#request winner

[themeraldee]

Hii can you do one where the reader rejects homelander because she’s married? He gets mad and obsessive??

Thank you for the ask! So originally I wasn't gonna do requests because I'm very particular about what strikes my fancy. But I'm nothing if not a people pleaser so your request got my head popping up with ideas as I've not really explored the 'loving someone to a fault' part of Homelander where things take a wild turn. So this is my humble attempt - hope you enjoy!

(Also I spat this out fairly quickly so it's not very well reviewed)

The Price of Love

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 1.7k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Early Season 2. Voyeurism. Dark themes but nothing very specific. Homelander being his own warning. Mention of canon-level violence.

“What the fuck do you mean you’re married?!” Homelander sputters, caught totally off guard by your admission. His body language frazzled, his arms expressing confusion just as much as his words as his presence towers over you. 

You’ve been Ashley’s secretary for a few months now. At first he took no interest in the presence of yet another busybody without a name that was surely going to crack under the pressure and either leave or fuck up beyond repair resulting in your resignation. But no, you’ve proven yourself to be reliable, responsible and most importantly you’ve got a fucking spine in you. You don’t cower in fear, shake when you talk to him or let yourself get talked into a corner. He likes that. He really likes that. 

His preference for you has become so obvious that Ashley made you his go-to. Any news, good or bad, just went straight through you. And somehow, Homelander didn’t mind hearing that he dropped a point or two when it came from your lips.

That’s why he felt so blindsided by your outright rejection when he asked you out. What the fuck do you mean married?! 

“I mean I’m unavailable.” Homelander tightens his hand into a fist now that his arms fell back to rest next to his thighs. He hides the lapse of control behind his cape as he clasps both hands behind his back. At this point the pose has become a bit of a defense mechanism, nobody can touch or hurt him when he’s playing a hero. It’s a whole lot different when he pours his heart out to some fucking assistant just to get it stomped into the ground. 

“You’re not wearing a ring.” His tone is quiet, sharp. He nods his head towards the hand that’s currently clutching a stack of papers, the last thing you were meant to bring over before you clocked out. In Homelander’s eyes, it was the perfect time to ask you out. He’d take you out the same night. Michelin star restaurant, booked out just for the two of you. But no, you had to ruin his whole plan.

“I know, I’m sorry. I oftentimes leave it at home. I worry about it getting damaged or lost.” You clutch your papers closer to you, Homelander’s eyes lock onto your empty ring finger. It’s like you’re trying to hide it from him. The skin where your ring would be sat isn’t even smoothed out or marked in any way. So either it’s a recent marriage or you barely wear your ring as is. Homelander scoffs to himself, what kind of marriage is it if you’re not willing to shout about it from the rooftops. 

“I just—what? You’ve been fucking coming onto me for ages!” He wheezes out in part anger, part embarrassment. His eyes widen at first before squinting, his eyebrows furrowing with the action. In his head he replays all your interactions and he’s not fucking stupid. He’s the Homelander. There’s no one who can read people better than him.

“Sorry? I haven’t, or I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t trying to lead you on.” You take a step back. As much as this whole time Homelander’s been more than tolerating your presence, enjoying and looking forward to it even, now he’s acting like a whole kind of different animal. He takes one step in. Part of him relishes in the way your heart speeds up at the loud thud of his boot taking the one step closer to you. The other part of him doesn’t want you to be scared of him, just like you haven’t been this whole time, you’re meant to be his! 

He raises an eyebrow. 

“Lead me on?” 

“You know, make you think I’m interested when I’m not.” He nearly laughs. Not interested? Not fucking interested?! Give him a break. He might not have many experiences with the most genuine of relationships but he knows attraction when he sees one. He’s not stupid enough to mistake your professional kindness for attraction, it’s more than that. He’s sure of it. Your pulse still races anytime you’re in his vicinity, your pupils dilate, you smile all flustered and sweet when he pays you a compliment and there’s definitely times he’s managed to make you wet just by saying or doing the right thing. Someone who’s not interested wouldn’t be reacting like that. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose shaking his head. “Get out.” His voice rings loud and clear in the empty room. 

“Yes, sir. I’m really so sorry.” His teeth grind at the way you call him ‘sir’. A habit he’s weaned you off a long time ago. Yet there you go again, reverting back to factory settings as if you two didn’t have a whole load of history behind you. He watches you scamper off, the intrusive, violent part of him has an intense urge to laser you in half for making him feel this way.

But no, he knows there’s another way. First, he needs to get this energy out one way or another. And the last thing he wants to do is hurt you. 

Homelander waits till nightfall before flying around just to get his frustration out. First Madelyn, now you. What is it with women being dishonest with him! But no no no, you’re nothing like her. You do love him. You have to. He knows it. He can feel it. He just needs to nudge you in the right direction.

His thoughts get disrupted by a shrill scream coming from the alleyway below him. He pauses in the air, watching the situation with little initial interest. He lands on the building ledge where a man has a screaming woman pinned against the wall. He notices the light reflecting against the switchblade the criminal presses to her neck.

Well look at that, he can get his frustrations out and he’s gonna look like a hero. This night might just be turning around for him.

He leaves the bloody carnage behind, shaking some of the blood and viscera off his suit, bloody droplets hitting his boots instead. He’s so used to the copper tang of blood, at this point breathing it in is as natural to him as air. He’s just not particularly fond of the mess it creates.

But finally, after some physical relief, he grins to himself and with a clear head he can devise a plan on how to win you over. He’s the Homelander, who the fuck else could be more worthy of your love? 

Well… He’s about to find out.

Homelander takes off into the air, shooting up up up, until he finds a happy altitude where the air is just about getting thin, but more importantly where he’s unlikely to be recorded or photographed at this time of night.

He lands on the rooftop of the building opposite where you and your spouse reside. Bleugh. Your fucking spouse. Just the thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He was being patient with you. Wanted to take it the traditional way. Just like normal humans you’d meet at work, get chatting, get comfortable and start dating. So he gave you the benefit of your privacy. Wanted to see you naked for the first time when you’d undress for him. All pretty and sensual, giving him a good show. Now it’s biting him in the ass. If he wasn’t so chivalrous with you he would have long known that he’d need to get rid of the obstacle before he’d even ask you out. 

He watches through the building walls. He needs to see who, or what, has you so whipped that you wouldn’t immediately offer to get divorced just to go on a date with him. At the very least it better be some good sex.

He scans your meager one bedroom apartment. Your spouse is sound asleep in your shared bed but you’re nowhere to be seen. It’s not even that late in the night. Wouldn’t happily married couples be fucking through the night like rabbits at this hour? 

He lights up when he lands on the sight of you in your bathroom. Finally, some fucking reward. It’s the least he deserves after all that he’s been through. You’re submerged in your bathtub, the water level hitting halfway up your chest. You have the most pleased expression on your face, pure delight as you rest your head against the rim of the tub, eyes closed all dreamy. 

Homelander palms the front of his pants, feeling his cock immediately fill out at finally getting glimpses of your naked self. It’s only then he notices that you’re not just relaxing. No. Your hand is holding the shower head right in between your legs, letting the water pressure light up all your sensitive nerves. 

Then it clicks. He grins like he hasn’t in a long while. The pure satisfaction of being right. You’re not satisfied. You can’t be. It’s obvious you desperately need to escape this situation. You need him. 

He carelessly unfastens his pants, surprising even himself that he doesn’t manage to rip them in half as he eagerly grips his hard cock. He strokes it harder than he ever has before, the blood on his glove just easing the glide of the harsh pace he sets himself. Homelander almost chokes on air as he watches you arch your back and whimper quietly, clearly hiding your little indulgent fantasy from your spouse. 

He wishes he could tell you it’s alright, your spouse is dead asleep. They won’t notice. They clearly don’t care. He does. And that’s all that matters, you have his attention. You have an audience of one. 

He doesn’t care what the reason is. There’s no reason in his book that would justify your spouse leaving you this dissatisfied that you have to get yourself off behind closed doors and not with their help. 

He’s so worked up, riding the roller coaster of wildly contrasting emotions, from heart-break to euphoria, that it doesn’t take long for him to feel breathless, panting as he strokes himself to the image of you all wet, pleasured and relaxed. What really does him in, unexpectedly is the whispering plea leaving your lips. ‘Homelander.’

And just like that he cums hard, not caring where his load ends up, his grin never leaving his face as he watches you reach your sweet, sweet release.

He has to have you.

