#very minor emeto | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

crypticdesire · 8 months ago

Text

embracing the mess

MINORS DNI

dom top gn reader x sub vil shoenheit (around 7.2k words)

cw: general sickness that’s messy, sneeze kink, minor feederism, emeto, piss, ondontophilia

a note from vern: i knew i adored the lovely whumpee that is sick vil, but i did not expect to get so into writing him with emphasis on the sick... but here we are 7.2 k words later... oops. ngl i didn't edit this as thoroughly as i normally do so pls pardon any mistakes!

You already know something is wrong with Vil without even seeing him. You’re ten minutes early to your first class and he’s not already there, which is a very rare occurrence. Some might think with all the effort he puts into his appearance it would be reasonable for him to show up at the last minute, but that wasn’t Vil at all. A part of putting care into his appearance also applied to maintaining his dignified manner, which meant always arriving early.

You don’t have any messages from him, so all you can do is sit down and wait for him. Rook walks through the door with four minutes to spare without Vil by his side like usual, and you feel your eyebrows furrow with worry. Seeing your expression Rook gives you an apologetic smile.

‘I’m afraid Roi du Poison will not be joining us today” he says as he slips behind you to get to his seat. Normally there’s a seat in between you for Vil, but he takes that spot today not needing you to prompt him for an explanation for your partner’s absence. “He’s feeling a bit under the weather, but he requested that I give this to you.” He takes out a small envelope and slides in front of you. There’s a question on the tip of your tongue, but you miss your chance to let it slip out as Professor Trein begins class.

There’s no way you could wait until the end of class to read Vil’s note to you, so even if it means getting scolded by the strict Professor Trein, you have to read it now. Unfortunately for you, Vil prefers to sit in the front row, so you have to make extra efforts to be subtle, taking the note out of the envelope below the surface of the desk and placing it in front of you when Professor Trein’s gaze is directed elsewhere.

You smile faintly, tracing your fingers over the familiar way he addresses his letters to you. My love. Vil developed a habit of writing letters as that was how he responded to mail from his fans, preferring the elegance and personal touch it afforded him. He made sure you knew, however, that he had his own special stationery for you that he selected with you specifically in mind. Scanning over his words, you noticed that his handwriting was slightly different, not sloppy but a bit uneven and hurried, which was a sign in itself he wasn’t feeling his best.

Just like Rook had told you, Vil explained that he wasn’t feeling well and decided rest was a priority for him right now. He didn’t want you to worry though and insisted that you didn’t miss any of your classes to check on him. You smiled wryly. He knew you a bit too well.

While you could appreciate how considerate he was, you felt as if there wasn’t a point to being in class anyway since your mind was more focused on worrying about Vil than the lecture. You came up with the compromise in your head that you would check on him during lunch, bringing him some food and seeing his condition for yourself. That would allow you to convince him to let you stay for the afternoon and take care of him if needed.

“Headed to the Pomefiore dorm?” Rook gives you a knowing smile as you two gather your things at the end of class. “I would hardly think less of you if you did,” he continues “We both know how stubborn Roi du Poison can be when it comes to letting others look after him.” It made you feel better knowing he wasn’t opposed to you ignoring Vil’s request.

You exhale a deep sigh. “Honestly, I want to, but I thought on Vil’s behalf I’d wait until lunch, but you’re the one who saw him this morning. What do you think? I mean he’s not one to skip class for something minor, so it has to be a little concerning, right?” Despite thinking you had your mind made up earlier, your resolve to wait until lunch was waning.

“Hmmm” Walking out into the hallway, Rook hummed in thought though seeing a glint of amusement in his eyes you were sure he already decided his opinion.

“I think…” he tapped his lips with his gloved index finger. “You should trust your instincts” he didn’t even try to hide his smile as he looked at you from the corner of his eyes. “Ne t’inquiète pas! I’ll collect any notes or assignments you two need from your classes”

“But we’re not all in the same classes” you pointed out, but he only chuckled.

“But I am very resourceful” he punctuated his claim by tapping you on the nose. “Vas y, vas y” he waved his hand flippantly in the air, cutting off any more opportunities for you to voice opposition.

“Well, merci ami” You at least knew that much French even before you started picking up phrases from Rook. “We’re lucky to have you as a friend” You added with your lips tugged into a grateful grin, which Rook met with a wink. With your conversation over, you two headed in different directions, your feet taking you towards the Pomefiore dorms with a small detour to grab some things Vil might need.

Standing in front of his door, holding one bag with food and one with various types of medicine, you couldn’t be more grateful that he gave you a spare key once your relationship got more serious. How terrible would it be if you skipped class for him and then you couldn’t even get in on the chance he was sleeping?

You entered as quietly as you could, the bit of sunlight seeping into the room through his stained glass window keeping you from having to stumble in the dark. You glanced over at Vil’s bed as you put your stuff down, but you were only able to see his form under his covers. Making your way over to the other side of the bed, the sight you encountered made the thread of worry in your stomach bind into a tighter knot rather than loosen.

There was a waste bin on the floor beside his bed with some discarded tissues, but it seemed he wasn’t able to successfully drop them in there every time with some littering the floor around it. He had his cover tightly pulled around him, covering everything except his face, the sheen of sweat on his forehead juxtaposing the impression that he was cold. Moving closer to his face, you could see the redness dusting his nose and the light catching onto the wet surface of the snot that leaked onto his upper lip.

With a deep frown on your face, you couldn’t help but reach out to him, resting the back of your hand on his forehead. He didn’t seem to be burning up, but his skin was warmer than it should be, perhaps meaning he had a mild fever. Not wanting to disturb his sleeping yet, you decided to do some other things for him: picking up the tissues on the floor, picking out medicine that you thought might be useful to him, and ensuring he had a cool glass of water on his nightstand. Lastly, you soaked a washcloth in cool water, taking it with you as you pulled the chair at his vanity closer to the bed so you could sit at his side.

Taking in the slight grimace of his face you gently pushed back the sweaty strands of hair sticking to his flushed skin, hand lingering on his cheek once you were done. With your other hand, you pressed the washcloth to the warm surface, moving from his cheek to his forehead to his neck, which was still hidden under the duvet and just as clammy as his face. You felt a twinge of guilt as a noise formed in the back of his throat, bare eyelashes fluttering as he struggled to pull himself out of sleep and open his eyes.

You moved the hand that was on his cheek to stroke his hair as you patiently waited for him to wake up or fall back asleep. It was the former that happened, a pout on his lips as his sense of awareness tried to overcome the fog in his mind and likely exhaustion of his body. Even once his lilac eyes settled on yours, he had a delayed reaction to your presence.

“Mmm,” he let out a soft groan, eyes narrowing when he became capable of forming a coherent thought. “What time is it?” his nasal voice came out meekly.

“Still morning actually” you let out a half-hearted chuckle. “I came here after my first class” You pressed your lips together as you waited for his reproach.

“Rook told me writing that note was a wasted effort” he sniffled, managing to slightly roll his eyes. You saw his body slightly shiver before he wrapped the cover tighter around his body, the edge of the duvet lifting to just cover his chin.

“And look at you. I don’t regret coming to check on you because, no offense love, you look absolutely terrible” You hoped your breathy laugh softened your words. “Have you taken any medicine?”

Eyes closed you’re not sure if he’s mulling over your words or falling back asleep, but you soon get your answer to both questions. “No… It wasn’t as bad…” he pauses inhaling a breath, eyes fluttering closed like he might sneeze, so you reach for a tissue on the nightstand.

“when…” he tries to finish his sentence as the urge to sneeze fades but as soon as he speaks another word he’s forced into a deeper intake of breath. This time he does sneeze, a loud and violent sound going directly into his hand. It’s a sound too uncouth for most people to believe it to be made by Vil.

“Ugh” he moans sounding even more nasally and he almost lets himself wipe his hand on his cover, but he stops at the last second lip curling in disdain.

