

‘thanks. really. i…for getting me home. and for staying. this morning would have sucked if—just. thanks.’ kate swallowed all the extra words that pooled on her tongue.

yelena shrugged. stood sharply and carried her mug and bowl to the sink. she washed and dried them before kate could wrangle herself to say she didn’t have to do it, and leaned her hip against the sink, patting her hands dry. her assassin cuff things glinted under the kitchen light.

‘you’re leaving.’

yelena raised her brows. ‘i have no desire to see clint barton.’ the syllables of his name were crunched flat between her teeth.

‘oh. right. yeah, i mean, that makes sense. i get it.’ she did not get it, yelena’s chilly look said. ‘will i see you again?’

‘…perhaps.’

‘cool. i want that shirt back.’

//

clint buzzed the door when he arrived. he must have gotten caught in traffic because kate had enough time for a proper shower and to finish the coffee yelena made for her.

it was irritatingly good coffee.

‘hey—‘

‘yelena has your phone number,’ kate blurted. ‘i didn’t give it to her. i mean, she got it from me but it was an accident.’

clint narrowed his eyes. ‘she got you drunk.’

‘what?’ the word stretched out very long and very convincing. clint raised a brow. ‘maybe. fine, yes.’

he just sighed, scrubbed a hand over his short hair. ‘and that’s all she got?’

kate blinked. and swore. as clint drove them out of the city, she went through her phone and logged out of everything important—bank, bishop security—and made a note to change her passwords.

there was a new number in her contacts. no name, just a string of digits.

(08:16) no way that shirt cost 400 bucks

(08:16) more. i gave you friend discount, kate bishop.

despite herself, despite everything weighing heavy on her shoulders, despite her head full of her mothers sharp eyes and words, despite clint eyeing her curiously from the drivers seat, kate laughed.

[aritsukemo]

Comfort at the Edge of Darkness | Himeko

Summary: Himeko is the best at comforting people, even if that person is knocking on death's door.

Warnings: Major Character Death ahead! ( reader ) This drabble was written with strictly platonic intent! ( Reader is implied to be underaged ) Teen/Pre-teen reader is implied ( whichever you want to envision ) Reader is also lightly implied to be a Masked Fool. Mentions of being crushed ( Reader had a giant pillar fall on them and end up bleeding out ) I still consider myself a new player to HSR so Himeko may be a bit ( or very ) ooc. With all that said, read at your own discretion.

A/N: Did I plan to ever write something star rail related? Yes, yes I did. Did I think it would be platonic or involving Himeko comforting a dying child? No, no I did not- 💀 Uh, anyways, this was spontaneously written at like two in the morning after reading this Dan Feng x reader drabble made by @milksnake-tea ( go check them out btw, their writing is AMAZEBALLS ) so I'm sorry if this is a bit sloppier than my usual works. I'll try not to let it happen again! ����

Tagging: @nursedflowers / @onmysundaybest

People are such liars.

It's not like they can help it. Like eating and sleeping, lying was just another humanly function the body nor mind could resist. It's impossible for someone to be 100% truthful all the time because even claiming that would be a lie in itself.

All that's to say that you've been told many lies in your lifetime and have spewed such falsehoods just as much. Others' lies are what led you down this path and your own have both built you up and made you fall from grace with almost no hope of crawling your way back up. Both have made you the enemy of many, but neither have made you friends with the few good saps you've come to travel with. Those pathetically soft and forgiving Trailblazers you've come to dine with, joke with, cry with, and ultimately, die for.

Heh. It was all so stupid.

That's what past you would probably say to you right now if they were here to see your hair being died red by your own pool of blood. They'd probably scoff, maybe even sneer at the sight of the bottom half of your body crushed under this pillar. And oh, the way they'd absolutely glare with disappointment and disgust at the sight of your smile growing like it is right now, or rather, who it was directed at.

"Miss Navigator, heh.. Come to send me off?" Talking felt like running without toenails. It felt like sticking a sword down your throat. It hurt like hell. But, it is in your character to joke at a time like this.