[Part 2]

Taglist (you can add yourself to be notified anytime I publish a new Homelander story)

[outerspacetown]

in celebration of miles edgeworth among us update !!!! (and the collection too i guess 😒😒)

[importantgalaxyrunaway]

Sundays (Matt Murdock x reader)

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, religion (they go to church) very very fluffy, husband Matt, this one the poll but new one shot out soon

It was your favorite type of day. A Sunday, because no daredeviling on Sundays. Unless there was something especially serious he heard going on. You shift your weight so that you can shuffle in between his legs looking at your husband. He looks so majestic laying there naked with only a sheet covering his lower half. You weren’t quite modest yourself with only a sheet covering your body as well. Since you both had been just married less than 3 weeks, you were still in the phase where you couldn’t keep your hands off of each other. It wasn't always intimacy times. But Matthew would always be there touching you in some comforting way reminding you he was always by your side. Weither it was a hand on your knee or holding hands with him as you were his “sighted guide”. When really he just used that as an excuse to show you off in public. His hand never left yours. Today was one of those days.

he looked like a sleeping angel not daredevil. His chest was cut from marble and an expression of peice was on his face you barely see. Shifting yourself in between his legs closer, bare chests pressing up against each other separated by only a silk sheet. A reminder of the gift he gave you last night. You lean in to him and give a long lingering kiss. It was soft upon his plump rosy lips and his eyes fluttered open. His sightless eyes gaze upon yours and you break the sweet kiss.

“Hello Mrs. Murdock” he says in his sleepy deep morning voice that makes your knees weak.

Hes never missed an opportunity to call you that in the last 3 weeks. You give him another sweet kiss and he hums. His hands stroking your hair. You slip between the silk sheets so that your warm bodies could press up against each other, though there is nothing sexual about it this time you weren’t in the mood you were just affectionate and he could tell. That smile hadn’t left his face since the two of you were married.

“hello my pretty little devil” you scratch underneath his chin and he leans into it making a small noise of pleasure at the gesture.

“hmm. It’s Sunday would like to come to church with me.” He asks still in a happy bliss “I’d rather not go alone”

you think for a bit,. Matthew’s been going through a rough time lately a really hard time. And god, if there wasn’t anything you’d do to please this man. You never want him to have to be alone again. You knew how much his religion meant to him. And church with Matthew is actually quite enjoyable the times you’ve been with him.

“of course I’ll go with you my love.” You whispered softly to him. He beams at you in return. That smile that hasn’t left since they had the small wedding. ”you should probably get dressed though. Would be a bit distracting.” he teases in a low chuckle

you crinkle up your nose and tease him back “so should you ‘good-catholic lawyer-boy’”

you rumple his hair before rising from his warm embrace to go to your closet. You find something nice to wear and Matthew goes for his normal suit. As he gets dressed you do admit ok yes you starred at his ass the whole time.

he gives a knowing devilish smirk you know all to well as he buttons up his shirt. You silently mourn the loss of staring at his abs “you know I may be blind sweetheart but i can sense you starring” he says with his signature charm.

“well we’re married now, I’m allowed to look at my husband aren’t I?” You say before light giving his ass a smack. You just couldn’t help yourself.

once the two of you are dressed he looks incredibly handsome even with more clothes on, he starts tapping his cane and each way as you two walk on the sidewalk together. Your hand however finds his and intertwines your other hand resting on his shoulder so you can guide him. Knowing that he trusts you even if it’s partly to keep his cover. He stops, smiles at you practically beaming and folds up his cane. The two of you resume your walk to Clinton church. The weather was incredibly nice, the flowers on the windowsills were blooming and the sun was beaming down. A pleasant breeze made the day just the right temperatures. you know even you could smell the sweetness of spring in the air and you didn’t have enhanced senses. You wonder what it’s like for Matt.

You break the comfortable silence as the two of you walk together. “you smell that? It’s my favorite flower”

“I don’t smell lavender y/n”

“oh you remembered, well yes that is my first favorite flower because of the scent but my second favorite is honeysuckle” you explained as the two of you stroll basking in each other’s company.

“Oh, I love that scent too. But sweetheart it’s an invasive plant.” He chuckles good naturedly. The scent of honeysuckle fills his lungs on this Sunday morning. If Amber thought she could smell the sweetness it was nothing compared to his. The way it weaves around his mind fogging it up with pleasant memories of when y/n would wear her citrus and honeysuckle perfume. It truly is a beautiful day. Nothing seems to be going wrong at the moment there isn’t a crime he hears. Or maybe it’s just in the warmth of y/n’s company the terrible sounds and shrieks of the city were muted. He always seemed calmer in her presence.

“We’re here, Clinton church” you read for him

“and on time” he kissed your joined hands before you both step into the church together. The darkness takes a bit for you to adjust to the light in contrast to the brightness of outside. Not that Matthew would mind, you giggle in your head. It truly is a beautiful place with high ceilings and candles lit, it has stained glass windows with beautifully colored pictures made of glass upon it. Y/n especially appreciated these. The way the sunlight of spring catches the stained glass sending a glow to floor adjacent to it. The difference in materials used creates complex shimmering patterns and shapes. Admiring the way each shard and fragment of glass comes together to make a beautiful story from the Bible. The wooden floors are pretty and there are rows of wooden pews with bibles in the pockets of the seat in front of you. It smells of that distinct church scent that is quite hard to discribe. The best Matthew can do is old wooden oak polished, with the scent of old books the type that are yellowing with age. He suspects these are from the Bible’s. The people played a role into it two he could often sense their perfume or their recent showers. There's also the scent of candles and incense. The incense is one of three smells that is most distinctive out of the melting pot to Matt. There’s a lingering air of smoke from previous services but it’s never too heavy. It’s not like cigarettes smoke at all, one of Matthew’s least favorite scents in the world. Well that was until he had been in an explosion as daredevil. Burning flesh was definitely the worst thing he’s ever sensed. He had to take many showers to get the smell out of his system. But overall he liked the scent and it was familiar to him. He was raised here. Even if he’s strayed so far, or hated his past now. But the scent of Clinton church was strangely calming and comforting to Matthew. You guide him to a pew bench that’s completely empty. You take your seat next to Matt once he’s settled his hand in his lap the other toying with his cane. You notice pleasantly that your seated directly next to a stain glass window. This one depicts baby Moses floating in the river. You particularly like the way the light shines through the glass making it translucent. The water a blue haze.

you find your seat and you take matts hand that’s in his lap, interlocking both your fingers. He brings the your hands up to his lips and gives a long kiss on your hand before resting it in his lap. The service starts shortly after and it only takes an hour, which is good because you can’t sit still for much longer than that. Matthew listens to what the priest says and you can’t but help admire how he looks. Sitting on the bench with his back leaning slightly back and his head up high. Those shoulders that carry the whole weight of this city on them . Intently listening, he leans his head just slightly back, his stunning red glasses perched upon his face. He looks proud almost. How could someone who looks so good be going through so much. Truth be told you were always worried about Matt. Being daredevil takes a tole on his soul. But you’ve been keeping an eye on him making sure he’s okay recently. He holds your hand the entire time. Only breaking when you have to pray but quickly rejoining his hand with yours. His thumbs stroking your hand comfortably.

“should I read to you what we’re saying?” You say wondering how he does this.

“uh no” he chuckles “i can hear them sweetheart”

“oh right” you answer sheepishly. Sometimes you’re still figuring out the extent of his blindness. He rubs your hand more finding the way you want to help endearing. You distinctly feel the cool of his ring on his hand. And you beam with pride. Before you know it the service is over and Matt stands up with you and unfolds his cane and starts tapping it. You wrap your arms around his as you “guide” him. But also in his own way it’s just another way to show you off. Matthew exchanged a few words with father lantom and some of the others before the two of you walked out into the bright spring day. There was not a cloud in the sky. After walking for a while hand and hand. Your golden beautiful rings shining in the sun. Your diamond perfectly sparkling. The consistent tap of Matt’s cane across everything. The silence is comforting and after a while he turns to you.

“thanks you” he says quietly.

your turn to him “for what?”

“for that, staying beside me. You……you don’t know how much it means to someone like me.” He adds sincerely.

you do know how much it means to him. Not many people have stayed with him, loving him unconditionally like you do. And he needs that, Matt needs her love. Her holds your chin delicately and pulls you in for a soft kiss. You sigh into the kiss. A very love sick sigh

once he breaks the kiss he’s smiling again with his beautiful smile. He brushed a stray lock of hair out of your face. “So..” his face still close to you. Red glasses practically glowing in the sun “how’s married life treating you Mrs. Murdock?”

you stroke his hair before speaking also a smile plastered on your face. “I think it suits me very well Mr. Murdock.” And he kissed your hand before continuing tapping his cane and walking on the sidewalk with you.

[thegorydamnreaper]

Eagle and Eaglet

Finally finished and omg I’m gonna cry 😭 Thank you to everyone who voted in the poll, I hope you like how this turned out as much as I do!

Closeups below the cut ♥️

[tinyshe]

Prayer request: I got a soft notice at work that they may let the business run another two months before shutting it down. I'm in no shape health wise to find another job especially one that would demand I be on my feet or work face-to-face with the public due to my declining autoimmune disease.

