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atoltia · 2 months ago

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The Need to Indulge

You arrived with an injury again. Only this time, there's a certain snow-haired man waiting for you when you get home.

In which Sylus buys you groceries and tends to your wounds.

TW: injury, blood, some swearing Tags: hurt/comfort, danger is their love language

Sylus x fem!MC

-0-

You've grown accustomed to the pain.

Being broken over and over and over again, to heal and to mend, to spend days, weeks in the stark white of a hospital room enveloped by the all-surrounding scent of antiseptic just to get up and work the moment you were medically cleared - you were used to that life.

Eight years on the job and you've conditioned your body to suppress it, ignore it. You didn't need it, not when there were Wanderers causing harm to the people you've sworn to protect.

Even if that meant constantly coming home in the dead of night, exhausted, a dull thrum pulsing at the base of your skull as you staggered to your apartment.

Today was particularly bad.

You weren't even supposed to be involved. It was end of shift, and for once you were excited to be able to go home on time for the first time in months. Just get out the door, just get the hell out before you were pulled into another mission.

You managed to get to the train without a hitch, managed to sink into the bench without a blip. A smile tugged at your lips. Maybe tonight would be the right time to eat that tub of ice cream you got over a week ago, maybe you can even start that new show you promised Jenna that you'd watch over three months ago. Maybe you can finally get some decent fucking sleep.

But of course you weren't that lucky.

The cold wave of dread washed over you when your hunter's watch signaled, the incessant beeping heating up your blood so fast it alerted not just you but the people around you.

Alpha Team B requires assistance. All units nearby NH-Zone 7 please respond. Alpha Team B requires assistance. All units nearby NH-Zone 7 please respond. Alpha Team B requires immediate medical assistance.

You racked your brain as you hit the emergency switch on the cart you were on, the sharp wind snapping at your cloak when the window opened enough for you to leap out the moving train as you swore, leaving the Linkon City citizenry gawking. You jumped down from the track and into the busy street and bulled your way through the mass of bodies as you dove deep into your memory as to who the hell was Alpha Team B this week.

Skylar Morrison, age twenty-one. Edward Fleming, age twenty. Cormorant Kurr, age twenty. Rookies straight from the academy. Rookies that had just fucking graduated two months ago. If your memory was correct, there was no team assigned to patrol NH-Zone 7 today and tomorrow, seeing as the association was testing out the new surveillance technology that they've recently acquired.

You glanced up at the sky, ice in your veins as you watched the sunlight slowly fade. If they get stranded there while hurt the moment the light is gone, they'd be dead. If you didn't get to them soon, they'd be dead. From the fast chatter and reports from your watch, you were the closest hunter in the vicinity.

It took you a considerable amount of time to find them, even with the coordinates sent out by your watch every thirty seconds. You were already so deep into the forest that you'd know the medical unit would take a longer time to get there than those on foot. There were medical supplies on your person, as was required by protocol, but you were sure it wasn't enough for three people.

The rapid fire sound of gunshots made you quicken your pace, slowing when the tree line opened up to reveal the violence still occurring. Eyes scanned the scenario, clocking one hunter laying by a smatter of boulders. Bleeding, unmoving. One other hunter stayed by their side, one hand limp as the other barraged three winged Wanderers with bullets. The third one - Fleming, you were sure - was in close combat with another.

Shit.

You didn't have time to think, didn't have time to dwell on it. You unsheathed your sword and got to work.

-0-

It was already dark when you managed to get home.

You didn't track any blood on the floor this time, but only due to the fact that Jenna managed to drag you to the on-site medical unit and ordered your injuries to get cleaned and dressed even though you could do this your damned self once you've gone home and took a shower.

You just wanted the quiet, damn it, just to ease the ringing in your ear that stemmed from hearing your superior officer rip a new one into the three rookie hunters. You were grateful for it though, even if the kids had to take the brunt of it. You knew full well just how scathing Jenna tended to be when her hunters went out of their way to ignore association guidelines and nearly get themselves killed - as well as the fact that it gave you the window you needed to slip out and away before you got shipped to the hospital. You'll just take the hit of her wrath about ignoring protocol tomorrow, after you've passed out cold in the middle of your bed.

The door opened with the soft hum and beep of the fingerprint scanner as a sigh of relief puffed out from you chest. Finally within the confines of your home, finally within your sanctum, with the softness of your bed in reach. You'd take a shower first, of course. No matter how many times you come home half-dead and tired to the bone, cleanliness is a must.

With the shaking of your hands, the tremble of your breath, you slowly, gingerly, took your boots off. Arranged them neatly against the wall alongside your other footwear. The automatic light that you received more than a year ago was dark. Hm, you might have to replace it soon, or at least see if it's just the bulb. You were rather fond of that light, with its silly bird shape. It was something that Jenna got you as a joke for your birthday, before handing you her actual gift. Something to liven up the place, you remember her say. Neither of you expected that you would like it more than just a silly trinket -

Your hands stilled as your breath halted, your once relaxed eyes going into full alert as you reached back for the gun strapped to your thigh. The emptiness that usually met you was gone, the still air that you were accustomed to wasn't there.

This place has been your home for nearly a decade now and you knew it like the back of your hand and would be able to silently navigate it even with the absence of light. Silent as a cat, you kept your position low, legs ready to spring up, your body braced for any assault. Not a peep, not a single pin drop could be heard.

But you didn't dismiss it.

Listen to your gut, that's what you learned through years of experience, the instinct that you polished kept you alive, kept you whole. You weren't about to break that streak now.

Could it be a Wanderer? No. If it was, it would have attacked you by now. A person, then. A person stupid enough to break into the home of a highly trained hunter.

Not wanting to break the stillness, your exhaled. Focused.

When you first entered the academy, you were deemed to be someone that had to be constantly paired with another Evolver. Your evol was meant to be for support, they told you long ago. It would be most useful if you had another person with you.

But that won't do. That won't do at all. Not all hunters had the privilege of going into battle with a partner. You were not going to allow yourself to become a liability.

So you trained, thought of other ways to use your Resonance evol.

And in the darkness of your apartment, you focused your mind and exhaled. A wave, unseen by anyone but you, emerged from you. Reaching out, reaching forth into the shadows, trying to pinpoint any living creature in the room.

It pinged.

The warmth of it surprised you, the initial prickly sensation of the other person's evol slowly enveloped you with a slow, burning heat. A familiar heat that you were damned sure you've resonated with many times before.

You hissed, bracing yourself against the wall from your crouched position as you strapped the gun back in its holster.

"Sylus, what the fuck."

The low rumble from his laugh came from the living room, and even with the absence of light you could see the way his ruby eyes glinted at you with mirth.

It was an interesting display, one that he would be thinking about for a long time. Those eyes of yours that were drowning in exhaustion only moments ago was quick to fade as it flattened, emotionless and alert. The slow, practiced moves of your hands that reached for the weapon, the impressive use of your evol to sense where he was.

He knew you were competent at your job, and to see the evidence of it firsthand always gave him a burst of satisfaction.

Sylus lounged at your sofa, a glass in hand as he regarded you even in the darkness. You sighed and set your lights on ten percent, not needing the harshness of the overhead lights washing over the both of you. You continued your routine, pointedly ignoring the man as you stripped your body of the weapons you always carried and gently placed them on side table by the door just before you peeled your ripped jacket from your body to leave you just in your sleeveless tank, your hands automatically smoothing it out and hanging it on the hook as neatly as it could be.

It was odd, Sylus thought as he watched your body automatically move to keep your items in order, that he found this sort of sensual. The precision of it, the cold methodology of it - there was no deliberate sexuality to your movements, no conscious attempt to make yourself desirable in front of him. There was just a single-minded purpose in your brain right now and it was just to get it done.

It turned him on.

"You could make a show of that, kitten." There was a chuckle in his voice, making you take a glance. The warmth of the low light washed over his features like a blanket, the shadows perfectly highlighting the contours of his face.

He really is beautiful, you thought as you strode to where he sat, face impassive as you bent down, those bruised hands of yours gripping the backrest of the couch to cage him in. You didn't mind playing his games, didn't mind the teasing, the insinuations. The soft, lingering touches he sometimes used in an attempt to scramble your mind was not lost on you. The way he would slink so close to you, so much that you would be able to feel the emanating heat from his body wasn't at all unpleasant - it was nice, even.

You were so close, so close, humming when the the spice and musk of his cologne wafted through your nose. "You should have told me you were coming over," you murmured, mouth hovering over his. It pleased you to see the way his eyes dilated ever so slightly, his fingers that were comfortably resting on his lap twitching to touch, aching to feel you. "I would have made myself look more..." His eyes sharpened onto your lips, the desire evident as you moved them close, mere centimeters apart, about to do something forbidden. "...presentable."

Those large, strong arms whipped forward to grip your waist when you moved back, sharply pulling you in so you fell on his lap. "You're not getting away that easily." There was a groan in his voice, almost an octave lower, reaching, demanding, as those long fingers rubbed gentle circles on your hip.

"If I asked for a kiss," he matched your tone, the low murmuring of his voice a gentle vibration in the air around you as his eyes glinted. "Will you grant it?"

You searched his eyes, smiled. This was a dangerous game, a possibly fatal game. He was so... thrilling, so exciting. You've already sunk yourself lower into his games, played along of your own free will. If the Association knew of your connection to him, they'd have you hunted with no mercy.

But he was just so warm. And no matter how much his life differed from yours, no matter how much his past deeds was a dark smear compared to yours, you knew that he wasn't a liar. Not once, in all of the months you've... rendezvoused with him, has he ever harmed you except for the first few days of your meeting.