And what were you without this role you've been playing for oh so long?

"Y/n... You.." Her voice was unlike her usual cheerful mellowness. It was sunken, rasped by dreadful surprise. It was a tone you never thought would come from her ruby lips. To you, she always seemed like the type to be composed in a situation like this one.

Maybe she would if the person laying under this pillar wasn't you. Who knows.

"I've had worse done to me honestly.." You managed to force yourself to say, though it left a bitter taste in your mouth. You roll your tongue and that bitter taste begins tasting more and more metallic, though you decide to ignore it in the end.

"Heh..aren't you happy?" You asked, "Finally..at long last.. The-.. The Astral Express will be rid of pranks and folly. It'll..at last, harbor the peace it once had.."

"Of course I'm not," She whispers. You pick up on the slight quiver her normal voice deceptively masks, "Why would I be happy about something like this?"

"Why wouldn't you?" You asked, for once, with your genuine emotions leaking over your tone.

You couldn't wrap your head around a reason for such a reaction as the one on her face. Sure, maybe the aspect of your age may cause a heartstring to be tugged, but that would be more so out of disappointment because of the wasted potential—the extraordinary power and protection—that would be lost following your death, and even then, you don't see that as something she should be relatively choked up about. After all, with the luck the Astral Express has, there's bound to be much stronger vessels than yourself willing to join the freight that would give them much less of a headache. That Stellaron for example.

..Now that you really think about it, what even was their reason for inviting you on the train at all? They had more than capable people aboard already, and while the untapped power within you could bring worlds to their knees, those goody goodies would never think of using it. You weren't much for peaceful entertainment either and caused nothing but discourse amongst the crew members even after swearing to turn over a new leaf when you became a Trailblazer.

It made no sense. She made no sense, and to that, you sought out answers... Though, the one you received wasn't very satisfying; silence.

So you ask her, though with a bit of your typical sarcasm, "Why..Miss Navigator...aren't you jumping for joy over this thorn in your side finally being cut away?"

And she answers with sickening authenticity, "Because I wished to protect you."

You huff out a laugh, though you end up coughing up more blood than air. It was incredulous. After all, there was no need for someone such as you, younger or not, to be coddled and protected like some wounded birdie. Your character wasn't constructed for such a pillowy fate.

"You of...all people know I'm in no need of protection," You say, "It's not something I deserve or yearn for... It's utterly pointless to me."

"Is that really what you think? ..Because all I can see is child in need of nothing more than that," Your eyes widen. Himeko catches a glimpse of it for only a moment and it tugs at her heart strings when thinking about how it'll be one of the last expressions she'll every see you make. You, who though once walked the path of darkness with your fool's mask and caused many nothing but pain and suffering, she could never come to even greatly dislike.

..Because in her eyes, you were never a criminal or a murderer or a weapon of destruction. You were just a fledging who attempted to soar too early and ultimately fell out of their nest and into a dangerous forest of tyrannical wolves and manipulative foxes. You were just a child who was ripped apart and never pieced back together—who, at some point, must've screamed and cried for their mother to come and take them home, surely.

And in the face of such a person, how could she have wanted anything more than to whisk you off to safety and slowly mend you back together? To teach your body that it was made for more than just endless strife and pain? To let your soul become aware of the fact that the role of your character was no longer needed because she was here now to witness your vulnerability and allow it to spread free of consequence, cherish it, and shield it as if it were a precious gem?

"Hey... Miss..Navigator," She heard your faint call. She looks down again, her eyes at a sorrowful downcast as she asked, "Yes?"

"I'm...real' sleepy... Could I.." You didn't finish your sentence. You couldn't, but whether that was because you were adamant on dying wearing your cracked mask or that it was simply too much work to continue formulating your sentence was unknown.

Nevertheless, your silent request reached her and in seconds your head was resting on her thighs and one of her hands had found purchase in the only one you could still feel.