I am sort of just at a loss right now. Please pray for me. And my family.

[thlayli-ra]

Whump Prompt - Shock Collars, Gunther/Cody with references to Randy and background Cody/Randy, please? ❤

I'll give you some puppy eyes of my very own!

(Also I'd definitely owe you another fic in return 👀)

How could I resist (and YES! I'll definitely send another fic prompt your way at some point!) Enjoy! 😙❤️

I'm also tagging @paladinofmoonlight as this will tie in slightly with your request fic.

Trick - 'Shock Collar'

Characters - Cody Rhodes, Randy Orton, Gunther, CM Punk (cameo), Drew McIntyre (cameo), Ludwig Kaiser (mentioned), Giovanni Vinci (mentioned)

Rating - Mature

Warnings - Winner's Room, non-con/extremely dub-con (implied), shock collar, pet play, trauma

(This fic is based in my Winner's Room AU)

     The only man that Cody Rhodes avoided in the back was Gunther. And that was because Randy himself told him to. 

     He could still remember the night after Crown Jewel had wrapped when he'd sat up waiting for Randy, growing more worried with each passing hour until at long last his husband returned. Cody knew something wasn't right the moment Randy shuffled onto the bus, noting how his hoodie was zipped right up to the neck, his head bowed and feet heavy, like they were dragging great iron chains behind him. 

     'Randy?'

     His husband stumbled back with fright, suddenly realising that he was not alone. 'You're here?' he gasped, meaning to say 'awake' - he'd been hoping Cody would be asleep. The blonde rushed to his husband and cupped his face in both hands. Randy flinched at the touch and Cody's alarm spiked when he saw his husband's eyes. He looked... haunted. 

     'Where have you been?'

     Randy turned his face away with shame. 'With Gunther,' he replied. 

     A stone sank into the pit of Cody's stomach. He knew, of course he knew. It was a PLE night and Randy had lost, of course Gunther would come to collect his winner's rights. Yet even so, hearing it drip like acid from his husband's mouth made it sting all the more. 

     But something didn't sit right. Usually it wouldn't take this long for a quick fuck or a blow job. A winner would only need maybe half an hour, an hour tops with their prize to reap their rewards. Why had Randy been gone for close to six? 'Tell me what happened?' He was answered with silence, not even a flicker of eye contact. 'Randy? What did he do to you?'

     'I'm worn out, he'd replied and Cody's shoulders slumped with defeat. 'I need some rest. We can talk in the morning.'

     But they didn't.

     Cody thought it best not to pry. Until Bash at Berlin. He'd been as surprised as anybody when Randy had challenged Gunther for another match for the World Heavyweight Championship. In the weeks leading up to the event, he brought up his concerns with his husband.

     'What if it ends up like last time?'

     'It won't be like last time,' Randy protested as he knotted up the laces of his boots. 'I know what I'm doing.'

     'I don't doubt that,' Cody sighed. 'It's just... when you got back, you were so... traumatised and I just can't stand to-'

     Randy cut Cody off by slamming the heel of his boot against the bench, the wood colliding with the metal locker door with a great clang. Cody glared up at his husband, who refused to meet his eye. 'It won't be like last time,' Randy said again, except his voice was weaker than before. Fragile, like a whisper on the wind.

     To his credit, Randy was right; the match was nothing like the last time. Cody watched it on the monitors in gorilla, cradling the aches and pains in his own body from his match with Kevin Owens, as his husband fought bravely against the Austrian behemoth. Two bulls battering one another in the arena, each taking turns to gore the other, their skin turning red and breaking from the brutal onslaught. Randy managed to disable Gunther's hand, his greatest weapon, then, when he dumped the Champion through the announce desk, a spark of hope shone bright. Cody watched his majestic husband pose to the crowd and began to imagine the gold belt glistening around his waist. The pride and glory of his victory.

     But then, back in the ring, right when Randy was poised to deliver an RKO that would end it all, Gunther locked on a sleeper hold, and no matter how the Viper tried to snake his way out of his opponent's clutches, it was not enough. The blood drained from Cody's face as Randy's arm went slack, stopped breathing as the ref lifted up the lifeless limb and let it drop to the mat. 

     'No...' he shook his head at the screen, his bad knee almost buckling under him as he turned and hobbled towards the curtain. Just as he got there, it was tossed aside and the towering frame of Gunther walked through. He took one ice-cold look at his fellow champion and sniffed, walking past Cody towards the back. Shortly after, the curtain twitched again and this time, a ground down, exhausted Randy shuffled through.

     'Randy!' Cody wrapped his arms around his husband, never heeding the sweat and grime of the ring as he held his husband close. Their moment was cut all too short by a shrill whistle and they both turned to find Gunther waiting on his trophy.

     'I have to go, Codes,' Randy sighed, his voice breaking as he forcibly prised the blonde off of him. 

     'NO! No Randy, you can't!' Cody fought back, grabbing at any part of his husband's body and clinging on for dear life. 'Please! Don't go with him! I'm begging you!'

     'Cody,' Randy lifted his lover's chin. His fingers were trembling. Cody choked at the sight of his husband's face, the fear and terror in his grey-blue eyes. 'Don't wait up for me this time.'

     'Randy, please... no!'

     'I have to,' he uttered and softly placed a kiss on Cody's lips. 'I love you.'

     Then he left. Left with that monster, who leered at Cody when he wrapped his hand around the small of Randy's back and lead him away.  And Cody just had to accept it. Just had to shower and dress and head back to the bus like it was all ok but the dread gnawed at the pit of his stomach and he felt like throwing up and he couldn't eat and he couldn't sleep but Randy told him not to wait up for him so what could he do? He sat on the bed and he tried to read and tried to look at his phone and tried to watch tv but he couldn't focus at all. 

     At some point in the night, the exhaustion of waiting took over and his eyes fell shut, only to be woken up again some time later to a strange noise coming from the living area of his bus. Shuffling off the bed, Cody limped over to the bedroom door and opened it, hobbling past the bunks and the kitchen area until he found a figure hunched over in a chair, its face hidden behind his huge palms as it wept fitfully.

     He said nothing, just placed his arms around Randy's shoulders and held him tight. Once again, Randy flinched at the sudden contact but when he realised there was no danger, he coiled his own large arms around Cody's waist and cried into his chest like a scared little boy. 

     'I'm so s-sorry, Codes,' he hushed out between sobs. 'I'm s-supposed to be strong-'

     'You have nothing to be sorry about,' Cody told his husband sternly, a spark of flame lighting up in his blue eyes. 'It's Gunther who's going to pay for this.'

     'Cody!' The blonde was pushed back, Randy grabbing his upper arms in a vice grip. 'Don't you ever go near that bastard, you hear me? You stay the hell away from him. Promise me!'

     'Randy, I can't just let him get away with what he did to-?'

     'PROMISE ME!' 

     The once proud warrior's face was wet with tears, his eyes blood-shot and frayed by a thousand and one traumas. He suddenly looked so... small. So vulnerable. The snake had had his venom sapped from his body, his fangs yanked out with rusty pliers.

     Cody shook his head from side-to-side sorrowfully. 'Just tell me what he did to you.'

     The grey eyes shimmered with fresh tears, Randy's face scrunched up with despair. 'Please Cody,' his voice was hoarse, on the brink of falling apart again, 'please don't make me say it.'

     His heart broke in two at that and he couldn't bear to torture his cherished lover any more. 'Ok,' he said and pulled Randy into another bruising hug, one that he hoped chased away the demons. 'You don't have to tell me. And I'll stay away from Gunther. I promise.'

     

     He may not be able to ask The Ring General what had transpired, but there were other ways to skin a cat and one possible lead as to what had happened after Bash in Berlin was the very man that Cody found himself catching up with during Raw the following Monday. CM Punk should have been in high spirits after winning both his match and his bracelet back but he seemed a little on edge around the blonde. Cody's suspicions were confirmed when Punk, pretending to swipe through his phone, softly uttered, 'and how's Randy?'

     Cody narrowed his eyes at his friend. 'What do you mean, "how's Randy"?'

     Punk looked up, fidgeting in his chair. 'Well he lost his match on Saturday, right?'

     The two men eyed one another, Punk feeling the noose tighten around his neck, Cody the one pulling the rope. 'You know something, don't you?' 

     The veteran cast his eyes down. 'I dunno what you're talking-'

     'Punk,' Cody crouched down, not allowing the tattooed man to escape. 'If you know something then tell me. I need to know what happened, I have to know what Gunther did to him.'

     The mere sound of Gunther's name sent a visible shudder up Punk's spine and his hazel eyes lost focus, staring away into the middle distance. Just like Randy's had done. 'That's not for me to say,' he replied at last. 'You have to ask Randy about that.'