“Here” You take his wrist in your hand, taking the tissue you grabbed to wipe the slick and sticky mess off his palm. It takes three tissues to clean it thoroughly, a little satisfied hum coming from Vil as you take your time cleaning in between his fingers. You dab a tissue on his face too trying to clean up the mucus without irritating the bit of red sensitive skin too much. Despite your efforts to be gentle, Vil hisses, turning his face slightly away from you.

“I’m sorry” you murmur, your fingers going back to rake through his hair. He responds to your apology with a faint smile, sniffling before he attempts to finish his reply to your earlier question. It’s not an easy task for him, evident by the way he keeps making pauses while he talks, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to capture the thoughts that must feel like sand slipping through his fingers.

“I didn’t feel as bad when I first woke up….”

“body slightly aching, stuffy nose, a little nauseous” He clears his throat.

“I still started getting ready...”

“my body felt so heavy, becoming more and more exhausted by each little thing I did...”

“rook came and suggested I rest” He sniffles.

“back in bed I felt worse and sweaty but I fell asleep anyway”

He looks like he can hardly keep his eyes open now, his eyes remaining closed longer and longer with each blink. He seems to be done talking, so you move to examine the medicine you set aside, selecting the ones that seem they’d best help with his symptoms. You frown as you read the directions.

“Well, it says you’re supposed to eat with this one…. but I think it’d really help you” You direct your gaze to him again. “Do you think you could eat something? I grabbed some different stuff for you since I wasn’t sure what your appetite would be like” You listed them off on your fingers.

“Some pumpkin carriage stew, bread, crackers, and applesauce. Of course, I can go get you something else too.”

“I’ll try the stew” he lets out a soft grunt, wincing as he attempts to move his body and sit up. You help him out by adjusting his pillows and pulling the edge of his duvet around his body so that his shoulders and back are covered. He leans his head back on the headboard, eyes weakly trained on you as you get the stew out, which has thankfully retained some of its warmth. He’s wiping his nose with a tissue when you get settled again at his side, so you lift the waste bin, allowing him to easily drop it there.

“You’re going to feed me, aren’t you?” It’s nice to see some amusement flicker across his features, lips pulled into a small smirk.

“Of course, of course,” you’re stirring the stew held by the small hollow pumpkin. Satisfied you lift the spoon to his mouth, which he opens just enough for you to slide the spoon between his lips. You pause after the first bite to check in with him.

“What do you think? Can you manage to eat some more?” he nods his head, so you continue to slowly feed him the stew, finding yourself a little too transfixed by the way his lips wrap around the spoon. Arousal swirls in your stomach at the sound of the shaky exhales he releases between bites. Desire fills you from the way he thickly swallows the stew before wetting his bottom lip with his tongue. Excitement builds in your chest when he chooses to fix his heavy-lidded gaze on your face rather than the food you're feeding him.

He’s eaten about half the stew when he refuses to eat anymore, claiming to feel a wave of nausea. You could see him approaching his limit before that with his breathing becoming heavier and pauses between bites needing to be longer. You can see signs of nausea affecting him now, his lips pressed into a thin line as he continues to take subtle swallows, you guess that his mouth is producing excess saliva. You can also feel yourself approaching a limit yourself, your pants straining against your growing bulge.

“You did so good, darling” you praise him putting the stew down.

“I’m going to give you a second, but then I want you to try to get this medicine down, okay?” With his eyes closed he meekly nods his head, appearing like he’s mustering up his best efforts to keep the nausea at bay. You take a moment to press the back of your hand to his forehead and then his cheek, which reveals his fever has gotten worse.

After getting his assent, you soak the washcloth in cool water again, repeating your earlier action of pressing it to his face and neck. You resist the urge to palm yourself as he lets out small moans of relief and briefly entertain the thought of getting yourself off after he’s fallen back asleep. It doesn’t take too long for that to happen, he drifts back off to sleep almost as soon as he’s taken the medicine. He would only take a couple of sips of water to get the pills down, so you hope the medicine will work enough so that he can drink more water and rehydrate after he wakes up.

Now that he’s asleep, however, you use the opportunity to make a quick trip to your dorm room to gather some things so you can spend the night in Vil’s dorm. You’re unashamed to admit you also take a little extra time to jerk off and take a cold shower before putting on comfier clothes and heading back.

You thought that would be enough to suppress your arousal for a bit, but you realize you might be wrong when you come back to Vil’s dorm to find him still sleeping but sprawled out on his bed and completely naked, duvet kicked off his body so that most of it hangs off the edge of his bed. Just a bit of it still covers the bottom half of his leg. You can see one part of his face twisted in discomfort, but the other part is concealed by the damp washcloth you left on his nightstand, likely a weak effort to get some relief as he became unbearably hot.

You’re not sure how long the washcloth has been on his face but not long after you return it ends up falling onto his shoulder, a result of him restlessly turning in his sleep, a whimper interrupting his soft wheezing. Just as you expected, you find that he’s burning up and you soak two other washcloths to replace the old one, veiling one over his forehead and one on his chest. You knew there would be a chance your efforts would be pointless with his fitful sleep, and those thoughts are confirmed as his tossing and turning makes them fall off his body, his sporadic coughing soon waking him up anyway.

“Ugh… throat hurts” he mumbles with a hoarse voice, slowly leaning towards his nightstand. Propped up on one elbow, he takes the glass of water and guzzles it down, letting out a faint whine when the glass is empty.

“Here I’ll get you some more” You take the glass from Vil, who meets your gaze with raised eyebrows, only just now noticing your presence. You hesitate in handing the filled glass back to him worried he’ll drink this one just as fast as the first.

“Take your time with this one,” you say lowering yourself so you’re at eye level with him. “If you drink it too fast, it’s not going to sit well with your stomach” You wait until he nods his head before you hand it over. He seems to attempt to take a smaller sip, but the next one is longer, and the one after that is practically a gulp.

“Small sips, love” You put your hand over his trying to gently stop him from tilting up the glass again. He sighs, eyes flitting to your face and lips forming a small pout. With his eyes fixed on yours, it appears that he’s waiting for your permission to take another sip, which you allow after a minute has passed. You continue to do that until he empties the glass, making him take a longer pause before he drinks anymore.

“Mmm,” he moans in discomfort as he fully sits up, moving his hand to hold his hair off his neck. “So hot.”

You easily find a hair tie, taking his hair in your hand so you can put it up in a ponytail. You purse your lips looking at your sloppy job with its bumps and loose strands. If Vil wasn’t so sick he would have already slipped the hair tie off to do it again himself, but it’d suffice right now.

You give him a moment before you prompt him to update you on the symptoms he’s feeling. It’s pretty much the same things he told you before minus the chills with the medicine having no obvious impact yet. He attempts to tell you how his stomach feels when his own hiccup interrupts him, and he puts a hand to his chest wincing.

“Excuse me,” he says after exhaling a big breath. His frown deepens as he rubs his chest, and another small hiccup makes that hand move to cover his mouth. Guessing what might happen next you pick up the waste bin on the floor beside you, but you hear Vil groan before you’re able to place it in front of him.

He lurches forward, this time instead of an exhale coming after the queasy hiccup a thin yet forceful stream of vomit comes out of his mouth. Since you were in the process of moving the waste bin closer to him, he gets most of it in there, but you feel a bit splatter onto your hand and the side of the bin first. One of his hands covers the messy surface of yours as he instinctively grabs hold of the bin you’re holding steady for him, and he heaves a couple more times, most likely expelling the rest of his stomach’s contents.

“Fuck” he groans screwing his eyes shut tighter. He sits there a moment more panting. You see his tongue swipe over his teeth, which elicits an expression of revulsion.

“Ugh,” he awkwardly holds his mouth open as if he could stop his tongue from touching any other part of his mouth. You decide you can risk moving the waste bin now, which Vil easily lets go of, and using the hand without puke on it, you grab the glass of water and offer it to Vil.

