#roughly painted blood under cut

[zeeckz]

art trade w @evilwizardval ^_^ his OC Donovan

[scap34]

sub! bottom! sugarbaby! Toji x top! mean! manipulative! sugar daddy! sadistic! male!reader

warning: cussing, dirty talk, degrading, praising, sex

Fucking away your sugar baby’s bad habits <3

“A narcissistic, rude, temperamental,” you said grunting, rutting your hip against him with each word. Pistoning your cock into his warm hole, aiming right for his prostate sending him into a state of bliss. Cries and moans leaving his swollen lips. 

The defiance in his expression disappeared without a trace. He had no comeback other than sweet whining and begging to cum. 

“Slut,” you smirked and thrusted into him harder, bending him forward. His knees almost touching the mattress, calves trembling in your hold. You folded him, until his eyes met you, laying flat with his hole in the air. 

You grinned staring into his watery eyes. You weren’t even sure if that dumb whore could understand you, his eyes glazed over utterly pliant under your touch. 

Pressing your cock back into his loose hole you fucked him into the mattress, holding him roughly in position. Your eyes locked on his flushed, desperate face. 

You felt your orgasm building in your stomach, his pathetic cock twitching with pearly drops of precum. You wiped his pre cum up with your fingers and shoved it into his open mouth. He whined around your fingers, hot silky mouth immediately sucking on the digits. 

“However,” his pleasure addled mind must have registered something other than your cock fucking into his stomach. He looked up at you with a slight question. You could see a hint of trepidation behind the question. 

Fuck, it was prefect. Your sweet cock whore, so fucking worried about disappointing you. You could fuck it out of him. You will. 

You pull your cock out and slam it back into his hole. He gasped, his whole body trembling with pleasure. The question in his eyes disappeared, moans slipping out his mouth from around your fingers. 

“You take my cock so well, almost like,” you leaned in whispering against his ear. “You were made for it.” He whined and when he realized he couldn’t speak around your fingers, frantically nodded his head. His hole clung to your cock, as if he never wanted you to leave his body. 

You chuckled and continued your brutal pace, whispering degrading phases wrapped with praise. 

“Such a dumb bitch, only meant to be filled with cum. Gonna fill you up, baby. Nice and good. But you're still gonna come crying for my cock tomorrow aren’t you? Pathetic bitch. I should just keep my cock in you all the time.” 

Toji’s mind was filled with only two thoughts: yes and more. 

He was a broken mess of sobs and cut off whining. Saliva dribbled down his mouth, your fingers forcing his mouth open. 

He wanted to cum. He wanted to cum so fucking bad. He wanted you to cum in him, leave your mark deep in his guts.

Another deep thrust and you were cumming. He cried out as his own cock spurted out cum over you and his own stomach. His sharp teeth accidentally nipping your finger. 

Metallic blood, your blood, filled his mouth. He greedily sucked on your finger. You barely even felt the wound, pulling out your finger, you wiped your blood against his lips, painting them red like lipstick. 

He looked beautiful.

You pulled your cock out of him, watching it drip down his ass and onto his stomach. Smiling, you kissed his lips, lazily pulling back when you both ran out of air. 

“5 stars would fuck again.” He took a minute to process the statement. Then flushed darker than when you fucked him. 

You let his calves go with an affectionate squeeze. Rolling your shoulders, you reached over to the bed stand hiding a smirk. Pulling out your black card you held it out for him. “Good job. Go get yourself a treat.” 

You fucking piece of shit. He glared at the card then at your smug face. The effect of his glare was ruined by his cum covered body, the marks you left on his body and the way your blood stained his lips, smudged like lipstick. 

To you, he looked adorable like a wet kitten pretending to be tough. You held back your smile and frowned, urging him to take the card. 

“Well?” He glared at you harder, unconsciously tugging the sheets under him to cover his body from your cold impersonal gaze. The cum on his body, and sweat sticking to his skin, making him cold in a way he hadn’t felt. 

“Sorry,” his voice was hoarse, gruffer than usual. You didn’t feel threatened by his glare or him. His eyes were averted from yours, hands clenching the satin sheet as he sat up. 

It was clear he didn’t know what he was apologizing for. He just wanted your affection again. After sex wouldn’t you take care of him like before? He wanted to lay in your arms, spoiled and pampered under your touch, as you cleaned him up. 

He sucked in a deep breath and moved forward, crawling towards you with the grace of a big cat. He nuzzled his face against your hand and looked at your with a dependent gaze. 

“Take care of me?” Your baby exceeded your expectations. Your eyes widened briefly before you pulled him close to you. Kisses pressed into his hair, and all over his face. Your arms wrapped around him pulling him flush against your warm body. 

You had just wanted him to make him regret being a cold asshole, just a bit. Withholding aftercare and treating him like a prostitute seemed like a good idea. But Toji’s hurt eyes, begging for affection hit your heart.

“Yes. Fuck. I’m sorry. Love you. So fucking perfect.” You babbled as you smothered him with affection. He gladly leaned into your touch and wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck. 

“Love you too.” He mumbled against your skin, breathing in your scent. Don’t ever leave him. You were his and he was yours.

[beansprean]

a sketchy paint experiment that turned...well.

support me on Patreon!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: Close up of Nandor and Guillermo facing each other in profile on a glowing red background. A sneering Nandor is roughly gripping Guillermo's chin and cheek with one hand to pull his head up towards him, Guillermo's eyes going hazy as he gazes upwards. Nandor's mouth is open, tongue dangling out and coated in blood that he is slowly allowing to drip. He has positioned Guillermo's mouth just below, thumb pushing at his chin to force his pliant mouth open. Guillermo obediently curls his tongue out, centimeters from Nandor's, to catch the offered drip. One drip already has missed, staining Guillermo's cheek. /end ID

[fhrlclln]

NSFW request please! Could we get Miguel cockwarming his Spider!fem!S/O while they’re both still in their spider costumes? He couldn’t help it with how great she looked fighting some bad guys!

miguel o’hara x spider!fem! reader

ANON THIS IS SO SEXY. THE SPIDERSUIT IS ALWAYS AN A+ PLUS FOR ANYBODY WEARING IT, LIKE LOOK AT MIGUEL’S ASS LMAO. but anyways, cockwarming, hehe, i love you anon. <3 i added a lil sexual frustration into the mix ; ) cuz i felt like that would be so miguel lolz.

nsfw under the cut

｡･:*˚:✧｡

for as long as he had known you, miguel never had once experience this more intense feeling that he ever felt following the years you two had been together. you were spider-woman, as of many others but you were his spider-woman what mattered. and jesus, he thinks, as he stares at you with this embarrassing bloom inside of his mask whilst you’re swinging and kicking some couple of brutes causing havoc around nueva york. eyes strained solely on you as he merely grips his opponent’s neck tighter, not noticing how he was choking the poor man. the only question in his mind arousing as he tries to shake it off.

why did you have to wear that suit today?

he gulps, watching how you flex your each move as your ass kind of jiggled when you jumped. the tight-skin spider suit you were wearing made it worse as he feels the blood rush down to his trousers— or tights per-say. it was the suit he made specifically for you, similar to his color palette but overall suited your previous style perfectly. and he can’t help it, you just… just looked so fucking good kicking ass when your tits and ass are hugged tightly by your spidey-suit. he lets out a shaky sigh, still gripping the man’s neck not until someone interrupts his oogling.

“ahem! miguel? we got a couple of more coming in! maybe ogle later?” lyla flashes immediately in front of his face, he doesn’t notice the smirk right away from his assistant’s face as he focuses back on the mission, still glancing at you with sudden frustrating feeling clawing at the back of his neck and his crotch. he dodges an incoming bullet as it slightly grazes his shoulder making him wince, annoyed he got lost on focus.

“i know!” miguel grits his teeth as lyla disappears. he gazes hard on you as you suddenly felt your spidey-senses tingle as you glance at miguel, who merely glares again making you wave innocently at him in greeting as you bashed some thug’s head to the ground.

what was with him? you think, a little confused. huh.

•••

there was something definitely going on with him.

“you feel now what you’re doing to me, huh? speak, my love.” he whispers harshly against your ear, both of his arms wrapped around your waist as your body arches when he sinks you deeper on his cock. you gasp out, your mask thrown somewhere, discarded as the bottom piece of your suit was pushed down to your ankles while your top stayed on you uncomfortably. he was a menace when the two of you got back, immediately dragging you with his attitude to meet him in his lab for a ‘briefing’ for the next mission across the multiverse he says… but nope.

this. this certainly wasn’t you were expecting for a briefing. being tortured and cockwarmed for how many minutes you can’t remember since he fucked an orgasm into you roughly a while ago. his spent cum still nestling in you, painting your tight walls and his still hard cock inside you as well. he looked absolutely wrecked and pent-up when he murmured something about you in his suit that he made when he roughly groped your ass when he got his hands on you alone. you weren’t complaining! just that you wished he’d moved right now feeling the tip of his cock hit your cervix making you squirm again uncontrollably.

“miguel, please, it’s—“ you pleaded, moaning as he cups your breasts, massaging them with his big hands as you leaned your head on his big shoulder, whining loudly “‘is not fair.”

“not fair, hermosa? what wasn’t fair was you looking too good in this fucking suit.” he says with a chuckle, kissing your neck, nipping it lightly, fangs grazing your skin as you felt yourself shiver at the feeling of danger on your neck. you moved your hips a little, desperate for the movement of his cock thrusting into you but miguel was relentless. his way of punishing you when you literally think you didn’t do anything wrong! not his fault he couldn’t keep his dick calm around you.

“mhm, nu-uh, mamí. be a good girl for me and warm my cock up.” he slaps your thighs in warning sending shockwaves to your core along with your favorite nickname he has for you. gripping the meat of your thighs harshly as he chuckles when you swear at him with your cock-drunken mind. the feel of his cum in you, making you feel sticky and satiated at the same time was driving you nuts when his huge prick is filling you up to the brim, you can’t help it anymore, you need him.

“miguel, fuck you.” you whine again as he kisses your cheek. you can’t help but grin as you wiggle your hips again as you clench around him to tease him a bit to see what he’ll do. miguel smirks, grabbing your jaw, squishing your cheeks as he sets a final warning for you and your brattiness with a promise of a good fuck later. just that he wants to savor this moment a lil longer when he finally rips your suit to pieces that he can always make one for you after this.

“stay still or you’ll regret it.”

｡･:*˚:✧｡

listen, i wouldn’t mind my cause of 💀 be miguel’s cock— 😽🤭 ALSO MIGUEL CALLING US MAMÍ HAD ME ON MY KNEES RN *pats my shoulder* <3

[lis-likes-fics]

The Dragon's Hoard

Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x wife!Reader Word Count: 2.7 words Warnings: NSFW, smut, masochism/sadism, choking, hairpulling, oral (m and f!receiving), biting, scratching, marking, claiming, knife play, overstim, Daemon sort of ignores her when she says stop, brief aftercare, all of this is consensual... A/N: This was an ask I got like...months ago. I finally found the time to write it and I'm satisfied with how it turned out. This is on the shorter side of my works but I think it's good. Thank you and happy reading!

Daemon slams you into the wall with the brute force of his desperation. It knocks the breath from your lungs and leaves you gasping into his kiss.

Still, you seek him out, hungry for the feeling of his biting teeth in your lower lip as you claw at his arms and at his back. Daemon's hand wraps around the column of your throat, and with too much strength, he pushes you back against the wall with a heavy thump. His eyes examine you, face fallen into cold indifference as he watches you with swollen, bitten lips.

He says nothing, inclining his head to watch you down his nose. Slowly he leans forward, and you go to meet him in the middle, your movements like a yapping, nipping creature as he continues to pull away. His hand tightens when his lips and teeth mash with yours, bruising and cutting.

He shoves you down onto your knees, bracing one hand against the wall as the other tangles in your hair so tight, you feel he may pull it out. You take his demand for what it is as you undo his trousers, tugging and pulling until you've rid him of the burden. You're hungry for him as you take him into your mouth, laving your tongue against the heat of his cock.

Suckling around the tip, you close your eyes and moan at the sting in your scalp and the salty taste on your tongue. He doesn't give you too much time to relish, however, before he's bracing himself against the wall and tightening his grip in your hair. He holds you still as he shoves his cock into your mouth, down the tight squeeze of your throat. Tears spring to your eyes, and you gasp uselessly around his cock as he fucks into your throat with a fervency you have to catch up with.

He curses under his breath at the way you continue to suck. “That's it,” he huffs, looking down at you with dark eyes. “Just a cock hungry whore wanting me to fuck her stupid.”

Your moan comes out as a gag in between thrusts of his cock and only elevates his pleasure. Pressing himself down all the way, just one last time, he lingers there before he pulls out. You gasp for air as he catches his breath, grasping your arm roughly and forcing you to your feet. He takes your jaw in his harsh grasp and pulls you in for another kiss, biting your lip so hard that you taste the blood on your tongue when he pulls away.

You lick it, smiling drunkenly at him. “I’m not sure you’ve marked me quite well enough, my prince. You should try again, just to be sure.”

He’s amused by your antics but so lust-driven that he doesn’t return your suggestion with any words. He shoves you away so you stumble toward the table, bracing your hands on it. He comes up behind you and turns you around to face him, bending you back until you’re laying upon it.

He leans down, nuzzling his face in your neck and inhaling your scent. With a dark hum, he bares his teeth and begins licking and sucking and biting at the skin of your neck. You whimper as he paints bruises into your skin, marking you up so deeply, he may as well be carving his name into your flesh. His possessive hands tug at your clothes until he’s actually ripping your nightgown from your body, letting them fall in rags to the floor. His dull names dig into your skin, and you love the sharp sting of his claws.

When he eases up, it’s only to trail his bruising kisses down your chest, your belly, to the heat of your cunt. He doesn’t waste time in teasing you. He laps at the seam of your pussy and sucks around you as you let out a gasp. His fingers sink into your dripping cunt, wringing your pleasure from your body as he continues to use his skilled tongue to taste you. Sitting up, his hands thrust in and out of you with a speed and a strength that makes you dizzy as you moan his name for the whole castle to hear. And when he’s done with that, his fingers retreat from you and he grips the underside of your thighs, all the lift them up and fold you in half so he can continue to taste the sweet nectar of your cunt.

Daemon is merciless in the ways of pleasure, just as he is in the ways of pain. His nails claw and his teeth bite and he makes you cum over and over and over again on his tongue and on his fingers until you’re dizzy and sobbing. Your sensitive clit between his lips has you choking when his teeth threaten to bite down on it. There’s a point he’s sure he’s heard you say, “Please, Daemon,” in between sobs, “I can’t. Fuck, stop.” (Or maybe you were saying “I can’t fucking stop.” Either way, he cares little.)

But he knows better. He makes you cum twice more before he even considers pulling away. He’s content to spend forever making you shake.

He likes you like this. He likes watching you cry, watching you writhe in his grasp, watching you fall apart in his hands until you’re nothing but the little whore he knows you to be under your regality and poise. It doesn’t matter how powerful you are, you’re always his weak little creature when he has you in his grip.

When he’s satisfied with your trembling, he stands to his full height once more and lets your legs down. He turns you over on your stomach and watches your legs twitch. You cry out when his palm strikes the cheek of your ass, the harsh impact making you sting and ache where he’d hit you. His fingers tangle in your hair once more, and he pulls you back as he bends over your body and leans into your ear. You moan at the heat mixing all over your body, the pain and the pleasure and the desire mixing into a beautiful cocktail.

“Look at yourself,” he purrs. “You cry like a baby, pretty girl.” His hand spanks you again, just as harshly—if not worse—than the first time. You whine, your legs shaking even more. “Do you want me to fuck this little cunt of yours?”