     'I tried but he won't talk to me,' Cody heaved a frustrated sigh, 'and he told me to stay away from Gunther.'

     'Good!' Punk shot back. 'He's right! You stay the fuck away from him, Cody, you hear?'

     The blonde scrunched up his face. He was getting real sick of hearing this. Like he was some withering flower, some princess in a tower who needed protected. 'You don't understand Punk, you didn't see the way Randy was afterwards. That rat bastard hurt the man I love! How am I meant to ignore that?'

     'You have to,' Punk ordered him. 'It's for the best. Anyway...' Punk got to his feet, 'I'm the one gunning for Gunther next. Now that Drew is in my rear-view mirror, I'm gonna go out there and lay down the challenge.'

     'And let me guess, did Randy put you up to that?' Cody caught the older man's eye, noting how Punk dragged his tongue along his bottom lip. 

     'We're only looking out for you, Cody,' he said before heading to gorilla.

     Punk was a dead-end but Cody had one more possible lead. If Punk had been hanging around the arena on Saturday night, it was likely with his own winner's trophy. Cody found Drew McIntyre leaving the men's locker room, looking nervous as if he was running late, which was odd because he wasn't dressed for a match. In fact, his attire was a bit strange in general for Drew - blue jeans, walking boots and a black zip hoodie. 

     Cody called his name and the large Scot paused for a moment, glancing up at him. 'Drew, you got a minute?'

     'Make it quick, Rhodes,' Drew warned, twitching impatiently. 

     'Why? You got somewhere you need to be?'

     The Scotsman didn't appreciate being interrogated. 'Spit. It. Out.'

     'Fine,' Cody didn't see any point in angering the already cantankerous Scot. 'I need to know what happened after Bash in Berlin.'

     The blue eyes flashed, growing large for a split-second, betraying the startle at the mention of the PLE's name. But as quickly as it came, it disappeared again and Drew pulled his lips back, baring his teeth. 

     'Out of my fucking way,' he snarled, shoving Cody aside, and that was that. He had exhausted all of his leads and was no further forward in finding out what had happened to Randy. Slumping back against the wall, Cody bumped the back of his head against the hard brick and tried to fight down the disappointment.

     There was one last witness he could try, one final lead. He knew for certain that Gunther would be there here tonight.

     But he couldn't do that to Randy, not after seeing the fear in his eyes. He couldn't add to his pain. He had made a promise and he was going to stick to it.

     However, in this business, promises are so frequently broken.

     With Punk on the shelf after Drew's ambush at Raw and their subsequent Hell in a Cell match, Gunther was in need of a new opponent so Hunter made the announcement at Bad Blood, that Cody would be facing him at Crown Jewel. Randy went ballistic, but no amount of yelling and debating would change the trajectory. With a heavy heart, Cody was forced to break his promise to his husband.

     And come the day of the PLE, he would discover the horrors that Randy had faced first-hand.

     The only thought that ran through the blonde's head as he lay on his back staring up at the bright lights above was of his husband kissing him before the match, holding him tight. 'Win, you hear me,' he'd said, unable to hide the croak in his voice. 'You must win!'

     Cody had fought hard. Had given the Austrian as good as he got. But Gunther was bigger, stronger and more sadistic. He had worn the blonde down to the ground and still kept on kicking. Cody was certain he had a cracked rib or two from the vicious chops, every breath he dragged in stung like a knife plunging into his chest. He was only vaguely aware of the ref's hand smacking the canvas for the one, two, three, hardly noticed the victor get to his feet to have his arm raised.

     It was only when the boards swayed beneath him as two chunky knees crashed down beside him and a fat finger tenderly trace a line of sweat down his brow and cheek that the implications of his loss hit him. 

     'You are mine now, welpe.'

     Gunther didn't wait for him to stand on his own. He hauled the dazed blonde onto his shoulder and carried him out of the ring, but instead of heading up the ramp to the back, Gunther marched towards the announce desk and left through the stunned crowd. Cody slumped like carrion on the hunter's back, trying to make sense of the pattern of strange hallways and doors. Through the lifting haze, he could hear something, a booming voice yelling his name over and over.

     'Randy...?' He tried to lift his thumping head, finally shaking the cotton wool in his brain loose. 'Randy, where-'

     He was dropped down from Gunther's shoulder and thrown into a dark room. The light was flicked on and he saw a couple of neatly packed bags on the benches realising that Gunther had not taken him to his designated locker room, but somewhere else instead. Bunching up his fists, Cody turned and found the Austrian locking the door tight behind him. 

     'Alone at last,' Gunther said, walking calmly across the room to lay the key to the door on a bench, easily within Cody's reach. A test, the blonde surmised, the games have begun already. 'No crowd. No officials. Just you and me.'

     'Good, I've been hoping for a chance to talk,' Cody puffed out his chest defiantly. He was not afraid of the Ring General. 

     'Well then,' Gunther gave a wry chuckle, clanking his brand new, diamond-encrusted belt down pride of place for his defeated opponent to see. 'As you say, "what do you want to talk about?"'

     Cody took in a steadying breath. 'Crown Jewel. Bash in Berlin. What did you do to Randy?'

     'Hmm.' Gunther ran a finger along the gold edge of the championship then straightened up, Cody stepping out of harm's way as the Austrian moved past him towards his possessions. 'You want answers.' Glancing back over his shoulder, Cody saw the key, sitting right there on the bench, a fingertip away. He could grab it, rush for the door, get out. 

     But the pull for answers was too strong, too important. He stayed put.

     Behind him, Gunther was rummaging through one of the bags. 'You see that beautiful belt, right there?' Cody's blue eyes moved from the key to the Crown Jewel Championship. 'That belongs to me, to prove that I am the better champion. A king of champions.'

     Suddenly, something wrapped around Cody's neck and jerked him backwards, choking him. His hands went to his throat, fingers grasping at a leather strap and he tried to pull it away but it tightened even more, almost lifting him off his feet. 

     Then he was let go, landing awkwardly on his bad knee and almost crumbling to the floor. Both hands grasped the garrotte around his neck, finding what felt like a dog's collar.

     'And as King of Champions,' Gunther went on, his voice booming directly behind him, 'you belong to me now too. You want answers? You want to know what I did to Randy?' Heavy footsteps thundered around him, Gunther walking into his line of sight. Cody spotted what looked like a remote in his large hand. 'I will show you, welpe.'

     'What does that mean?' Cody hissed at the Austrian, but Gunther didn't seem to hear. Or care.

     'Dogs don't talk,' he said, cryptically, confusing the blonde. 'Now, let's start with a simple command, shall we? Sitz.' He looked expectantly at Cody who glared right back, not understanding this bizarre situation at all. 'Sitz!' Again, Cody refused to move. 'I said sitz.'

     'I don't under- AAAGHHHH!!!!!' A bolt of electricity screamed across Cody's head and down his spine. Every one of his muscles were momentarily paralysed and his legs fell out from underneath him, sending him crashing to the tiled floor. He sat panting on the ground, gasping with shock.

     'That's it, braver hund.' 

     Cody's mind was whirring, trying to make sense of what the hell just happened. Shock collar, his mind cried out in panic. He put you in a shock collar!

     'Let's try another,' Gunther's frame seemed even larger now as it loomed over Cody like a great, terrible beast. 'How about-' 

     But before he could finish, the moment was interrupted by the shrill sound of a cell phone ringing. Gunther went searching for it, allowing Cody a moment to draw breath and assess his dire situation. He could stall no longer, he had to get the key, it was right there and-

     'Randy.'

     Randy?!

     'Yes, I have your bitch right here with me,' Gunther sneered down the phone, his cold eyes finding the fallen champion at his feet. 'A fine specimen he is too. A pure-bred pedigree, from a distinguished lineage, same as you, Randy.' The Austrian trailed his fingers up between Cody's shoulder blades, making the blonde shudder as his captor playfully ruffled the platinum bristles at the back of his neck. 'Such a beautiful creature.'

     For the first time that evening, the fear began to claw at him. He looked up at Gunther, reaching for the cell in his hand. 'Please, let me-'

     'Do you want to speak with him, Randy? Here.' Gunther held the phone close and the tears almost rushed in when he heard his husband's terror-laced voice. 

     'Cody? Are you there?'

     'I'm here, Randy,' he said, swallowing down his anguish. 'I'll be fine.'

     'I'm coming for you. Just hold on.'    

     'Randy...' Cody took in a quick breath, steeling himself. 'Don't wait up for me, ok?'

     'Tell me where you are!' Randy's panic cranked up several notches. 'I'll come find-'

     Gunther pulled the cell away, cutting the conversation off. The two men locked eyes as the Ring General took several steps back and placed the phone down on the floor. Cody could hear the small, tinny sound of Randy's voice calling his name frantically and it tore his hear to shreds.