In an instant, her warmth began to spread throughout your body, replacing the warmth that had long since left you. It felt nice, kinda like taking a warm bath after treading through a blizzard to get home. And, as stupid as it was to admit, the feeling unclasped the lock that you had placed in the very back of your mind—unsealed the gate you had barricaded past memories your heart was never able to part with behind—and brought you back to a time you had forgotten long ago.

And for the first and last time, you broke character and allowed the tears to fall freely and wet your cheeks, all while a look of tranquility crossed your features; like a little kid dozing off to sleep after a long day's work of playing with the same broken toys.

And as numbness began to creep over your consciousness, you whispered to her, "Good..night... Miss Navigator..."

To which she returned the favor, as any mother would do, "Goodnight, dear.. I hope your dreams are forever sweet."

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

[carnivorousyandeere]

Safely Home

You almost couldn’t believe it.

You’d scored not one, not two, but three dates with the handsome, charming, polite, well-off Doctor Kim Dae-hyun. He was just so perfect that it rattled your nerves a little.

CW: date interrupted by supervillain attack, kidnapping, spiked drink, drugging, repeated trauma, near-death situations, ptsd, hypervigilance, survivor’s guilt, implications of suicidal ideation?

Your third date started off like the first two, full of good food and more charming anecdotes from Dae-hyun. But the air felt thick, and your drink tasted just a little more bitter than it should’ve. You frowned, swirling the glass thoughtfully. Dae-hyun reaches across the table, holding your hand, and his mouth opens to speak—

Boom.

Glass shards rain across the table, stinging your skin. Dae-Hyun grabs your hand. You run.

Voices ring out, screams and explosions fill the air. A villain attack. Not exactly uncommon where you live, but not an everyday occurrence either. You’ve only ever experienced one villain attack before. Your ears ring as Dae-hyun pulls you through the back door of the restaurant, out into an alleyway, through another alleyway, to a surprisingly empty parking garage.

Dae-hyun stills, looking around, breath short from running, and laughs. Exuberant, exhilarated, triumphant. Distantly, you wonder why— nobody should laugh at a time like this, right? But maybe it’s disbelief and relief of surviving when you shouldn’t have. That thrill of realizing how truly and deeply alive you are. He seems to notice how quiet, how still you are, his laughter fading into a softer sigh as he grasps your hands tighter and pulls you closer.

Your eyes and throat sting as you struggle to breathe. You feel you ought to be crying, shuddering— but your eyes are dry. All you feel is tired. So horribly, awfully tired. Dae-hyun tucks your head into his shoulder with another soft sigh, wrapping his arms around you and gently swaying back and forth.

“You’re okay. You’re safe now.”

The soft amusement in his voice clashes violently with your understanding of the world. Nowhere is safe. He should know that as well as you. A moment of hatred crawls like bile up the back of your throat. You stifle it down, trying to rationalize— he’s only being kind, trying to comfort you, it doesn’t matter that what he’s saying is untrue—

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

His words puff against the shell of your ear. Disgust crawls down your spine at the humid warmth, the utter amusement still filling his voice. It’s not right, it’s not true, and even as your mind struggles with the weight of what carnage you’ve just escaped, all you can think is that there must be something deeply wrong with the man whose embrace you’re now trying to wriggle out of.

“We almost died back there.” Your voice is distant, hollow. Maybe you are dead. A piece of you anyway, just like the first time you’d been caught in a villain attack. How many pieces of yourself did you have left? Did you deserve to call yourself dead when other people’s families had to hold real funerals? You were still breathing, what right did you have—?

Dae-hyun laughs again. The sound sends your train of thought careening to a crashing halt, mangled metal filling your mind’s eye and acrid smoke filling your nose just like it had at the restaurant this time and the time before that—

Dae-hyun wipes away a humored tear, pulling back to hold you by the shoulders and look at your face. “Yeobo, we were never in any danger! I paid them specifically not to injure either of us…” His tone darkens, thumb swiping over a cut on your cheek. “Though I suppose they failed, and I’ll have to take a cut from them…”

He rocks back on his heels, sucking air in through his teeth and whistling it out. “Still, it’s nothing some of my healing gel can’t soothe~”

A sob catches in your throat as the realization hits. Of course he could laugh so carelessly— he was the real villain. Your exhausted body slumps against him, limbs unnaturally heavy, and he holds you close once more.