And was it so wrong to want someone like him? To have a man like him want you? To have his strong hands on you? To possess, to be possessed, to be coveted? It's been so long since you've been intimate with someone, been so long to have had someone want you and never in the way that he does.

He gave you moments of respite, whether it be here or in the N109 Zone. And that's what you wanted, right? You wanted time, you wanted rest, you just wanted to goddamn sleep.

You traced a finger down his cheek, rubbed under the hallow of his eye, smiled as you pushed away from him to stand.

And immediately felt the wave of exhaustion hit you.

He was behind you in a heartbeat in a shower of feathers, the energy of his evol radiating off of him in a steady thrum, that simple and pure strength of him held you up as you drifted away for a second. You blinked as your senses flooded back into you, huffed a breath when you noticed his hands gripping protectively at your waist. You smiled.

In a blink of an eye, you whirled in a speed that even he didn't account for. Even as your muscles screamed, you had your face upturned to his, the blade that was hidden in your belt nicking the skin of his neck.

He regarded you, amused, as his hands still palmed your hips. Sylus definitely understood your reputation wasn't just for show, even when he felt warm liquid drip from where your knife pointed at his throat.

"You're so gosh darn pretty," you murmured when he said nothing, your other hand carding through his snow-white hair, your other letting go of the blade, letting it fall on to the floor with a soft thud just so you could wipe the thin line of blood that dripped. He swayed you, his chest vibrating as he purred a soft tune as you tilted your face up, up, and pressed a soft kiss on the wound. "This one should do it."

You slithered away from his grasp, grinned as you ambled towards the bedroom, leaving him standing in the middle of your living room with a smirk on his face.

He watched you pitter patter around yet only the barest of sounds could be heard, and Sylus was sure it was because of his own training that he could even hear you. You were definitely interesting, quite unlike the people he's had dealings with before. And definitely more amusing that some common grunt.

Sylus strode past to follow only to stop when your phone beeped once, twice, three times, the screen lighting up to show a simple reminder: 10:00 PM Eat Food. He frowned as he picked up the phone, sighed when your calendar showed that reminder set to everyday.

He's been in your apartment for several hours already, so much so that he finished quite a bit of work and managed to get an afternoon nap while he waited for you. You stopped questioning how he got through your biometric lock, at this point you don't even care.

He did some snooping, of course he would. Sylus didn't rifle through any of your drawers nor any papers that laid in neat stacks on one of your bookshelves, but he did check the titles of your books, how you arranged your furniture, the things in your refrigerator and cupboards.

He was not at all impressed.

Multipacks of nutrition jelly and economy packs of energy bars dominated your fridge, neatly stacked at the far corner alongside bottles of water and energy drinks. There were fruit cups, at least, but still it didn't and couldn't justify the amount of artificial sustenance you were consuming for your daily intake of nutrients. Beside the fridge were bottles of vitamin supplements, one nearly empty.

It should be alright now as he ordered Luke and Kieran to get you supplies and groceries that could at the very least last you several months. Your cupboards that used to be devoid of anything but dust were now cleaned and filled with grains, rice, pasta, spices, and tinned food that cost more than half a month of your salary. Both dried and fresh fruit were now part of your inventory, as well as other non-perishables.

Eggs, bread, cured and fresh meats, vegetables - anything that you could possibly need for proper nourishment now packed your kitchen, barring any of your allergies that he was aware of. He was aware of your habits, watched you fumble through your apartment day in and day out through Mephisto's eyes and not a single day has past that he hadn't felt the need stop himself from just plucking you up from Linkon City and making you live with him instead.

With all the things he wanted to do with you at first, the amount of luxuries that he wanted to pile on top of you, right now the dominated desire that enveloped him was to make sure you were fed.

And that was a challenge already.

It wasn't that you wanted him to worry. It was just you didn't have the time. The energy you could use to cook could be used to cleaning your weapons and the sooner you could drag yourself to bed, the better.

But still, you didn't like the way he looked at you whenever you meet and you've spent another two days awake, didn't like the way he would hover when he felt like you weren't eating properly. Oh he stilled teased you, still provoked you, but beneath it all there was an underlying concern that you just didn't have the energy to push away.

The hot spray of water was a relief, as proved by the groan that left you when you felt the blood and grime wash away from your battered body. You looked down, hissed at the sight of the gash that ran from your hip to your stomach. It wasn't deep enough to be concerning, but you knew you had to get it cleaned and dressed quickly.

You washed, let the warmth of the water soak in your bones, before you stepped out and dried yourself off. As you thought, your left arm and half of your torso were already blooming with bruises. Well, you chuckled to yourself, at least your face was unscathed this time.

With a hum you put on your underwear and strode towards the medicine cabinet, listing off all the supplies you knew you would need.

"Fuck," you hissed. You ran out of bandages.

You closed your eyes, slowed your breathing as you thought of a possible solution to this. You could just go out and buy some, but the nearest convenience store didn't even sell the type of bandages that you needed. Not to mention that you could just aggravate it more and possibly get it infected.

But Sylus... Sylus was here. Maybe you could -

Hm. It was worth a shot.

You stood, firmly secured the towel over your chest as you peeked out the door, tilted your head to the side at the sight of him wearing your summer yellow apron with tiny embroidered flowers over his expensive shirt, his capable hands tossing what looked to be pasta on the pan. This was not something that you quite expected, but he looked so cute to your that you couldn't help but lean against the doorjamb as you were enthralled by this sudden act of domesticity from the leader of Onychinus.

And yet.

The stinging at your side made you inhale sharply before sighing. It needed to be dealt with now.

"Sylus." Your voice was soft, just above a whisper, but it was enough to make him turn. It amused you when he raised his brow, those sharp eyes of his wandering from your face, to your bare chest, to your legs.

"Sweetie," he said as he set the finished pasta aside. "If you're trying to lure me to bed, you're going to succeed."

Your laugh drew a smile out of him as he took a few steps towards you, his arms folded over his wide chest. "So?" There was curiosity in his eyes, just above the simmering heat. "Was there anything that you needed?"

You stayed by the door, your hair falling to the side of your face as you tilted your head once more. There's no beating around the bush with this man, so there's no point in playing coy. Especially since you might get yourself in an even worse position that could medically incapacitate you for a few days. Or worse, be medically incapacitated for a few days at the hospital.

So.

"Could you use your evol to stitch me up?"

There was an unreadableness to his face, one that you've seen only a few times before. He just stood there, still as a statue, the only change to his expression was the furrowing of his brow.

"Show me."

If you didn't spend a long time trying to decipher this man, you would have missed the slight hitch, the small change in inflection in his low voice at the command. You reached out, took his hand into yours, and pulled him into the bedroom.

Sylus didn't wander in here while you were gone, preferring to do so while in your presence. Your bedroom wasn't all that different to the rest of your apartment. A bit sparse, but not Spartan in decoration. Although the place leaned more towards function over aesthetics, there were little nick knacks that popped out in their tidy, little spaces. Small figurines dotted your bookshelf, soft plushies placed neatly on various tables and furniture. Pictures of you and what he assumed as your captain, Jenna, and a few of your colleagues rested on a table next to your bed.

He sat on the edge of your bed, his hands folded neatly over his lap, tapping as he watched you slide the towel off of your still damp body, your calloused yet gentle hands folding it with practiced ease and placing it next to you as you sat. You peered at him, muffled a laugh when you saw him shamelessly studying your nude torso.

"Like what you see?"

"Hm." His eyes were sharp as they regarded you, regarded the strength that showed in your physicality, the gorgeous swell of your chest, the stray water droplet that fell from your bruised shoulder down your arm. And zeroed in on that massive slash, still red and puffy, on your side.

"I didn't know we were already at that stage where you would show me your body without my prompting."

"Please," there was mock derision in your voice. "You've already seen my tits when we got linked. Don't tell me the incredibly intelligent leader of Onychinus already forgot what they looked like?" There was a grin on his mouth but the laughter didn't reach his eyes. You didn't like that one bit. "Sylus." You reached over, cupped his face. "I'm okay."

"It's going to hurt." His voice was so soft, so tender as he leaned into your touch. The gruff elegance that always seemed to exude from him was gone in this moment, wherein focused contemplation reigned instead.

"I know."

Your eyes locked for a moment, and then another, and another, before he yielded. Taking your hand on his cheek, he pulled you closer and rested your head on his shoulder. "If you need to bite something, just bite my shoulder."

"I don't think this is the time for your kinks, Sylus."

"Sweetheart, we all have to get our fun somehow."

You laughed as you leaned into his touched, the scent of his cologne sending comfort throughout your body. "Go ahead."

Those gentle fingers of his trailed your skin, heat following wherever it went. It wasn't so bad, it was almost like droplets of the hot water you used for your morning coffee, feathering over your bruises as if kissing away the wounds.

But the heat quickly turned into a sharp flame, searing, slowly searing into you as you felt you skin stretch, connect, stitch itself within itself before dissipating into particles of red ash.

You didn't see how much Sylus was monitoring your breathing, searching for any minute reaction that you could be doing to hide your pain from him. With a click of his tongue, he pulled you back, those beautiful carmine eyes of his burning into yours.

"Darling," there was a warning edge to his tone as the black and red ink of his evol swirled around you. "Talk to me."

But you weren't afraid, weren't at all in pain. You bumped your nose to his chin. Smiled. "Keep going."

You could see how much he wanted to stop, how much he wanted to just swaddle you in his arms. There was a tightness in your jaw, a twitch in your eye, your fingers clamping onto his thigh.

And still, you kissed his neck, to comfort him more than for your own benefit.

"Sweetie," his voice was rough as he massaged your leg. "Most people would be screaming."

"I'm not most people now, am I?"