You nod, catching your breath as you grip the edge of the table. His arm snakes around you so his hand settles on the column of your throat. He squeezes, and he can hear your breath straining around his grasp. Your eyes flutter, and a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “Use your words.”

Your lips part and, around the tightness of your throat, you speak. “Yes, my prince.”

The smallest grin curls his lips devilishly. “Such a good girl,” he hums. “But if you want me so badly, you’ll have to do one thing for me.”

Your breath picks up just a bit. “Anything.”

A flash of silver catches your eye as he pulls a blade from off the table. He presses it to your cheek, the metal cold against the heat in your face. “Hold still,” he murmurs, kissing your neck before letting the blade ease down your body as the anticipation and anxiety mixes in your belly. He pulls away from you, turning you on your back. He looks into your eyes, his gaze intense and penetrating. His voice is taunting but his words are careful.

“Promise me you'll hold still,” he mumbles.

You nod, trusting a man who isn't trustworthy. “I promise.” Your eyes are glazed and your words are sticky, but your promise is true.

Daemon wastes no more time being sentimental. He secures his blade and holds your side. You bare your teeth when he presses the sharp blade into the flesh just under your breast, just deep enough to scar. You squeeze your eyes shut and flex your muscles, whimpering meekly as you strain to keep still. It hurts but the searing pain has the twisting in your gut curling even more. You're as hot and as wet as the blood pooling in your wounds.

You feel like you've been there forever, bearing the pain for him because he'll reward you ten times over. And when he's done, his lips grin mischievously at the injuries he'll ensure scar. “Now you'll never forget who you belong to.”

At the bottom of your torso, small letters spelling DAEMON’S are carved into the skin above your ribs. He smiles, his hand squeezing your thigh, his cock twitching. He bends down kissing you roughly, his teeth taking your bottom lip and letting it go to let it slap back against your teeth.

“I love you, Daemon,” you gasp shallowly, dizzy and in need.

He doesn't answer you as his blade clatters to the floor. You're too dazed to notice his non-response. You groan when he lifts your legs over his shoulders, hooking them there by your ankles.

“Now shall I fuck you until you beg me to cum,” he breathes, “or until you beg me to stop?”

You whimper, your hands searching him out. He takes them, gathering them in one of his as he presses them against your chest so you can move them. “Until you beg me to stop, then.”

He thrusts his cock inside of you, fucking you in long, rough strokes. He presses in so deep, slamming the blunt head of his cock against the deepest parts of you and pulling back to do it all over again. Tears slip down the sides of your face, and you can’t help the moans that tear from your throat. You chant his name, begging him for more, more, more.

His hips slap into you ruthlessly. You clench around him, urging him to go harder still. It doesn’t hurt enough. You wanted to go blind with pleasure, to gasp for the breath he robbed from your lungs. He lets go of your hand to squeeze your breast, groping you roughly as he flicks your nipple with his thumb, circling it around and pinching it between his fingers.

His breath is heavy as it passes in and out of his throat, a rough dragging of air through his lungs. Groans fall from his lips, possessive grunts that fill your ears and cloud your mind with lust. With the pad of his thumb, he rubs mercilessly at your aching clit. You tighten around him as he circles the sensitive bud.

“That’s a good girl,” he hums, baring his teeth as he continues to fuck into you. You moan for him, letting him bear witness to all your sounds, all the ways he’s making you feel so good.

And when you cum, you cry his name as he fucks you through it. But he doesn’t stop. No, he promised he wouldn’t stop until you were begging him to. He promised he wouldn’t stop until you were a sobbing mess underneath him, shaking with exhaustion. You don’t think he would stop even then, addicted to the sight of you broken down to the pathetic whore he likes to reduce you to. He loves watching your dignity melt away into nothing but a twisting pile of debauchery before him.

He never lets up. Not when you cum on his cock the second time, or the third, or by the time the both of you have lost count, your heads clouded by a raging lust. And you do beg. When you’re sure your body can’t take anymore, when you’re sure your tired and aching limbs have had enough, you beg him—if not to stop—then to slow down so you can at least try to catch up with him.

But he doesn’t.

He wraps a hand around your throat and he squeezes and he tells you how beautiful you look when you cry. He uses your body to his own will, chasing his high now that you’ve finally reached that breaking point he so loves.

The truth is, Daemon does—in some ways—have love in his heart for you. But, by the gods, to see you tremble like prey beneath him trumps any kind of adoration or respect he holds for you. It unlocks something in him that has him squeezing his hand around your throat, watching you claw, the both of you unsure of whether you’re fighting to loosen his grip or to grasp tighter. He loves watching you fall apart.

“D-Daemon,” you strain, hazy and faded from your lust-driven thoughts. “Please, I can’t. No more, please.”

But he knows you. You can try to beg, but he knows what you want. And he gladly delivers. With a new strength, he takes a breath as he braces both hands at your body and fucks into you in search of his own release. Your eyes flutter and you choke on your own moans. It’s so much, all of it at once. You try to breathe, but all you do is gasp and sigh. His name stutters on your tongue and all you can do is gasp and sigh.

Knowing he’s close, you gather all the sense in your mind to tip him over the edge. And, because he has love for you, it works. “F-Fuck, Daemon. Breed me.”

He spills inside of you with a harsh grunt, slamming his hips into you as deep as they’ll go and then grinding some more to ensure none of his release can escape your womb. You moan, closing your eyes and bringing his hand back to your throat just to feel that tingling feeling once more. Daemon’s muscles flex and strain through his skin, and his teeth clamp shut as he tries to compose himself once more.

When he straightens his spine, he looks at you down his nose. His hair is a mess in his face, his eyes are down and lust-blown, his chest heaves with gasping breaths. He lets your legs down and steps away from you, his naked body retreating from you as you lay limply on the table. You’re so fazed, all you can do is lie there and await his return.

You don’t know how much time passes between him leaving and returning. When he does return, he has a newfound gentleness that warms you. He cleans the both of you up as best he cares to, taking extra care to push whatever has escaped the seam of your cunt back inside of you—who was he to deny your wish?

You wince when he sprinkles salt in your wound, waiting a moment before he cleans that up too. And once you’re properly cared for, he stretches his exerted muscles briefly.

You would have hoped he would carry you a little more carefully, but you don’t necessarily mind the way he slings you over his shoulder because he sets you down gently onto the bed and fixes your covers. He joins you a moment later, just soft enough from his exhaustion to wrap his arms around your body and hold you to him.

Daemon is not an affectionate man. You know where his heart and desires lie, you’ve been fully aware since the day you were married. But you are his wife, and you’ve been together with your special arrangements and agreements for too long for him not to feel for you. It doesn’t matter to you if he never says that he loves you—you’ve come to peace with the fact that he may never truly love you, at least not more than the love his heart has already set for himself—you will always relish in the moments where you get to hold this gentle thing of your husband in your arms for as long as he is him.

Your husband rests his head in your chests and wraps his arms around your sides, noticeably careful where he’s carved his name into your claimed flesh, and you hold him until he separates sometime in the early hours of the morning, happy to call him yours.

Ice and Fire taglist: @divinearchangel @alexxavicry @katsukis1wife @kmc1989 @the-nerdy-goddess @urmomsgirlfriend1 @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @lover-of-books-and-tea @avalyaaa Tag yourself here...

[cera-writes]

"Ma chère, you are mine." 🃏

Part Three

Pairing: Remy "Gambit" Lebeau x F!Reader Tags: slow burn, angst, jealousy, mentions of death Remy never thought there'd be someone else besides Rogue who'd just waltz into his life, but there you were.

The world splintered into a cacophony of violence. Emerald energy, a malevolent serpent uncoiling across the Genoshan sky, lashed out with indiscriminate fury. Buildings crumpled like sandcastles under a child's fist, their infrastructure spilling forth in a grotesque display of shattered brick and twisted metal. Remy, with a snarl that mirrored the savagery unfolding around you, shoved you roughly to the ground, his body a meat shield against the onslaught.

The impact with the ravaged earth sent a jolt of searing pain through your body. A high-pitched whine filled your ears, a relentless wail that threatened to drown out the world. When the world finally refocused, its edges blurry and tinged with red, you found yourself staring into the smoldering ruins of what was once Genosha.

Remy lay beside you, groaning as he pushed himself up on one elbow. Dust and grime painted his face, a mask of grim determination etched beneath the grime.

"You alright, cher?" His voice, rough with concern, cut through the ringing in your ears.

"I'm fine," you rasped, pushing yourself up with a grimace. "But we need to find the others!"

Your gaze swept across the scene, a desolate wasteland where once stood a haven for mutants. Bodies, like fallen marionettes, littered the ashen landscape – stark reminders of the Sentinel's ruthless efficiency. A strangled cry escaped your lips, a prayer whispered into the acrid smoke-choked air. "Oh gods..."

There was no time for lamentations. Remy, ever the pragmatist, grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the meager cover offered by a half-collapsed building. As you stumbled through the debris, your eyes scanned the devastated landscape for any signs of life.

A flicker of movement – Rogue, her green eyes narrowed in fierce concentration, stood beside Magneto, who scowled at the wreckage with an almost inhuman intensity. Relief, a fragile butterfly taking flight in your chest, was swiftly extinguished by a cold dread that coiled around your heart.

"No...no, no! Kurt!" You tore free of Remy's grasp and sprinted towards the crumpled figure lying in the debris. Kneeling beside him, your hands shaking, you cradled his head in your lap. Blood, a crimson stain blossoming across his blue fur, marred his pale face. He lay unmoving, his chest rising and falling with a shallow rasp.

"Rogue!" Remy's voice, sharp with urgency, cut through the haze of terror that threatened to consume you. You looked up to see him kneeling beside you, his face etched with concern as he checked Kurt's pulse.

"He alive! So are you," Remy announced, his voice laced with relief. A wan smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he met Rogue's gaze.

The choked sob that escaped your lips caught in your throat. Tears, hot and stinging, streamed down your face. Relief, a tidal wave threatening to pull you under, washed over you. You squeezed Kurt's hand, murmuring a desperate plea for him to hold on. "Good," you choked out, your voice thick with emotion. "You can't die on me yet, you hear?"

The grim tableau before them hung heavy in the air, a macabre tapestry woven from shattered concrete and lifeless flesh. Magneto joined them, his voice a gravelly rasp cutting through the stunned silence.

"Gambit, how many?"

Gambit, his usual carefree swagger replaced by a haunted solemnity, shook his head, the movement conveying the immensity of the devastation better than words. "Too many...so many," he muttered, his voice thick with a grief that mirrored the ashen wasteland that stretched before them. "Some vile Godzilla. You go at it, you wind up dead. Can't even dent it. We tryin' to evacuate folks now, but the Morlocks… they stuck in the bay. Right under it's belly and there's no way to get to em'."

A cold dread coiled around your spine, its icy tendrils tightening with each passing moment. "Remy's right," you confirmed, your voice a mere whisper against the cacophony of devastation still echoing around you. "This… this is beyond anything we've ever faced before."

Magneto, his face a mask of thunderous fury, stood with his head bowed, lost in a war council of one against the smoldering ruins. Finally, he raised his head, his steely gaze meeting yours. "A promise was made," he rumbled, his voice heavy with a barely concealed tremor of emotion.

You nodded in grim agreement, a shiver racking your body despite the oppressive heat radiating from the smoldering wreckage. "We have to stop this, Magneto," you stated, your voice firm despite the fear threatening to bubble up.

"Eclipse is right," Gambit concurred, his eyes landing on a lone motorcycle half-buried in debris, its chrome glimmering defiantly against the ashen landscape. It might not be much, but it was a lifeline in the storm. Just enough to get them where they needed to be, fast.

Rogue was about to place a gentle hand on your shoulder, but thought better of it. Instead she offered words, a grounding force amidst the swirling chaos. "Then let's do what we X-Men do best, sugah," she said, her voice laced with a steely resolve. "Nightcrawler wouldn't want us sittin' here mournin'. He'd want us fightin', protectin' those who can't protect themselves."

With a reverence born of desperation, you lowered Nightcrawler onto a scrap of relatively undamaged concrete. A silent promise hung heavy in the air, a vow to see him again, hopefully under skies that weren't choked with the acrid tang of destruction. You had to. All of you had to. This wasn't just about survival; it was about clinging to the fragile thread of hope that remained for the mutants trapped beneath the metallic behemoth.

Striding towards the lone motorcycle, you felt a surge of renewed determination. The roar of the engine, a guttural growl that echoed off the shattered buildings, was a battle cry, a call to action. Joining Remy on the steel stallion, you wrapped your arms around his waist, a silent anchor in the impending storm.

Beside you, Rogue was ready to fight, flying high through the smoky air beside you. A grim exchange of glances solidified the unspoken plan. Magneto, his voice a rasp, spoke, his words carving through the chaos.

"I will draw its fire away from the gardens," he commanded, his gaze unwavering. "Rogue, clear a path for Gambit and Eclipse to reach the Morlocks. Save as many as you can."

A flicker of admiration ignited in your chest, a brief respite in the maelstrom of emotions. Magneto, the master of metal, would become a lightning rod, drawing the Sentinel's wrath and diverting its destructive energy. It was a desperate gamble, but one he was willing to take.

"Hang on tight, cher!" Remy's voice was a shout over the engine's roar as he revved the motorcycle to life. With a surge of power, they shot forward, a precarious bullet weaving through the hail of emerald blasts.

You channeled the shadows, a tapestry of darkness swirling around the three of you, forming a shield against the Sentinel's onslaught. It was a delicate dance, a constant push and pull against the relentless energy.

"Never much cared for roulette," Remy shouted above the din, his voice laced with a sardonic humor that belied the seriousness of the situation. Each dodged blast, each fleeting moment of reprieve, was a victory won in a game with impossible odds. You knew it wouldn't last forever, but for now, it was enough. They had to reach the Morlocks, had to offer them a sliver of hope in this crucible of despair.

A rebellious glint sparked in Rogue's eyes. "Then how bout we spice up these rules?" she quipped, her flight maintaining a steady pace alongside the motorcycle.

You smirked, one hand gripping Remy's waist for dear life while the other channeled shadows. The shield pulsed around you three, a tangible darkness that defied the emerald onslaught.

Suddenly, Sentinels loomed ahead, their metallic forms blocking the path. With a guttural roar, Remy pushed the engine to its limit, the motorcycle whining in protest as he executed a death-defying drift.

You narrowed your eyes, focusing your energy away from the shield and towards the lead Sentinel. It was a hulking monstrosity, hell-bent on ending your desperate mission. A surge of power coursed through you, manipulating the shadows into tendrils of inky darkness. They latched onto the Sentinel's head, momentarily obscuring its vision.

"Let's shuffle the deck, chere!" Remy yelled, a wild grin splitting his face. With lightning-fast reflexes, he charged his playing cards with a surge of kinetic energy. They shot through the air, imbued with raw power, and whipped into the Sentinel's head.

The impact was a thunderous roar. Metal shrieked as the Sentinel's head detached from its body, the emerald blasts it had been firing careening wildly into other Sentinels. A chain reaction erupted, triggering explosions that showered the landscape with molten debris.

"Three down, mon ami!" You crowed, a wide grin splitting your face. "But leave a few targets for the rest us, okay?"

Gambit chuckled, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the fight. He wrenched the motorcycle's handlebars, veering off into another direction as the echoes of the explosions faded behind them.

But their precarious victory was short-lived. A colossal Sentinel, dwarfing its brethren in size and ferocity, came hurtling through a building in a desperate bid to cut them off. Rogue, a whirlwind of fury and concentration, was fending off one of them on her own.

A roundhouse kick, a ballet of raw power and focused fury, connected with the Sentinel's chest cavity. The impact resonated through the air, a metallic clang that echoed through the smoke and debris. The machine itself didn't stand a chance. Rogue's enhanced strength cleaved through it like a hot knife through butter, transforming the Sentinel into a shower of sparking fragments and molten slag that rained down upon the ravaged cityscape.