     But then, Gunther walked away to the other side of the room, leaving the cell behind. Cody sensed another game, feeling his skin prick with nerves when his captor brandished the control in his hand. A threat. 'No more distractions,' he boomed, his thumb hovering over the large red button on the remote. 'Let's continue with our training. Next command; steh.'

     'You want me to stay?' Cody scoffed up at the huge gargoyle. 'Is that it?' Gunther said nothing, only stroked his calloused thumb around the edges of the red button. 'Well, I say, over my dead body!'

     Cody leapt forward, arm stretched for the cell when another bolt shot through him, fiercer and longer this time. He fell on his side, his whole body turning as stiff as a board, stretching out like a piece of taffy on the hook. 

     Then it released him.

     He was closer now, he just had to reach up and-

     Another bolt, even stronger than the last. It went on for close to ten seconds before it let him go. 

     The pain was unbearable, his body felt like was being roasted from the inside out. But he gritted his teeth, lowered his brow and heaved his trembling hand from the tiles to grab the-

     'AAAAAGGHHHHHHHHHH!'

     He was on fire! His blood boiling in his veins! The pain convulsed through him, making his helpless frame judder like a fish caught on dry land. He screamed until his lungs collapsed. 

     Gunther released his hold on the button. Cody's tattered breaths filled the air, trying to breath through the agony. 

     'I expected you to be difficult,' Gunther muttered. 'What else could I expect from Randy's bitch. But I broke him eventually, and I will break you too.'

     A pocket of bile threw up into Cody's mouth. He spat it out with contempt. 

     'I am nobody's bitch!' he declared, struggling up to one elbow, a feat which took every ounce of strength and spirit he possessed, 'and I am nothing like Randy.'

     Tilting his head slightly, Gunther chewed over Cody's brave words. 'We'll see.'

     He slammed his thumb over the button.

     'AAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!'

     Droplets of tepid water broke Cody from his stupour. He found his face pressed down on the tiles and feared for a moment that the rivulets rushing down his face were piss but fortunately it didn't taste like it. It was only water.

     'Wake up, Cody,' Gunther's deep, menacing voice vibrated into his skull. 'I didn't give the order to rest.'

     His arms were numb, dead to any feeling. So were his legs. Only his neck creaked slowly up to allow him to turn his head and find his captor. He was settling back down onto the bench, taking a swig from the water bottle he had used to rouse Cody from unconsciousness. He looked tired. They had been at this for hours now.

     'You are one stubborn little scheiße, I'll admit that,' Gunther said, leaning back against the wall, dribbling the last dredges of water on his brow. 'I had Randy fully trained by now.'

     'M'said before,' Cody's clumsy lips tried to form words. 'M'nothing like... Randy...'

     'Yes, I see that now.' The Austrian paused for a moment, sitting as still as a grim sculpture. After a while, he leaned over and reached into a bag beside him, pulling from it something long and strange, with a tangle of leather tails dangling from one end. A flogger! 'You actually remind me more of someone else.' He inspected the item, holding in his hand like a precious bar of gold. 'Of Ludwig. Or, to be more precise... of Marcel.'

     Cody blinked at that. Trying to find the connection between himself and Gunther's snivelling lackey. Or why his previous name was so significant.

     'Marcel was a difficult dog to train too,' Gunther went on, teasing the thick strands of leather though his fingers. 'Stubborn, resilient, intelligent. Too intelligent. Just like you, he absorbed all the pain I inflicted on him and gave me nothing in return.' 

     Some feeling finally returned to Cody's body. Merely a flicker, but enough for him to draw his quivering arms underneath him and push himself up. He slumped against the wall behind him, keeping his chin up to observe his captor as he spun his tale.

     'But just like you, he had a weakness,' Gunther's cruel, evil eye found his and held on, like a locked jaw. 'He had Fabian.' Giovanni, Cody realised. Ludwig's long-time tag partner and another of Gunther's lackeys. Former tag-partner and lackey. Not anymore. Not after his teammates had turned on him and violently exiled him from Imperium.

     'I made a bargain with him,' Gunther went on, 'if he submitted to me, then no harm would come to Fabian. He didn't care about his own welfare but the man he loved... that was a different story. He finally gave himself over to me, unaware that his lover had already sold him out for his own worthless life.' 

     Cody's chest tightened, overwhelmed with empathy for his fellow victim. 

    'You see, there is a certain finesse with dog training. It's not always about getting quick results. Sometimes, it takes a little time, patience. All it needs is a single break-through, one moment for a bond of trust to be forged between a master and his pet. And over time that bond grows, link by link.'

     He had lost him. Cody couldn't follow the logic or why it related to him, but he could sense the danger growing closer every second. He flinched when Gunther stood up and took a step towards him, but he did not tread any closer. Instead, he placed the flogger on the ground between them then returned to his spot on the bench, his mammoth arms resting on his open thighs.

     'From this day on, I promise never to claim my winner's rights over Randy again.'

     Cody hitched a breath. Had he just heard him right? This couldn't be true. There had to be a catch!

     'If...?' He locked his blue eyes onto Gunther's.

     The Austrian smiled broadly, letting out a laugh like the rumble of thunder. 'You are a smart one,' he grinned, proudly. 'Letting Randy go means I have a space in my kennels that needs filling. Perhaps you know someone willing to take his place...?'

     There it was!

     Cody's gaze sank to the floor. He understood. The dog-catcher had the cunning stray cornered and had looped the leash slip around his throat. He looked at the flogger lying there, waiting.

     And he knew what to do.

     Letting out a wince of pain, he fell onto his hands and knees. His body was numb but he forced it to crawl on all fours across the tiles, grunting with each pain-filled, hard-fought inch, until he reached the flogger and bent his face down to it. Opening his mouth wide, he wrapped his tongue around it and pulled it in, his teeth crunching down into the worn leather of the handle to keep it secure as he lifted his head back up.

     That was the easy bit. 

     Cody hesitated, fighting that last piece of him that demanded he drop the flogger and grab the key still sitting there on the bench and make a dash for the door. But he remembered Randy, remembered that haunted look in his eyes and the tears on his cheeks and he couldn't bear a repeat of his husband's torment.

     So he crawled over to Gunther.

     'Braver hund,' his master smiled triumphantly, putting out his palm for Cody to drop the flogger in. He was rewarded with a gentle ruffle of his master's hand through his hair, trembling at the touch. Discovering that he hated Gunther's tenderness far more than he hated his brutality.

     'Now,' Gunther leered, stroking his hand all the way down Cody's bare back until it hit the waistband of his wrestling tights. Cody suppressed a gasp when the strange fingers slid right in. 'Let's see if you're ready for breeding.'

     Randy broke his promise. He was waiting for him.

     Cody jumped when he opened the door to his tour bus and found his husband there on the steps, on the brink of sleep. As soon as he saw Cody though, he jumped back to life and grabbed him up in a bruising hug.

     'Cody! Are you-? Did he hurt you? Talk to me.'

     But what could he say? How could he begin to explain?

     'I feel dirty,' he said at last.

     Randy understood. 'Let's run you a shower.'

     His husband took great care with him, letting Cody strip himself then helped him into the small shower unit on the bus, turning the water up good and hot. Cody didn't have enough energy in him to stand, instead sitting on the floor with his knees bunched up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them protectively while Randy gently scrubbed away the filth of Gunther's winner's room with soap and a sponge. He asked no questions, knew better than that. Knew better than anyone.

     Even now, Cody could see that trauma in his husband's grey-blue eyes and wondered if he now looked that way too. Now that he had endured the same torture. But he had only received it once, Randy had lost to that monster twice in a matter of mere months.

     Cody reached out and grabbed his husband tightly by the wrist. Randy gave a start and stared wide-eyed at his lover who used his other hand to cup the Viper's bristly cheek. 

     'He told you you were weak,' Cody said, his voice steady as a rock in stormy waters, bashed and buffeted yet standing firm. 'You're not, Randy. Don't believe him. You are the strongest man I know.'

     The Viper's jaw fell slack, hanging open as words tried and failed to come out. His brow furrowed and his eyes blinked, each time manifesting more spots of light which blurred out the grey-blue. He gave a wobbly nod and tried to look away.

     But Cody grabbed his chin with both hands and lifted his head back up proudly. Pulling him in under the hot spray, he brought their lips together and kissed him passionately. And when the kiss was over, he rested his forehead against Randy's, drinking in the warmth and love from his husband, filling his empty soul back up to the brim again.

     'We both are,' he said. 'We're both stronger. Together.'

[aceattorneyfastfood]

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

Do you do requests? If not u can ignore this. Do u know how people say that a hero would save the world over u, when a villain would save u? That w Hiccup. Like Hiccup having to choose between saving y/n or others and he doesn’t choose y/n and then believes she’s dead. That would be the final straw for her and she would eventually start a relationship w the dragon hunters.