"Now I'm not quite sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing." But he kept going.

It was quicker, much quicker once he's gauged your pain tolerance. Every single mark and injury that marred your skin scattered to ash, to nothingness. The stinging that annoyed you during your trek back from the forest was gone. Both of you sighed.

"Thanks, Sy."

"Don't ever ask me to do that again."

There was a petulance in his voice, a deep annoyance that was more than irritation, leaned more towards fear. Your lips met his in a quiet apology. "No promises."

He clicked his tongue as he shook his head at you, those wide shoulders shrugging in temporary defeat. "You will be the death of me."

"Oh yes," there was an innocence in your voice, one that was met with a snort. You pushed yourself from your seated position on the bed and sat on his lap, not minding the way your legs straddled over him. You cradled his face, massaged his scalped, stared deeply into his eyes. "If you are going to die," you whispered, your lips once again hovering over his luscious ones. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to give in. To give yourself to him. "It's because I've killed you slowly." Fingers traced his bottom lip, the curve of his chin. "Thoroughly." A kiss to his well-defined nose. "Because you are my quarry, as I am yours. Do you understand?"

Sylus' eyes shined like polished rubies and you swear you could hear the hammering of his heart even when his face gave away nothing.

He gripped the back of your neck, caressed the base of your skull as he cocked his head. Smirked wickedly. "I agree to those terms."

"Good." And before he could do anything else, because the bastard would definitely do something else, you maneuvered yourself out of his grasp and into the kitchen in one swift, playful move. "Food's getting cold."

Your laugh tinkled out when you moved away from his reach, winking at him when he just watched you saunter away.

Oh he'll accept the loss this time. Next time, however, he's not going to let you off that easily.

From the confines of your closet, he quickly grabbed one of your nightshirts and followed you out the door.

Check out my other Sylus fics here!

Also please send me ideas, I am running out lmao (｡•́︿•̀｡)

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x mc #love and deepspace sylus hurt/comfort #lads #honestly lost steam by the end of this lmao #there were a couple more i wanted to add but ngl i dont wanna look at this anymore :^)#atoltia writes in deepspace

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silly-inky · 1 year ago

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Luigi beats Bowser's Ass

So I came up with this scenario in my head while daydreaming, @skulls-soul told me it would be a good idea to share it. Do forgive me for any poor writing I'm not used to describing/ writing fight scenes

TW // violence, Minor descriptions of blood, mention of swords

Bowser is fighting Mario and all out and Bowser is determined not to loose this time. Mario mostly has the fight under control when out of no where He gets hit by Bowser's tail and Smacked into a wall, this knocks him out and causes his head and nose to bleed which sends Luigi into panic mode.

Luigi was getting Peach free from her cage while Mario was battling Bowser. Luigi sent her to go check on Mario so he could go over and fend Bowser off. Bowser ends up knocking a pillar over to try and crush the defensless Mario, unaware Peach had rushed over there to help him out. Thankfully Luigi was quick on his feet and used his powerup to make himself bigger, he then drop kicks the pillar so It would fall a little ways away from them with a thunderous crash, cracking the stone floor Beneath them.

Now Luigi was Pissed. Bowser tried to crush not only Mario but Peach as well, he didn't care he didn't mean to harm Peach, but he still wanted to kill Mario and it would have ended up crushing both of them if he didn't act fast enough.

Luigi turns to Bowser fury in his eyes, the true definition of death stare. Bowser was distracted, still a little taken aback by the fact he almost actually hurt Peach, so he was late to process that the green plumber had just boosted himself towards his head, he had jumped from wall to pillar to any other surface he could use to eventually launch himself at the massive behemoth himself.

He Strikes Bowser right in the nose to disorientate him as he results himself to land on the turtles shoulder to steady himself, grabbing onto both of Bowser's horns like a bull rider. Bowser growls as he tries to get Luigi off of him but is unable to grab ahold of the man, but he was to fast. Luigi leaps off of Bowser's shoulder, horns still gripped firmly in his hands, with enough force to throw the King forwards and body slam him making the floor rumble and stone rattle and crack as dust fell from the ceiling, if it wasn't for the fact he had seen his brother do this so many times before, he would have assumed the floor was about to give way.

Bowser was laying on the floor for a moment before Luigi grabs hold of his tail and swings him around, throwing him into a wall just a he did to his brother, however he ended up going straight through the wall forcing and Luigi follows quickly after him.

Bowser's troops were outside the exterior of the castle so as Luigi is making his way towards Bowser he now had to fight of the guards, which he does with ease at this point. He headbutts, kicks, dodges and punches his way through them, at one point he's surrounded by so many he waits until they are all close together in a tight crowd before he grabs a few of them and uses his Thunder hand, schocking all of them. This doesn't kill them, but it did leave them incapacitated for the time being.

After he deals with them he returns his attention to Bowser who is starting to get back up, albeit winded. Luigi runs up and kicks him in the gut knocking him onto his side, using one of the guards shields laying on the floor to shield himself from the fire Bowser spews out in an effort to stop Luigi and defend himself. The flames licked at the edges of shield, watching as the metal slowly began to glow red from the heat, but it did its job well at protecting the plumber, by some miracle the metal didn't burn Luigi.

Luigi keeps wailing on Bowser to the point he doesn't try to get up anymore, he waits until enough of his strength returns to throw him off. And when he does it just pisses Luigi off more. Luigi grabs a sword from another guard he landed near and charges towards Bowser. He uses his Thunder hand to shock him enough to put him on the ground again.

Luigi climbs on top of him and is screaming at the top of his lungs as he holds the sword high above his head glistening in the shine of the lava around them as he planning on swinging it down on Bowser's head. Bowser has genuine fear plastered across his bloodied face as all he can do is stare and watch as this once very meek plumber was about to kill him. Everyone watches on, the guards that have come back to consciousness can only look on, and Peach looks on in horror from the other room. Was Luigi really about to kill Bowser? No.

Luigi screams again and as he brings the sword down Bowser closes his eyes, waiting for the metal to slice through his scales and flesh. Then he hears the clanging of metal next to his head. He's almost to scared to open his eyes until he just hears Luigi's harsh and heavy breathing. He opens his eyes to see Luigi still stood above him on his chest, but no sword in hand. He was seething, but he was also scared. Luigi got off of Bowser and walked back towards Peach and Mario, still trying to control his own breathing, but before leaving Bowser he said "please don't make me do this again." and then walks off to go help Peach and Mario. Bowser doesn't chase after them, he only watches, his eye's never leaving Luigi as he helped his brother stand up, his right arm swung around Luigi's shoulders while his left was swung around Peach's.

How come he has never seen this side of Luigi before? He can't decide if he wants to fight him again, or not to test the man in fear, what if next time he didn't throw away that sword. He took the blade that was left laying on the ground next to his head in his hand. He almost killed him.

#super mario #mario bros #luigi #luigi nintendo #bowser #princess peach #mario #bowser nintendo #luigi supremacy #luigi my beloved #my writing

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georgierre · 1 year ago

Note

for the goretober prompts, 12 + george, please?

send me a horror prompt + george and maybe i'll write it !

12 ; sacrifice + george

tw: murder, horror, blood

it is in between the day and the night, and george stands firm under the geometric steel and aluminum of the statuesque bull.

it tells him one of two things. one: you crashed earlier. the engine of your teammate failed at the worst corner, and somehow, marcus also failed to tell you it was up ahead. pathetic. incompetent. two: the paddock murmurs sweet things. george, perceptive and keen, hears them all. they're booting checo if he doesn't finish top five next weekend, they say. it's delicious.

one thousand two hundred triangular, steel panels tell him it's quite the tale. george stares at it with his prey-like eyes. i know, he whispers. the bull's head arches further. has it always been this close to the ground? i'm hungry, george adds.

i'm hungry too, the bull tells him. its eyes open, slits of pure crimson, and george gets it.

oh, he gets it.

“jeez,” someone huffs from the bottom of the little hill george's stood on. “people have been looking everywhere, mate.”

george does not reply. he waits for the x-time world champion to near him, but he dares not to bat an eye. even then, he notices that the man had the audacity to bring his trophy, lowering it down on the grass between them.

“toto's worried,” max tells him. “and here you are, looking at the damn bull statue.”

said bull statue's eyes only redden further, puffs of smoke exiting its nostrils. it passes through george like clouds parting through a tall mountain.

“it does look kind of majestic as this time of day— or is it night?” he says. “i feel kind of proud looking at it.”

the bull seems happy to see him as well, and that— oh, george's stomach wrings uncomfortably.

if there's one thing george's learned in f1,— from all those family empires who paid for him to lose, from claire who pulled him back for all those years, from all the w1x's he's crashed into walls— it's that he knows how to fight harder.

thus, he decides: checo's seat is not enough.

he swiftly bends down to grab max's trophy like it's his— because it's supposed to be fucking his— and thwacks the hard edge of gold against max's skull. from its weird shape, the metal only collides from the bottom of max's cheekbone to the top of his eyebrow on the opposite side, and of course, george thinks, what a waste of a cathartic moment, and grabs the trophy by its base and slams it against the side of max's head.

and laughably, max is out cold already, head cracked and bleeding, falling without a sense of defense or a groan. george strikes the trophy against max one more time, his black fireproofs draining all the red that splashes against him.

when he gazes back at the bull, he can tell it's seething.

you killed my best player, it huffs, head swiftly closing in on george. standing firm, george raises his bloodied hands and pushes the bull back by its horns, and he dares. he keeps his gaze with it steadily, maybe even forcing it upon it. his vision is starting to fizzle, but blindness be fucking damned, because he needs the bull to know that—

“he's your biggest fucking mistake,” he tells it, voice rasping. his lips edge at a maniacal smirk. “let me prove it to you.”