In the rearview mirror, you watched as the fire and smoke of the Sentinel's demise dissipated into the acrid air. Relief flickered in your chest, a fleeting ember in the inferno of destruction that surrounded them. Rogue rejoined their formation, a whirlwind of emerald energy coalescing beside you.

"Badass!" you shouted over the engine's roar, a silent nod of approval telegraphed through the urgency of the moment. There was no denying it, Rogue was a force of nature, a badass sculpted from pure determination and raw power.

But even the sweetest victories were fleeting in this war of attrition. Each Sentinel they felled seemed to be replaced by another, a relentless metallic hydra rising from the ashes of its fallen brethren. Yet, you pressed on, driven by a desperate hope and the dwindling sliver of time before they reached the Morlocks.

The tunnel entrance loomed ahead, a dark maw in the concrete sprawl. Just as you were about to reach it, a colossal Sentinel, a leviathan dwarfing its brethren, materialized from a side street, blocking their path with menacing intent.

"Ready, cher?" Remy's voice cut through the din, a question punctuated by a steely crimson glint in his eyes. You met his gaze, a silent understanding passing between you. A curt nod was all the confirmation he needed.

With a screech of tortured metal, Remy slammed the motorcycle through the shattered window of a nearby building. The sudden change of course was a tactical maneuver, a desperate gamble to gain the upper hand. You and Remy dismounted, back to back, facing the encroaching Sentinel.

Remy whipped out his bo staff, a blur of lethal grace as he parried the Sentinel's initial energy blasts. You channeled your power, weaving the shadows into a thick, inky cloak, obscuring the Sentinel's vision and preventing it from unleashing a devastating blast upon the already-fragile tunnels below. The air crackled with raw energy as the battle raged.

Remy, a whirlwind of movement, landed blow after blow on the behemoth with his staff. Finally, with a flourish that belied the gravity of the situation, he hurled one last charged card directly at the Sentinel's head. The impact triggered a chain reaction, igniting a spectacular explosion that ripped through the metallic monstrosity, leaving only smoldering wreckage in its wake.

"Bonne soiree, mes amis. Now, kindly follow Eclipse and me."

Your outstretched hand met Leech's clammy grasp, a beacon of hope in the choking gloom. Together, a ragged procession of Morlocks tumbled out of the tunnel entrance, faces etched with terror and exhaustion. But before you could savor the brief reprieve, a soul-rending scream tore through the smoke-choked air. A pillar of emerald energy slammed into Magneto, sending him hurtling through the air like a discarded rag doll. His body crumpled with a sickening thud against the mangled wreckage of a car.

A guttural curse ripped from your throat, a stark counterpoint to the symphony of destruction. While your attention had been momentarily diverted, a hulking chunk of debris – a twisted remnant of a building sheared in two – hurtled towards the fleeing Morlocks.

Gambit's reflexes, honed by years of navigating chaos, kicked in with lightning speed. With a flourish that belied the urgency of the moment, he ripped the silk of his blue scarf from around his neck. In a single, fluid motion, he charged it with a surge of kinetic energy. The scarf, imbued with raw power, transformed into a blazing projectile, slamming into the hurtling metal with a deafening boom.

The resulting explosion, a spectacle of incandescent pink, vaporized the debris into a cloud of shimmering particles.

You, meanwhile, fought on a different front. Your hands danced a desperate ballet in the air, weaving shadows into a thick, inky tapestry around you and Remy. You poured every ounce of your will into the shield, praying it would hold against the relentless onslaught. Rogue coalesced beside you, her arrival a much-needed reinforcement.

A chilling mechanical voice boomed from the depths of the Sentinel's metal maw, pronouncements echoing through the shattered cityscape. "Omega-level threat detected," it intoned, its robotic pronouncements devoid of any emotion. Its cyclopean eye, a glowing orb of malevolent green energy, locked onto you and your companions, a death warrant hanging heavy in the air.

"No..." you rasped, your voice strained from exertion. You gritted your teeth, pushing your powers to the limit, desperately trying to maintain the integrity of your shadow shield.

Across the battlefield, Magneto, miraculously still alive, rose shakily to his feet. Anger, a molten inferno, burned in his eyes. He raised his hands, and the wreckage around him pulsed, metallic tendrils snaking towards the Sentinels in a defiant show of force. He, too, would stand his ground, a lone bastion protecting the vulnerable. The stage was set for a final, desperate confrontation.

The clash of energies painted the sky in a grotesque ballet of destruction. Where Magneto stood, resolute and defiant, a shimmering dome of crackling crimson energy deflected the Sentinel's emerald onslaught. It was a titanic struggle – the telekinetic master against the cold, calculating fury of Sentinel technology.

You, wracked with concern for Magneto, pushed your own abilities to the limit. Your shadow shield strained, a flickering ebony curtain attempting to hold back the storm. You channeled just enough raw power to deflect the brunt of the impact away from you and Remy, but not enough to completely isolate the battle raging before you.

Rogue, ever the impulsive force, couldn't bear to witness Magneto face the Sentinel alone. A primal urge to protect flared within her, overriding all sense of caution. With a defiant snarl, she shot towards the emerald death ray, a solitary speck of emerald defiance against the mechanical behemoth.

Remy, his face etched with a mixture of fear and determination, lunged towards Rogue. "No, chere! It's too dangerous!" he roared, his voice swallowed by the cacophony of the battle.

But his warning came too late. A sudden surge of crimson energy erupted from the clash above, a sign that even Magneto's defenses were faltering. The resulting shockwave slammed into you with the force of a freight train. You, Remy, and Rogue were sent sprawling backwards. Your shadow shield, overwhelmed by the sheer force of the impact, disintegrated into wisps of darkness.

The three of you found yourselves pinned. The impact had caused you, Rogue, and Remy to become pinned beneath a large piece of warped metal. You were trapped, cocooned in a makeshift cage of debris, mere feet away from the epic clash unfolding beyond the barrier.

You could hear Rogue's frustrated screams, the Sentinel's monstrous pronouncements, and the clang of Magneto's valiant defense, but you were helpless to intervene. Panic gnawed at the edges of your resolve, but a stronger emotion burned bright - the desperate need to find a way out, to rejoin the fight. You were trapped, but you wouldn't be broken.

The detonation echoed through the shattered cityscape, a thunderous knell that shattered your fragile shield. Inky tendrils of darkness dissipated into the smoke.

A primal scream ripped from Rogue's throat. It wasn't a battle cry, but a torrent of raw emotion – a desperate plea laced with anger and a flicker of something resembling fear. "Don't you dare, Erik!" she roared, her voice cracking with the strain of witnessing him teetering on the precipice. "You hear me?!"

"He's trying to protect us, Rogue!" he shouted above the din, his voice a beacon of reason amidst the chaos. You watched, heart clenching in your chest, as the battle lines shifted. Magneto, his face a mask of resolute determination, wasn't fighting for dominance; he was fighting for a sliver of time, a desperate gamble to shield you and the Morlocks from the Sentinel's relentless assault.

A metallic groan sliced through the air as Magneto exerted his telekinetic prowess to the limit. The twisted wreckage around you pulsed once more, the mangled metal coiling and twisting into a grotesque, protective cocoon. This wasn't a cage – it was a desperate shield, a last-ditch effort to buy you precious moments. You could feel the strain on him, the telekinetic exertion echoing in the way his features contorted in concentration.

And behind the flimsy barrier you were forced behind, the Sentinel loomed, a mechanical monstrosity bristling with malevolent energy. The air crackled with anticipation, the inevitable doom hanging heavy in the air. You could only watch in horror as the Sentinel, unfazed by Magneto's valiant defense, continued to barrage the shield. There was no escape, no recourse.

You were trapped, forced to witness the battle through the warped metal bars of your makeshift cage, a helpless spectator in a life-or-death struggle.

The pronouncement echoed through the ravaged cityscape, a metallic monotone devoid of any semblance of triumph. "Omega threat eliminated." The words hung in the air, a chilling epitaph for the valiant stand Magneto had taken.

You stared, your voice a mere rasp escaping your lips. "No...oh my god," the words tumbled out, barely a whisper against the symphony of destruction that roared around you. It was as if the world itself had been plunged into an abyss of despair.

But within that despair, a flicker of primal rage ignited in Rogue's emerald eyes. Grief, raw and unbridled, morphed into a terrifying fury. With a strength that seemed to defy physics, she ripped apart the metallic cocoon that had served as your temporary prison. The mangled metal groaned in protest as it yielded to her touch, showering you with debris.

You and Remy scrambled to your feet, your gaze falling upon Rogue. Her form, a whirlwind of primal raw energy, streaked across the battlefield towards the colossal Sentinel. 

A desperate cry escaped your throat. "She's gonna get herself killed!" The raw terror in your voice resonated with Remy, his face mirroring your own growing panic.

He didn't hesitate. In a blur of motion, he launched himself onto a nearby motorcycle, a battered relic amidst the wreckage. The roar of the engine masked the fear that gnawed at him. He sped towards Rogue, desperate to intercept her suicidal charge. He ignited the bike in kinetic energy, sending it flying toward the sentinel and saving Rogue in the process. 

The air itself crackled with anticipation as the Sentinel, its victory seemingly assured, prepared to unleash another earth-shattering blast. A beam of emerald energy, the largest and most destructive you'd ever witnessed, beamed within its metallic eyes, threatening to annihilate the last vestiges of life on Genosha.

Your eyes darted back and forth, taking in the scene with a horrifying clarity. You looked back at your friends.

 You couldn't let them die. This wasn't an option. With a glance back at the imminent threat, a resolute determination hardened your gaze. You knew what you had to do.

"Hey Rogue," you called out, your voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor in your heart. You turned to face her, forcing a smile onto your face despite the tears that welled up in your eyes. You wanted to etch this image of her – beautiful, strong, defiant – into your memory. Then there was Remy. You're best friend. The one person who had your heart forever. 

A single tear escaped, tracing a glistening path down your cheek. You had found love in this fractured world, and now, you were ready to give it all up to save them.

"Take care of Remy." 

The words hung in the air, a stark counterpoint to the cacophony of devastation. You looked at Rogue, her emerald eyes blazing with a grief that threatened to consume her. This wasn't her fight anymore, not if you had anything to say about it. You couldn't risk looking at Remy one last time in fear that you wouldn't be able to go through with this. You turn a heel and looked up towards the hazy smoke filled sky. 

With a resolute nod, you rose. It wasn't a physical movement; you willed yourself upwards, defying gravity with a surge of pure, unadulterated power. Your body became a mote of light, ascending towards sun. It was partially obscured by the Sentinel's monstrous shadow, but it held the key to your desperate gamble.

Your mind became a crucible, a furnace where your mutant abilities burned at their most intense. You channeled every memory of a total eclipse, every flicker of darkness that had ever devoured the sun's brilliance. You needed more than just darkness, though. You needed a celestial eclipse, a cosmic puppet master pulling the strings of the solar system.

The effort was Herculean, a battle waged on a universal scale. You could feel your very essence straining, the potential for oblivion a mere hair's breadth away. But the thought of your friends, their faces etched in your mind, spurred you on. You wouldn't let them die. Not today.

As you neared the sun, its corona, a fiery halo, blazed with an intensity that threatened to immolate you. But you pressed on, driven by an unwavering determination. You were a cosmic moth drawn to the flame, but instead of destruction, you sought a metamorphosis, a transformation that would turn the tide of battle.

Your body, now a conduit for celestial energy, reached a critical point. With a cry that echoed through the shattered city, not as sound, but as a ripple of pure willpower, you unleashed the culmination of your efforts. A shadow, vast and obsidian-hued, erupted from you, engulfing the sun. The once-shining orb receded completely, swallowed by a darkness born not of the moon, but of your desperate will.

The Sentinel, its emerald death ray poised to deliver its final, apocalyptic blow, faltered. Its mechanical systems sputtered in the sudden absence of its power source. A wave of unnatural darkness blanketed the battlefield, turning the day into a spectral twilight. The battle was far from over, but for now, you had rewritten the rules of the game, drawing power from the heavens themselves to tip the scales in favor of humanity.

The strain was immense, a war waged not just on the battlefield but within your own essence. The air crackled with raw power, a testament to the titanic struggle being waged. Visions flickered at the edges of your consciousness – your friends' faces, etched with worry and determination, a stark reminder of what you were fighting for. You wouldn't let them down. Not today.

The shadows that now pulsed through your body, tendrils of darkness imbued with the power of a celestial event, surged outwards. They lashed out at the Sentinel, a tidal wave of midnight propelled by your unwavering will. You roared, a primal sound that escaped your hoarse throat, "Go to hell!"

The shadows connected. The deafening hum of the Sentinel's weapon died with a whimper, replaced by an eerie silence. For a heartbeat, the battlefield held its breath. Then, with a sickening groan of metal, the Sentinel began to disintegrate. The shadows devoured it, consuming the mechanical monstrosity whole until nothing remained but a smoldering pile of scrap.

As the last remnants of the Sentinel crumbled, you felt the darkness within you begin to recede. It was like a tide pulling back, leaving you drained and adrift. Your vision swam, the familiar faces of your friends blurring at the edges. You had achieved the impossible, but the victory came at a steep price. The world faded away, consumed not by the eclipse you had created, but by the exhaustion that finally claimed you.

Your body fell gracefully back down to the earth that was once a lively Genosha. Your body, still the color of faded moonlight, lay motionless on the dirt and ash surrounding you. The last thing you could hear were footsteps dashing madly in your direction. Your eyelids were getting heavier. You didn't know how much time you had left. 

The world dimmed around Remy, the edges blurring with a sickening dread. Eclipse, usually a beautiful, sarcastic ray of light, lay fragile in his arms. Her eyes fluttered open, a spark of confusion battling the haze clouding them.

"Remy?" You whispered, your voice faint.

He choked back a sob, tightening his hold on you. "I'm right here, mon coeur. You're gonna be okay. Gambit's gotchu." Each word scraped against his throat, a desperate promise at odds with the chilling fear that coiled in his gut.

Eclipse blinked slowly, your eyelids heavy. "It hurts, Remy."

He traced a gentle hand over your cheek, his fingers brushing against a damp tear track. "I know, mon amour. But the medics are almost here, you just gotta hang on."

A weak smile played on your lips. "Always the hero, huh?"

Remy forced a smile back, his heart shattering with each shallow breath she took. "Always." He knew better. This wasn't a situation he could fight his way out of. But he wouldn't let you face the darkness alone.

Your grip on his hand tightened, then relaxed. Your eyes fluttered open once more, a question lingering in their depths. "Promise me..." Your voice trailed off, barely a whisper.

Remy pressed his forehead against yours, willing his strength into you. "Anythin', Eclipse. Promise anythin'."

A single tear escaped your eye, tracing a glistening path down your temple. "...don't forget me."

Remy's breath hitched. "Never. Tu me hanteras toujours."

He choked back a sob, burying his face in your neck.  Your hand, cool against his cheek, brushed against him one last time, a whisper of a touch before falling limp.

A/N: I'm adding one more part to this, just to close this fic out. How we feelin'?

[keikikait]

i saw a one shot of geto impregnating the reader bc he wants an heir and honestly i just knew you would eat this prompt up. please? for me? 🫶🏻

ꜱᴀᴠᴇᴅ! (ɢᴇᴛᴏ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

pairing: suguru geto x f!reader (not au, reader is early to mid 20's)

word count: 1.9k

summary: if you want to be saved, you must bear geto a child

warnings: SMUT 18+, dark content, dead dove do not eat, read at your own risk, forced pregnancy, dubcon/coercion, mean geto, slapping (once), voices in head(?), use of 'cock' and 'cunt', blood mentioned towards the end, not proofread

a note: check out my other geto fic here

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

AGAIN TW: SMUT 18+ DARK CONTENT. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

You were one of the chosen few, a sorcerer Geto decided to spare during his cull. Your cursed technique wasn't anything special, but it had potential. He tried to train and mold you into the picture he painted of you in his mind. You trained and trained, spending countless hours alone with him as he tried to make you worthy and useful, but to no avail. You had ruined the canvas in his mind and splashed oil on it in a selfish act of disobedience. 