Can u tell I love angst😭

Castoff

Pairing: Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Villain!Reader

Words: 2328

The gentle brush of fingertips as they slip apart, the pounding of blood as his heart falls out of your grasp. Those are feelings you are familiar with. Your relationship is one made up of meanings searched for where they are not, a deep care uprooted by a raging current and a single, meaningful mistake.

Tags: Angst, fem!reader, heartbreak, villain reader, unresolved insecurity, anger, canon divergent, first part?, suggestive content, RTTE, Httyd 2, 'Always the Angel, Never the God' adjacent

Next>

He knew before she did. You knew just as long as him. It wasn’t the kind of thing you or anyone else talked about, really, not to anyone but your parents and your true meant-to-be. But it was there. And you knew for the longest time that they were meant for eachother.

You didn’t know that it would have ever ended. Yet somehow, supposedly, it did. You still felt like an outlier, though. Your heart was his for so long that to see them together felt like a betrayal, and to be with him now felt like a betrayal of that.

You saw the look in his eyes, you watched them treat each other so familiarly, watched the others close in around them, perhaps looking to share in the joyful atmosphere, knowing that should you step into the light, the moment would be ruined.

You stepped away from the half open door, back into the darkness of the cabin, wondering how they could be so happy together even after the raid, a skirmish so tough and violent with some new dragon hunters from outside the area, unlike any of the ones you’d dealt with before. 

There was true love, romantic love and meant-to-be love.

Brown armor, red shirt, green eyes. Hands held gently, preciously out for your own.  

For the longest time, you didn’t have a love, true or meant-to-be. Well, you had a love that was certain to be true, but wrong in that it was made for someone who’d already given his heart to another. A heart that he’d, supposedly, taken back.

Now, you wondered what sort of love he held for you.

You made to reach out, but instead you turned away, missing the look of hurt you knew you would be there. You couldn’t, not with any of the others around. 

You didn’t miss the hushed conversation, carried on just the same as it was earlier but in lower tones, the small looks shared between them, the unsaid idea that maybe you just weren’t right. That you were a bad pair.

You knew what would greet you if you looked back; the hurt in his eyes, the loose brows, the slight disappointed tilt of his lips. 

You furrowed your brows. You let him down again. 

But it didn’t feel right, to love and share love, especially with her so closely there. With the ghost of them ever so present. It filled you with shame.

There was no bitterness held, only guilt born from many nights spent awake condemning yourself for your yearning. It was something you’d long since accepted was meant only for the dark of night, when no one else was awake enough to hear your heart flutter.

You still felt as if he was hers, that you were encroaching on something you weren’t supposed to have. It was a messy situation. They ended amicably, you’d been feeling terribly for a long, long time. You wondered if the feeling, the bone-deep hate for yourself, would ever go away, like you’d dreamed.

You had to stop and wonder when Hiccup the Useless became Hiccup and Useless. 

You buried your head into your knees, tired of staring out over the windy clifftop. No number of waves or gusts of wind could brush away your troubles.

You didn’t even miss Berk. You didn’t have a reason to go, nor one to stay. Just a floater, tethered only just so by the tattered, frayed strings of your own heart.

He was sitting next to you, a silent question on his lips, left unsaid but just as clearly heard.

You couldn’t forget how lonely you were, then and before, after he left you. A friend, somehow still physically so close and yet so far out of your reach. How quickly you were othered, how quickly you were labeled a pitiful tag-on. No amount of love, hidden nor shared, could ever make up for that.

Something tense was in the air between the two of you. You refused to give it a name, though you knew what it was just as well. It felt like the end. It felt like a new, terrible beginning. It felt like the heaviness in your gut and the slight burning of your eyes caused by the thin spray.

 Your touching fingertips became more as you clutched his hand, squeezing it.

You’d always been the confidant. To have the position switched was odd, unfamiliar. Hiccup was gawky and unsure in your boots. To have your troubles laid out between the two of you, of which there were many, disturbed you. The idea felt like a violation. 

So, without the words to speak them, you worked around. You found words you could speak, parts of some that were difficult and some that weren’t and strung them together like the split stems of flowers into a very nearly presentable crown.

You turned to your right, looked at him pleadingly, though you weren’t sure what you were pleading for. Nothing, everything at once, not to leave you behind, not to make you stay.

“Hiccup,” You stared hoarsely, hesitantly. It was silly, it was stupid saying it aloud. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t. He never would. 

Truly, you had only one question.

“Do you love me?” You asked. He looked confused, startled.

You leaned closer. You couldn’t tell which way he moved, if he moved at all. You imagined he moved away. He waited.

He looked at you expectantly. Unsurely. Why weren’t you moving closer? 

You’d never loved or been loved in any sort of way which mattered. The fact that you hadn’t felt like a burden, somehow just another reason as to why you weren’t deserving. An onerous boon that you just wanted to be rid of.

You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know if you could.

He knew what was supposed to happen next. He’d experienced it; done it and had it done many times over. You hadn’t.

You two hadn’t been that close yet, not at all, not physically. This was not a boundary the two of you had yet crossed. You shared nothing more than a few mumbled words into the neck, a few shared words in your nook, a tight embrace and hands held loosely in the quiet darkness of the night. Promises, dedications. No actions.

The others knew about it, though. They heard the declaration, quiet and uttered as if it was just a casual thing. For him it was. You said nothing.

How could you?

You hesitated, waiting for an answer. Your lips twitched. Your eyes burned, stronger then. You shook your head and dropped his hand, which he let fall to the wayside. Using your hands and the floor, you pushed away.

As always, you couldn’t bear it. He waited for you, just as you didn’t want to be someone to wait for. You wanted to already have it. You wanted back the years you spent wasting away, coveted back the years you spent watching him give what you desperately needed so casually to another.

You stood, then.

It was a surprise when the two of you came together. No one had expected it. It seemed off, out of place. You weren’t sure Hiccup himself had, drifting in the spaces left between after he and her had split paths. 

You turned. You held your elbows and hunched your shoulders, turning your back to him and pushing against the wind, which though was light, felt all of the sudden as if it was way too much.

You weren’t sure he meant it. Whether or not this was real or something he’d just fallen into as per convenience.

 You did. You meant it. He was your true, he was your romantic.

What kind of love do you hold for me?

You knew the answer, plain and simple.

None. None at all.

You stood in the darkness of your cabin. Your windows were blocked, though you didn’t need the light. You’d been in for a while, you were used to it.

You’d exhausted your usual time-taking avenues, left with nothing but maintenance; folding, organizing, sorting. 

It was awkward. Since the clifftop, the two of you were distant. You didn’t avoid each other, but you also didn’t speak. It was a miracle that nothing had happened yet to force the two of you together.

You were beginning to believe that was the end of your relationship. You were having a hard time accepting it, though the feeling was creeping into your heart slowly and you were beginning to feel empty.

You didn’t flinch as the door to your cabin opened, creaking, though you winced as you turned back towards the light, started as he came up, pressing you against the wall.

Your lips met. 

It was not rough, more just so. It unbalanced you all the same.

He was unsure, nervous. Clumsy. But it was strong. But it was meaningful. But you could tell he meant it. 

You molded into his shape just as he molded into yours. Hesitantly, unsurely,  you responded. He was gentle enough to guide you.

Once again, you asked, though not so much in words as actions; Do you love me?

And this time, he responded. Your heart bloomed. Not violently, not roughly, just so, enough for a shining pink petal to crest the green sepal.

Yes. Yes, I do love you.

You were light, you were fervent, you were free. You believed him.

The same hunters from before. The lot of you had gotten captured. You were too distressed to remember if it had been your fault. There were rocks sharpened to a point below you, gray skies and windy, stormy seas rushing tumultuously below.

You were far from the Edge. In unfamiliar territory. Any allies unaware and absent. The dragons, trapped in cages long behind you.

Hunters were sailing away behind you. It was a victory, however it was also one that came with a terrible price. Something had been set off, violently at that, throwing you off the edge of the cliff face, destabilizing the cage held by a chain pinned to the rock above by a thin  steel nail.

“Hiccup,” You pleaded, breathlessly as your body struggled to keep up with your weight, with the rope  and chains tied around your ankle,  “H-elp.”

I need you.

“Just- hold on, the others-” He crouched, glancing frantically between you and the others handing caged off the side. Their chains were thin, yours were thicker though both were just as equally dangerous.

Please, I need you now.

You jerked back as another rope snapped. Unheard by his ears, drowned out by the raucous waves below and by the rattling of empty cages, pushed around in the air. Unseen as his eyes trained on the others. 

Hiccup didn’t see, eyes trained elsewhere. There was no time to waste. After all, if he helped you up, in the time that took, they might fall. They would fall.