#f1 rpf #george russell #my writing #prompt request #formula 1 rpf

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ghostboisdead · 10 months ago

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Fuck it, making a character out of this guy cause I think he's hot

SPOILERS FOR HAZBIN HOTEL!

⚠️TW: MEDICAL MALPRACTICE MENTIONED, CANON TYPICAL VIOLENCE.⚠️

Name:

He only referred to himself as "The doctor" in hell. Real name is "Lenus strychnine"

First name meaning: Healer

Last name meaning: a poison often used in poisonings

Death year / age

Late 1800s, 1880-1890.

Status

Dead (?) ((Depends))

Rank in hell

A past overlord of hell before being toppled by Alastor. Known as the doctor demon.

Reason he was sent to hell

Was a doctor that would kill his patients through poisoning them, neglect and mistreatment.

How he ran his section

He would help injured sinners so they were in his debt, forcing them to either work for him as medical staff or as a test patient. His section was a massive hospital building and grounds, wasn't gigantic but it was large and infamous.

How he collected souls

He would send teams of nurses and lower ranking doctors to scout out sinners or imps after extermination day and treat them in his hospital. Then if they got better, he would force the sinner to pay up with their service through a role in his hospital either permanent patient or medical staff. Had connections with (at the time) a small county of Cannibal town to offer them dead bodies in exchange for help and deals.

Personality

Pompous, inquisitive, medically adventurous, risk taker, apathetic to most, soft spot for young sinners, reserved, composed, reasonable, firm. (Basic personality)

Looks

A round headed figure with three eyes all on one side, his left eye being an X to hint at his death, long doctors coat that doubles as a face mask, rubber protective gloves, horns petruding from the side of his head like a bulls, a red skull with orange eyes which was how his organisation was recognised.

His appearance came from how his patients would draw him as they were dying and hallucinating him.

Relationships

Me (/j).

Knew of Zestial and was acquainted before being overthrown.

Had tried to treat Alastor as a patient to force him to work which resulted in his demise.

His relationship with the public: they feared the doctor as he was known to turn people you knew into a form of their former selves if working for him while there were only rumours about his patients. Reports from lurking sinners say his staff were found dumping sinners near the cannibals residence but never confirmed. Lives as a myth now to most sinners.

Songs he reminds me of

(yes very inspired by MLP infections, not ashamed)

⚠️Can be upsetting/unsettling. They aren't scary BUT If you don't like creepy music, skip. Take care⚠️

Basic, classic creepy. Not very creepy ↓

Can be unsettling, sounds like a tune you'd find on a record. ↓

Mostly feels like strange nostalgic. ↓

Classic creepy, be respectful as it is an album trying to portray dementia ↓

Mostly just unsettling warnings for this one though not bad ↓

(posted about him on tiktok too LOL)

This is just the basics, I like him a lot.

#hazbin hotel #helluvaverse #hazbin hotel characters #hazbin hotel headcanon #headcannons #background characters #overlord #hazbin hotel overlord #'the doctor' habin hotel #Lenus strychnine #oc kinda #hes so hot #simping #Spotify

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strangebiology · 2 years ago

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Ask the Animal

[A/N: I read The Best of Robert Service and then wrote this on the plane. I'm happy to hear feedback! TW for themes of death and bodies. Also no, none of this is true.]

Above my cabin door a boar’s head hangs upon a nail, A taxidermized grin as in the midst of raging roar, Tends to alarm or charm my guests–the squeamish, without fail, Will claim it cruel or ghoulish but they never asked the boar.

Above the fire, hung some higher, horns sharp as a knife, A hold, a jolt, a captive bolt left hole in angus’ skull. The abattoir that marred him claimed he gladly gave his life, But who can say when there’s no way they ever asked the bull.

My windowsill hosts a bed still post feline’s life upended, And her, my pet, the guests upset most often point to that. For in a jar, now safe from cars, my darling floats suspended. Did she want this? Well, that I missed–I never asked the cat.

And there’s one more, behind a door which guests may never pass, Behind the locks a bone-filled box where this dark hoard began. Human remains, to me the same, as any beast in grass, See, I did ask, and did the task, on the wishes of the man.

#Poetry #Poem #Death #Dead Animals #Vulture Culture #Robert Service #But not really #just inspiredby him

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pall0r-mortis · 4 months ago

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'Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight ligaments are we bound to prosperity and ruin.' ~ Mary Shelley

Sidney Lawrence Philips

Nicknames: Sid

Pronouns: He/Him/They/Them

Magick Status: Magick - Sorcerer (Out as an abomination sorcerer, actually an alchemy sorcerer)

Nationality: American/Boiling Isles

Ethnicity: White

Accent: Mix of American Midwestern and Boiling Isles English

Height: 6"1'

Build: Skinny, sharp edges, but stronger than he looks.

Complexion: Pale with visible scars.

Eye Color: Icy blue

Hair Color/Length/Style: Black, naturally straight, worn short and rarely styled but when it is it's usually slicked back.

Tattoos: (CW: skulls, medical imagery) Has a multitude covering his upper arms, ribs, part of his chest and shoulders, primarily in a minimalist or geometric style centering on medical illustration. He designed all himself, did most of them himself as well; his casting scars from spellwork are part of the designs. Full tattoo post link can be found below.

Piercings: Ears, left nostril but rarely wears it.

Daily Jewelry: Always has some collection of metal rings on both hands, it varies from day to day, as he uses them as conduits for his magic, and most are variations of poison rings that he stores Humors in small powdered amounts in. Typically has at least one silver, gold, copper and steel on each hand, but the amount changes depending.

Occupation: Delivery and general staff at Pizza Planet, and mechanic at Gadget's Garage.

What would you find if you Googled them?

(TW: Illness)

Nothing about him, but his father Paul Philips is a well known plastic surgeon who catered to high end and rich clientele for the past twenty or so years, predominantly working in the US. There was a small scandal mentioned in some tabloids about his wife having an affair, and their divorce in the years after.

Most recently the Philips name was known due to Paul's sudden decline in health that forced him to mostly retire and relocate to an unknown small town. The circumstances of the sudden illness are still considered a mystery to the public.

What natives would know about them:

Very little. Sid doesn't make a habit of being too friendly. He, his father, and his father's live-in caretaker Lavenza moved to town recently, to the Southern Isles neighborhood. The family wealth is obvious, the house had remodeling going on for several months before they arrived, but overall they all seem fairly secretive.

Boiling Isles transplants would, however, know the Philips family, depending on how well they knew Sid or his father when they lived there.

Other:

Sid's dog Scud, a white and black bull terrier, is often spotted around him or sometimes roaming around the neighborhood. He's friendly but becomes very aggressive at hostility towards Sid. Otherwise he may roam up to strangers for attention, but is notably uncomfortable around older men and shies away from them due to his fear of Paul.

Sid always wears some variation of black, fingerless gloves to cover his crafting circle scars. If they are seen he just lets people think they're scarification tattoos. As an OOC note though alchemy has become so forgotten over the years that they wouldn't be recognizable for what they actually are to most. Some very old sorcerers or those who study magic history/magic overall intensively might though. (just ask me ooc and we can discuss who would know)

At this point Sid is openly approaching powerful sorcerers for reagents under the false motives of trying to break a curse that has resulted in his father's condition.

[Full Bio] [Tattoo Post] [Alchemy] [Coven of the Divine Exchange]

#swynbio #sid inspo #skulls #medical #illness

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cryptidofthekeys · 2 years ago

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Dudz aka my ISWM OC but re-done

So uh yeah I re-did this fucker,, bc I just didn’t like the old description- It wasn’t spaced out enough and just- annoying to look at-

I’m much prouder of this dude now

TWs: Cannibalism, Injury, Death, and Vomiting are kinda mentioned here

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| Real Name: Chase Dudley Blackwell

| Nicknames: C, Dudz, or Cryptid

| Title: The Arnston Forest Huntsman sometimes called The Rabid Huntsman (considering the name Chase means ‘the huntsman/huntsman’ I figured it’d be fitting here)

| Gender: Trans FTM (He/Him)

| Age: Mid 30s/40s

| Height: 7’3”

| Species/Race: Human but he’s god VERY inhuman strength

| Occupation: …Not really an occupation LMAO- but he’s a Murderer essentially, a cannibal for more specifics!

| Eye Color: Baby Blue (REALLY dark circles underneath his eyes)

| Hair Color: Black (his hair is just frazzled, messy as hell, hasn’t been brushed in years and it’d hang completely over his face if not for Murdock insisting he pin it back with a man bun or ponytail)

| Weapon of Choice: His favorite weapon is his large ax (aka Ax Big) second is just a butcher’s knife

| Skin Color/Body Type: He’s extremely pale and fat (big large and w i d e frame man)

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| Appearance: Dudley’s main outfit is a black apron that’s torn up and dirty in many places (he usually just keeps it on since he’s constantly going and getting more victims to consume), he wears a dark purple turtleneck sweater underneath it, gray jeans that are also ripped up and his outfit is pretty much covered in blood.

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He has black combat boots with purple laces in them, he thinks it looks nice ok? A killer can have aesthetics too-

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He wears a black bull mask over his face as well, he wears black gauges in his ears, he doesn’t have pointed ears or anything like that but he does have two sets of fangs, he also has black n purple painted nails too (it looks terrible, he’s not good at it at all) and he has a circle beard.

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And he has TONS of scars like ALL over his body, there’s too many to count or name he’s got so many, most of them look like they were from past struggles essentially (aka victims fighting back and some of them got pretty fuckin n a s t y with him)

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And those scars were caused by all sortsa things, like some were bullets, some were stab wounds, some were burn marks, etc- That’s actually one of the reasons he wears the mask over his face.