Geto had spent the last few months cleaning out the weak from the group he saved, training them, analysing their every move to see if they were worth his time and effort. If they were worth saving. Weeks had gone by and your group of thirty is now down to twelve, and now it was your turn.

He pushes you over, tackling you to the light green tatami mat underneath you. “You're too slow. You keep letting your guard down.”

You swallow hard, panting. Your lungs and throat ache, a growing burning sensation in your chest. “Geto, I’m sorry--”

“You're sorry? Do you think I want apologies? You think I want your self-pity?” his voice carries a coldness that would've made your spine chill even under normal circumstances. He presses his lips thin, staring down at you. “I want you to do better. I want you to be better.”

You gulp, shifting on the mat, trying to move away from him to stand back up. “Geto--”

“Don't interrupt me,” he cuts you off, his voice still cold despite the sudden increase in volume. “You're too slow. You always have been. And the only reason you've improved this much is because you're terrified of me. Don't you think that's pathetic?”

You try to stand up and he pulls you back down again, holding both of your wrists together with one hand above your head, pressing you into the mat. He settles all of his weight on your hips, smirking at the pathetic, stupid look on your face. You squirm, your lower back starting to ache. “I know, I know I've failed you...but I'm getting better every day! Please, just let me try again!” Your voice is so strained and desperate, slightly hoarse.

“Is that an attempt at begging?” he says in a taunting tone, a cruel smile spreading on his face. “It's almost cute, really, but pathetic all the same.” He reaches up, brushing some hair out of your face. It makes your heart skip a beat, just for a moment, before he roughly grabs your chin and squeezes. 

You instinctively close your eyes, your breath hitching as you try to jerk your head away. “Open your eyes,” he says, squeezing harder. You know in the back of your mind that disobeying him will only make you angrier, so you give in, meeting his gaze. “You want me to help you get better?” he raises his eyebrows, the teasing smile still on his face. He leans closer, his breath brushing over your face, his voice a low murmur. “Do you want to be saved?”

You nod, desperate for his help, for him.

“Saved,” he repeats, running his thumb across your cheek. “So you want to be…” he lets his touch linger there, a moment too long to be unintentional, before tightening his grip on your chin again. “Mine?”

“Yes,” You say, your voice soft.

“There is a way I can help you,” He says, stroking the underside of your jaw. “Make you better. Make you good.”

You nod desperately, willing to do anything for him. “Yes. I’ll do it. Please!” You sound so desperate, so cute. 

“Good,” he says, his tone still light but his hands tightening on you even more. Then, it fades into a cruel, sadistic grin, his fingers squeezing and digging into your soft flesh. “I just need you to do one thing for me.”

You nod again, waiting for him to get his teasing over with and tell you. Is it more training? More work with your cursed technique? Maybe he can find a way to get you a new ability-

“I want you to give me an heir.”

Your throat dries and your heart drops to your feet. You stiffen in his grasp, feeling goosebumps lick up and down your arms. “Huh?”

“An heir,” he repeats, his fingers pinching the soft flesh of your neck, leaving a small red mark. “I want you to give me an heir. A baby. Only the strongest sorcerer can come from my genes…no one else is good enough. Just me…and you, I guess.”

You shake slightly, a thin coat of sweat covering your body.

He smiles, his eyes wandering down to your chest. His hands push your shirt up, his hands rubbing your stomach as he speaks, “Don’t tell me you're scared of having a baby, of giving me one…right?”

You don’t respond, trying hard to find your voice but it’s lost, capsized in a sea of anxiety.

He squeezes your neck hard. “Do you think I'm kidding?” an edge to his tone tells you he's getting irritated, his teasing smile gone. “I'm not joking. You're going to have my child, and I will not accept no for an answer.”

You speak, “Geto, I’m not ready for a child…can we wait? Please?”

He growls, picking you up effortlessly by the throat and throwing you over his shoulder. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re ready when I say you’re ready.”

You squirm, planting your hands on his back as you try to push yourself out of his grip. “Geto, please-”

He ignores you, smacking your ass as he pushes open the door to his private quarters. “Shut up. I need a child, I need to mold someone into carrying on my legacy since you were such a letdown.” He shuts the sliding door, securing it before walking across the room and tossing you onto the tatami bed on the floor in the middle of the room. You land with a loud thump and it knocks the wind out of you completely. He slips off his haori before climbing on top of you, pinning you down with his hips once again. 

“Now,” he continues speaking, holding your wrists down, his fingernails digging into your skin. “Let me try this again. You’re going to be a good girl and spread your legs for me. You’re going to take my cum like a good bitch, and you’re going to give me an heir. Do I make myself clear?”

You take a shaky breath, “Geto--” Your words are cut off by a squeak as Geto smacks you across the face, his palm flat. Your ear starts to ring and your vision goes slightly blurry. You look over at him, feeling the right side of your face start to heat up.

Geto stares at you before leaning down, his face almost touching yours. His voice is hushed, almost a whisper, “Don’t you want to be saved?”

You nod.

“Don’t you want to be good?” He asks. “Be useful?”

You nod.

“Then take my fucking cum,” He grips your jaw. “And shut the fuck up.”

You lay still on his bed as he stands, carefully taking off his nagagi. He hangs it up, along with the haori, watching you with a satisfied, sadistic smirk on his face.

He looks so handsome walking over to you. 

Geto climbs onto the bed, pushing your thighs apart with his big hands. He rips your underwear, white and lacy; his favourite, right in half, pushing your thighs to your chest. He leans down and spits directly on your clit, rubbing it around with his thumb. You shiver from his touch, squirming on the bed, gripping the bedsheets.

Maybe you should just let him, a small voice in your head says, although you do not recognise it, don’t you want to be good?

Geto kneels in front of you, pulling his cock out, spitting into his hand, and rubbing it over the tip before tapping it on your clit. He pushes in, frowning at the slight resistance. “Loosen up. Relax. It’s just a baby.” You try your hardest to relax, your palms going flat. He slides in a little bit more, groaning at the way your cunt hugs his cock, and at the light streaks of blood that have started to coat his shaft. He leans his weight on you, his mouth against your ear. He starts to whisper to you, sweet lil nothings to try to relax you, distract you as he pushes his cock into you.

You’re happier here, the voice in your head says, because he told you you should be.

Geto starts to get annoyed at the constant resistance from your little cunt. He clamps his hand over your mouth and fully pushes his cock into you. It stings, your lower half aching as he starts to rock his hips, pounding into you. Blood pools around the base, swiping across your thighs like an aurora on a cold winter night.

“Geto, please, slow down.” You say, your voice muffled against his palm. He ignores you, pressing his hand down harder, bumping into your teeth. It makes you feel weird, your entire body filling with nausea. 

“Take my fucking cock,” he grumbles, more to himself than you. He looks down, pulling out all the way before sinking back in. “Fuck. You’re fucking made for me, aren’t you? Made to take my cock and my cum and carry my fucking babies. Maybe I’ll give you some more after this one is born. You can give me a little army of powerful sorcerers.”

Tears sting your eyes and you squirm on the bed. “Geto--”

“Shut up,” he growls, pressing onto your mouth and teeth again. “Just shut the fuck up.” He pulls your shirt up over your chest, exposing your tits to his hungry eyes. “I can’t wait for these to get all swollen. And your belly too. Fuck. You’re going to look so pretty all round and pregnant and waddling everywhere…”

Just be good, the voice in your head says, don’t you want to be his?

Your eyes screw shut as his hips move faster, pounding into you. He groans and grunts in your ear, biting down on the lobe gently. You shiver, and your cunt clenches.

He cums hard, wrapping his arms around your head as he fills you up with his cum. He grabs your hair and tugs your head back, looking into your eyes, starting to chuckle as he sees the fear start to set in.

He pulls out, watching his thick cum ooze out of you, tinged red with your blood. He smirks, picking some up with his fingers and rubbing it over your clit. “Look at that. You finally did something right.” Geto steps off the bed, heading towards his restroom to clean himself up, your ripped underwear in his hand. You lay there, staring at the ceiling, the nausea starting to creep in.

You don’t know how long you’re lying there once Geto finally returns, wiping you down with the other half of your ripped underwear. He tucks it away for safekeeping, climbing into the bed next to you.

He turns your face towards him, scowling. “Are you crying?”

You didn’t even notice the tears. “Just from the adrenaline. I promise.” You’re lying, of course, but he doesn’t have to know that.

“Better be,” he hisses. “You’re making me feel sick.” He turns away from you, completely ignoring you.

Your hand falls to your belly, cupping it slightly. You didn’t want this to happen, especially not like this. You weren’t ready to be a mother, and Geto knew this.

But at least you’re saved.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

this was just supposed to be a blurb, oops.

[j1mmys-darl1ng]

rubberman!kai smut perchance? as in kai having a rubber suit

ur literally my favourite fanfic writer 💙

pairing : kai anderson x reader

Warnings : p in v, rough sex, degrading, its literally kai, improper use of kool-aid, spit

A/n: aaaaah thank you 🫶🫶🫶 im really feeding yall with 2 sober fics back to back

NOT FOR MINORS COMSUMPTION! IF YOU READ FURTHER THIS IS YOUR FAULT NOT MINE!!

"look at this peice of kinky shit i found" kai huffs, throwing a latex suit onto the table your sat at, the material shining under the dim light of the lamp.

"what is it?" you ask kai gently, knowing anything can set him off.

"some fucking rubber suit, i wanna try it out" kai says blankly, cutting straight to the point.

"is it clean? Where did you even find it?" your words are hesitant, not wanting to cause him to snap.

"doesn't matter. Hop up on the table. Or do you want me to force you down instead?"

Without a second thought, you hop up on the table. His lips crash into yours imediately, his fingernails pulling so hard on your shirt that you can hear the thread begin to snap.

He practically rips your shirt off you, not breaking the aggressive kiss at all. You both discard the rest of your clothes.

Kai leaves the room momentarily with the rubber suit, leaving you to desperately roll your hips as you try to cause some sort of friction.

He soon returns, his cock standing proud as i grabs a cut and a pack of kool-aid from the kitchen. After a few more minutes of trying to get any pleasure, he returns, the cup containing kool-aid mixed with something else...

"if you wanna be such a slut then go ahead and drink it" he growls, spitting into the cup and forcing it to your lips.

You reluctantly begin to drink it, the liquid thicker than water. Then it hits you.

Without saying or doing anything, you force yourself to finish it. Placing the cup aside while your thighs rub together needily.

"please kai... I really need you" your voice pleading. You see his eyes turn dark as you call him kai.

"that's not my fuckin' name. Try again or ill leave you like this. All needy and desperate with no way to relief it."

"s-sorry... Master.." you manage to whimper out, your eyes begging for him not to leave.

"that's my good little slut" he grumbles as he tightly grips your cheeks, forcing your lips together as he drains his saliva into your mouth, leaving you no choice but to swallow it.

Without any warning, he roughly pushes your thighs appart, ramming his dick into your silky hole. Your nails dig into his shoulders, loud moans and whines slipping past your lips as his dick burries itself inside you.

Hes so deep inside you swear you can feel it nudging you stomach.

"you like that you fuckin' slut? Just taking all of me like a greedy whore aren't you? Its like you want this or some shit." he groans, his balls slapping against your ass with each aggressive thrust.

You begin to feel a knot forming, your nails begining to draw blood from his shoulders due to how hard your holding onto him.

"AGH! You fuckin' bitch!" kai yells out, slapping you across the face. This is all you need for your walls to tighten around him. This causes him to slap you again as your climax crashes down.

"did i say you could cum yet!? I dont fuckin' think so! Your gonna get punished later you filthy cum slut." his voice is still loud as he clamps a hand around your throat, not tight enough to cut off your breathing but not loose enough for you to move.

After a few more thrusts, his sticky seed paints your walls white. He practically fucks it into you, wanting to increase his chance of you having his messiah baby.

"clean yourself up. I have a meeting to get to" he huffs, quickly giving you a hesitant kiss on your nose as he speedily gets changed. You would have never expected in a million years for him to give you a kiss so it was a pleasant surprise.

Guess you'll have to wait till later to see what your punishment it.

A/n: this was a 2 day process 😭🙏. This was so fun to write because i kinda ran wild with it

Thank you so much for reading! <3

[bloomingfaes]

When I saw you had requests open, I just had to JUMP on the opportunity! I have two ideas, but I'll leave them separately.

Hannibal x (preferably female) reader who also happens to be a serial killer. However, think more Joe Goldberg combined with Amy Dunne vibes. She's got a bad past, but when she moved to Baltimore under a new identity as a lawyer (I just like the irony but she could do any job you feel like) she's very determined to leave that life behind her. To be better.

Hannibal just knows she's not as honest as she portrays herself to be. He's a psychiatrist, after all, and goes digging to figure out what she's hiding. I feel like that type of plot can go two ways, rivals, constantly suspicious of each other, trying to cover up their own tracks before the other catches them (She's 100% slightly scared of him once she figures out he's also a wolf in sheep's clothing, with no intention reform like her) or an unlikely partnership (if Hannibal is persuasive enough), or both!

Agh, ik, it's so plot heavy, but I need to get it out somewhere.

Thank youu

~◇~

// I am so sorry this took so long, I hope you enjoy!! I love how this was already planned for me. ❤️

Imposter

pairing: hannibal x f!reader

warnings: mention of gore, slight mention of non-con, hannibal being a flirtatious psychopath, cat & mouse, mind manipulation

The life you had before was all in the past now, a reminder of what you had almost become yet it still lingered in the back of your mind with its sharp claws. Tap, tap, tap against the hollowness of your skull as if taunting you to return to that depraved place.

Remember what you did ? Those screams of torment as you etched away the victim's last piece of sanity.

You didn't have a knife at the time, only a shard of glass from the bathroom's mirror. & all that blood - oh, how beautiful it painted on alabaster tile flooring, as if you were a painter with a canvas. The smell of copper always tickled your nostrils in the best way, more of the smell emitting with each precise cut you inflicted upon the poor person's body.

The sharp banging of the judge's gavel brought yourself back into the present, sweat slightly beading on your forehead. How long has it been since you had those vivid thoughts? It seemed like a century ago, but in reality it had only been a couple of years. You were determined to start over, start a brand new life with a brand new career. A lawyer, of all jobs. How typical. You wanted to bring justice back into your life, to mask your true intentions in hopes of it completely going away someday.

But perhaps the past wasn't shrouded in darkness.

There was a slip-up of course, not too long after you had your little incident in the court room. A man of foul intentions had followed you home one night after a long day at the office, cat-calling you with each drunken stumble he took in your direction. You tried to ignore him, body tense with each stride of your clicking heels against wet pavement. Perhaps going down one of the alleyways wasn't the best idea, but you had thought you had lost him by the time you took that sharp turn.

Of course such plans did not go accordingly, & the drunkard had found you like a cat waiting to feast upon the frightened mouse. He had found a way to wrap his arms around your trembling frame, a hand lifting to cover your mouth as you attempted to yell your strangled pleas. It was enough to send you over the edge, that little girl who so desperately wanted to change her life now taking a back seat as you began to feel that urge running through your veins.