“Hiccup!” Astrid shouted. Snotlout shouted. You remembered how they looked before you’re been knocked off. Fishlegs panicking, mumbling to himself zealously, distress projected clearly for all to see. Ruffnut and Tuffnut yelled mindlessly into the air, a waning battlecry as the island deteriorated around you

Somehow, in between terror, in between the pain of your ankle as it threatened to snap and the taut muscle of your arms, a grim doom began to worm and thrash and coil in your gut.

“I’m not- I’m not going to make it,” You said desperately, voice crackling, face crunching as tears began to spill over the edge, shoulders straining, holding on just barely. 

 “Please, there’s-Just, cut me loose-” You prayed, to whichever god was out there, he still had his knife. That he had something sharp. You were going to die.

You could tell he was stressed, overwhelmed, just as panicked. He shifted restlessly, stiffly, perhaps a million times in the last minute. Noise built up in his throat as he spoke but you were unable to hear clearly as your ears filled with buzzing. You tried to speak, but you couldn’t hear your own voice, too breathless and strained to make a sound.

You watched his eyes flicker, you saw the soot on his face and each strand of his hair as it waved in great detail, your world slowing down to a halt.

He stopped. You caught his eyes briefly, you saw as an idea formed, as his resolve hardened, and as he made his choice. You knew it would not be one he made for you.

“Hold on!” Hiccup shouted, as the other’s cries grew more intense, ears deaf to your pleas. He pushed away towards the other side of the cliff, running towards the others as their cage dipped once again.

There was a sharp pain in your chest, as if the nails you dug in with so despairingly were instead gripping your lungs, sharp and unforgiving.

Do you love me?

You were going to die.

 You blinked away tears and snot and all the little, tiny shards of your heart that had gotten stuck in your eyes on their way out.

You just had to hold on. You just had to hold on until Hiccup got back.

You shouted something wild, something animal as your fingers gave, numb with cold and sliding loose even as you commanded them to grip tight. You had no way to fight, no thing in which to fight with as your hold weakened on the slippery rock.

Your nails hurt as they worked against rock and loose dirt, fragile roots and falling stones. Your fingers pained as they worked furiously against themselves.

Hiccup left you. He wasn’t going to come back. You were going to die before he came back.

It was like a stake had been shoved into your gut.

Hiccup left you.

You were going to die.

Your vision whited out.

You were going to die.

You couldn't hold on any longer.

You fell.

[rockgodklav]

“When you sent me that ‘We’re getting the band back together!’ TikTok were you telling me you want to start up the band again or just thought it was funny? Kay is still at the pharmacy and I can really feel the lack of meds right now.”

- @ask-debeste-winner

“Mostly for the funnies, ja, but we should hang out sometime soon.”

[wonderful-emoji]

moodboard contest suggestion: wild animal prom gone wrong

[zenbofication]

Jax teased her a little too much for a little too long, making her even more sullen than usual. So, in lieu of an apology, he promised that on their next date night he would let her talk about whatever she wanted the entire time without a single complaint from him. When she gave him that cute, genuine grin he felt it would be worth the effort. But he truly wasn't prepared for the can of worms he opened. It felt like days or even months had passed since then and she still hadn't run out of visual novels to talk about. It was cute at first and kinda interesting with how crazy some of their plots were, but that was before his digital avatar had gone numb from disuse, which he didn't know could even happen. He squeezed her pillowy legs to try and stay sane as it didn't seem like she was going to stop anytime soon. However, he's not sure how much more he could take...

[maythray]

ms paint requests! @moonsidesong @trickylcky @stepclam

[l1ghtbulb]

can you draw winnerclock :3 /nf

Winner's hand GIVES ME PAIN!! But omg! I'm glad they made up, winnerclock remarriage!/j

Reblogs are appreciated :>

[quinloki]

Birthday Request Even v 2024

Raffle Winners and Updates \o/

Hey all - I got so busy yesterday with Birthday Stuff I forgot about the raffle until I woke up this morning. ^_^

Thank you to Everyone who wished my happy birthday, early, belated or otherwise ❤️🥰😍 Y'all made it one of the best birthdays I've had in a while ^_^

I'm current working on drabble 33 of the goal of 43 - and I've got 10 days to do it O_O So here's hoping!

August 1st I'll be opening up Art and Writing Commissions, so keep your eyes peeled for that. You can go to my Commission info page on the pinned post and peep the parameters and prices, but I won't be accepting anything until 8/1 so keep that in mind.

Alright, and the Raffle Winners! \o/

@kazieai @remisloves @whispers-of-lilith

You all have the choice of the below options - Note that the Art and Writing will be done within 30 days of you letting me know what you'd like from me, but the OC/Self-insert Cameo could take a while. I don't want to shoe-horn it in haphazardly, so I'll be waiting for a good time to use it. ^_^

-:- 1,000 words of anything you want (within reason) - can be a one-shot, can be a demand for a specific title (make me work on that title you've been dying to read more of). Just has to be One Piece related.

-:- OC Cameo - I'll plunk your OC/self-insert into a story (that is not the Host Club AU ^^; )

-:- I'll draw something for you \o/ I'm not great, but hey, free art xD

Message me here, or on discord with what you'd like =D

THANK YOU SO MUCH EVERYONE WHO SUBMITTED REQUESTS AND INTERACTED WITH THE EVENT \o/

(I was gonna use a different image, but omfg look that SMIRK)

[thlayli-ra]

Can you do the kissing away their tears with drew and punk

Since Bad Blood, I have had a few requests for another instalment of the Winner's Room AU, then @afterdarkprincess inspired me with her post and I had this perfect little prompt for my Trick or Treat event sitting in my askbox, so I've mashed the whole lot together to write the final chapter of the Winner's Room AU. Enjoy!

Treat - 'Kissing Away Their Tears'

Characters - CM Punk, Drew McIntyre

Rating - Mature

Warnings - Blood, angst, smut, religious imagery

They say that dogs often find a quiet place to be alone when they know they're going to die.

Perhaps that was why Drew wanted to be by himself right now. He may not have been literally dying but he felt like he was, the pain in his head and body so visceral he could hardly stand. But the greatest pain of all was in his chest, off-centre, slightly to the left. In his heart. For when his blood and sweat had run out of him in great gushing rivers, something else had left him too, a piece of his soul, leaving behind a black hole like a decayed crust.

He sat bunched up on the floor, the room around him pitch black and silent. Pulling his knees up tighter to his chest, he set his forehead upon them, wincing at the anguish that wailed from the gruesome gash on his crown and let out a fresh surge of tears, coating his already damp and sticky cheeks.

No, he may not literally be dying. Yet, it felt like the end.

He never heard the door opening or the shuffling of booted feet stepping into the room. It was only when the room around him became drenched in cold, hard light that he even realised his solitude had been shattered. He peeked through his intertwined arms, blue glassy eyes trailing up the black boots, past the black and white kick pads, over the black and white trunks with the single heart among the six-pointed stars, panels of white on either side mirroring the white checked panels on Drew's own trunks, all finished off with a decorative silver lining. Ring gear as filthy and as soiled as his own attire.

Drew's gaze did not venture any further. Not up past the black gothic writing arched over the naval, or the twisting skull and serpent tattoo, and certainly not up past the greying beard and the thin, harsh lips and the crooked nose and definitely not into those two cruel pools of olive green that shimmered whenever they hit the light.

He didn't want to see the look on Punk's face. He knew why he was here, had even hid in the desperate hope that he wouldn't come for him. These past months, he had discovered first hand the depths of cruelty that this man was capable of and in only the past hour had been the ill-fated victim of the worst of it. For nearly forty-five minutes he had been beaten and maimed and tortured, busted open and made to bleed like a blessed statue of the Virgin Mary.

But with Punk, it was always a given that he could raise his game up another level, and Drew trembled at the prospect of what the older man would do to him now that he had a solid victory under his belt and they were completely alone with no interference this time.

'Please don't hurt me,' his quivering lips uttered quietly.

A nasally sigh permeated the air and another soft shuffle of boots as Punk made his way towards him. The Scot drew his large legs in tighter, rolling up into himself like a frightened hedgehog who's spines had been torn out, one-by-one. Vaguely aware of the demon crouching down in front of him.

Craggy fingers teased their way under his chin and coaxed it back. Drew flinched at the tenderness of their touch, softly guiding his blurry gaze up, but the Scot would not be tricked and locked his eyes instead on the swirling pattern of waves across Punk's chest, boxed in on either side by a white towel draped over his shoulders.

Another sigh. Punk sounded tired, but not the kind of exhausted tired he had been last time. More like mentally tired, emotionally tired, like a man who had been on the run his entire life and was now getting sick of running.

'Look at me,' his voice was deeper than usual, raspier. Drew wondered if his brief stint with the oxygen mask had affected it. Or perhaps, something else...? Had he also been-?