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He made it himself out of a bull skull that he painted black in the end, the most prominent scarring is the burn marks covering his face, hence the mask he wears.

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| Personality: I was gonna skip this again but fuck it, okay he’s a sadistic bastard likewise, that much won’t change, he’s a goddamn menace who takes pleasure in hurting and or killing others, he v much loves eating humans- He’s a disgusting bastard-

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He’s still very selectively mute and doesn’t much care for talking even then (the most he’s ever talked to someone was his dad, Stan The Water Man, not even Murdock has heard him speak that much) that’s the only silent thing about him though.

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He’s a HUGE dude so he’s going to make a lot of noise otherwise but that’s besides the point, he’s cruel, evil, and very dangerous- that’s short, straight and to the point as I can get it-

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| Side Facts: Okay so first up is how Dudz n Murdock met and instead of giving a mini-fic, Imma keep this as short as I can- (newsflash its not short) First and foremost- Dudz is kinda a notorious killer, especially around the Arnston Forest area, not many people stay around Arnston these days.

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Because of all the murders that happened, they ESPECIALLY actively avoid the forest like wildfire …But hey you always have your idiots who’ll go exploring in places they shouldn’t, yeah those idiots haven’t came back either.

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

But basically, Dudz met Murdock after one of his own victims escaped and ran into the forest (unknowingly mind you)- Dudz was out just patrolling around, seeing if anyone wandered in when he heard one of his traps go off nearby.

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He had his ax with him and headed that way and sure enough, he found a person there …They were pretty marked up already, more so than just the bear trap, in fact those were… Stab wounds? …Oh well either way

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

Of course they screamed at the sight of Dudley which only made him exhale deeply through his nose, he wasted little time in picking them up by the head (with one hand mind you, I’m not joking when I say he’s HUGE and inhumanly strong)

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He practically tore them from the trap, their uh poor leg getting left behind unfortunately which only caused them to scream and cry louder, which he was getting annoyed at (...there is a sense of sadistic satisfaction)

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But he just h a t e s the… the l o u d… Too loud, it's too loud but he doesn’t have time to uh…

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Deal with that right now so- He just swings them over his shoulder (Murdock had caught up btw, I forgot fgjdklgfjdfs, he’s been watching in the bushes and he saw Dudz pick them up by their head and rip them from the trap with o n e hand)

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Murdock would usually be angry at someone for stealing a kill from him …But this time? Oh no… He was actually mildly curious so he followed behind at a distance, being careful as to not be seen or anything.

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And the whole thing goes as, Dudz takes them back to his dusty crusty old cabin he stays hidden out in when he’s not visiting his dad- And he chops them up and prepares a meal n such as that-

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Murdock is watching through the window and that’s when it strikes him- Cause this guy seemed familiar already but he just couldn’t put his finger on it (there are wanted posters of him after all)

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This was that cannibal the news n things had been talking about! …And oh man… Murdz was SUCH a fan, sure, okay, yeah- don’t get him wrong, cannibalism? Not his schtick, he would never- But this killer… Just, oh m a n-

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…As Dudley is preparing the meal, Murdock notices- the guy’s setting out… Two plates? …Is he expecting someone and then he sees Dudz grab his ax and suddenly whip his head around to the window Murdz was in.

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The two locking eyes right then and there (I said this was going to be short and straight to the point psh, since when can I ever?) But uh I’ll… Try to wrap it up- Anyways- Dudley motions for Murdock to step in and to his surprise he does, he figured the other would run.

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Then he notices the bloodied knife Murdz is carrying, and then he blinks slowly (almost like a frog blink) ah, so that’s why the victim was already pre-stabbed… Makes sense.

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

Murdock tries to ease the tension down because he can tell Dudz is a bit ‘trigger’ happy with his ax right now and on high alert, just tries his smooth talk, puts his weapon away and then to his surprise Dudz puts his down.

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…Murdz does uh the talking since Dudley doesn’t, well, ya know- Tells him that he’s actually a big fan which Dudz tilts his head at, he looks… Bemused if anything upon hearing that- A… Fan…? Of his work?

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Murdock explains that he’s heard many things about The Arnston Forest Huntsman or… The Rabid Huntsman, whatever he prefers- Which is when Dudz announces his name/nickname which seems to startle Murdz, like o h damn- he CAN talk- okay

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“...Got’cha, Dudz…” And then Murdock introduces himself and Dudz seems to perk up at that name, and it's clear that he knows who Murdock is …And okay he’s not- gonna fanboy rn-

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Although Dudz can see the excitement in his face ….hmm… Cute… And then it goes from there, Murdock makes a deal with Dudz bc he’s also on the run too, the two could use each other’s help- even though Dudley seems to be the loner type …Surprisingly he agrees.

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The two seal the deal by having a meal together, despite Murdz attempts to get out of it bc o-oh no I don’t eat hu- …Dudz’s death glare and heavy breathing was enough, he sat down and tried it (he didn’t tell Dudley but he threw up within the hour)

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…Dudley was none the wiser and VERY pleased Murdock liked his meal so well- And so they kinda just, hit it off from there essentially-

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Dudz finds Murdock to be very annoying at times with all the scheming and planning, he h a t e s all this talking and shit- So Dudz just d o e s, he’s the brawns more so than the brains- He just wants f o o d, he’s definitely by no means smart, he’s a dummy-

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Murdock is genuinely surprised that Dudley hasn’t gotten caught yet with how reckless and dumb he can be but eh surprise surprise- Despite the two seemingly hating each other on the outside, looking to constantly get on each other’s nerves.

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Deep down, they are very close, Dudley is genuinely overprotective of Murdock- He’d lay down his own life to protect the other, and Murdz would do the same to Dudz- They do love n care for each other deep down a l o t …Also they’re gay for one ano-

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Dudley despite most his meals involving human, is a TERRIFIC cook and he’s a very excellent baker as well, sometimes he’ll be lazier and not go out hunting humans- Sometimes he’ll actually just fix normal food-

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He’s got a HUGE sweet tooth and is HEAVILY motivated by candy, probably a way you could survive (...yeah ya know what I’m getting at here) if he smells candy on you, he’ll lower his weapon and just start drooling all over you.

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Murdz has used the candy motivator many times on Dudley to get him to do something he needed or to follow along with the plans he’s made, literally if you throw the candy- Dudley will get down on all fours and run at it like a dog.

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…Murdz has also been pounced on and nearly had his bones crushed because of said candy motivator tactic but AHEM besides the point.

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Dudley would… NOT give great hugs- I don’t care how soft he is- …I’m not saying you CAN’T hug him- oh no, I would never- But he’d either crush your spine or he’d just take a bite out of you, either one really- …Even if you give him candy, your gonna get crushed-

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The only one he’s TRULY and fully gentle with is his dad, Stan- Stan The Water Man.

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Lemme be clear he isn't super rough or careless with Murdock, he’s kinda gentle with him but not as much as he is with someone like Stan bc he knows Murdz isn't AS fragile in a weird sorta way.

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NOW- Speaking of Stan- likewise, Dudley isn’t related by blood to Stan oh no no- BUT- Stan adopted Dudley, now sure… He is a… Grown man but it just looked like Dudz could use a father figure in his life at the very least bc to Stan he didn’t seem to be doing much-

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And also when Stan called him ‘sport’ ‘champ’ and stuff like that it seemed to make him c r y- at first Stan thought he had offended him or upset him but Dudley slowly explained, even switching to sign language when his throat was giving out.

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It went fairly normally, although the adoption wasn’t uh set in a legal setting- …It couldn’t be because for some reason unbeknownst to Stan- Dudley didn’t want uh to go anywhere where like cops n shit like that would be

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…But oh well! Stan STILL considers him a son! No documents don't change that! Dudley is VERY fond and attached to his dad (as you can imagine, his real parents were shit) honestly? Stan is the only real dad he’s ever considered.

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Stan wholeheartedly and fully supported him when he found out Dudley was trans, he was a little confused at first, but Stan tried v e r y hard to be mindful of the questions he asked until he got on track, and he told Dudz these words “Well no matter who ya are, I’ll always love ya and support you, sport”

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Murdock has met Stan, their first meeting went HORRIBLY wrong bc uh he didn’t know this was Dudz’s dad- Murdz did try to kill him but uh Stan is oblivious as hell and didn’t even notice like at ALL

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Dudley fucking rushed Murdock and grabbed him by the face and practically tossed him out the window, Murdock was of course angry like DUDLEY WHAT THE F U C K MAN?!? …Dudley quickly began explaining to Murdz that, that man was OFF limits.

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Bc dude, that’s my dad you dickhead! You’re NOT killing my dad! And then …Oh m a n was it awkward… Murdock actually apologized for that, like …o-o h shit- sorry Dudz, I uh- didn’t know- …The two apologized and made up- Dudley for tossing him out the window and uh Murdock for almost killing his dad.

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Stan’s first ACTUAL meeting with Murdz, oh my fucking g o d it was awkward as hell bc this man had no idea this one had tried to kill him n shit- and he would NEVER know- …When Murdock left after the meeting-

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Stan literally turned to Dudz and told him “...I don’t trust that one too much, sport… He might be a bad influence on ya�� …Dudley sweating profusely at that (Stan don’t know the half of it)

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BUT if that’s who Dudley chooses and loves, then he won’t hold him back and stop him, just… He just wants his son to be careful- which brings me to the end of this nearly- Stan has NO fucking clue his son is an actual cannibal serial killer (has never seen Dudz’ face but he’d probs recognize him uh if he saw under that mask)

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But for now Dudley INTENDS to keep Stan away from the truth, he’s very desperate to hide his true identity from Stan, he’s terrified the other will be scared of him, upset with him, disgusted with him, that he’ll even be like ‘you… You’re no son of mine, you’re a monster’ he’s got it deeply ingrained that Stan would hate and disown him if he found out the truth…

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And lemme tell you right now, Dudley would NEVER under ANY circumstances hurt and or kill Stan, even if Stan was about to turn him into the police, he’ll just run away if he could and NEVER return to Stan ever again but hahaha what are the chances of that oblivious man EVER finding out his son is a wanted cannibalistic serial killer?!