“Aww, there’s no need for tears,” Dae-hyun croons, “you’ll be safe with me! I promise.”

“They’ll… somebody will come looking for me…”

Dae-hyun giggles harder, dragging you further into the parking garage, where a van is waiting. “Why would they? You and I died back there, after all~”

[barbiecrocs]

Why not?

Miguel O'hara

tags! paralysis(miguels venom), no piv, pussy eating, squirting, hinting at food kink, kitchen sex

WC. 1059

Barbie's note... Enjoy y'all.

God, he loves the way your pussy tastes. It has his fangs tingling and his dick creating a tent in his pants. Why didn’t he do this earlier? How didn’t he do this earlier?

 It was only brought to his attention once he overheard your book club while he was making a snack in the kitchen. He didn’t intend to spy at first, but the urge became irresistible when they started to talk about their husbands going down on them. Some of them go as far as to describe the techniques they use— grinding down on his face, rolling their hips, and nudging their clit with the tip of their husbands' noses. Miguel doesn’t even notice how obvious his eavesdropping is until the laughter and chatter from the living room dies down. Now turning into whispers about how much food he’s piling on and stares that he can feel through the back of his head. He looks down at his plate and sees an abundance of varying foods, carrots, celery, a glob of peanut butter, and a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Before you can say something about it, he finishes making it and takes it upstairs. Only to turn back around and sit on the steps, snooping again, and realizing he didn’t get a spoon for his ice cream.

 The topic slowly deviates from Miguel to you and about why you haven’t shared a story of your own. They let out a sob out of empathy for you when you explain that Miguel hasn’t ever gone down on you or let you ride his face before. And that your sex life had been kinda dry at the moment. They all put in their unwanted two cents before you direct the conversation back to the book.

 After checking the time and realizing that you have to get dinner started, you shoo your friends out. Some of them bring up the previous topic, “Trust me not only does it feel good, but it opens up a whole new world of pleasure in your sex life.” And with that, you shut the door in their face, but out of all the unwanted advice, that one was the only remotely useful one. 

You turn around just to be met with Miguel’s chest as he presses you flat against the door. Your hands press against his chest to steady yourself, breath hitching when he goes straight for your neck, kissing and sucking the sweet spot on it. “Miguel! I have to get dinner started." You quiver, feeling a tingle and heat pool at your entrance. Your eyes begin to flutter as your head knocks back, giving him more access to your neck. “I was thinking that we’d have dessert first.” 

“M-Miguel…” His hands crawl onto your breasts, teasing your nipples until he flips up your shirt and his lips join his hands. Your legs buckle under his touch and he’s picking you up to put you on the kitchen counter. "Miguel— If— If this is about— what my friends— Ugh, shit!” His kisses trail lower with each word that falls out your mouth, now sliding off your shorts, but leaving your panties. A big calloused hand spreads your legs apart, taking one by the knee and placing it on his shoulder. Surprising you with a wet lick to your clothed slit. “God, you taste like heaven. Why didn’t you suggest this is the first place?” He doesn’t wait for a response to his rhetorical question, immediately stuffing his face in your nether region. Your hands move to the head separating your legs, fingers sliding into and tugging his brunette mane, split between wanting him and not wanting him there. He hisses at the pain. “If this is about what my friends said then you don’t have to. It’s not like a need a story to–” He stops you short, biting your inner thigh hard, his fangs sinking into you and relaxing your muscles with his venom. 

 “Miguel!” You start to slur.