“Here, rinse out your mouth,” you instruct, but there’s no movement in his face to show that he hears you. Blinking slowly and still panting, his eyes eventually shift to look at the water you’re holding out to him. You can see his lip curl up in disgust before it’s covered by his hand, and he slowly shakes his head.

“You can just spit it back out” you add but he continues to shake his head eyeing the glass of water like it’s something vile.

“I told you were drinking the water too fast” You’re talking more to yourself than him, no sharpness to your words. With an exaggerated exhale of breath, you think about something else you could do to help Vil cope with the acidic taste in his mouth. While you’re racking your brain for ideas, Vil lays down, a drawn-out whining sound becoming muffled by the pillow he hugs close to him.

His shift in position gives you a glimpse of the washcloths you had laid on his body earlier and you realize that maybe if you put it over your finger, you could clean Vil’s teeth that way. If you made sure it was heavily soaked in water that would probably help with the taste too. Thinking it was worth a try you take the washcloth to the bathroom where you wash your hands and do just that, returning to kneel at the side of bed where Vil’s face is. He lays horizontally on the bed, pillow still loosely hugged against his chest, his cheek now resting on top of it.

“Vil” you call out to him gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

“I feel gross” he mumbles not opening his eyes, clearly repulsed by himself.

“I want to help you clean your mouth, but you have to open it for me, love” With the washcloth over your index finger you use your other hand to cradle the back of his head, prodding his lips with your covered finger, but he remains unresponsive. You lean in closer pressing a gentle kiss to his temple.

“C’mon love, let me help you feel better” you murmur against his hairline. Hearing those words, you feel him open his mouth just enough to slide your finger between his lips. You start with the front teeth, making small circular motions with your finger to clean them. You notice almost immediately that Vil begins sucking on your finger; however, he doesn’t seem to be aware of it at first, but then it becomes a bit more intense and deliberate, the washcloth being pulled slightly between his teeth.

You hear the smallest sigh of relief when Vil pauses his actions, and he whimpers when you remove your finger from his mouth. He must enjoy the small amount of cool water he can get from the washcloth. Adjusting it on your finger so that it’s a fresh, unused part of the washcloth, you prod his lips again and Vil readily accepts your finger back into his mouth.

“Shit” you curse under your breath realizing how turned on you are right now from the sensation of Vil sucking on your finger and the delight of exploring the surface of his teeth. Your circular motions become slower, taking your time as you feel every dip between his teeth and the tip of his canines.

“Mmm” he moans after sucking on your finger once more, and you let out a moan of your own subtly grinding yourself against the side of his bed. You move to his bottom molars, wishing your cock was buried inside him as you feel the deep grooves on them. As soon as your fingers touch the inside of his back molar, Vil gags a bit. Surprised, you pull your finger back but not completely out of his mouth. He recovers quickly, his tongue moving against your covered finger as he mumbles three unexpected words.

“Keep going… please”

Biting your lip, you continue to rub the washcloth against the inside of his teeth, your movements more tentative when approaching the opposite bottom molar. He whimpers around your finger as it slides slowly across the last of his bottom teeth but doesn’t gag this time as you rub the damp washcloth against it.

You keep the same pace as you clean the inside of the top row of his teeth, but you find that his gag reflex is more sensitive there. He starts to gag before you even get to the tooth deepest in his mouth. You can’t deny that there’s a part of you that gets excited when he gags on your finger, your cock fully erect by now surely. When your finger touches his back molar, he begins to gag again but unlike the other times you don’t pull your finger back, and the second time he gags, hot bile follows. It's hot as it splatters onto your hand even though it lands on the washcloth instead of directly touching your skin.

He gags one more time, additional clear vomit spilling out onto the pillow beneath him and sliding down your forearm. He groans as you pull your finger out. Flipping the washcloth inside out, you gently wipe his face before cleaning what you can off his pillow and your arm.

He maintains a neutral expression, the disgust you’d expect as a response nowhere in his features. His eyes are slits, nearly closed as he watches your actions, and he says nothing as you adjust his limp body to take the pillow from him, replacing it with a clean one. You remove the pillowcase before the bile can seep any further into the surface of the pillow. Even though he didn’t get anything on his bed this time, you can still appreciate the waterproof mattress cover that would protect his mattress if he did.

Vil seemed so out of it as you were cleaning him up that you didn’t expect to hear him say anything, but with his eyes flitting to your groin, he pointed out the obvious.

“You’re hard” With his flat tone you’re not sure how to respond, but his intentions become clearer as he lifts his arm, movements weak as he brushes his fingertips against your bulge.

“You said I look terrible” he echoes your earlier words with a slight pout, one corner of his mouth appearing like it’s close to quirking up to form a smirk on his face.

“I never said it didn’t turn me on,” you say with a breathy chuckle as you rake your fingers gently through his hair still pulled into a loose ponytail that looks even messier now than it did before. “And how can I not get hard when you were sucking on my finger so eagerly”

You let your fingertips trace his jawline, thumb swiping over his bottom lip that’s slick with saliva despite cleaning it only moments prior.

“I’m always eager to have you inside of me” he murmurs. You know his heavy-lidded gaze is just the result of weak and tired eyes but they never looked more seductive. “Even now”

“As much as I’d love for you to take all of me…” Having you throw up on my cock. Feel your hot insides clenching around me. Things you can’t say while you’re trying to talk Vil down.

“It’d be better if you sleep right now, lovely” A small sigh leaves Vil’s lips.

“Lay with me at least…” he offers a compromise. “please” he adds lifting his hand again except this time it goes to softly grip your wrist. The way he says it with his sniffly hoarse voice is too endearing.

“Of course,” you give in easily. You help him adjust his body so he’s back to laying vertically in the bed before you slip in beside him, the warmth under the duvet radiating off his skin immediately enveloping you. Wrapping your arm around his bare torso you can tell that his whole body is still clammy, and you can’t help but kiss his forehead affectionately as he goes to bury his face into your chest. The soft wheezing that is Vil’s breathing becomes a higher-pitched whistling sound as he falls asleep but it doesn’t stop you from eventually succumbing to sleep yourself.

You’re not sure how long you were sleeping, but when you wake up you can still see a glimpse of daylight through the window. Vil’s face is still buried in your chest, his hand gripping your shirt, and as you gently rub his bare back you’re relieved to find that his fever has begun to fade, his skin no longer sweltering or as slippery with sweat. You have no inclination to leave his side so you lay comfortably beside him, eventually finding yourself with your lips pressed to the top of Vil’s head, humming softly. That’s what you’re doing when Vil wakes up, and you can hear his sniffling and feel him rub his face against your shirt before he lets out a quiet groan, pulling himself away from you to look at your face.

“Hi lovely” you greet him with a warm smile, which he meets with narrowed eyes that take time to examine your face.

“You shouldn’t be here” his voice is raspy and his breathing still congested.

“You might not remember it, but you asked me to lay with you” you tease. You can already see emotion returning to his face, one eyebrow quirking up in disbelief.

“You’re not supposed to be here at all” he emphasizes. “I can’t imagine it’s too hard to follow instructions” he’s referring to his letter, which he had already commented on when you first arrived. You suppose his thoughts are clearer now. A good sign at least.

“What’s hard is knowing you’re in your dorm miserable when all I’m doing is letting my mind wander in class” He rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment on your attention span during lectures.

“Trust me, there’s nowhere I’d rather be even if I do end up getting sick” You kiss his forehead as he scoffs, but you catch a glimpse of his soft smile before he goes to lean into your chest again.

“Oh god,” he tenses in your arms. The whisper of your previous worries becomes prominent again, strangling the words that leave your mouth asking Vil what’s wrong.

“Absolutely disgusting” he hisses, which causes you to try to follow his gaze to see what he’s referring to. It’s not as easy with him so close to you, but looking down you see that his hand that once gripped your shirt is now merely pinching it, the fabric stretched out so the slimy wet stain on it is easier to see. A stain you surmise was caused by Vil rubbing his face against your shirt earlier, evidence of his still present runny nose.