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…Oh btw he has never and won’t ever try to feed Stan human meat either, no no- any meals he cooks for his dad are STRICTLY normal foods/desserts n shit like that-

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Was the one to get Dudley to actually properly hydrate bc oof- oh m a n this dude was fucking b a d at drinking water n shit- Stan helped him to drink more water.

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He’s got a southern accent when he speaks bc why not- complete this weird unholy era of cannibals having southern drawls

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And to finally finish this shit off because god this has gone on for-fucking-ever! Dudley is Pansexual.

#iswm #iswm murdock #in space with markiplier #iswm oc #Dudley redone #im so happy i re-did him tbh #...also another thing i do have like- actual reactions planned up for the other egos #like what Dudz thoughts on em would be so if anyone sees this and uh wsants #just shoot an ask about like what ego ya wanna hear Dudz' thoughts on #...n-not an in character thing- just me describing it of course #tw cannibalism #tw death #tw vomit mention #tw injury

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areumxmp · 11 months ago

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The gentle tone Yanluo returned to Areum with, and the way his hands brave the ex con's scalding skin, is the only thing tethering the only capable part of his mind to trusting the God of death. Even as the silent voice he knows too well pierces into his skull, stabbing the fleshy parts of his memories and cognate abilities with each word. Trying it's best to confuse him, to keep him from allowing Yanluo to truly help him. To get him home. As sad as it is, the fear he felt from the slap previously was what kept him most docile. The way Yanluo seemed to cradle his face was simply the blanket that kept him from completely crumbling into himself, right here in the grass. Right here in front of this God who is trying so hard to help him and- Inhale. Exhale. Areum opens his glossy eyes, the smell of burnt flesh finally hitting his sense's. Which is nostalgic as well as shocking. The bulking, shaking, man couldn't remember the last time he could even notice that scent. It used to fill his nose so much that it smelt of nothing anymore. If someone had started burning next to him, likely he wouldn't have noticed if he didn't hear it. But now... the smell fills his nose like it had the first time and then those big round eyes that were still trained on the God's, glossed over with a sheen of emptiness yet again as he falls into his brain. (TW: Death, ptsd, manipulation)

~”You know what to do, Bull. You have to do this for us, you know that. Otherwise they will hunt us down one by one. Taking away your only family and where would you go?” His ‘brother’s’ voice is paired with hands that sit heavy on his 13 year old shoulders. Not yet developed and without the power they’ve learned to harness from Areum, would crumple under too much pressure. The poor boy only needed a few more words to manipulate his brain into thinking what he was doing was for the better. A few words and a shove in the right direction. “They’re the same breed as that bitch of a mother you had. You can’t let them hurt anyone like she hurt you right? You have to do this.” They had always used the right words to toy with the young ‘bull’s’ mind, pushing him to do their dirty work, all while convincing him they were helping people. They were not. They were not helping anyone but themselves when they had Areum scorch his way through the tattered house on the outskirts of town. Pushing flames through the broken glass windows until the screams were mixing dreadfully with the crackling of flames. Only when he boldly walked the hot embers of rubble did that nauseatingly sweet smell fill his nostrils. It felt like it seeped down into his mouth; coating all his taste buds, only to drip down his throat and coat the inside of his stomach in bile. The bile rose up his throat as he looked at the now… faceless bodies. Two women, in their equally as charred bed. The smell even burnt at his eyes but he couldn’t stop looking at what he had done. What little they had in this small house.. What little he had taken from them. Yet it had been absolutely everything to them. Not even his ‘brother’s’ heavy hands ripping him from what was left of the burning house kept the rising bile from feeling like he was being eviscerated. Later that evening, his doubts of the women’s harmfulness had escaped from those lips as well. Only to have been beaten back out of him until only spit and blood poured from now shattered lips. He was awarded the family ring the next day for ‘saving’ his family, proving his loyalty, but that smell still stung his eyes and throat.~ The God’s words were cloudy but they pushed past the dam’s of Areum’s flashback, carefully picking him right back out of it. Twice he blinks for his eyes to have color returning, his mouth working to form words while his throat contracts to hold down the taste of vomit he thinks he still feels. “A-Areum..” His words are just as shaky as the hand that fumbles to fish his keys out. His movements were delayed almost and it almost looked as if he forgot what he had been doing before his scalding hand held out his keys. A little Sanrio wrist strap lanyard connected to an O ring with a teenie tiny print out of his boyfriend, Bes with floral washi tape around the edges, and a key to the Huay Chivo apartments. “Door t-two?” The hulking man was still coming to, and as he did, his heat calmed down at least a few degrees. This man would help him. He needed to believe it. He will trust him.

Areum was on the verge of completely combusting, having not had an accident without his meds in so long it would have broken him to have hurt anybody or anything; because there is a piece of him that is always still in there that knows what he sees is wrong. That the emotions he's feeling are from another time. But everything else is just too fucking strong and the as his world had almost crumbled to the last morsel- SLAP.

Seemingly everything in the son of Tohil stopped. The bulking body that still felt too many degrees too hot could be mistaken for not breathing if Yanluo wasn't currently feeling his pulse through his hands. Even his eyes that weren't quite as hollow anymore were instead opened round and unwavering. In a way, the choice Yanluo made had been good for Areum. It brought him back to where he was, truly seeing the man that was in front of him for the God he was rather than the ghosts that haunt the backs of his eyelids. In other ways though, it had pushed Areum right into the idea that if he didn't do what Yanluo said, there would be consequences. Just like before. Especially with the way the God's voice ripped through the air at the passerby's, causing the hulking man to flinch. So just like when he was young, that slap had allowed the silver tongue living withing his mind to break free. To curl around the recess' of each idea and thought. Preying into the mind of a fearful child. A malleable child. One that doesn't want to hurt anyone but can be promised of the torment that will happen if he doesn't end it before it starts. He hears those words hiss through him, doing their best to try and drown out the voice of the God before him. A few tears fall from the corners of his eyes. Sizzling up on his skin the salty things don't stand a chance as he has to force himself to nod. He knows he needs his meds. He knows he needs help. He wants to trust this Wang Yanluo but he's so fucking terrified. "Okay." The word is barely above a whisper, offered up as if the word itself were his hands guarding his face from impact.

#Thread;Yanluo #Thread;My fault im sober #he is doing his best Yan IS HELPING HE IS I PROMISE

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p033umfac3 · 3 years ago

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I now have the 1.5 bovid skulls in my collection.

Main image is the .5 in question, cut in half but includes the horn sheath which can be taken off. the coloration on said piece makes the horn stand out even without the skull.

The second skull I’m holding [damaged] was gifted to me and is one of my first ever pieces as a whole. it’s insanely brittle but because of its condition very unique and appealing to the eye.

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undead-deer · 4 years ago

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Here we are again.

Got some meat off the bigger bull again, mostly eye socket stuff on some on the left horn. Checked on the skunk and WOW that was an awful smell.

#vulture culture #skull #please dont use without credit #ask permission for use of photos #skulls #bull skulls #b.ull #cow skull #bull skull #cow skulls #c.ow #skunk skull #s.kunk #my post #tw dead animal #dead animal tw #tw skinned animal

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bits-and-babs · 2 years ago

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Stitch Up || Frank Castle x Reader

-> Rating: 18+

-> Word Count: 4.5k

-> Years of working with up and coming heavyweight boxing world champion hopeful Frank Castle all builds up to one night.

CW/TW: Boxer!Frank x Cutman!reader. Boxing (duh), mentions of injury, mentions of violence. P in V sex, unprotected sex. Relatively tame for me but I’m easing back into writing! Not proof read. Special tag to @bernthalus-christ and @darlingshane for being the two blogs my friend consistently sent me posts of to help me fall in love with Jon 🥺❤️

The brutality of fighting is that a loss isn’t your only beat down. It’s the rejection that follows, your name falling down the ranks, the rejected fight opportunities, the loss of respect. Working in the fighting industry and even as a fan, you have witnessed many incredible fighters reach unbelievable heights, only to plummet through the ranks and hit the canvas so hard that it shifts their entire career.

Frank Castle though? He was on the up and up, consistently winning his bouts within the first five rounds. Didn’t matter if he faced fighters with more experience or Goliath opponents that far outweighed him in every category from height to reach advantage, his sheer resilience and bull-like stubbornness meant he refused to hit the canvas. It was a sight to behold, something you had never seen in all your years in the industry.

However, facing off against such formidable fighters meant that Frank often walked out of the ring looking as mangled as a car in a high speed accident. Busted lips, black eyes swollen to the size of small lemons, cuts above his brow that would bleed into his eyes. No matter the injury, Frank pushed through and finished each and every opponent.

Watching the team work to lace up his gloves, Frank stands utterly still. He’s poised, face steady despite the roaring of the fans in the arena and the thumping bass on the speakers. His hair is cropped shorter than usual, a decision he had taken upon your orders. Tonight’s rival was a heavy hitter, someone who often caused significant damage, so you had insisted Frank cut his hair so you didn’t miss any significant splits to his upper forehead or sides of his skull. Despite how odd he looks without his longer, dark locks you find it suits him quite nicely like this. It shows off the intensity of the bone structure of his face better, you think. Draws attention to the deep brown of his tired eyes and the arch of his Cupid’s bow. There was no saving that nose though… That was a boxer’s nose.