 “This is for me as much as it is for you.” And just like that the fingers in his hair relax, relieving his scalp of the stinging he didn’t pay any mind to. “Now let me make you feel good.” You hum in response, not capable of doing much else than that and moaning. He continues to lap at your gushing pussy. Slurping and sucking up the juices and neglecting where you need him most. Your clit ached for attention and you couldn’t do anything about it other than moan or groan. So you groan, “I know, but you taste so good.” Just then an idea popped into his head. He repositions himself, putting the other leg over his shoulder and wrapping his arms around them. He begins to rub his nose against your clit, watching your face carefully for your reaction. You mewl loudly, eyes shut tight, and very little scrunching of your face due to the venom. He takes it as a good sign and advances with his movements. His thumbs move to your pussy lips spreading them wide and scooping out all you have to give him.

 The venom makes you see and feel colors, right now you were feeling red, red hot. Your body was on fire with pleasure and it felt like his hands were everywhere and nowhere on you. Tweaking your nipples, spreading your lips, fingers scissoring inside of you, and then it was white. It all went white and the feeling was back as if all the venom gushed out of you because it did. You were so in your own world, eyes rolling back into your skull, fingers, and toes curling as you screamed Miguel’s name like a prayer, you hadn’t even noticed that you completely soaked his face. Yet he didn’t stop, barely coming up for a breather every minute. He keeps lapping you up, occasionally hitting your overstimulated clit, making you jerk. “Please, Miguel. It’s too much.”  He comes back up, eyes bloodshot and pupils blown out. “What do you mean?” He finally unglued himself from your thighs and you see what a mess you’ve made. He disappears behind you and comes back with a bucket of vanilla ice cream and other various foods, “There’s still so much I wanna try with you.”

[estrellami-1]

Steddie Microfic

November prompt: rest

Word count: 387

No warnings apply

Rated G

@steddiemicrofic

“…Rest,” someone was saying. “Rest and fluids.”

“But he’ll be okay?”

Steve can’t open his eyes, but he knows that voice, knows that inflection. Eddie’s worried. He tries to extend his senses, listen for anything else, feel for something, and hears beeping.

Oh, he thinks. I’m in the hospital.

“He’ll be fine,” the doctor replies, and Steve has time to think, that’s good, before passing out again.

The next time he wakes up, he’s actually able to open his eyes. Eddie’s asleep in the only chair by his bed. He shifts, wanting to reach out to him, wanting him to sleep.

He also doesn’t want Eddie to worry anymore, and he knows the furrow in his brow, even while asleep, means he’s worried. He also really wants water, since his mouth tastes like a demogorgon crawled inside and died. “Baby?” He murmurs.

He watches as Eddie wakes up. His brows furrow more before relaxing and he brings a hand up to rub at his eye before opening them, blinking at Steve before he starts to smile, realizing Steve’s awake. Steve can’t help it and smiles back. “Hey,” Eddie mutters. “You’re awake. How’re you feeling?”

Steve makes a face. “My mouth tastes like shit.”

Eddie laughs and gets him water, looking at him lovingly as he says, “I’m so mad at you.”

Steve blinks. “I’m sure I deserve that, since I’m in the hospital, but… why?”

Eddie sighs and grabs Steve’s hand. “You collapsed at work, baby. Fever of 103. I’m pretty sure Robin’s gonna murder you.”

Steve blinks. “Oh. Well, I’m feeling better now.”

Eddie chuckles. “Yeah, cause the doctors got you on fluids and a fever reducer, baby. He said he could release you as soon as you woke up as long as you had someone to stay with you and make sure you rest and stay hydrated.”

Steve hums. “And you volunteered? I’ll be fine on my own, Eds, s’alright.”

“No,” Eddie says. “Baby, of course I volunteered. I know the second I go home you’re gonna be up trying to do everything again. Your body needs rest, sweetheart. Let yourself take it easy for a couple days. There’s nothing that we can’t handle, alright? So let us handle it while you get your strength back.”

“Okay,” Steve whispers, grabbing Eddie’s hand. “I love you.”

[tikvin]

Eshra's greetings and some banter

-39—-20(negative)

"Out with it"

(sigh) "What?"