Your hand dove into your coat's pocket to retrieve a metal pen, fingers wrapping roughly around its base before plunging the device into the poor man's eye socket. A small sigh in content escaped your lips against his sweaty palm when you heard his horrid cry of pain, that sweet sweet sound you had almost forgotten about. Now, it rang through your ears beautifully, his body then slumping to the ground while he held his eye with hitching sobs.

"Please - ....I-I'm sorry... I'm..."

That was all you needed as you then plunged the pen into his skull once more, then another.....and another....until that drunk face was unrecognizable. Until that damn bastard was a pile of filthy flesh upon cold stone. & that smell of copper, it made your skin crawl with delight as you sighed in content.

But it was then as if reality hit you, your body trembling as you gazed downward with rapid gasps of adrenaline. No, no, no...You were good, you were normal again.

You had to see him.

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

Blunt nails tapped against that familiar leather chair with nervousness, your teeth grazing upon your bottom lip as you gazed around Dr. Lecter's extravagant office. He took notice of your hesitance, fingers ceasing to write down his notes while gazing upward with curiosity.

"Something is on your mind..."

A matter of fact statement, your eyes meeting golden hues that you could've sworn began to swirl into a darker shade.

"Work was just -....a lot today."

You hoped your little lie would go unnoticed, however you failed to cover the small patch of blood on the outside of your palm. Hannibal took note of this, licking his lips subtly before continuing.

"It is not work that is on your mind, is it? Something else seems to have your mind hostage."

A gulp formed in your tightening throat, your chapped lips forming into a shaky smile. It wasn't very convincing, & you knew of this. But, how could you inform him of your encounter earlier this evening? You had some suspicions of him, some little doubts that pecked in the corners of your mind from time to time. You couldn't quite put your finger on it, however you could feel that there was something off about your therapist.

Something...more omnious.

"I can assure you, Dr. Lecter, that it was just work today. Nothing more."

His lean frame lifted from his chair with an elegant stride, moving towards his art ridden desk while gliding his fingertips along his drawings.

"That is not what I suspect, judging upon the blood that lingers on your hand."

Shit -... you had forgotten about that little detail, your jaw clenching tightly from his observation. His eyes trail upward with a raise of his brows, those pursed lips forming into a small smile.

A smile? Your heart began to beat wildly in your chest, as if it were about to combust and fly out the window like a caged bird. You couldn't move, a deer frozen in fear as he began to walk towards you with a predatory aura.

"You do not need to hide from me, you do not need to HIDE what you truly desire."

He stops to stand before you on the chair, his body moving to kneel in front of you as if you were a rabbit that was easily startled. A thumb moves to glide gently upon your cheek, resting just below your bottom lip as he stares with interest.

"Have you killed before?"

That word made you gasp in response, fingers clutching the chair's arms with white knuckles. He has FOUND you, he can see you past that broken mask. A single tear runs down your cheek in defeat, a small nod forming while you whisper softly.

".....Yes.."

A satisfied hum sounds from him, a deep tone that makes your skin crawl. He brushes away that fallen tear, not wishing for it to drop upon the floor and go to waste. That hand moves to cup along your jaw in an almost lovingly manner, those haunting eyes finally meeting your teary ones.

"I can help you, little mouse. I can help you overcome your fears. Those voices in your head. If only you would allow me.."

Finally, someone can see the torment you have been dealing with for the past couple of years. Someone who UNDERSTOOD you. A broken sob sounds from you, a quivering hand reaching upward to grasp his wrist tightly, as if he were to disappear like an apparition.

"Please...Please Dr. Lecter..."

He had caught you, those claws sinking into your mind as his smile widened to show pearl teeth.

"You are not alone anymore....not without me."

[thatoneguydownthestreet]

FEM ALIGNED DNI

Housewardens x male reader but reader is from the apocalypse and takes his apocalypse shit with him. Gas masks part 3

Vil, Idia, and baby girl Malleus

Vil:

 his absolute first instinct was to throw you into a bath and keep you there until you smelled at least decent enough to not be a public calamity

your ceremonial robes were tore, burnt, and- was ghat blood?!

your hair looked like it was cut by his deranged aunt with a kitchen knife

half of what you were wearing wasn’t even apart of the uniform!

and this weird...mask thing you were wearing was just the cherry on top

the spoiled, rotten, ugly cherry on top

sevens- did you have no shame? no decency? 

vil knew very well that some people just had no care in the world as to how they appeared, but this..

this was just atrocious

when you had passed him during the ceremony, he had taken out one of the perfume bottles that one of his managers had given him for a late birthday present and spristed it in a circle around him

much to the delight of a lucky few and the annoyance of some others

later that  night, when he was back in his own dormitory, rook had told him that you were probably going to be sent back home. 

rook was wrong

well, he hoped rook was wrong, either that or he’d just been hallucinating this whole time and everyone around him was just going with his crazy

either way. he was still looking at you in magic history class as you whispered quietly with that spade boy that you were always around

well, at least, Duece was whispering, he didn’t know about you, he couldn’t see your mouth

or your face

...

had anyone every really seen your face?

were you ugly?

sevens forbid that you were actually quite handsome under there, or he was going to throw a fit

a very composed, quite fit that he would have within the safe walls of his own room

what was the professor talking about again? 

why was he in a class with freshmen anyway? 

why were you looking directly at him?

... shi- 

the cracked material, chipped paint, and scratches that lined the mask had always put him on edge

the strange circle things that popped out the the actual mask part didn’t make things any better

and the fact that he could hear your breathing whenever you walked by? actively made things worse

luckily, he’d always magaged to stay roughly on the sidelines of you and your. fashion choices

but to have your full attention on him...

to see the mask for the full monstrosity that it was...

great sevens it was ugly

...

you didn’t take your eyes off of him for the rest of class

it was unnerving

...

“Mr. schoenheit”

he didn’t jump. he didn’t.

“yes?”

“do you need something from me? did i offend you in someway?”

“why in twisted wonderland would you thing that?”

“because you keep starring at me”

...shit

shit shit shit.

take a deep breathe... calm down... down let your skin break out from stress

eh. might as well just come out and say it.

“perfect. why the sevens name do you wear that awful mask? you should know well by now that it’s not at all fashionable, and if you’re trying to make a statement than i must say it’s rather vague and you’re not accomplishing a whole lot here”. it was the cold hard truth, but it was still the truth

“oh! i can assure you that this is not for fashion”, you seemed somewhere between shy and proud as you touched a gloved hand to your mask.

Vil was somewhere between confused exasperation and hard annoyance

he was about to passive aggressively ask you more questions when you said soemthing that caught him off guard

“you see, i don’t have any magic like all of you. so i don’t have anything to protect me from the lead”

...potato 

what?

“...excuse me?”

he heard you sigh through the mask, like he was the one spouting nonsense 

“you know...the lead in the air? the nuclear traces? those. i can’t just magic those away, so i use this to breathe”

.

..

what the fuck

what the fuck are you talking about

also what’s nuclear?

Vil stared at you for a long minute, noticing a few of the little details on the mask that he hadn’t noticed before

why were there so many scratches?

What was with the numbers?

Was that really dried blood like he thought it was? 

he straightened up, clasped his hands in front of him, and then spoke to you like you were a confused, lost child, trying to ignore his own panic that was beginning to bubble up

Uhhhh...how to go about this....

Vil straightened up and smiled. Clasping his hands out in front of him and leaned down slightly, speaking to you like you were a scared, confused child

like the condescending bastard he is

“potato. turnip. you absolute cabbage. take your mask off please, and give it here so i can put it somewhere we’ll never have to see it again”

even as the words came tumbling out of his mouth, Vil knew they were the wrong words to say

“ehhh....now now. It’s a very reasonable request, as the air here at Night Raven College is very clean”, look at him, speaking like Crowley, only a little less ....Crowley

oh look, now you were about ten paced back

Yeah, he could just feel the death glare you were giving him right now, so he quickly made an attempt at damage control

ah, now you were running away

wonderful

Idia:

Bro didn't know what was going on during the sorting ceremony, he just heard yelling and some other shit

Probably met you through Azul to be honest

Somewhere, in an alternate universe, where Azul Ashengrotto is less of a pussy, he takes you to the boardgame club, where you meet the campus zombie

he most definitely thinks you're a serial killer the first time he sees you

you have a mask on, you have a hood up, you have gloves on, you don’t have an inch of skin showing, you hardly ever talk

sounds like some serial killer shit right there chief

These guys just really love avoiding you at all costs dont they?

give him a minute yall (or a month) he’ll realize that you’re probably not a serial killer

probably

in all honesty, you kind of look like one of the video game characters he likes, you just have a super creepy mask

and you say a lot of weird shit sometimes

but other than that you’re...ok 

i mean, he has to explain literally every single game you guys play together, but you learn quick!

very quick

it kind of freaked him out how intently you seemed to be listening to him explain the rules of monopoly 

but. whatever. maybe you just really liked monopoly pr something idk

Idia never goes outside, so he lowkey forgets just how weird you and your little mask actually is

honestly, he just told himself that you were just a really dedicated cosplayer and promptly forgot about it

until you absolutely freaked out when he tried to grab it

now, in hindsight, he realizes that he probably shouldn't have done that

but in nowsight, he’s more focused on trying to figure out when he got on the floor and where you pulled that knife from

Damn bitch- that knife looks like shit!

It looked like it was crudely put together and meant for one, deadly slash

Which would have been for him if another club member wasn't there to pull you off and call epel

Yep. It took the yeehaw coming down for you to finally stop fighting the gameboard club and chill

And idia...idia was conflicted....

...

You didn't show up to any if the club meets the next week, but you did the week after that

The only problem was that you wouldn't look at each other. At all.

I mean, you can't really look at the person who almost killed you last week and just be like

YOOOOOO YOU GOT DABOLLONS?

Yeah didn't think so

So idia does what he does best, and asks his Google.com ass brother

And then panics when ortho doesn't get the correct results

Well what the hell does he do now?!

...should he just ask you?

....

Anyways expect a visit from ortho soon

And prepare to tell him EVERYTHING about the silly little mask you insist on wearing

Also don't think too much about it if idia just kind of looks at you with an expression of pity from then on

Don't worry!

You'll know why soon enough

"Uh....perfect?"

"Hm?"

"Um...can I ask a question?"

"...well you can ask"

"OK uh. What's with the mask?"

Idia just felt you raising an eyebrow at him, like the answer was the most obvious in the world

"I wear this mask so I can breathe properly. I don't know what's in the air here and I don't want to choke"

...

Heh?

Da fuq?

Well he's not too surprised because ortho basically told him the same thing, but it was a bit different hearing the words from you compared to his brother

Great seven- how the hell do you tell someone that their wrong about something like this?

How do you tell anyone anything period?

Uhhhhhhh....

"Your wrong"

Eh, not the best or most graceful way to correct someone but it got the job done ig

"...excuse me?"

"Listen unless you breathe something other than oxygen and relatively safe levels of nitrogen, then you're not gonna choke and die from breathing the air"

Have you ever seen a wild animal take its first steps?

Idia hasn't, but he was guessing this was what it was like

You paused, seemingly battling with yourself on ....something

Idia didn't know what

But he had a couple of guesses

And one really good one

Malleus:

How you didn't get smited the first time yall met is a mystery

But once you both got past the "is this guy going to/try to kill me?" And that awkward "almost friend but not quite" stages, you were acting like lifelong friends

Like, boundaries basically don't exist anymore, lifelong friends

That guy lurking outside of your dorm? Nah don't worry! That's just hornton!

He just does that

Oh look! Now he's in your house!

I really hope you didn't want to eat that ice cream

Can't sleep? Go find hornton! You know where he is :)

Yes you do :)

Look at you, finally making friends that you probably hopefully won't need to bury in an unmarked grave

Between the walks and the late night lessons on architecture and gargoyles and the 3am snacking on whatever you could find in the Ramshakle dorm, perfect, why do you have all this food hidden underneath the floorboards?, you and malleus were close like 🤞

Well...not totally because, however close you got emotionally, there was always kind of a...wall

A small barrier between the two if you that was getting much too big

Why?

...bro

You didn't know his name, he didn't know yours

You didn't know who he is and where he's from, and he most definitely didn’t know shit about you either

Plus, neither of you were particularly touchy, so the closest yall got physically was just sitting next to each other either on the rotting couch of Ramshakle or when you walked a bit too closely while looking for gargoyles

Why did you always walk so close anyways?

Seriously, it reminded him of silver and sebeck

...

Come to think of it. You never do relax, do you?

...do you not trust him?

Was it something he did?

Actually, did you trust anyone?

He didn't know, he never really saw you on campus, and even when he did, he made an effort to avoid you at all costs, lest you may discover who he actually is

And wouldn't that just be tragic? Would you treat him differently, maybe? ....he didn't want to know the answer just yet

He wished his meemaw grandmother was here to help him

Because he was not going to lilia about this

He wasn't

"...hey lilia?"

Malleus draconia then heard a mischievous little giggle and regretted everything

He was absolutely not going to lilia

So what did that leave him?

...you

But how to ask such a question without it seemingly coming out of nowhere?

Hmm..

"Child of man", his tone was gentle, he didn't want to scare you off by asking, because he still had no idea how he was going to ask in the first place

You seemed happy enough to answer him though, perking up slightly where you sat on the steps of Ramshakle when you heard his voice

It made him smile just a bit

"Hm?"

"Child of man...forgive me for asking this out of the blue, but why do you always insist on wearing a mask?"

He saw you deflate just a little and suddenly wished he had more experience with having friends

"Ah...well hornton, I use it to breathe"

"...Ah, do you have some sort of medical condition then?"

"No? I just can't magically filter the lead and radiation from the air like you all can"

....you said that like it was the most natural thing in the world

Ok. Maybe he WOULD bring lilia into this

And maybe shrouds younger brother

But before that...

"What is radiation?"

...

"You know..."-He did not, in fact, know- "the leftover nuclear power and radiation from the bomb zones"

....

.......

What.

________________________________

Yall everybody thank @haru-tofuu for reminding me that I haven't posted one of these in over a month because I have zero perception of time.

Ok. So the next part of this series will be the red bandana you wear around your forehead and what that symbolizes and the guys reactions to that. Also I'm probably going to do those by dorm because I want to write ADeuce and my bbg (jamil)

[bradshawsbaby]

Something 🌶️ for the Bradshaws? “If you keep doing that I’m gonna have to pull this car over.” 👀

Okay 👀👀👀 How about the Bradshaws in the earlier days of their relationship, before they were married?

18+ content below the cut.

It was a perfect summer day.

Mav and Penny had hosted an afternoon barbecue at their place, which had been a great way to unwind and have some fun with your friends. You were so grateful for the fact that when you started dating Bradley, you’d gotten friendship with the Dagger Squad as part of the deal. As if you weren’t lucky enough.

As a perfect ending to a perfect day, you were currently curled up against your boyfriend’s side in the front seat of his Bronco, your head resting on his shoulder while you watched the sun paint the sky a vibrant array of crimson and fuchsia as it made its descent for the evening.

“I had a great time today,” you told him, lifting your head slightly to gaze up at him, admiring the sculpted angle of his strong jaw.

Bradley had his eyes on the road ahead as he drove in the direction of your place, but he glanced down at you quickly and gave you a smile that set your heart racing. “I’m happy to hear that, baby. I had a great time, too,” he replied, reaching out with one hand and lightly squeezing your leg.

You couldn’t help yourself. How could you when he was sitting there looking so good and you were still riding the high of a wonderful day? Shifting in your seat slightly, you draped yourself over Bradley’s shoulder and began pressing soft kisses to his cheek and jaw, slowly working your way downward until you were peppering his neck with slow, sensual kisses.

“Honey,” Bradley murmured in a husky voice, shivering slightly as he attempted to maintain his focus behind the wheel.