“He’s all yours,” Coach calls to you, and you suddenly come back into your body, hyper aware that you’ve been gazing at Frank like some sappy rom-com scene. Stumbling over air as Frank approaches you, you snatch up the petroleum jelly from the table you’re sat by to begin preparing him for the fight.

“You good, doc?” He questions gruffly, using his name for you. You’re no doctor, just a Cutman, but one day you joked that Frank’s scars healed so well you should enter medical school and the name just… stuck. It always made you feel quite special. No one else had a nickname.

“Mhmm-hm!” You hum, a little too enthusiastically as you scoop the viscous gel onto your fingertips and reach up to swipe it over his face. You start out with his brow bones, the place his skin tends to split most. His eyes close, long lashes fluttering as you move to sweep it over his brow hairs. You hate being this close to him. Hate being able to see all the tiny, silver scars that evidence all the years you’d spent patching him up again. You recall them all, like the way you’d giggled when you stitched up the large cut across his temple while he rambled on about how ’dense’ the judges were to score round 7 of his fight in Dubai 8-10 in favour of his opponent just because Frank had slipped on the blood slick floor of the canvas.

Delicately, you brush the jelly over the expanse of his warm forehead as you chewed nervously on your lip. You know his eyes are open again, can feel his intimidating stare set hard on your expression.

“How are you feeling?” You ask him with a shaky breath as you drag the gel down his temples and over his cheekbones.

“Goddamn, you a shrink too, Doc?” He muses, a smirk playing on his lips that has you letting out a nervous laugh. It’s not often he’s in this mood before a fight. Usually he doesn’t want to entertain your pointless questions. It must mean he felt confident.

“I’m a woman of many talents,” you answer back jokingly, looking at him through your lashes. He’s got this spark in his eye, adrenaline surging before he had the living shit beaten out of him. You give him a playful, pointed look. “Just don’t make me work overtime by coming back to me a mess at the end of this, alright?”

“Yes Ma’am,” he murmurs, his voice a little quieter than usual, softer despite his gravelly tone. It makes goosebumps raise on your arms, makes your stomach flip. His eyes assess your own for a moment while you finish swiping the jelly across his jaw before flicking down to the curve of your lips and back up to your irises. It’s a split second, but you see it. God, you see it.

“Alright Punisher!” Coach calls out to him using his stage name now, causing him to break eye contact with you. You inhale sharply, not even noticing that you’d stopped breathing until you feel the burning in your lungs. “Let’s go.”

Frank wastes no time in stepping back from you, rolling his shoulders as he approaches the doors to the arena. Grabbing your medical kit despite your lightheadedness, you’re quick to follow behind him, keeping your eyes set on the rippling muscles of his bare back while the crowd erupts at the sight of the underdog approaching the ring to the thumping drums of Johnny Cash’s “God’s Gonna Cut You Down.”

____________________________________________

Bright flashes of Canon cameras worth more than your kidney capture the moment Frank’s opponent slams into the canvas so hard you swear you can feel the ground shake. The referee waves his arms wildly to call off the approaching Frank, and the team leap from their stools and clamber into the ring screaming in joy. Your face hurts from smiling too much already, having known by round three it was only a matter of time.

Coach raises Frank’s blood smeared gloved hands into the air as the stadium audience cheers. It’s deafening, much louder than any of your previous events, proving Frank was reaching new heights. You pick up your medical supplies, knowing he had to come to you for a check up before the official announcement. He seems to realise it at the same time as you, looking over his shoulder and catching your eye despite the deep cuts in his eyebrows leaking blood into his vision.

Stumbling over through the overly excited crowd in the ring made up of team members, sponsors, event management and the like, Frank makes his way towards you for his assessment. You smile wide, so wide you swear you pull a muscle in your cheek when you see his own lips twitch up in a smile.

“You good?!” He shouts over the clamour of the crowd, and you laugh weakly at him, shaking your head slightly as you take his chin in your palm. You take ahold of your pen torch to shine the light in his eyes and check for a concussion.

“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?” You call back, watching both of his eyes dilate as they should, much to your relief. Discarding the pen in your pocket, you grab more petroleum jelly and scoop some onto your gloved fingers.

Frank watches your fingertips sweep through the viscous material before looking back up to your face. “Decided I’d try a hand at your job,” he answers, and you can’t help but giggle.

“I think you should keep your hands in an area you clearly excel at,” you muse, looking up at him through your lashes and gesturing towards the ring with a tilt of your head while packing his eyebrow wounds so they stop leaking into his eyes while the announcement is made. You finish up as quickly as you can despite your shaking hands, knowing that the referee is waiting for you to give the all clear. It’s just so hard not to get distracted by the way droplets of sweat slipped down the valley of his pecs and across his sternum.

When you finally give the thumbs up to confirm he is free to go, Frank is quick to take ahold of your forearm and lean into your ear. “See you in the break room, yea?” When he pulls away to see your answer, you stare up at him with what you can only assume is a dumbstruck expression. He doesn’t look as though he requires any significant medical attention. You nod quickly, however, and Frank turns away for the official announcement of the winner, leaving you utterly at a loss.

Watching the referee take ahold of Frank’s wrist to await the officiaters call makes your heart hammer against your sternum- or was that thanks to Frank whispering in your ear? Your mind is spinning, the crowd drowned out by the speakers now.

“Ladies and gentlemen, at the end of round number five referee Kenny Bayless has called a stop to this contest. By way of knockout, the new undisputed heavyweight champion of the world, ‘The Punisher’ Frank Castle!”

The crowd erupts as the belt is draped over Frank’s waist, his hand raised by the referee to signal his victory to the masses. Frank’s smiling. Smiling wider than you’ve ever seen him smile. It’s odd to see him so happy, but he wears it well- just as he wears the belt as though it was made for him. It’s a bizarre thought, but you can’t help but note that the gold of the decorative buckle suits his skin quite nicely.

Pushing through the crowds as the interviews begin, you hear the gruff tone of Frank’s voice over the speakers thanking the fans for coming out and crediting the win to his team. The cheers of the crowd are so loud that you can still hear them even as the doors to the back rooms close behind you. Your ears buzz from the sudden drop in volume and you settle on the sofa in an attempt to bring yourself down from the adrenaline high you had been riding for the past three days.

The comedown from fight nights felt like a bus plummeting from the top of a cliff. All the build up to support Frank and working to ensure everything was perfect for him so he could fight at his peak ability. If the crash felt so significant for you, it was hard to imagine how it must feel for him. To go from focusing all your energy on the most important night of his life to hanging in a suspended state of anticipation awaiting the next fight contract must be so jarring.

The tug of the medical gloves against your skin as you pull them from your hands brings you back to reality. Crimson streaks of Frank’s blood stains the blue latex. You had been nervous when the gash had opened up halfway through round two. Against his brow bone, the blood has poured into his eyes and effectively blinded him. Still, he’d managed to guard against the onslaught of punches for the other half of the round to survive until you were able to aid him by packing the wound with so much jelly that you swore there’d be a world shortage.

“You look like you’ve just gone twelve rounds,” Frank's gruff voice sounds from the door, causing your head to snap up quickly from where it had been resting on the sofa. He’s smirking, belt still settled on his waist and a curved rim cap atop his head to hide the excessive facial bruising he always gets after a bout. He tends to grow his beard out to hide as many of the purple marks as he can.

“No,” you correct him, sitting up properly, “No, you look as though you’ve gone twelve rounds, I just feel like I have.” His laugh that he returns makes your lips stretch into a smile. He sets his energy drink and stained boxing gloves down on the table while he approaches you.

“Oh yea? Was only five rounds though, wasn’t it?” He muses, smug expressions causing you to roll your eyes playfully. His next sentence, though, catches you completely off guard. “You worried about me or somethin’?”

You must have looked like some comical, realistic version of Edvard Munch’s ‘The Scream’ thanks to the way your jaw nearly dropped from its hinges. Panic rose in your chest as you shook your head quickly. Fuck-

“N-No! No, I always knew you’d win! The cut just looked really nasty-“

“Had worse,” he points out calmly, settling beside you on the sofa with a groan. You swear that him breaking a sweat in the ring meant he was lacing the oxygen you shared with pheromones, because there’s no way you should feel this horny with him at this proximity.

“W-Well, yes but it was more that you couldn’t see…” you trail off, stumbling over your words as though your lips and tongue had gone numb when you feel his knee brush yours when he spreads his thighs to get comfortable, his head tilting back as he listened to you fumble for an explanation.

Quiet settles between the two of you, the only sound you can hear over the deafening thumping of your blood rushing through your ears being the soft breathing of Frank beside you, gazing up at the ceiling. He appears to be thinking, considering the best way to respond to your poor attempt at a reasonable explanation.

Finally, he turns his head towards you, deep brown irises flitting over your face and taking in the panicked expression it held. Had you not already been in such a nervous state, you probably wouldn’t have noticed the way he slowly moved his arm across the back of the sofa to settle directly behind your neck.

“‘S nice,” he murmurs, voice so gravelly in a whisper that you can barely tell what it is he’s saying. “Nice that you worry.”

Swallowing weakly, you break his gaze to glance down at the belt on his waist, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Mhmm. It’s what medical professionals do during a fight. Worry.”

Quiet again, but this time your hearing nearly gives out altogether when you feel the tips of his fingers brush at the nape of your neck, pushing ever so slightly into the hair at the base of your neck. It’s like your body forgets every single one of its bodily functions, frozen in place.