“What, that?” you can’t help but laugh at him. “It’s no big deal. I don’t mind being your tissue” You’re hoping your words spare Vil of his embarrassment, but he still pulls his body a bit further away from you, hands coming to cover his face.

“So mortifying” you hear him murmur to himself. His next words are louder and meant for you to hear.

“You should never see me like this. No one should. And you certainly shouldn’t have my mess on you” Despite his raspy and strained voice you can still pick up on the contempt underlying his words.

“Vil..” you rub soothing circles into his hips. “I would be offended if you didn’t let me see you like this. You’re always beautiful to me, and seeing you all sick and messy is hot. I couldn’t even take care of you without getting hard”

You coax him to lower his hands, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. There’s a look of confusion on his face when you pull back, his lilac eyes shifting as if they’re sorting his thoughts. And then he gasps as something clicks.

“Ohhhh… my god” he repeats his words from earlier but now he sounds even more horrified. He brings a hand to his mouth in shock.

“Please tell me I didn’t actually throw up on your hand” Oh, he just remembered that.

“It was technically on a washcloth-“

“No-” his voice is shrill which makes him have to clear his throat before continuing. “If I didn’t feel so exhausted I would push you out the door myself” he shakes his head in disbelief, his cheeks returning to the shade they were earlier when his fever was at its worst.

“Unacceptable,” he says to himself frowning deeply. He groans again at a loss for words, leaning towards you as if he’s going to bury his face into your chest in humiliation, but his face never makes contact.

“And great seven, please take off that shirt” he pushes back against your shoulders reestablishing the distance between you.

“Okay, okay” It’s impossible to hide that you find this situation humorous, still laughing against Vil’s skin after you’ve removed your shirt and pulled him against you again.

“You can relax, love. You’re the only one unsettled by this” You try to melt his burning shame by moving your lips from his shoulder and up his neck, your kisses wet and languid, drawing a moan out of him.

“Ah-“ he gasps as he feels your teeth graze his skin. “I remembered something else” he pants. You hum into his skin prompting him to continue.

“Is there a chance you still want me to take all of you” he can’t help but whimper when he says it, and the sound jolts through your body, stirring your cock once again.

“Is that what you want?” You’re sure to ask him this question while your eyes are locked with his, making you a target of his lustful heavy-lidded gaze again. He nods his head, sniffly voicing the word always.

“You might think you feel better than you actually are, so I can’t be too rough with you.” He whines at that.

“But I do want to fill you up with my cock and feel the way your hot insides squeeze around me. It’d feel so good to have you warming my cock. Do you think that’s something you could do for me?” Vil can’t seem to find the words to respond but he nods his head for you.

“Fuck okay let me get the lube” It’s conveniently located in the drawer of his nightstand, requiring little patience from either of you as you undress and get situated behind Vil, coating your fingers with lube to prepare him.

“Tell me to stop if it’s too much” you remind him before coating his rim with the lube from your fingers, reapplying more to them afterward. “If you don’t think you can talk, smack the headboard with your hand twice. Can you do that?” he answers your question by doing as you ask, his palm slapping the tufted surface of his headboard two times.

“Perfect... You’re perfect” You purr rubbing your digits against his entrance before sliding the tip of one in. You can’t help but moan along with Vil as you stretch him out, already excited about the way your cock will feel sliding into his hot and sticky insides. The way you thrust your fingers into him is neither fast nor forceful, you being serious about not wanting to be rough with him. Even then Vil still whines, slightly pushing his hips backward encouraging you to give him more.

You give him plenty when you finally push your tip into him, Vil sniffling, whimpering, and gripping his sheets as you fill him slowly bit by bit, taking pauses to help his uneasy body adjust to you.

Not that you would mind seeing him puke up hot bile again, but you didn't want to push his body too far. When you’re fully inside of him he can’t keep still at first, hips making small movements as he grinds against you, but when he can see you’re serious about not thoroughly fucking him right now, he relaxes against you occasionally letting out faint whines when he clenches around your length.

“Ugh, I don’t have another choice” his nasally mumbling to himself catches your attention, and you watch as he uses his hand to wipe his nose before rubbing the slimy mucus he collects on the surface of his sheet. He gasps as you manage to pull his hips further back into you, your cock moving slightly inside him, your actions lust-driven due to the fact he chose to degrade himself rather than have you pull out so he could get a tissue.

You’re impressed that both of you can stay in that same position for so long, which was especially difficult whenever Vil coughed or sneezed, your dick being tightly clamped by his walls. Though you’re sure Vil dozed off a couple of times.

The amount of light filtering into the room is the only way you have to estimate the time, and after there is no more lingering light you feel yourself becoming a bit restless, all too aware of your full bladder.

“Love?” you gently massage his chest with your hand unsure if he’s awake or not. When he hums in response you tell him you’re going to have to pull out to go to the bathroom.

“No” he immediately says with a raspy voice. “It feels so good to have you inside me”

“I know, lovely, but I really can’t hold it much longer” He sniffles and clears his throat before speaking again.

“Then don’t. You can just go right now” Your eyes widen at his offer. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve filled him with your piss, but with him already feeling gross you’re surprised he’ll let you cover him in additional mess.

“You’re sure?” you clarify, arousal stirring rapidly in the pit of your stomach.

“Yes, love. I want you to.” His tone almost sounds like he’s begging you to.

“Okay then” you kiss his shoulder before wrapping your arm around him tighter, hugging him against your chest as you let yourself relax. You feel him twitch around you right before your stream starts.

“Oh fuck...” you groan as the hot liquid envelops your cock, filling Vil’s hole and leaking out of his entrance. You’re sure to add to Vil’s pleasure too, taking his small dick in your hand that’s already slick from precum. He gasps as you swipe your thumb across the tip, his nails digging into your arm that’s wrapped around him.

He’s panting as he comes and his walls squeeze you so tightly at the same time you can’t help but come with him.

“See how hot you are when you’re messy” you start talking as you’re both coming down from your climaxes, peppering him with gentle kisses between your words. “Caring about your health is the only thing keeping me from fucking that filthy hole of yours and treating you like a fleshlight I can make as messy as I’d like” Despite your dirty words, your tone is light and you’re almost cooing not wanting to risk either of you getting too worked up again.

“Next time?” Vil grips your wrist as he waits for your reply to his breathless question.

“Next time. But this time, we’re at the part where I help you get cleaned up” you hiss as you slowly pull your cock out, a mix of liquids dripping onto the sheet.

When you get around to the other side of the bed to support Vil as he stands up, you can see his pretty cock still twitching. You have to let yourself ignore it, however, as you take your time getting Vil to the bathroom pausing after he stands up to make sure he’s not feeling lightheaded. Wobbly on his feet, you support him with one hand cupping his elbow and wrap your other arm around his back, gripping his waist in case you need to steady him.

He gives you an appreciative smile when you give him similar support in the bathroom, his shoulder leaning against the shower wall, one hand braced against the adjacent wall, and the other on your shoulder. He sighs in relief as the cool water washes over him, his limbs pliant in your hands as you bathe him. When you kneel to wash the lower half of his body, he keeps himself balanced by putting his hand on the top of your head rather than your shoulder, and you still keep a steady hand on his hip.

He mewls, leaning into your touch when you clean his sensitive areas, and you press a kiss to his upper thigh in response. As you’re making your way down, washing one of his legs, you softly gasp as a hot liquid unexpectedly flows over your hand, very different from the cool water that has been raining down on you. Glancing up you see the yellow-tinted liquid running down Vil’s thighs as he relieves himself and his grip on your head tightens as he lets out a sound of pleasure.

“You’re going to tell me I don’t need to apologize” Vil’s tired and hoarse voice speaks out before you get the chance to, but you’re delighted to hear it. You look up meeting his fond smile with one of your own.

“Once again you have proved you’re better at learning than I’ll ever be” Light laughter leaves your lips before you press a kiss on his hip.