“Mmm,” you sighed softly against his skin, sucking gently on the pulse point just beneath his ear. The smell of him was intoxicating and you couldn’t get enough. As you continued to kiss, suck, and nibble on his neck, your hand began to slide down his chest and you could feel his body stiffen in response.

“Honey,” he said again, this time a warning.

“Yes?” you asked sweetly, gazing up at him.

Bradley chuckled, glancing at you affectionately. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to have to pull this car over,” he informed you.

Grinning, you went right back to smothering his neck in affection.

“I told you so,” Bradley insisted, turning off the road he was driving on and putting the Bronco in park on a quiet side street.

“Mmm, maybe that was my master plan all along,” you teased, letting out a little squeal of delight when Bradley pulled you into his lap, your legs straddling one of this thick thighs.

“Oh, yeah?” he chuckled, kissing you tenderly. “So what’s next then?”

In response, you wrapped your arms around him and dug your fingers into his hair, kissing him with a fervent passion that had your blood humming in your veins.

“I like this plan,” he murmured breathlessly, sliding his hands under your little eyelet sundress so that he could cup your behind, kneading the skin gently.

“Oh, baby,” you moaned softly, slowly starting to rub your clothed core against the fabric of his jeans. It caused a delicious friction that had you squirming and biting down roughly on your lower lip.

“Does that feel good?” Bradley asked, cupping your face in his hands as you continued to grind down on his thigh. He ran his thumb over your lips, loving the look of pleasure burning in your eyes.

“Y-yes,” you gasped out, your body shuddering from the intensity of the sensation. “So good,” you sighed, resting your hands on his shoulders.

Gently placing his hands on your hips, Bradley started to guide you, watching in amazement as you began to ride his thigh in earnest, throwing your head back and letting out loud cries of ecstasy.

“Bradley! Oh, it feels so good!” you whimpered, gazing deeply into his eyes. “I think I’m going to—oh, I’m—I’m—”

“Go ahead, honey,” Bradley encouraged you, pressing a kiss to your chin.

You fell apart then and there, your whole body trembling as you came down from your high. You clung to Bradley, laying your head on his chest as you caught your breath.

“That was incredible, baby,” he whispered, dropping a kiss on the top of your head. “But now I have to get you home so we can finish what we started!”

[atlasscrumpit]

🔞Vampire Miguel x reader🔞

NSFW UNDER THE CUT, ABUSE, CNC, BLOOD AND OTHER TRIGGERING SUBJECTS

Maybe it was sick and a little twisted, actually it definitely was very twisted.

But, you made the perfect couple. You craved pain and scars and Miguel craved to cause pain.

He loved seeing you covered in bruises and wounds caused by him, he liked to imagine you were his perfect canvas.

Every night carefully painting you in new scars and hearing your beautiful cries of pain.

He woke up in the morning, pulling the blanket back from you to see a bruise on your hip in the shape of his hands. He smiled and gently ran his finger over the new bruise. You slowly woke up and turned around to face Miguel.

“Good morning.” You muttered tiredly as he leant in and kissed you softly.

“You look so beautiful this morning.” He whispered as you smiled and kissed him again.

“Stay here and I’ll get you some breakfast.” He said before climbing out of bed.

You watched him leave and slowly stretched in bed.

After a while he returned with a cup of coffee and some breakfast. He placed it on the table beside you before getting into bed again.

While you sipped your coffee Miguel started to kiss your neck softly.

“Once you’re done with you’re breakfast I’ll have mine.” He said nuzzling into your neck making you chuckle softly.

While you ate breakfast he continued to kiss and suck the skin on your sensitive neck.

You knew he must be hungry but he alway made sure you ate first before he fed off you.

Once you were finished he sighed in relief and sat against the headboard, patting his lap. He didn’t need to use words anymore, you were used to the routine. You straddled his waist and wrapped your arms around his neck before he moved the hair away from your neck.

You tilted your neck to the side and he gripped you hair roughly before plunging his teeth into your neck. You gasped in pain but couldn’t help but moan, the pain making your body react in pleasure.

He gripped your hips and you felt his claws starting to piece your skin.

You cried out in pain, only making Miguel even hungrier as he drank your blood. His claws deep in your skin, stopping you from moving an inch.

He finally pulled away and looked at you while you sobbed, he looked at you hungrily and retracted his claws as he smiled watching you cry.

“That’s it, my sweet pet. It’s too much to handle isn’t it? Is it too much for my porcelain doll to handle?” He taunted as you cried even more, but he knew how much you loved it.

“And let me guess, princess. Are you getting off on this, huh? Don’t lie to me.” He asked, brushing a piece of hair out of your face as you looked at him and nodded.

He chuckled and took in your beautiful form, his large shirt draped over your body, blood on your hips and neck from him, your mouth slightly hung open while you cried.

He moved you a little so you were only straddling one of his thighs.

“Then go on, be a pathetic little girl for me.” He whispered as you looked at him and bit your lip. You started slowly grinding on his large thigh as you whined a little.

“Look at you, I can feel how wet you are. You’re such a disgusting little creature, aren’t you?” He taunted as you covered your mouth and continued grinding on his thigh.

“God, look at you. Maybe I should turn you, sweetheart. You’re so beautiful at this age, I should keep you like this forever. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Eternity being my good little girl.” He growled as he pressed his palm against his crotch and groaned lowly.

“Fuck, stop.” He demanded as you immediately stopped grinding. He grabbed you and pinned you onto the bed and began kissing over the wound on your neck. He stripped your panties off but kept you in his shirt that you were wearing.

He brought his sweatpants down and then his boxers, letting his hard cock free as he looked down at you.

“Miguel, please.” You whispered as Miguel looked down at you and smiled. He stood up off the bed and roughly pulled you towards him by your legs. He forced your ankles onto his shoulders before digging his claws into your thigh and guiding himself inside of you.

“Fuck, you’re such a disgusting little beast.” He growled as he gripped both of your thighs and began pounding into you, making you cry out.

Miguel adored watching your face while he fucked you, you would be completely lost in pain and pleasure while his claws drew blood from your thighs.

“That’s it, my pathetic girl. No one wanted you did they? So fucking desperate for me to take you, you begged on your fucking knees to be my pet.” He taunted as you gripped the bed sheets and cried.

“No…” You muttered as Miguel chuckled.

“No? That’s all you have, little human? Can’t even fucking fight against me, can you?” He growled as he reached forward and gripped your throat, you looked up at him with tear filled eyes.

He looked at you and felt himself getting closer just from watching you try to fight for air.

“That’s it, baby.” He muttered as he threw his head back and went back to gripping both of your thighs, he thrust into one last time and felt himself cum inside on you as he heard you gasp for air.

Once he was done he looked down at you and slowly pulled out before climbing on top of you and kissed you. He reached down and started rubbing your clit as you moaned and arched your back.

“That’s it, feels good doesn’t it? Blood dripping down your legs while my cum drips out of you. My pathetic little girl is going to cum, isn’t she?” He whispered as you kept your eyes on his.

“Yes, yes… please, don’t stop.” You cried out as he laughed and felt your legs starting to shake.

“Need to…” You muttered as he chuckled and kissed you.

“Go ahead.” He whispered, he leant forward and kissed you roughly, muffling your loud moans as he rubbed you through your climax.

Once you had climaxed he slowly took his hand away and began kissing all over your face.

“Perfect, such a good girl. Deep breaths, my love.” He whispered as you watched him hazily and got your breath back.

He waited until the fog cleared from your brain, he helped you sit up and handed you a glass of water.

“We need to get you cleaned up, babydoll.” He whispered, playing with your hair while you sipped the fresh cold water.

You looked at him for a moment.

"Were you serious?" You muttered as he looked at you in confusion.

"About making me a vampire so I can stay with you..." You whispered, looking away. You were afraid of the answer, you were even more afraid that you were just a temporary snack for Miguel.

He smiled and held your face in his hand.

"Yes, I was serious. I thought about it a lot... The thought of losing you makes my heart ache more than it ever has. But, it's up to you completely, my love. Why don't we take a nice shower and you think about it?" He asked as you blushed and nodded.

"Yes, please."

--

You sat on the couch in the living room while Miguel treated the wounds he had left on your body.

"I want to stay with you forever, Miguel... I love you." You muttered as Miguel looked at you and smiled.

"Are you sure, sweetheart? This is a big decision." He asked as you nodded.

"Yes, I'm completely sure. I'll miss you feeding off me but I'd gladly give it up if it means I get to be with you." You whispered in response as Miguel smiled.

He leant forward and kissed you softly.

"Than it's decided, my love. I'll take the best care of you while you turn, you don't need to be afraid. I love you so much, you're going to be mine forever." He whispered, kissing you again as you smiled.

"Forever."

[vennilavee]

v. ares & aphrodite

blood&pearls mlist

wc: 2.2k

summary: there is a dinner party at ryomen sukuna's shrine and you are invited.

warnings: active cannibalism

If the sea could open herself up and present the sky with her treasures hidden deep under unturned rocks and shimmering pearls, she would present only you in a rush of seafoam and roses. The sun would rise and set with each step you took, if it had the honor to see you emerge from the sea.

As you wander the halls of the shrine, you are unaware of the ravenous eyes on you with every quiet step you take. The walls are decorated with paintings and carvings of lines and shapes that are new to you. It is warm here but not uncomfortably so, despite the balmy heat from the sunlight filtering in through the windows. 

“You look lovely,” Uraume says as they guide you towards the main dining area.

“Thank you,” you murmur, wringing your fingers together. Uraume looks pointedly at your hands and places a goblet of a clear liquid in your palms. It has no odor but you eye it suspiciously. Uraume nearly laughs at your hesitation.

“It’s sake. Lord Sukuna only has the finest of drinks here. Take a sip, if you’d like.”

You nod, continue to glide through the corridors of the demon king’s home, hoping to run into him soon. The fairies have informed you about sake and wine, and the effects it has on humans. You keep the cup at arm’s length as if it will bite you if you hold it close.

You are at the mercy of your own curiosity, but you remain cautious in the den of wolves.

Uraume walks with you as you roam the halls of your own volition. The ruby red is jarring when you remember how the palace halls in the sea looked. Dark greens and blues blending together to match the sea around you as if it was all one and the same.

You don’t think of the palace often these days. But sometimes, it comes in unwarranted bursts, like you are powerless to stop your own memories for a fleeting moment.

Letting your fingertips gently graze the walls, you sigh wistfully.

“For a demon king who despises humanity, Lord Sukuna certainly enjoys human made artifacts,” you muse, touching the molding of a grand tapestry that surely took years to produce. It is a painting of him sitting on a throne of fire and skulls, looking directly at you solemnly. As if the burden of turning the world to ash and fire sat on his shoulders.

“Despises humanity? You misunderstand-” Uraume cuts themselves off as a looming figure that can only be one Ryomen Sukuna emerges from the shadows.

“Sukuna,” you say in surprise, the breathlessness in your voice setting him on edge, “Hello.”

“What are you doing here, so far from the dining room?” he asks roughly but there is no ire in his eyes.

Uraume has left, but neither of you notice.

“I wanted… to see how the great demon king lives.”

“So you resort to sneaking around like a common criminal?”

“Criminal? Is that how you think of me?”

Sukuna says nothing, only allowing his lightning eyes to graze the way that your shimmering dress sits on your frame as if it was a second skin. Pearls lay daintily  hidden in your tresses, as if to replace the heavy crown you would have surely worn in your dark hair had chosen to stay in the sea.

In an unbreakable trance, he reaches for you with heated fingertips and a burning gaze. Your eyelids flutter when he fixes one of the pearls in your hair that has gone astray, nearly falling out. He allows his hand to drift away from your hair and towards the curve of your jaw, pressing his thumb to your chin.

If he can hear the racing of your heart, Sukuna says nothing of it. He drinks you in- your half lidded eyes, the imperceptible parting of your lips and the way you stand in front of him. Wrapped up as a gift from the sea.

Sukuna’s eyes narrow slightly when you grip his wrist with your much tinier hand. You even rub a small circle on the skin there, as if to coax something out of him. Something born deep in the flames of desire that he refuses to admit to himself. Something it seems you already know.

Of course you do. He sneers at you, but it melts away with just one look to your dark eyes.

His thumb brushes over your lips, a sticky balm to your skin. When you gasp in surprise, he presses the digit past your lips and into the wet warmth of your mouth. 

Sukuna groans out loud when your tongue rolls around on his thumb, your eyes growing wider at the sound. Your teeth scrape clumsily over the skin of his finger, but he doesn’t mind. Not when you look at him as if he’s carved this world with his own two hands. Not when you look like a shimmering angel standing in front of him, at his mercy.

You decide you wish to chase that sound. He pulls his finger out and brushes your lips once more before cradling your cheek in one hand. You lean into his touch, a fire in your belly beginning to set alight with each heated touch he presses upon you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, “Come. We have a dinner party to attend.”

Sukuna is fully aware of the obvious stares that you garner as you walk in front of him and to your seat at the dinner table. The entire room goes silent, heads turning to stare down the girl who emerged from the sea as you set the entire room ablaze.

But you seem not to notice, or if you do, you show no acknowledgement of how the worst curses and curse users in existence leer at you with hungry eyes. You’ve learned a little bit about curses in your time spent at the pond. They don’t bother you, perhaps on Sukuna’s orders. All you know is that they are capable of chaos and they only respond to Sukuna.

You wordlessly take your seat next to him, keeping your head up high and showing no fear to the thirsty beasts surrounding you. 

“Beautiful,” a beast with one eye says to you in a low voice.

“I cannot say the same,” you mumble, inspecting your food.

All Sukuna needs to do is send one heated glare to his dinner guests and they all fall silent immediately.

The curse users take a particular interest in you, asking you where you’ve come from. Wordlessly wondering why Sukuna has welcomed you to his shrine.

You have a general idea of why, but you decide to keep your lips sealed and not spill the demon king’s secret to his subjects. Instead, you give them a disarming smile and ask how they found Sukuna. You’ve never spoken to anyone besides your fellow sisters and brothers, pirates and sailors. It is different to be amongst what Sukuna tells you are curses, manifestations of energy that seem to be almost as human as actual humans.

They are enchanted by you, wide, greedy eyes drinking you in to quench something that cannot be. The energy twists and changes inside the dining room as you attract more and more attention and Sukuna laughs to himself in amusement.

Of course. You barely need to try to have these pathetic imbeciles at your feet, and yet you could drown them easily with wide eyes if you so chose.

Sukuna takes you away by the wrist from the bloodthirsty creatures and ignores you when you ask him where he is dragging you to. You receive no answer, only coming face-to-face with a colossal burgundy wooden door.

“So this is where the great demon king sleeps,” you murmur, letting your hands trail along the burgundy walls lined with gold trim. It’s as royal as a man like him desires for- the finest silk and satin and the warmest fur. Not that he needs it.

“Sleep? You think I require something as trivial as sleep?” 

You glide around his colossal bedroom, taking in the weaponry and the trophies of his conquests. A broken sword, a chest with glittering rubies and diamonds laying haphazardly by the bed, a half made clay figure with his likeness to it…

Perhaps a last ditch offering for life.

“I suppose not. Though, perhaps sleep would make you less…irritable,” you reply with a smile. He scowls deeply at you.

The bed feels like a cloud when you rest your body upon it. You sigh happily and close your eyes, sinking into the ruby satin sheets. It is comfortable, but you miss the fresh dew of the grass by your favorite lemon tree. The lemon tree at the edge of the pond near the shrine with its leaves that cast shade on your heated skin and its bright yellow fruit.

Sometimes you take extra care when you are sunbathing by the lemon tree to savor the heat when you feel Sukuna’s eyes from afar. He takes in every movement of your limbs before disappearing back into the darkness. It has been an odd dance since you’ve made a home out of the pond- you catch him watching at strange hours of the day, only for him to vanish before you can call out to him.