(tongue click) "And here I thought the day was going well"

-19—20(neutral)

(slight smile) "Yes?"

"You wish to chat?"

"You have my attention"

21—40(medium)

"I am listening"

"You have something to say, yes?"

"How can I help, my dear?"

41—100 (high, exceptional)

"What is it, my dear?"

"Your secrets are safe with me"

"You look like you have a secret to share with me"

"What bothers you, friend?"

Flirty:

"Well-well, haven't my day just got so much better"

"My attention is all yours, dear."

"Ah, I do like the sound of your voice, you know"

Romanced:

(leaning in slightly with a soft smile) "Hmmm?"

"My, oh my, remembered of little ol' me?"

"Got tired admiring me form afar, love?"

(raising an eyebrow with sly smile, she looks expectantly)

Romanced (rejected Bhaal) Will include all of regular romanced lines and additional:

"Since I stopped hearing the song of your blood, your voice got so much clearer, my love"

"To be free, to be loved, what more could one ask for? Well, to hear your lovely voice right about now, I suppose"

"My joy, my heart, what troubles you?"

"My darling, I am at your service" (bows jokingly)

Romanced (lost to Orin)

(looks a little lost) "Ah—? Oh. Yes. What is it?"

(in solemn tone) "Speak to me"

(agitated) "What!?" (snaps out of it) "No— not like that— I'm sorry, haven't got much sleep lately. Did you want something?"

Romanced (accepted Bhaal)

"My most beloved victim"

"Oh how I crave to crawl under your very skin"

"I hear the song your blood sings for me so clear. Beautiful."

Banters:

Considering Eshra is more observing than prying type, I don't think she would initiate them much herself. Except maybe environmental ones and a bit of flirting here and there. I have just a few so far.

(Shadowheart/Eshra)

— "Do you dye your hair, Eshra?"

— "Hm? What makes you think so?"

— "I mean, isn't drow hair usually white or blond?"

— "Why, thank you for calling me special, my dear"

— "That's not— Nevermind"

(Eshra/Wyll/Gale. Underdark, after Eshra's amnesia revealed. Requires fighting at least 2 drow enemies, Minthara included)

— "Say, is drow hierarchy really as ruthless and strict as it is described in tomes about Underdark??" (G)

— "Gale, dear, I have no idea. Although the drow we encountered so far left only a bad taste in my mouth"

— "Afraid that you too did something cruel in your past?" (W)

— "Concerned I was a snobbish insufferable brat"

(Eshra/Tav Temple of Jergal or any temple ruins)

— "This feels familiar... somehow"

— "Hm? Were you a church worker?"

— "Of sorts, I think..."

(Lae'Zel/Karlach/Eshra on the elevator thingy on the way to monastery)

— "What a sight. We should stop for a nice little lunch, take it all in." (K)

— "Is the worm gnawing at your grey matter? We must find a crèche and be purified." (L)

— "Lae'Zel is right... A lunch after being freed from our wrigglers would be much sweeter, don't you think?" (E)

— "Chk. You're both are way too frivolous." (L)

(Minthara/Eshra shadow cursed land. Requires Eshra being recruited before meeting Minthara in act1)

— "So, my suspicions were correct."

— (sigh) "What are you talking about?"

— "The moment we met. I thought something isn't right about you. You look like a drow, but you're most certainly not one. So what are you, iblith?"

— "Careful, Minthara, don't make me regret not slitting your throat in that goblin camp, the moment our dear leader looked away."

— "You would've died in attempt."

That it for now! Will post more banters some time later.

[eyesofshinigami]

Staring Problem

Rating: G

CW: None

Tags: Pre-relationship, kisses, humor

Prompt: For @starryeyedjanai "Love is when you look at his lips for half the conversation because you can't stop thinking about kissing him."

WC: 837

Written for Day 28 of @steddielovemonth

Eddie’s trying really hard to concentrate. Really, he is. It’s just that… Steve has the most kissable looking mouth of any person he’s ever met. 