You finish bathing both Vil and yourself soon after that, continuing to carefully support him as you dry him off, dress him, and lead him to sit on the toilet. After giving him some more water and medicine you quickly strip the sheets off Vil’s bed and remake it with fresh ones. Just as you expected, Vil’s eyelids are drooping heavily when you return to him, so it’s a good thing you’re immediately taking him back to bed. You find yourself in a position, not unlike the one you were in before when you fell asleep with him the first time.

You have to bite your lip to hold back your laughter as Vil, half-asleep, rubs his wet nose against your chest again. Hopefully, in the morning he’ll accept his mess more readily, but for now, you'll continue to embrace it and you pull him further into you, once again falling asleep to the faint whistling sound of his congested breathing.

#twisted wonderland #vil shoenheit #vil shoenheit x reader #dom reader #top reader #sub vil #cw emeto #cw piss #cw sickness #cw snz #cw odontophilia

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fangedlovebites · 28 days ago

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pinned post - please read before following/sending an anon!

✧ last updated : 1/30/25

hello there, you may call me fang. welcome to the hornyblog

🪦 vampire-hickeys ; april 2024 - jan 2025 ⚰️

transgender queer vampire (and occasional dog) - he/it pronouns ONLY.

MINORS DNI‼️ - and basic dni.

switch/verse with no preference. but sometimes i'll get into moods ;3

VERY T4T!! cis people can still interact idc

single but not looking for a relationship!! but if we're mutuals we can get each other off ;3c

‼️MINORS DNI‼️, ask box is open (flirting is welcome if youre between 20-29), dms open for mutuals 🥰

btw pleaseee send asks. i love the attention ૮``˶˃ ﻌ ˂˶`ა

claimed anons: 💋🔬, 🌌, 🪴

original posts will be tagged with #fangedlovebites

posts from my old blog that i still enjoy will be tagged under #vampire.hickeys

asks will be tagged under #[anon/emoji].bites

more tags to come!

more blog-relevant info under the cut:

vague approximation of what i look like!:

interests, boundaries, limits, and more!:

green (yes please!): hickeys/biting, (weed) intox, praise, [pet/pup]play (some aspects, at least)

yellow (experimenting with / mildly interested in, just ask!): hierophilia, light degradation, gentle hair pulling

red (not necessarily a dni, just not for me!): cnc / free use, scat/piss/emeto, misgendering/detrans, pregnancy, ageplay, incest/fauxcest, use of the word r@pe

terms i like: most standard pet names (sweetheart, love, etc.), pup(py)/mutt, “pretty thing”, fag(got)* (<- preferably paired with praise or endearment, but i loove “stupid faggot”) - for my body: (t)dick, cock, (boy)cunt, hole

terms i dont like: bitch, anything paired with “girl” (i am a man.), feminine terms for my body

i politely ask that you do not refer to my chest at all, but if you do, just call it my chest. thank you

additional disclaimers!: im not active on this blog 24/7! and i tend to have a hard time responding right away even when i am active. but i try my best ૮``˶˃ ﻌ ˂˶`ა - i also wont be posting pictures of myself (buuut mutuals maybe can see. maybe. im shy though)

and hey, if youve read this far, like this post! :3

oh and fyi, since you have read this far, if you jerk off to my blog youre obligated to tell me about it <3

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kisskiss--fallinlove · 1 year ago

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⋆ Taken Care Of ⋆

KYOYA X TAMAKI

Sickfic, you know the drill. Kyoya wakes up feeling on the verge of death (he has a minor illness), Tamaki insists on taking care of him. Set in the future when they’re both adults with jobs, no specific age, marital status or job clarification so go crazy with your headcanons I guess.

WARNINGS: The illness is unspecified but similar to the flu I guess, if you require specifics. I don’t think an emeto warning is necessary, there’s no vomit but possible slight reference to it?? Pretty easy to miss if that kind of thing doesn’t bother you, but I thought I should still mention it just in case. Pretty vague about sickness overall to be honest.

WORD COUNT: 1340

WILL BE POSTED ON Ao3 AND WATTPAD AT A LATER DATE AND EDITED AT THAT TIME WITH LINKS. THANKS FOR YOUR SUPPORT!!

Kyoya felt awful.

From the second he awoke he was hit with a searing pain in his forehead, which, as he discovered when bringing up a hand to grasp it in a futile attempt to calm the aching, was drenched with sweat. He nestled down into his blankets for a second, allowing himself a moment's relief before he got up to face the day. As terrible as he felt, and as much as he detested waking up this early, he simply couldn't be late for work. The very thought of leaving his bed was daunting — he was already far from being an early riser, but the condition he was in wasn't helping with that in the slightest. Still, he mused with a soft groan, if he didn't get up now he wasn't sure he ever would.

Reluctantly, Kyoya swung his legs out of bed and stood up — only to immediately stumble back onto the bed, vision blurred and stomach lurching. This movement seemed to wake up Tamaki, who stirred beside him with a confused "mrph?"

"Go back to sleep, Tamaki, you don't have to be up yet," Kyoya attempted to assure him, surprised at the raspy voice in which his words were spoken. He didn’t understand. He'd been fine last night, if a little more drowsy than usual, but now the very act of speaking felt akin to swallowing sandpaper.

Tamaki, ever-compassionate and caring for his partner's wellbeing, very annoyingly ignored him. "Kyo, are you okay?" He sat up, rubbing his eyes before looking worriedly at his partner. "You don't sound too well."

"I'll be fine," Kyoya insisted weakly. He tried once more to stand up, but every fibre of his body seemed intent on pulling him back down. "Just ... give me a second."

"You look terrible," Tamaki continued, lifting a hand to press against Kyoya's face. Kyoya couldn’t resist leaning in to the touch. "You feel terrible. You're boiling!"

"It's fine. I don't even feel too warm," Kyoya said, thinking it best to leave out the perhaps more concerning detail that he was, in fact, shivering.

Tamaki removed his hand to instead wrap his arms around Kyoya’s waist, gently yet firmly tugging him further into the bed. "Please come back to bed, mon amour. You can't go to work in this state!"

Kyoya considered it. It wouldn't be right to infect anyone else, he supposed — and he really did just want to crawl back into bed for all eternity (or, until he felt a little bit better at the very least).

"Maybe I should," he finally admitted with a sigh. He climbed back under the covers, practically melting into the comfort of his still-warm pillow as the mattress — Kyoya still had no idea as to how Tamaki had acquired one quite so soft — caressed his aching limbs.

"Good, because I'm not letting you leave this house — no, this bed — until you're better."

"Is that so?" Kyoya responded dryly. He rolled his tired eyes at Tamaki's dramatic declaration, before allowing them to flutter shut once more.

He'd surprised himself, giving in so easily like that. He ought to go back on his decision and find a way to get his work done regardless. He'd worked through illnesses before; it was just what he'd been raised to do, he supposed. But things had been different since Tamaki entered his life — Tamaki would practically force Kyoya to take breaks ever since they were younger, even when he wasn't ill. He didn't quite understand that, and wrote it off as some overprotective nature Tamaki had developed from his own upbringing while caring for his sick mother — but it did help him. Kyoya would feel better after spending time with Tamaki even when he hadn't realised he’d previously been feeling badly at all. On a similar note, Tamaki had filled a gap in Kyoya's life he hadn't known had been there to begin with, so he supposed that was just the effect Tamaki had. Now, he vaguely felt the man in question press a soft kiss to his forehead, the rest of his surroundings an incomprehensible haze as he drifted (quite without meaning to) into slumber.

Kyoya hadn't the slightest idea of how long he'd been asleep, but when he awoke he felt the most well-rested he'd been for perhaps as long as he could remember.

The door creaked open, startling Kyoya. Shouldn't Tamaki be at work by now? What time was it, even?

"I’m sorry, I didn't mean to wake you!" Tamaki whisper-yelled, as though the act of lowering his voice would magically send Kyoya right back to sleep.

"It's fine, I was already —" Kyoya began, then, remembering why he's been so startled in the first place, deflected with, "forget that. What are you doing here?"