On occasion, you’ve been surprised to see a full plate of freshly cut mangoes, peaches and peeled pomegranate awaiting you after your decadent afternoon nap. While these fruits were a delicacy to you before, now you have grown accustomed to the rich taste.

The bed dips slightly and you don’t have to open your eyes to feel the heat from Sukuna’s body. Like a moth to a flame, you draw yourself closer to him. His touch is gentle, despite the brute force that he has used to rip out the hearts of those who are doomed to it. 

“You make this bed your home and yet you do not allow me a taste of you,” Sukuna muses. His hand remains on your arm, the other on your waist, heavy and fleeting. The satin shimmer of the dress is featherlight underneath his fingertips as he craves the warmth of your skin.

“Allow? I did not know that the lord Sukuna required permission from his subjects to take what he deems as his,” you reply airily.

Your laugh sounds like petals flowing into the water. He grunts an acknowledgement and caresses your bare shoulder, as if you might break if he presses too hard.

“You belong here,” he states, “Here in the shrine.”

“Is your pond not enough?” you reply, opening your eyes to meet the fire in his eyes with your own.

“I will not have these fools questioning your place to me,” Sukuna says, “I will have you.”

“Will you?” you whisper, threading your fingers through his, “Or do you have me already?”

His eyes narrow but you look away towards the windows, where the moonlight filters into his bedroom and the sound of the waves rolling to shore fills your ears. She stands regally in the sky, looking down on you almost in contempt.

Why have you chosen to leave your birthright? Why have you not chosen the sea I made for you?

Chosen. 

Sukuna feels your eyes on him abruptly, staring at him as if trying to peer at his soul. You may have been successful, had you only tipped your chin upwards and parted your lips just an inch. 

“You will stay here,” Sukuna says with nearly no room to counter.

“For just one night,” you reply softly, raising your fingers to touch the black markings on his face.

“That will do,” he agrees, removing your hand from his cheek, “I wish to show you something. Come.”

He does not offer his hand to you to help you off the bed.

He turns his back to you, opening the armoire where yet another chest is hidden at the back. It is ornate, framed with gems in colors you are still adjusting to and twinkling gold borders. Clearly, a chest fit for the finest treasures as deemed by Sukuna.

A beating, bloody heart sits in his hand, cradled delicately by the massive palms. A tiny little life sits in the center of his control to be easily crushed or allowed to bloom with a flick of his fingers. Your eyes widen, a funny little feeling floating around in your belly, especially when you see a rose tucked away in one of the vessels of the heart.

“This is from that white haired fool who was being so bothersome. I’ve retrieved this. For you.”

“Oh,” you reply unsurely, not wanting to upset him, “That’s lovely…”

You hold your own hands out to cradle the warm heart that is still fighting to live. Blood stains your fingers but you pay it no mind.

There are no words for you to say so you tuck the beating heart away in the chest that Sukuna had initially placed it in. Licking your fingers clean of the white haired man’s blood, you offer Sukuna a small smile.

“Help me with this, won’t you?”

tags:  kentobean @misslovingpearl @aeanya @helenas-revenge @aboveasphodel

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

Haha... it's been far too long. What can I say, technology hates me.

This chapter turned out really long, and I was not planning it like that at all. I like what it became though :)

This chapter is called "The Downfall of Kinsmen".

Page 39 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 13:

How could a man such as you, keep in his heart a Beast? Blind eyes turn heavenwards, crescented and kind, How could a flower, small and fine, Love the fiery sun, the killer and divine, How could the tide, heedless and rough, Love the gentle moon, a teacher for those misguides, How could the star, far and bright, Love our darkest nights, brighten our eyes, How could I  Not admire you?

Simon Riley was a hero.

Ghost has more confirmed KIAs than any merc walking on this accursed earth.

Simon Riley was a hero.

Ghost came here to work with the Hunter, whose soldiers are ending innocent lives by the hundreds, every second taking down another soul.

Simon Riley was a hero.

Ghost is thrusting a knife into his palm, bearing his neck out. Scarred and mangled, veins discolored by the poison eating away at his blood. Gloved hands resting on Soap’s thighs, a soft touch so out of place on this barren dirt.

Simon Riley is Ghost.

Ghost is asking him to slit his throat. Telling Soap it is the only way to end this, to kill the Hunter, to win. Closing his eyes, leaving fate in the hands of a broken, once soldier.

He’s right, Soap knows. Killing Ghost would end everything. He could free this city from the Hunter’s clutches with a swing of a knife.

Soap lifts the blade, the setting sun’s light reflecting over Ghost’s mask, an emotionless skull painted to resemble death. It shines through its eye sockets, casting light over Ghost’s pale lashes. His cheeks lift somewhat, and it dawns on Soap that he’s smiling.

The knife shakes in his hands.

Open your eyes, Soap wants to scream. Fight me, claw at mine. Why do you accept death so easily, when it’s in my hands?

Tell me, why did you become this?

Simon Riley wants Soap to kill him. 

John swings the knife down, teeth bared, feelings swirling in his gut. The blade strikes down.

Buried in the dirt besides Simon’s head.

John watches his brown eyes flutter open, confused. Watches them turn to see the knife, and back to his, questioning.

He heaves a breath, the eye contact burning, yet he doesn’t dare to sever it.

“You were a hero.” John almost growls, hands still trembling on the weapon, “why… why did ye become Ghost?”

Simon tilts his head minutely, his hands caress John’s legs, lost in memories.

“They left me to die.” the man under him murmurs, “was captured, no one came to rescue us.” John feels Simon’s chest stutter, “I escaped. I tried to stay away, tried to live.”

Dark eyes look up at him, “couldn’t. Like you.”

“So ye became a monster?” John spits harshly.

Simon’s eyes soften, “I was always a monster. They only called me a hero because I died-”

“No.” John lets go of the knife, bracketing Simon’s head instead, “ye were a legend, ye saved thousands, ye were-”

Ye were everything I wanted to be.

Simon’s hands are warm, as they pass over his clothes, as if he’s trying to soothe a phantom wound, “you are a hero, Johnny. Why are you not killing me?” he asks, confusion and an edge of fear bleeding into his words.

It angers John. He knows, if he were to try and be a hero, his next step would be to kill the Ghost. Throw his head in front of the Hunter, banish him from this land, save the civilians. His mission is clear-cut, and Ghost is just an obstacle. Another hostile, another target, another objective. That was what he always strived for, from the moment he set foot in bootcamp to the day he was discharged.

All of his previous COs’ words rush forth, voices mingling to a single sentence-

Stop trying to be the hero, MacTavish.

John roughly slides Ghost’s mask off, revealing a face twisted by confusion. Dirty blond hair, curled and pressed flat by the ever-present mask. Scars, creating valleys and hills over pale skin. Bisected lips that fall open in surprise. Brown eyes, so deep, they can’t help but reflect the darkening skies.

Simon Riley is just a man.

He takes the knife out of the ground, only to stab it through the now hollow eyes of the skull. John leans closer, whispering in Simon’s ears.

“Ghost is dead. What will ye become now?”

Simon’s eyes widen, the last of the day’s light radiant in them. “I… I have nothing left to be.” he fearfully answers.

“No.” John raises up, “there’s more to us than heroes and monsters, Simon.” the man startles at the name, “what do ye want to do now? Ye want to kill me, kill yerself, keep on the path that destroyed us both…”

John offers a hand.

“Or ye want to find out what else we could become?”

Simon breathes in deep, like a newborn’s first taste of air, like a dying man’s last prayer. Gloved hands, that know to both give and receive unfathomable violence, take his.

“I do.” the words flow through scarred lips, and John can almost taste the want in them. For salvation. For redemption. “But how?”

John yanks the blade out of the mask, and gives it to Simon. The man that wears it will not be the Ghost that sunk first to the ground, nor the man that has risen from the grave.

“With what we always had.” John turns back to the truck, “with pain and will. With bloodshed.”

He glances at Simon, mask still in hand, “we lead ourselves now.”

When he joins him in the vehicle, Simon wears the mask. But he could never hide how his eyes look at John, how the emotions flow through them. How he trusted him with his death.

How he’ll trust Soap with his life.

He takes them back to the city center. All paths lead down here, it seems. Soap feels the weight of Ghost’s stare on him for the whole drive, and not for the first time he wishes he could take a look inside his skull.

Soap is surprised to find himself without regrets. He’s not without anger at Ghost, hell, not without hate, but alongside those feelings something else stirs awake.

He thinks it might be kinship.

His surprise only grows when Ghost chimes up, “you still want to kill the Hunter, right?”

Soap glances at him, “‘course.”

“We still need to get intel-” Ghost unexpectedly jumps at the steering wheel, pulling it left.

“What the-!” Soap veers the truck back to the road, “are ye tryin’ teh kill us?!”

Ghost’s head pokes out of the side window, looking back, “there’s someone on the road, Johnny.”

“What?” Soap kills the engine, jumping out of the vehicle. Ghost instantly follows him, rifle ready for a gunfight.

They approach the still body on the road cautiously, “are ye friendly?!” Soap shouts.

The form doesn’t move a muscle. “They’re dead.” Ghost mutters. Soap observed the pooling blood around the body, sensing the tension leaving Ghost’s motions.

Stepping closer, Soap recognizes the insignia of the Hunter’s soldiers, a red skull. The body is littered with gunshot wounds, from their legs to their head. Whoever was fighting them, they were frantic. Desperate.

There is only one other group fighting the Hunter in this city. The 141. And if they were in a state bad enough to shoot like an untrained rookie…

Ghost crouched down to pat the dead man’s pockets. He collects a couple extra mags, and the comms. As he switches between channels, Soap scans the surrounding streets. Signs of a struggle litter the walls, cracks drawing a picture of a hopeless fight for survival. More bodies are hidden under shadows, and Soap walks to check their identity.

Civilians, mingled right among the Hunter’s soldiers. This doesn’t feel like Price and Gaz’s work…

Soap’s lingering thoughts snap back to the radio in Ghost’s hand, when the constant white noise is replaced with alarmed commands. “-armed civvies, group of 20! They’re around the main plaza. Took down about 5 of ours-” Ghost meets his eyes, expression serious. “-told you to take ‘em out!” “yessir”. The comms click off.

“They’re fighting back…” Soap thinks out loud, voice trailing off. 

Ghost raises to his feet, shoving the radio down one of his pockets, “they won’t last long. The Hunter’s soldiers are highly trained.”

Burning rage spreads through Soap. He can’t let them die, can’t let the Hunter squash down the few that found the courage to strike back. He glares at Ghost with a challenging stare, “I’m going to help them.”

Ghost studies him silently. “We are going to help them.” he starts walking back to the truck, leaving a bewildered Soap to catch up, “I know where the plaza is, was in the debrief the Hunter gave me. There’s a sniper rifle on the rooftop opposite of it, we can back up the civvies from there.”

Soap slams the door behind him, rushing to start the engine, “if there’s a sniper rifle there, wouldn’t the Hunter have a soldier on it?”

Ghost halts his movements for a moment, “they did. It was me.”

“What- who did ye shoot?”

Ghost seems to curl into himself a little, “...I don’t know. They were just… a target.”

A warning light flashes, signaling the fuel tank is almost empty. Soap sighs, worries and curses overlapping each other on his tongue, ”can ye direct me to the plaza?”

Ghost looks up, “...affirm. Turn right at this intersection…”

Flashes of gunshots light the plaza, a huge building with a court in its middle, acting as a battleground for the civilians and the Hunter’s soldiers. Their fuel lasted them just enough to reach it.

Ghost leads him to the back, where a ladder lines the side of the wall. When Soap doesn’t follow him, Ghost stops, “what’s on your mind, Soap?”

Soap grasps the rifle in his hands tightly, “There’s only one sniper rifle up there, right? Ah’ll be of more use down ‘ere.”

Ghost lets go of the ladder completely, “you’re not planning on joining the civilians, are you?”

“You know Ah won’t be able to do shit up there with ye.”

“You’ll get yourself killed, that will certainly help-”

“Why would ye even care?!” Soap snarls, taking two steps closer to Ghost and staring him down.

He watches his gloved hands clench, “I can’t-”

“What is it?! Ye think Ah’m feckin’ useless-”

“I CAN’T WATCH YOU DIE!” Ghost shouts.

Soap’s brow shoot up, his anger dissipating into nothing. He’s left speechless, as Ghost continues, “you’re fucking reckless, and uncontrollable, and- I thought we’ll-!”

“Ghost.”

“I’ll die without you, you know that? The poison-”

“Ye didn’t care about that when ye gave me the knife.” Soap grabs the front of his mask to pull Ghost down, shoving him against the wall, he ignores his grunt as he forces those dark eyes on him. “Why do ye care?” he asks calmly.

Simon breathes heavily, so much that Soap can feel it through the mask, and he sees how the emotions try to peek through the bleached skull. “I… I don’t… “ Simon sighs, “I can’t let you die.”

“Why?”

Simon hand wraps around Soap’s wrist, not pushing away, just holding. “You… trust me. I can’t break it, not again-”

Soap lets go of the mask, “I won’t die, Simon.” He looks down at the hand holding his, and it retreats, “and ye didn’t fully earn my trust just yet.”

Simon nods slowly, and Soap steps back, “ye better stay alive so ye can.”

Simon stares at him, eyes somewhat soft, muscles relaxing, “I will, Johnny.” the name sends a pang of hurt through his heart. Despite everything, Soap still hasn’t stopped Ghost from calling him that. He thinks he’s just afraid of regretting it, missing the way it sounds.

Wanting that little connection, to keep them tied through this endless sea.

Soap shakes his head. He finds himself in a similar boat to Ghost.

He doesn’t think he can watch him die either.

Chaos is the only rule on these grounds. Furniture is stacked precariously to build cover, bullets shoot in every direction. Soap can’t tell whose blood covers the once white floor.

He climbed up to the second floor, trying to find a vantage point over the battle. The civilians have retreated farther back into the shops, soldiers overwhelming them by numbers and skill. Soap takes aim, a deep inhale.

The shots echo through the empty walkway, deafeningly loud in his ears, but he pays it no mind. Soap keeps tabs on the soldiers trying to push forward on the civilians, watching them scramble to cover once they realize someone is attacking them from above. He tries to kill as many as he can before they’re out of his sights.

Every few seconds, a soldier he’s aiming at drops abruptly, the shell of a bullet splicing through the night air. Ghost is a frighteningly excellent sniper. Soap can see why he struck fear in the hearts of so many.

The civilians have noticed something’s amiss, their willpower strengthening. Soap’s heart swells-

They’re fighting back tenfold, now that they believe they could win.

The Hunter’s soldiers retreat, enough that Soap has to descend back to the ground floor. As he rushes down, he spots the fearful eyes of children peek through the dark shops.

The civilians are protecting them.

He vaults over the edge when he’s low enough for it, and finds himself in front of a man, who seemingly left the fight, searching for him. Soap’s eyes widen with recognition.

“...Mihail?” Soap mutters.

“Soap!” The man smiles, “I have thought it was you!” 

They both start running back to the front, “I thought ye left!”

Mihail shakes his head, “I left. I came back.”

“...Why?” he frowns.

The man halts for a moment, staring at Soap with a determined gaze, “I couldn’t. Leave others, children, friends.” his untrained arms shake around his stolen gun, “you fight, so why couldn’t I too?”

Soap heart beats a war chant in his chest. Mihail pushes them both to run again, all the while his mind forms a storm.

He chose to fight… because of Soap? 

“Here!” Mihail shouts over his shoulder, “we need help. This is Alma.” he points to a woman tending to one of the shot men, hidden behind a stack of sofas, “she knows English good. Tell her what we do, she will tell us.”

“Aye!”