Drew wanted so much, so very much to look up but he was too afraid of what he would find, or worse, not find.

'Ok...' Punk's fingers slipped out from under his chin again and the fear dug deeper into Drew's chest. His hand moved on its own accord, wrapping around Punk's wrist and snaring it tightly.

'Shhh, it's ok,' Punk placed his own fingers gently around Drew's, stroking them with a feathery touch. 'I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.'

That should have terrified him yet the thought of him leaving terrified him even more.

Drew watched Punk's other fist, the fight tape circling it dyed a rich red, almost hiding the pencilled-on stigmata in the centre of his palm, as it clumsily found the edge of his towel and unfurled it from around his neck. The Scot gasped as it was pressed down onto the top of his head, directly above the horrific crevice cutting through his skin. As Punk applied more pressure, Drew's entire six foot five frame gave an almighty shudder and his lips parted enough for a fragile whimper to escape.

'Yeah, it's a real bad one,' Punk hushed out. 'Must have caught the edge of the tool box or something. You'll need to see the medic afterwards to get it stitched up.'

His words offered no comfort to Drew who gritted his teeth and tried to fight off the pain in his skull. Another whine sounded in his throat.

'Shhh, I know, I know.' The older man gave a little tug on his wrist but Drew grunted and refused to release it. 'Can I have my hand back, please?' There was a slight joviality in his tone. It helped put some of Drew's fears to rest. Surely he wasn't going to hurt him that much if he was making jokes and tending to his wounds? Eventually his fingers unclamped, and Punk pulled his wrist free. The sudden loss of connection panicked the Scotsman and he fumbled around for another part of Punk to hold, finding a spot on the older man's thigh and curling his fingers into the muggy, moist seam of his knee pad.

'You're a mess,' Punk noted aloud, using his newly freed hand to pick up the corner of the towel and wipe at the bloodstains on Drew's face.

Something sparked inside of Drew, a knee-jerk reaction that he couldn't contain. 'Because of you,' he spat back at the other man, albeit feebly.

'I promised you I would make you bleed.'

'And you did.'

'I did.'

'And now it's-' Oh no! No, no, please. Not here, not right in front of him! But his gates had been kicked in by this very man until they were destroyed completely, hanging off of their hinges all warped and mangled. Drew could no longer hold back the welling tide inside of him. 'I-it's over!'

Huge, fat tears poured from his eyes. His shoulder began to quake, wracked with his heart-wrenching sobs. And Drew had nothing left, no energy or defences, however small, remaining to stop it. So he sobbed like a lost child, clenching his fingers even tighter around the edge of Punk's knee pad, not a single shred of light to help guide him through the suffocating darkness.

'Hey, now.' The towel was removed from his head and dropped to the floor. Now both sets of inked hands were cupping Drew's bearded cheeks and he gave no more resistance as his jaw was tilted back and finally, finally he looked up.

He looked at Punk.

The older man didn't just sound tired, he looked tired. The ever-present bags under his eyes were swollen and puffy, coloured a deep pink. His scruffy, silver-speckled cheeks were drawn, his hair a tangled mess and the area around his eye sockets sunken in.

But it was his eyes themselves that grasped Drew's heart and squeezed it mercilessly. The way they gently shimmered like the quiet ripples of a lake in the moonlight. The delicate tenderness in them that struck Drew as viciously as the heavy metal wrench had in the cell.

Punk's white lips parted slightly, a warm breeze ghosting on Drew's face.

'Please don't cry.'

Drew shook his head with despair. Defeated, and not because his shoulders had been pinned to the mat for the one, two, three. 'First, I lost our bracelet and now... now I'm losing you too.'

Punk sighed again, pulling in his bottom lip to rake it with his teeth. 'I was never yours, Drew,' he said at last, and the Scot eyes filled again, weighted by the pull of the concrete slab chained to his feet dragging him beneath the waves to drown. 'But...' a sliver of Punk's tongue appeared at the corner of his mouth, stroked timidly across his lips.

Drew blinked up expectantly.

'.. but for tonight, you are mine.'

He leaned in, placing those same lips on Drew's cheek. The Scotsman froze, paralysed by Punk's taser lips brushing his skin. Unable to do anything, not even breathe, as one-by-one Punk kissed away every single wet droplet trickling down his face. His kisses were tranquil and sweet, each one dropping a piece of serenity back into Drew's soul, helping to repair some of the fractures left by the brutality of their match.

After chasing away the last tear, Punk pulled back every so slightly, finding the crystal blues of Drew's eyes, pausing, thinking. Then mentally saying 'fuck it' and lunging in to capture Drew's lips. At first, the Scot didn't know what to do but when he felt Punk's tongue tease his own, a simmering tang bursting on his taste buds, he returned in kind. Both of their mouth opened up, allowing the other in and they enthusiastically explored one another, probing deep into each crevice and fold. Drew's tongue found the empty groove of Punk's missing molar and swirled in the gap until his lips curled with mirth and a thought suddenly popped into his head.

This is the first time we've ever kissed!

All the vile, cruel, sadistic crimes they had inflicted on one another and they'd never so much as shared a single kiss. It seemed bizarre under the circumstances.

But they were more than making up for lost time, growing greedy and sloppy with one another's lips until at last Punk let go, a misty look in his eyes and a lopsided smirk on his lips. Lifting himself up slightly on his knees, his blood-splattered fingers went to the waistband of his trunks and pulled out the knotted ties holding them up. Drew looked on as Punk slowly and deliberately untied the chords, savouring the show being played out for him, especially relishing the part when Punk hooked both of his thumbs in the slackened waistband and slipped them down his thighs, over his kick pads and off, leaving him naked from the knees up.

Punk's busy hands set to work, clutching at Drew's ankles to tempt his gigantic legs down in order to straddle the larger man's lap, then seized his wrists and guided Drew's hands to his hips. The Scot readily obeyed, holding his holy relic steady as he nudged in closer. Punk's own fingers were fiddling with the studded waistband of Drew's bloodied trunks, yanking it down enough to free the Scot's cock. He gasped loudly when Punk looped his fist around it and gave it several delicious strokes from root to tip.

Closing his eyes, the Scotsman tipped his head back against the frigid wall, every other sensation suddenly numbed bar the glorious one between his legs. This was an entirely new side to Punk that he had never imagined possible. This man, who had shown him nothing but hatred and spite all these months, all these years, was now being so loving, so affectionate, so gentle, caressing him with all the tenderness of an angel's wing. It was like a religious experience, a vision, a revelation, and suddenly he realised this this was all he'd ever wanted and had been so blind to it this whole time simply because he had no idea it even existed.

Somehow, some way, there was enough blood left in Drew for it all to rush south. Punk eyed the bulging appendage, mesmerised. His fingers found each side of Drew's head and delicately slid his foreskin back, lifting the veil to admire his blushing bride beneath. Drew let out a shaky breath, his cock bobbing with delight.

No more words needed to be said between them. They had put everything out there in the open, they had traded barbs on the mic, they had flogged the skin from one another's back, they had beaten each other until they had painted the canvas with their blood. There was nothing more to give.

Except one thing. One last gift that Punk had to offer Drew; and as he lifted himself up onto his knees and lined himself up with his throbbing cock, placing his forearms on Drew's broad shoulders to lock on tight to his gaze, he readily gave that gift.

His undying attention. At long last.

And Drew accepted it gleefully, never once wavering from his intense hazel stare as Punk pushed down onto him, piercing himself with the spear. His hole opened wide like a flower in the sun, welcoming Drew's warmth in and he slipped in easily. It was nothing at all like that time after Summerslam, in the showers. It felt right, as if it was their natural state, a habit, like putting on his wedding ring every morning. Or perhaps not, perhaps more like, when he used to put Punk's bracelet on, after the elastic had stretched loose to accommodate Drew's meatier wrist. Within only a couple of pushes, Punk had taken him in all the way to the hilt and it felt so incredible that Drew nearly cried again.

They began to move, Drew thrusting his eager hips into Punk while the older man squatted down onto him, both finding a perfect rhythm easily and settling into it. Both starting to blush and bead with sweat, the dried blood on their faces staining the dewdrops scarlet to look like fresh clots skimming off their brows. Both of them keeping their eyes trained on each other and only each other.

And in that moment, Drew saw the lines of blood on Punk's face, saw his short hair spiked out like a crown of thorns and as he bobbed up and down, he would catch the single light in the room directly behind him, and the Scot gasped aloud when the vision manifested into reality.

He had been wrong. Punk was not a succubus or a demon. He was a saint, with a halo shining around his head.

Punk's words from a week ago crashed into him. It had been more than a threat - it had been a prophecy. One that had come to fruition;

'You will look up,

and I will wipe the blood from your eyes so you see me,

And it's not a god you're praying to,

It's not the devil you're praying to.

You will be praying to

CM Punk!'