"Hm? I live here, silly." Tamaki walked further into the room, revealing to Kyoya a tray he was balancing in his hands. Kyoya was now propped up onto his elbows, looking inquisitively at his partner.

"You're meant to be at work." Shit. Work. He'd completely forgotten in his exhaustion to inform them of his absence.

"I already told them I'm not coming in today," said Tamaki. He must have noticed Kyoya's panicked expression, because he added, "I did the same for you too."

Kyoya frowned. Tamaki seemed fine, particularly given the lack of the dramatics that usually accompanied any illness Tamaki subtracted. "You're not sick as well, are you?"

"No! I just want to take care of you."

That was what Kyoya had feared. "I can take care of myself," he told him with an exasperated sigh. "There's no reason for us both to miss work. I didn't even want to in the first place."

Tamaki let out a fond laugh. "You don't have to be so independent, mon cheri. I'm sure you can take care of yourself, but I want to be here to help. It won't hurt to let yourself be taken care of for once!" He sat beside Kyoya; gingerly, so as not to send the contents of the tray flying. "Now, are you hungry? I thought it best not to bring anything else unless you wanted it, I know how funny you get with food when you're unwell, but I'll make you anything you want. Drinks included — but have some water first, okay?"

As Tamaki continued his ramblings, Kyoya looked properly at the tray for the first time. It was one of the nicer ones they owned; lilac and white china, emblazoned with a beautiful rose pattern. It may well have been Kyoya's favourite, if he were to choose one. Set upon it was a jug of water beside a tall, ice-filled glass, as well as a miniature vase which proudly displayed a singular violet rose. Kyoya smiled despite himself. Trust Tamaki to go all out, even for something so simple as preparing a glass of water.

"You'll have to go back to work tomorrow," Kyoya said, pouring himself some water as instructed. It wasn't as though either of them desperately needed to be in work — they quite obviously had more than enough money to get by — it was the principle of missing work that unnerved Kyoya so.

"It's almost like you don't want me here," Tamaki chuckled.

Kyoya raised an eyebrow, not indulging Tamaki's joke, though he couldn’t help but to inwardly remark on just how untrue it was. "I just don't want you skipping work for no good reason.”

"You're a good reason," Tamaki said, his voice earnest as he handed Kyoya the now-full glass. "I want to be here for you whenever you need me."

Kyoya didn't know how to respond to that (Tamaki could find a way to make anything a grand declaration of love, and though Kyoya loved the fool right back all the more for it, those moments never failed to catch him off guard), so he took the glass in one hand, and Tamaki's free hand in the other.

Tamaki was most certainly going to be in work tomorrow, even if Kyoya had to drag him there himself. But for now he was too tired to argue, so he decided, for once, to let himself be taken care of.

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transsissglanskisses · 2 months ago

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Hi! I'm April, I'm 19, and I want your girlcock in my throat!

My asks and DMs are very open

Main Kinks:

Incest (actually much more momcest than siscest. I just chose this name cus it rhymed lol)

Ageplay

Lactation

Cnc

Somno

Choking

Uhm... Ears?

Whatever you're into, I almost certainly am too, so don't be shy. Just wanted to keep the list finite lol

Hard Limits:

Scat, emeto

Elders and terms like "grandma"

Men do not send dms or asks. Other interactions are fine tho

Minors... do what you want. being 17 and seeing porn won't scar you. You're people, and i respect your autonomy.

Stories: #sis's stories

Reblogs with jokes riffing on the post: #sis's bits

#sis's stories #sis's bits #sis's asks

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lurkofyourlife · 2 months ago

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Maybe I'll decide on an alter ego some day, but for now just call me what you like, but do try to be civil (unless we're flirting. you can be mean if we're flirting.) (Re:nicknames, you can't go wrong with puppy or brat, or... other things, in the right context.)

Born in the 90s, female, with a fascination with kink and smut— entirely in theory. [Not inexperienced offline, simply not interested in offline experiences.] I am queer and non-monogamous, and a total nerd, and the way to my heart or loins is through tags/comments on my posts, and asks.

No terfs, swerfs, or ace exclusionists allowed, and keep all misogyny to the fantasy kind, mhm? Irl feminist and I do tend to block bigots on sight.

DMs are open for now, until someone makes me change my mind (not a challenge, but a warning). No age in bio means you will get blocked. Bots will get blocked. Happy to chat and flirt, but don't go sending pics unless I'm asking (I'm not currently asking). I do have a wishlist if you want to buy gifts 👉👈

MINORS ARE NOT WELCOME HERE. 18+ only, please and thanks.

Anons are open and if you want help starting, try my ask game tag!

This is a secondary blog for me. My primary is a mess of fandom and silly things, writing, plenty of memes. I promise I'm actually shockingly well-balanced and well-adjusted (and witty, and lighthearted and/or insightful— and, of course, modest); this is just my place to be as fucked up and kinked as my little heart desires. 🩷 But hey: I'm using a separate browser for this one, folks. So I can like and follow and lurk to my heart's content, here. Or maybe I'm watching you from a random tab on my main browser. I do like to peruse...

I will always tag my content; I'm paranoid that way.

Kinks include: various varietals of bdsm at different degrees (generally a bottom, a brat, a bit of a masochist, and I just love exploring power play), knife play (so very unfortunately attracted to knives), intox, cnc, somno, mind games, object insertion, breeding kink (w/o the pregnancy bit lmao), a bit of blood play or light petplay, praise and degradation each in their own way, shame play, and plenty of other things I've been curious about or find hot in the right scenario. I may dabble in pseudoincest if the mood strikes me; it'll be tagged inc3$t and fauxc3st so you can block as needed. My yes fluids are tears, spit/drool, cum, and blood. I may occasionally talk torture (especially psychological). I'm generally pro-monsterfucking, though prefer humanoid monsters (or outright monstrous humans).

Hard nos: You may call yourself daddy/mommy, but I do not like that word. I don't mind a sir, ma'am, miss, etc, but daddy/mommy is a hard no for me. I don't mind ddlg vibes, I simply don't like the name. Never gonna judge you for it, though, so do what makes you happy. Hypnotism is a no from me. Same with bimbofication. If you want me stupid, just fuck me dumb or exhaust me in a basement with no sleep. Large age gaps (over 10-15 years or so) are a hard no. Even my pseudoincest leans 'what are you doing step bro' opposed to 'icky uncle'. It's a squick I won't be getting over any time soon. Not big on filth fetishes (sorry, no scat, piss, emeto stuff, etc). As much as I love knives, and don't mind a bit of torture, I avoid all-the-way-through, woundfucking, and vore. Also I just don't like bugs. 🥺

{no images are me. forever faceless on the internet 🩷}

Internet gf: @sexistentialprincess 🩷🩷🩷

Other reserved tags: 💀, ⛓️, 🫀

If you're looking for specific content, use the color coding in the kink section! Links below for pink tags, red tags, green tags, etc. ^^ All my original posts are tagged #|urkofyour|ife

#mdni #mdni blog #intro post #me #k!nk blog #what will my personal post tag be...hm...#|oy|#actually ngl i love that #it looks like oy #|urkofyour|ife #mine #pink tags #red tags #green tags #blue tags #purple tags #orange tags #bd/sm puppy #my writing

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omega-fxg-ollie · 3 months ago

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┌──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────┐

heyyy, welcome to my blog!

my name is ollie, but you can also call me good boy, fag, whore, kiddo, whatever works for you as long as it isn't blatantly feminine like princess or good girl xx i post from mainly a sub/bottom perspective on this account, and i am taken by my love @actuallyanariesblog <3

about me: i'm 21, australian, autistic and disabled. my favourite video game atm is stardew valley, and i like baking and playing my switch :P i'm very queer (nblm/nblnb) so most content i post/reblog will be with masc or male figures for that reason

my dms are closed, but my asks are open and i love receiving them! send me stuff to be a pal, be a perv, or give me ideas to write about :D if you wanna be a regular anon, pick an emoji signoff!