The woman, Alma, lifts her head when he comes closer. Her arms are covered in blood up to her elbows. Her brows crease as she assesses Soap, “are you the one that helped Maria and Victor?”

“I am.”

Her expression relaxes, “thank you.” She nods to the fighters, “we’ve been fighting for hours, they cornered us here. I think they’re trying to kill us all at once.” her teeth bare, “they will, if we don’t do something differently.”

Soap quickly scans their numbers. About 40 people, most equipped with rifles like his own. The Hunter’s soldiers are still cowering under cover. Ghost’s shots are making sure to down any that attempt to push forward, but he can already see them going around, using Ghost’s blind spots to try and flank their group.

He turns back to Alma, “We need to split up, take both the left and the right. Leave the worst fighters here, so they think ye haven’t moved, take ten of the best left, five more right.”

Alma nods, “where will you be?”

Soap motions right, “Ah’ll go ahead, clear the path fer the five on the right.”

Alma wipes the blood on her dirtied clothes, shouting to the fighters. The shooting calms a tad as they listen to her orders. Soap watches them get ready to split up, and only a few moments pass before fifteen men and women step back. Alma continues to talk, pointing at both hallways. Ten leave, and Soap leads the remaining five to their side.

It has been over a year since Soap ordered anyone on field, and a certain nervosity spreads through him, before he shuts it down.

This is no different from any other mission he’s been on, he has to tell himself. The footfalls behind him are of soldiers, not civilians. Their guns are their own, not stolen from corpses.

He is Sergeant MacTavish, not John.

Soap motions them to stop, and he walks ahead to clear the corner. He swiftly ducks behind a low wall, scanning the dark hallways ahead. Ghost seems to recognize the forming plan, since he started providing cover fire for the split groups.

Even with no comms, they work flawlessly.

Soap hears the nearing steps of hostiles, and so he points his group to find cover, and aim forward. He himself sneaks ahead, moving from pillar to pillar. 

Once the first soldier rounds the corner, Soap pounces. He burrows his knife into his side, dragging the man in front of him.

A copy of Ghost’s tactics, he uses the dead man as a shield, and shoots down several soldiers. Soap finds a moment to back up, opening the hallway for his fighters to shoot the rest. Their aim is expectedly shite, but they managed to hit the hostiles by sheer number.

He smiles back, baffled. Soap wishes he could encourage them. But the fight isn’t over, and soon enough the Hunter’s soldiers find a weak point in their defence.

Soap is blindsided by a mass tackling him. They both fall to the ground, Soap scrambling for his knife, blocking the frenzied hits of the soldier. Large arms manage to wrap around his throat, lifting him to a chokehold. 

Soap snarls, eyes rotating wildly in his sockets, breath squeezed out of his lungs. He slams at the hands, clawing at them, leaving rivulets of blood behind.

It is not enough. His vision begins to darken, spidery tendrils encompassing his sight. He can distantly hear the civilians shout for him. They wouldn’t be able to save him now. 

As his vision fades completely, John waits for his life to flash by. This death would be far than the worst he could have had.

Yet, instead of memories, dark eyes flood his mind. A man, once dead, with a plea.

I can’t watch you die.

Soap grips harder at the arm, shoving his face to it.

And bites down as strongly as he can.

Crimson bursts on his tongue, a scream goes off behind him, the arm loosening. Oxygen fills Soap’s lungs once more, and he arches forward, flipping his attacker and slamming him to the floor tiles.

For a split second, he sees the fear in the soldier’s eyes, the dark red covering him. Soap finds his blade.

It sinks down the soldier’s throat not a second later.

Soap rises on shaky legs, adjusting his rifle. The civilians behind him look horrified at his appearance. He can’t find a place within himself to care. He only spares them a nod, and he’s off.

If he can’t be these people’s hero, he’ll have to suffice with being their enemies worst monster.

[tinybuttonbugbox]

snowfilled symphony ❆ techza

a/n. they're old war buddies!! and they kiss each other!! if that bothers you please don't read :D

warnings: mentions of blood & killing, but otherwise fluffy :3

Scraping the dried blood off his sword, Technoblade snorted in frustration. Typically, Techno would be smug while wiping blood off his sword. He completed the kill. He won. So why is he sitting in the snow, crown slipping off his head and tears shining in the moonlight, simply wishing to not exist? 

From inside his house, a light flickered on. Technoblade’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. A familiar shadow walked past his window and the world began to spin again. The snow fell once more. 

Before Phil would inevitably come down, Techno sniffled. Despite the fact that Phil had seen Tech at his lowest, it still pained his soul to present himself to Phil as anything but perfect. Phil deserved perfection. Phil deserved the world. Technoblade would burn the world for Philza.

The sound of a creaking door disrupted his muddled thoughts. 

“Tech? It’s three in the morning,” Phil’s voice sliced through the snow, robe wrapped tightly around him to prevent the cold from creeping in. His wings twitched under the confinements.

Technoblade dropped the sword into the cold and a shiver racked throughout his body. 

Philza called out once more, stepping out from behind the door. 

Instead of replying, the piglin hybrid opened his mouth and croaked out a sob. He roughly bit his tongue and grabbed fistfuls of stinging ice, unaware of his open wounds painting the snow. 

Phil’s gold necklace bounced as he quickly made his way down the frosted steps and into the snow, toes curling at its bite. Wrapping his arms around Techno, Phil guided Tech’s head into his chest, mumbling quiet whispers. The older man didn’t even flinch when the pig-man’s frozen nose touched his bare skin. 

Phil wished he could wrap his wings around his lover, enveloping him in a gentle heat and nurture him back to health. Phil wished he could kiss away all the bad thoughts. Phil wished he could take all of Techno’s pain away. Instead, all he could do was hold his hand through the journey.

“Inside?” he suggested. It was spoken in an airy breath, giving Techno the option to pretend he didn’t hear, even though the subtle twitch of his ears Phil had grown to know so well had betrayed his lover. 

With a sluggish nod, Techno agreed. Despite that, he made no effort to move. Each speck of snow seemed to weigh him down. 

Philza let out an endearing chirp and did his best to get the other man standing. Snow gathered by Techno’s feet as Philza stumbled towards the house, Techno perched on his side. Phil glanced up at him. His eyes followed along a wet, muddy line of dirt that had run down Techno’s face as he searched for cuts in the filth-painted skin.

In a blink, Phil maneuvered Tech onto the couch, making sure there were at least two pillows behind his head. He’d do the laundry later, he decided. Neither of the men had any inclination to house a dirt filled couch. 

As all this happened, Techno’s head simply buzzed. It wasn’t chat— they always quieted down when Phil was around. Well, the less pleasant ones quieted down. Chat was head over heels for Philza and could chant his name for hours, and to be honest, Technoblade never truly minded. Overtime, he found that he could as well. 

A damp warmth made itself present on Techno’s cheek, causing his eyebrows to furrow in shock. Tech’s eyes cracked open. He hadn’t even noticed they had shut. “Phil…” he mumbled, tattered ears turned down, heavy with exhaustion. The piglin’s mouth turned down into a tired scowl. 

The other man let out a sigh and pulled up a chair beside the couch. “I know, angel,” Phil sympathized, running a warm hand along Techno’s cold cheek, thumbs caressing the dirtied skin. Cupping both sides of Techno’s face, Phil spread his fingers to cover as much of the younger’s frost-touched face as he could. His thumbs rested under the cut of his lover’s jaw, rubbing a soothing pattern into the tense muscles. 

A sigh crawled from the back of Techno’s throat, passing through his blue, chapped lips and out into the comforting air of their living room. Phil’s heart soared when Technoblade’s shoulders began to involuntarily relax. No matter how many times Techno has put his guard down for Phil, the sentiment makes the older’s heart swell every time. It had taken many years for Techno to put his full trust into Phil, and not one day goes by where the older man forgets to cherish it. 

Out of seemingly nowhere, Technoblade took a sharp breath, and Phil’s fingers froze. 

“Tech?” the elder questioned, scanning over every feature of his lover’s face, eyes darting to and fro, like a flake of snow in a storm. When he didn’t respond, Phil tried again-- a single thread of concern laced into the comforting lilt of his voice.

A beat or two passed before Techno exhaled. “I’m not-,” another deep breath, this one accompanied by furrowed eyebrows and downturned lips, “Phil. I’m not weak.”

Another beat in their contemporary song seemed to lag behind, meter flawed. A crash of broken cymbals echoed throughout the avian’s chest. 

Technoblade started once more, words clipped and heavy on his tongue. His throat was filled with cotton. “I’m not weak, I’m not-” His broken mantra continued until an empathetic chirp interrupted him. 

Gentle hands set themselves onto Techno’s shoulders, tying him down to earth. Technoblade’s hands flew to grasp his lover’s forearms. Once more, Phil’s voice cut through the silence that roared so loudly in the back of Tech’s mind.

“Listen to me, mate. Emotions do not make you weak, but you have to understand that being weak is not a bad thing.”

An unstifled sob ripped itself out of the tired man’s throat, although he was too far gone to care. But Phil understood. Phil understood that this sob was not powered by anguish, only emotional release.  

It hurt. It hurt Phil to know that Techno needed to go through this pain alone. For each day that passed, he wished for the strength to help Techno with every inconvenience, no matter how miniscule, yet for each day, life simply gave him more dust in the space behind the fridge he simply could not reach.

Another sob snapped Phil out of his daze and he realized that one of his hands had been gliding through the crying man’s hair, skillful fingers unlodging branches and leaves from the abundance of pink. He cooed and chirped some more, simply comforting Tech as much as he could. His heart ached for his lover. 

Technoblade let out a frustrated growl. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t be feeling like this. He wouldn’t be feeling anything. Before Phil, that was his constant. But there is no more ‘before Phil,’ because Phil is not going anywhere. Weak or not, Techno knows the avian wouldn’t leave him. A pang of affection tremors throughout the sobbing man’s chest. In the moment, it is bittersweet, but such a pleasant feeling to bask in when in the right mind. 

After a while, a shuddering breath broke the air between the two, and the once unpredictable cadencing of Technoblade’s chest began following a steady rhythm. The hand in his hair gently scratched at his scalp, dull fingernails sending zips down his tired spine. 

Phil let his own shoulders slump down and relax. Although he had many thoughts on his mind, such as getting Techno clean and tending his wounds, he wished to wait until his songbird chose to speak-- if he chose to at all. Only time would tell, but in the meantime, Phil let his hands card through his lover’s hair as he trilled. 

Philza’s song filled the air alongside Technoblade’s quiet breathes. 

What could have been a moment or ten passed when a relaxed rumble came from Techno’s chest. 

Emotions were an infection. A sickness. Yet, emotions are what he feels when he’s with Phil. Philza makes him feel… love. This thought floats around in the War God’s head. Love is a weakness, he’s been told. It’s a liability that eats at you from the inside and compromises your judgement. 

Since it’s Phil, that's alright, though. It’s always alright when it’s Phil. 

Techno doesn’t even realize he’s muttered his lover’s name until he feels the gentle heat of a hand cup his face. A low purr vibrates deep in his chest. 

“You ok, mate?” 

Another lazy breath, akin to a snort graced the room. 

“Tuckered out?” 

An affirming breath. 

“Would you like to rinse off?” 

A reluctant breath. 

“Tired?” 

Another affirming breath.

“I know, mate, I know. But, you stink. And we share a bed… so.” 

A huffed breath of laughter. “I’m ok, Phil.” 

Technoblade knew it was a lie. A sour note in a symphony, and judging by the way Phil’s breath slightly faltered, he knew it was a lie too. “Ok, mate. Alright,” Phil sighed, running a hand over Techno’s tired face. Subconsciously, Phil hummed in agreement. He had, very well, been dragged out of bed when the crunch of snow echoed in his ears. 

Slowly, the angel began to stand, wings unfurling in an extravagant show. The wings seemed to stretch alongside the man as he reached for the sky, sighing as his back cracked. 

Techno’s eyes dreamily followed the way his lover’s shirt rode up his stomach. A hum reverberated through his chest. “Pretty bird,” he mumbled, eyes shining with adoration. 

Phil’s gentle sapphires met Techo’s blooming rosewoods as the angel let out a flustered laugh. “Stinky pig.” 

“Polly want a cracker?” 

Philza looked around for something soft to throw at Techno. “Oh, shut up!” Phil crowed, swinging over a throw-pillow. 

“You have to understand, Phil,” Techno started, pausing to grunt whenever the pillow hit his arm-shield. “It… It wasn’t me. It was chat! And-” 

Phil aimed for Techno’s stomach as he swung the soft pillow with teasing force.

“Heh, easy!” A playful lilt infected the Blood God’s plea. “Feeling a little disrespected here.” 

“You never...” Phil huffed, winded from waving the plush around, “had respect in the first place!” 

Scandalized, the pig-hybrid’s eyebrows shot up. “I plead the Fifth!”

[love-overdrive]

“Prima Donna your song shall never die”

AKA the last time she was ever on stage.

Lore under the cut.

(TW: blood, injuries, and hospital visits)

It was supposed to be her night. Her 10 year old brother had given her flowers he had saved up to buy right before she went on stage. She was finally going to be the prima donna she had set out to be ever since she first heard those operas.

Nothing could bring her down. It was all she had ever wanted and dreamed of. As she was preparing, a familiar face had asked to meet her in her dressing room. Of course, she obliged- she loved her fans more than anything. The man had offered her a drink, a toast to celebrate her debut as the first woman in tonight’s show. The drink was bitter, but she was much too excited to think much of it. Alcohol wasn’t something she particularly cared for, she thought.

She had trained for this. She was ready, raving to go and perform for the masses. The other actress had smiled sweetly and wished her “good luck”. The young woman didn’t think too deeply about it, preparing herself and remembering her lessons. Back straight. Wide smile.

It started off swimmingly. The audience was captivated, and finally, her solo was to come. She played her part, setting herself up in center stage, turning to the audience as she took a deep breath. Her voice echoed the lyrics she had been practicing for weeks on end.

Her throat itched. She gulped, trying to keep her composure. The show must go on. She swallowed roughly. No, it will go on. An awkward and pained smile graced her red lips. She would not mess this up. Not when she was finally here. Not after all the time her and the others had spent preparing for tonight.

The pain grew worse, practically burning her throat inside and out. She was straining to get her voice to make the beautiful music she was doing earlier. The others had begun to stare at her with worry. Was it nerves? Anxiety? A sore throat?

Tears had formed on the corner of her eyes, making her blink rapidly to not ruin the makeup they had so lovingly painted on her. No, no, no, no! Not tonight!

It was agony. She just had to hit this note and-

A loud scream echoed in the theater as she collapsed to her knees. She gripped her throat and sobbed as the sensation worsened. She could barely let out a sound as her voice grew more and more away from her. She coughed and choked on her own blood, causing the others to huddle around her.

The audience gasped as they stood up, watching as the leading lady was in obvious distress. The rest of the night was a blur. She remembered begging for her brother, but her voice wouldn’t let her. Nothing came out of her mouth. The others had tried to help as she was heaving in and out, hysterical as she couldn’t say what was wrong.

She remembered the way that actress had grinned throughout the whole thing.

She awoke in the hospital bed days later. Her voice was hoarse and she couldn’t let out a sound. Her brother was beside her, terrified but grateful she was finally awake. She couldn’t find it in her to feel the same.

Not after they told her she would never be able to hit those same notes again. Not after they had dashed her dream and cut it to little pieces. Not after she found the actress had taken her place as prima donna. Not after that woman was written about for her performance, while she was a side note due to a freak accident, they said.

The flowers from her fans meant nothing. As far as she was concerned, she was a dead woman walking. After her young brother had left her, she laid back on the uncomfortable white bed, in the terribly sterile white room, and screamed as loud as she could.

No sound left her throat as she sobbed while clutching the paper that had wrote about that terrible, terrible night.