Okay, so. Eddie usually has a bit of trouble keeping his focus. Some days he feels like a ping pong ball, zinging back and forth between one thing and the next. It takes a lot of effort for him to slow down and just… pay attention, even to the things he loves.

Like Steve. Usually, Eddie can focus on Steve. Puts a lot of effort into it, really. He never wants Steve to feel like he isn’t listening to what he has to say, or that Eddie can’t give him the attention that he so rightly deserves. Because Steve is like the sun, beautiful and bright and he makes Eddie feel like he’s lighting up from the inside out. 

Today, though… Eddie’s really having a hard time. Maybe it’s because Steve’s mouth looks particularly pretty today. His lips are full and a little pink, like he’s been biting them. A little slick, too, if the way the light is playing off of them. It’s making Eddie think about other reasons why Steve’s lips might be a little slick, but he knows that’s a pipe dream. Steve wouldn’t want Eddie like that. 

So, sue him. Eddie couldn’t help it. Anybody would stare at Steve’s mouth and wish they knew what the shape of it tasted like. 

“Eds? You in there?” Steve teases, breaking him out of his trance.

He jolts. “Huh? What?” Heat crawls up the back of Eddie’s neck and blooms over his cheeks. He’s been caught. “Sorry, I guess I’m spacy today.”

Steve licks over his lips and the heat gets worse. “No more than usual,” Steve says, but it’s sweet as much as it is a tease. “What’s on your mind?” 

Nothing you want to know about, I’m sure, Eddie thinks to himself. “Nothing, really. Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to zone out and not listen.” And it’s true. Eddie loves listening to Steve. He could listen to him ramble and watch his mouth move all day long. One of the few things that Eddie finds that can keep him still, keep him quiet, in a good way. 

“Well, I’m sorry I distracted you so much.” Steve’s mouth curves up in a smile, stretching those lips in the most delectable way. He might actually kill Eddie with that smile alone, which is why it takes an extra moment for Eddie to realize what Steve said. It must show on his face, his panic, because Steve adds, “You’ve been watching my mouth all morning, Eds. Is there something you want?”

No. No way. There is no way that Steve could be asking him that. Eddie must be dreaming because in what universe would Steve Harrington be asking Eddie if he wants to kiss him. Wait… that is what he was asking, right? “Like… like what?” Eddie whispers, scared that if he speaks too loud, it might pop the bubble of whatever alternate universe he’s ended up in.

Steve leans in, his warm breath ghosting over Eddie’s mouth. “Like you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you.”

Yup. Eddie’s fried. Stick a fork in him, he’s done, because there’s no way he hasn’t died and gone to some kind of heaven. “Fuck, really?”

“Yeah, really. Your mouth is so distracting. Now, you gonna kiss me or what?”

Eddie wants to say my mouth?? But it gets lost when he surges forward and closes the distance between them. Months of longing culminating in a single, wonderful kiss that thrills him all the way down to his toes. Steve must feel the same because he shifts closer, brings their bodies together, and the tip of his tongue teases at Eddie’s bottom lip, seeking entrance. 

They kiss for what feels like hours. Lips moving, tongues sliding together, their bodies moving against each other as they learn the shape of the other. It feels amazing. It’s so, so good.

When they finally break apart, both of them are breathing hard and staring at each other like nothing else in the universe exists. A single, perfect moment that Eddie never wants to end. 

“So? Everything you wanted?” Steve teases, but Eddie can see the thread of tension in his face, the way his smile wobbles at the end. How could it not be? Steve is everything he wants and more. 

“Dunno, think I’m going to have to keep kissing you to make sure. And no one else can either, don’t want to cause a bias in my sample.”

It’s the dumbest thing he could have said, but it makes Steve laugh, that ridiculous donkey laugh that shouldn’t be as cute as it is. So, all Eddie can do is grab Steve by the collar to haul him in for another kiss. 

Now Eddie guesses he can stare all he wants at Steve’s mouth, will probably get to kiss it anytime too.

Sweet.