taken anons: 👽🦎, ✨, 🖤,

。　☆ 。　 ☆。　 ☆ 。

☆。　＼　　｜　　／。　☆

⊹₊⋆ᯓ★ my tags

🎤 ollie yaps (non horny posts)

💫 ollie faves (general horny posts)

💚 ollie4aries (posts that remind me of aries)

📸 ollie snaps (my pics)

🐾 ollie feral (petplay)

🧸 ollie kiddo (ageplay)

😵‍💫 ollie fam (fauxcest)

💨 ollie puffs (intox)

⛓️‍💥 ollie victim (cnc/rapeplay/rough stuff)

🎱 magic 8 ball (ask posts)

⋆⭒˚｡⋆★ my limits

scat/emeto, heavy snuff and gore, feeder/feedee, tickling, detrans, race play, possibly more to be added

☆。　／　｜　　＼。　☆

。　 ☆。　　。　　☆。。

do not interact:

minors, racists/neonazis, terfs/radfems, non-queer, anti-kink, ed/ana. others tbd

└──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────┘

formerly @baby-bro-teddy & @silly-star-kiddo

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paingoes · 7 months ago

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Destroyer - Rupture

(Masterlist)

(Content: starvation, captivity, violence mention, trafficking mention, death mention, “gay” as an insult, fear, minor emeto)

=======================

They’d locked him in his room again. Delta was getting the sickest sense of déjà vu. He was glad the tap was still running and that he’d been stashing food, because the first three days they’d forgotten to feed him. Maybe it was understandable. The Thorn had descended into chaos, presumably. Simon didn’t even come see him, probably in a total tizzy over his ever-dwindling job security. Delta had been locked up alone for a week now. When he’d first been thrown in here, he’d still been splattered with Paris’s blood.

He turned the fan on, letting the cold air wash over him. It helped to calm him down.

The only access he had to the outside world was with the laptop. Everyone online knew. There had been grainy footage posted of the assassination attempt. Everyone thought it was Nezu. In truth, the Thales bloodlust ran deep — and it ran in different directions. There could have been any number of mercenaries who were carrying out their business against the imperial line. But there was no denying that Paris’s death would certainly be convenient for the general.

Paris’s actual condition was uncertain. He wasn’t dead yet, not officially. But Delta had seen the spot where the arrow pierced him. They were probably just keeping him on ice. He could already see how this would play out. Paris would die. The next person to inherit Δ-107 would be Nezu, who had already made his intentions with Delta very clear. He’d put his brain in a jar, if he was feeling merciful. And even if by some miracle he did not end up in Nezu’s court, the odds still weren’t good. If everyone had really found out about the first “escape attempt”, whoever it was would likely kill or maim him. So that was that.

Delta was sick of Empire. Any lingering loyalty he might’ve had to it would die with Paris. This place was a cesspool collapsing in on itself. He felt disgusted and ashamed to have ever been part of it.

There was no one to betray now, no one to punish him, no one to anger and no one to disappoint. He took a deep breath, sorting through the directory once more. There was nothing to lose. He was dead anyway.

ndhakdvsnnd: EMPIREfile2ndQ.zip (574 MB) ndhakdvsnnd: enjoy guys

His laptop almost exploded.

=============

He had to shut the computer down. In part because it was overheating to the point of burning, but in part because the attention scared him. He forced himself to read for a few hours before opening the machine back up. There were thousands of replies to the thread.

chat is this real

FAKE AND GAY

check 92. that would explain all the lights in the sky by scandia.

empire is cooked

We are not doing this shit again

lol did the hera trafficking conspiracy just get canonized

I used to work accounting at Empire. this is the same code they used, sooooo

Nice knowing you OP

Delta reread that last response carefully. He checked his VPN settings, making sure he was still somewhat protected. It was on. He looked briefly through his post history to see if there was anything there that might hint at his identity. But he’d been careful. Before Lemuria, he’d never even acknowledged anything relating to Empire publicly.

His inbox was full. He went through, deleting every single stranger that had messaged him “real?”

There were some people he did recognize, though. A girl he’d been messaging on the programming board was pinging him again. They’d only had a few conversations before, but they tended to run long. She was always nice to him. He trusted her to be cool about it.

katkittykat: whoaaaahhhhh where did u find this :0

katkittykat: u have been practicing ur leet haxx skills !!!!

katkittykat: u set ur proxy up right ?? theyre gonna try and swat u

katkittykat: dw its a rite of passage :3

ndhakdvsnnd: yes the vpn works. i dont know what that means.

katkittykat: its just an expression

katkittykat: u should b careful tho im gonna send u smth

ndhakdvsnnd: okay

katkittykat: :P

He clicked the link she’d sent. It was a guide she had clearly made herself, written in the same cheery pink text. It contained instructions for how to finish encrypting the browser and ways to brick anyone who came looking for him. It was a bit above his level, but she must have believed he was capable of it. Besides, he had nothing better to do. It took him the rest of the night to set up. She was still online when he finished.

ndhakdvsnnd: okay i did it

katkittykat: yay!!! are u planning on uploading more

ndhakdvsnnd: i dont know if i will have time

katkittykat: ur not gonna tell me ur source right ??