“That the only reason you’re worryin’?” He murmurs, as though he’s almost disappointed to hear it. You can’t even process what’s happening thanks to his touch, can’t comprehend what he’s implying. Frank never so much as hugs anyone after a fight, this is totally out of character for him.

Finally you look back up at him in shock to find he’s giving you a pointed look. It’s like he can read you like an open book, can sense your nerves. It’s not hard, despite your best efforts to conceal it your breathing is so ragged it’s like you’ve run a marathon up Everest without an oxygen tank.

Fuck, the tension crackles between you. He’s eyeing you cautiously but you can feel he wants to close the gap between the two of you from how tense he seems. You exhale slowly, trying to expel the tension you’re feeling in your chest as he slowly begins to lean forward.

You’re not sure if he’s just relieved to have won, if he’s delirious from his own adrenaline high or has a concussion that you somehow magically failed to notice, but he leans in slowly and captures your lips in a kiss that has your body practically curling inwards in surprise. It’s so much all at once, the salty scent of his sweat, the brush of his stubble against your chin and the feeling of his hand slotting just perfectly beneath your jaw as he holds your face in place with a gentle grip.

It’s slightly clunky at first, your mind taking a second to overcome the disbelief before you’re able to kiss him back in earnest, but once you start you can’t stop. You’d craved this moment over the years you’d been working with him, so caught up in your desire that you never even noticed or even considered that maybe he wanted it too.

“You good?” He checks in with you, murmuring against your lips. You nod quickly, nose bumping against his as you do before pressing your lips to his again with more urgency. You’re not sure how the desperation manages to break free from the modesty you’re trying to keep, but Frank returns your neediness in earnest, the intensity of the kiss rising as his tongue swipes across your lower lip.

Soon it’s messy, his tongue sliding against the flat of your own. You can taste the iron of blood from where his lip got cut in the fight early on. His teeth gently sink into the meat of your own, pulling away slightly and pulling the flesh of your lip along with him. It makes a whine bubble in your throat before you can stop it.

You don’t have any time to be embarrassed, the sound causing Frank to get a little more handsy. He’s pawing at your waist, your hips, lips moving to your ear to whisper words of encouragement. “That’s it, pretty girl. Wanna hear you do that again, can you do that again?”

It doesn’t take much, the slight pain of him sinking his teeth into your earlobe before sucking gently is enough to force you to fulfil his request.

He hums quietly in approval, palm spreading across your throat as his other hand takes ahold of your upper thigh to shift your body under his. You don’t argue, don’t tell him to stop, so with one strong lift he has your hips shifting down the sofa beneath his own so your back lays against it. You gaze up at him, noting the way he glances over your face and body with hooded eyes, equally as enthralled by you as you are with him.

“Mhmm, you’re so strong,” you whisper mindlessly, drunk on the kisses he had been spoiling you with. A soft chuckle sounds from his throat as he leans down and kisses the side of your neck. His stubble scratches the soft skin and his fingers knead the flesh of your thigh gently as he teases you with the wet kisses against your jugular. Your fingertips rest on his spine, tracing the vertebrae poking through his bare back.

Once again he has his palm across your throat, his thumb tucked under your jaw on one side of your neck, fingertips on the other. When he brings his lips back to your mouth and steals the air from your lungs with a bruising kiss, he squeezes, causing you to keen a breathless whine.

“That good, baby?” He asks you, knowing damn well he’s got you so worked up that you can’t form enough of a coherent sentence to answer his relatively simple question. “That makin’ you feel good?”

God it is. It is and you’re losing your mind. It’s made even worse by the fact you can feel Frank's erection press into your thigh through the black, silk material of his boxing shorts. They have ‘The Punisher’ embroidered into the runched, elasticated waistband, and you can’t help the way your brain immediately starts running away with itself, silently begging him to punish me!

It’s enough to push you over the edge, to lift your hips up and grind your clothed cunt into the length of his cock. You see it in his eyes, the way it damn near makes him rip the cushions of the sofa with the way he grips the material. His jaw goes slack, eyes flicking down to watch your hips move up into him before he’s fumbling with the zipper of your jeans.

The action alone has you whimpering softly, tilting your head back in frustration that he’s not slipping inside of you now. He hushes you softly, half-mindedly murmuring that he’s there. That he’s got you. After a struggle, he managed to pop the button on your waistband open, grabbing onto the loose denim and yanking it over the meat of your thighs. The force he uses jolts your body down suddenly, and you can’t help but let out a surprised laugh. You’re so taken aback that it’s a few moments before you realise he’s pulled your cotton panties down with them.

Thank God he did. Saves you the embarrassment of seeing you in anything but the lacey number you always wanted him to undress you from. It’s not as though you’d even imagined being fucked by him on the sofa in the break room this evening…

The brush of his lips against your hip bone, the press of the tip of his nose into your lower abdomen has you digging your heels into the sofa, chasing more. You blindly grab at the waistband of his shorts, but Frank hushes you again, trying to settle your desperation. It only causes tears of frustration to well in your eyes.

He’s kind enough to not keep you waiting long. Or maybe he just can’t help himself when you lazily spread your thighs wide for him, but he’s already working his shorts over his hips, his hard, thick cock springing free from the elasticated waistband. He’s so pretty, flushed and veiny with a little upwards curve to him. A pink tip.

“The belt stays on,” you whisper. You’re not quite sure where the confidence comes from, but the surge of euphoria you feel when Frank utters a breathy *fuck* in response feels almost as good as an orgasm, the end of the word a little pitchier than the start. It makes him settle his hips between your thighs, notching his pretty, pink, weeping tip against your entrance.

He wastes no time, slipping into you at a steady pace. You’re so fucking wet that he faces barely any resistance at all, his upper lip curling as he just slips right into your heat. “Attagirl,” he whispered, voice ragged, “Take me just like that.”

Stretching you open, his cock stuffing you full has your eyes rolling back into your head, loose fists hitting at his chest weakly as you’re overcome with the bliss it causes. Your toes curl, thighs squeezing at his waist as your heels settle on his lower back. You can feel him twitch inside you, the motion causing the head of his dick to push up against something mind-meltingly good inside of you.

The sight of your eyes rolling back into your skull has him jump-starting, rocking into you with all the energy he has left after the fight. It’s not bruising like you’d expected. No, it’s targeted. He’s found the place that makes you feel good, and he concentrates all of his focus there. It has you whining his name in seconds, has you digging your nails into the flesh of his forearms.

“Mhmm-hmm,” he hums shakily, feeling your walls clench around his cock, “That’s it right there isn’ it?” It is. It is and he’s fucking torturing you with it. He rolls his hips up into you and you're sobbing out, actually crying at how good it feels. He murmurs to himself, Jesus Christ, taken aback by how fucking beautiful you look taking his dick like this. His eyes are trained on your pussy, watching himself glide in and out with such ease, your creamy white cunt paining the angry red of his cock.

“Goddamnit- fuck, pretty baby,” he whispered, voice strung out as you clench around his thickness again. He can feel it coming. Can feel the way the muscles tighten so much against his waist. His fingers work their way between your thighs, calloused fingertips rubbing tight little circles over your sensitive clit to draw out those contractions, to cause white hot need to flush down your lower back and thighs.

“Fr-Frank-“ you hiccup, seeing double when you look up at him through teary eyes, “M’Gunna cum-“

“Already?” He muses, without a hint of malice. He likes that he can reduce you to this mess so simply. Loves it. He speeds you towards it even quicker, fucking hurls you over the edge when the flat of his palm pushes down on your lower abdomen so hard that he can feel himself fuck you through your stomach.

His groan of “shiiit” sends you tumbling, causes the white-hot pleasure to surge so suddenly that you go blind, body crumpling inwards and practically lifting from the sofa with it. Your nails dig into his skin so hard they draw blood, his resulting hiss just barely reaching your ears over the orgasm-induced static that dominates your hearing.

“Fra-Hah-“ you slur, unable to get the words out as your head drops back against the sofa again as he steadies his hips so as to not overstimulate you to the point of discomfort. It takes you a while to gain your breath back, to regain the ability to speak in coherent sentences. Even when you do, all you can manage is a- “Thank you~”

“Mhmm… Least I can do for my loyal Cutman,” he murmurs into your ear with that same gravelly tone that vibrates down your spine, pressing gentle, wet kisses to your temple and hairline to ease you down from the extreme high he’s driven you to.

“Hah,” you giggle weakly, turning your head to the side to capture his chocolate gaze. He’s so pretty like this, even all battered and bruised with a busted lip, crooked nose-bridge and black eye the shade of midnight he’s still so pretty. “Champion of the World still gotta take his prize.”

“Mhmmm, fuck.”

END

Authors note: thank you all for being so patient with me. It isn’t my best work, but I gotta break the rut somehow!

🏷 @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @mylifeisactuallyamess @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @crystalchrysalis19 @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @youngr0se95 @alexloveskili @captainrexstan @astroboots @knights-power @southcrnbelle @niallsbunny @wakers-bonkers @ofmortems @hold-our-destiny @xcatnapsx @vermillionwinter @stormkobra-5 @bb-skyrunner @silvery-luna @sebsbelova @Erenbissexual @alwritey-aphrodite @maggotzombie @deadpige0n @bakerstreethound @whatthehekko @moonnaught @cottagebunny9 @strangunddurm

#Frank Castle #Frank castle x reader #Frank castle x reader smut #Frank castle smut #jon bernthal #jon bernthal x reader #Jon Bernthal smut #Frank castle x you #Frank castle x you smut #frank castle x female reader #Frank castle x female! reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader #the punisher x you #the punisher smut

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