ndhakdvsnnd: no

katkittykat: lololol i didnt think so

katkittykat: b safe pls <3

B safe. It was a little late for that. Delta looked through the Empire portal again. It had only been a few hours, but he was happy to see that the leak hadn’t yet been acknowledged. A little flash of fear ran through his mind. He thought about what it would be like when it did eventually get caught. He reminded himself that he was already doomed – and doomed was a binary state. Though logical, it was not a very comforting line of reasoning. He stood up and calmly walked to the bathroom, dry-heaving into the sink. His body knew exactly how to feel about it. It turned itself inside out in protest.

~~~

Tags: @catnykit @indigoviolet311 @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @defire @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump @pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump

#whump #whump community #whump scenario #living weapon whumpee #whump prompt #living weapon #starvation #captivity #death mention #fear #minor emeto #delta #kitty

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intradognition · 1 year ago

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*paws you gently*

DNI ☆ minors. beyond that, i block liberally if i dont like your content/vibes

! also on @intramomnition !

THE DOG ☆ puppy (it/its), 21. not a person, a dog! weird white autigender trans freak, queer + into everyone in the t4t way (cishets there is just about nothing for you here.) im very autistic so please be patient with puppy ^^ it writes in both first and third person :3

☆ uncollared virgin ; i subpost frequently, but im mostly a dom. i only really entertain play with mutuals. some kind of vers switch(?)

☆ please check out my sideblog, @intramomnition, for all things mommyposting!

— blog functionings (msgs, asks, tags)

DMs ☆ open, but it's likely i'll only respond to mutuals

ASKS ☆ [#dogtorasks] open and anon allowed. come say hi to puppy!!!!

TAGS ☆ #dogtor barks for general dogblogging, #pawndering for writing/etc, #mommy knows best for mommyposting, #puppy brain or #mommy brain for some rbs, #intradognothing for shitposts. #dogtor bites for harder kink stuff potentially containing gore, etc. ocdposts as #ocd

☆ more about puppy & nsft under the cut ☆

— more ૮ ・ﻌ・ა

☆ it has a lot of interests but this blog is almost exclusively for dogposting! it may engage if they come up/be mentioned regardless

☆ i prefer neutral terms for myself but am also fine with masc ones! feel free to bark filthy names at me in my asks because i can and will start wagging

puppy terms:

chest, tits/titties ; cunt, hole, pussy

trans people are welcome to call me mommy (or mama).

no fem terms/words, i much prefer being called a stupid fag/dumb puppy/etc. rather than gendered terms though :3

puppy likes, in no specific order:

pupplay (gestures vaguely at the blog) and petplay in general, i just prefer dogs

breeding (NOT pregnancy)

mommy/sub dynamics of all sort (as the mommy + i favor mommy/pet) but also mommy as a submissive role

ageplay isnt my main thing, but it comes along with being a mommy. would recommend not following if you dont like the implications

praise, degradation/humiliation, begging

pain, bondage + marking (receiving)

dumbification, corruption [#dollposting]

monsterfucking. i LOVE monsters [#monsterfucking + #vampirefucking]

hierophilia (priests, religious shame, angels/demons, etc)

do not include puppy:

scat/emeto

sibling incest

transphobia

feederism/weight kink

raceplay/beastiality

#dogtor barks #dogtor asks #pawndering #puppy brain #intradognothing #monsterfucking #vampirefucking #dollposting #mommy knows best

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i-can-even-burn-salad · 1 month ago

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A Charlatan

Till Death

Warnings: An angry mob, beating and manhandling, unkind knife usage, emeto, mentioned death of side chars, edit: oh right, drugs

The first chapter of a very very whumpy novel I released a bit over a year ago. Finnian is a healer who can't heal, and his luck is about to run out.

Finnian hated dealing with sick people.

Considering the fact that he earned his money with healing, that was rather unfortunate. If he didn’t want to starve to death, he had to grit his teeth and ignore the stench of sweat and blood while tending to scrapes, coughs, aches, and fevers.

Sometimes, he wished he had learned something else after it had become clear that this wasn’t the right profession for him. Then he wouldn’t be sitting here, explaining to a grown-ass woman that when he had told her to keep the wound clean, that included keeping the bandages away from dirty water. And that yes, it fucking hurt, because now it was infected, and if she didn’t plan on losing a finger or two, she’d better keep her hand clean and dry this time. And that perhaps, just perhaps, that was a bit more important than scrubbing the kitchen.

Unfortunately, he had not learned anything else, so he left the house half an hour later with barely enough coins in his pocket to make up for the supplies he had used, the door slamming shut behind him. Well, that could have gone better.

It was more than time for him to move on; to find a village where the people didn’t shoot him dirty glances or whisper behind his back yet. They always did, eventually, thanks to his patience and charming personality. And when they did, he just left. There was no shortage of villages too small to attract a healer, and injuries too minor to warrant going all the way to the next bigger town.

He couldn’t leave, though. Not while he had one more patient to take care of. That much of a conscience, he had. Besides, Amelia was a nice old lady, her ailment merely a broken arm that was taking its time to heal, and visiting her was by far not the worst part of his day.

Finnian made his way to the village center, grimacing at the pain in his leg. It was barely even noon yet, which meant it was going to be a shit day. When he reached Amelia’s house near the marketplace, he was already limping, leaning against the wall as he bent down to grab the key to the front door from its hiding place under a rock. What she even bothered hiding the key for when everyone knew where it was, he couldn’t say. Might as well leave the door unlocked.

“It’s me,” he called. “The—”

His words got stuck in his throat. A sickeningly familiar smell hung in the air. He knew what he was going to find before he entered the tiny bedroom behind the kitchen.

An hour later, Finnian lay in a strip of grass between two houses, his head on his bag. Chewing on some dried starburst leaves, he stared up at the overcast sky without seeing it.

The leaves weren’t as potent as the seeds and flowers, but they worked well enough to take the edge off things. Unfortunately not well enough to erase the stench of urine and feces from his memories. They also did nothing against the lingering feeling of how stiff Amelia’s body had been as he had cleaned her up to preserve that last bit of dignity before fetching her next of kin. Not that dignity had been much of a concern to them before; her family obviously didn’t give a fuck. More than once, Finnian had thrown away the moldy remains of meals, aired the room, and tried his best to keep a resemblance of order up after he had checked in on her.

There had been nothing to clean today. By the looks of it, Amelia had died in her sleep before dinner, which wasn’t the worst way to go. Still, Finnian couldn’t help but wonder if he could have saved her. If only he had cared a bit more, tried a bit harder, been a bit better.

He popped another starburst leaf into his mouth and closed his eyes. The ground swayed ever so slightly, cradling him on the edge between bliss and nausea. He floated, breathing slowly, listening to the rustling of the wind and the distant song of birds.

The sound ebbed and swelled in his ears, his fingers tingling where they touched the grass. One of the birds sounded weird; a tapping noise, like a woodpecker, but not on wood. Then it was two, then four, and it sounded almost like—fuck, those were footsteps.

Finnian lifted his head, trying to keep his irritation off his face. There was no point in expecting thanks or payment for a job he had ultimately failed, so trouble was the next best guess. The thought should have sparked worry, but this once, the starburst did what it was supposed to do and left him blissfully numb, even as one of the men grabbed his arm.

“We know what you are,” he said.

Finnian stared dully at the fingers digging into his sleeve. Those fuckers knew more than him, then. As it was, he could barely remember his own name.

Obviously irritated by Finnian’s lack of reaction, the second man shoved him in the side with his foot. When that also failed to elicit a response, he grabbed Finnian’s other arm, and together, the two of them pulled him up.

With a few seconds delay, Finnian attempted to get his feet under him to ease the strain on his shoulders. Before he was fully standing, the men started to drag him away.

“Hey, my—” His protest got cut short as the men shook him so hard his teeth clacked together. My bag, he thought, too busy fighting the rising nausea to speak again.

Most of his belongings were in the inn room he had rented several weeks ago. The bag only contained his herbs and powders and tinctures, and while they were what he actually needed to make a living, he also hated them enough not to give a fuck, at least not in his current condition.

All thoughts about his bag were swept from his mind as Finnian realized the men were dragging him towards the square. The silhouettes of people loomed way too dark against a way too bright sky, making him squeeze his eyes shut as he asked, “Where—”

Another shake, not quite as hard this time, but a clear enough sign for Finnian to shut up.

He shut up.

When they arrived at the square, Finnian saw just how many people were gathered there. Dread started to find its way past the starburst-induced indifference, but bracing his feet against the ground was futile.

In the middle of the square, they stopped, not letting go of him.

“Well, here he is,” the man to his left said.

Finnian’s head was spinning. The crowd shifted as he tried to focus on it, like grass in the wind, left and right, and left and right. One person stepped forward, a dark silhouette framed by a halo of light cast by the midday sun. Shadows deeper than they should have been from a mere lack of light hid his face.

“This man,” the stranger said. “He is a charlatan. He watches your friends and families suffer, he lets them die, when he could save them with no effort.”

As the words bored into Finnian’s skull, the light around the figure bled away, and the familiar cadence of a voice last heard a decade ago brought a name and terror. A kick against the back of his legs made him crumple, and a foot on his ankle held him in place as he kneeled between the men, chest heaving.

“Luca, please.”

“Don’t call me that,” the stranger, who wasn’t a stranger at all, snapped. He stepped closer, all righteous fury and blazing anger.

“This man.” Luca raised his voice to make sure everyone could hear him. “He is a healer. A life mage. He learned at the Temple of Thyrvis, and yet he refuses to use his magic to help those in need.” He turned around, pulling out a knife as he addressed the crowd. “And I am going to prove it to you.”

Finnian stared at the glistening metal, coming closer, closer, closer as Luca approached him. He whimpered and tried to shrink back, but the men held him in place, digging a knee into his back and pressing down harder on his ankle until he thought it might break. Luca grabbed a fistful of fabric off his chest, frayed gray robes and shirt beneath, and ripped the knife through the layers.

“It’s your choice, charlatan,” Luca said, low enough only Finnian and the two men were able to hear the words. “Show us what you really are, or bleed out.”

He set the blade on Finnian’s left shoulder, tracing it idly towards the middle of his chest. Finnian flexed his fingers, hands twitching, unable to reach the knife, to stop it from breaking skin.

“Don’t, don’t—”

Ignoring his pleas, Luca dragged the knife down, splitting skin and flesh from his collarbone to his waistband.

The pain was still dulled by the starburst leaves, but the panic set in instantly. The world crashed down around Finnian, tilting at the edges until up was down and down was up. The only solid things were the pressure on his arms and the blood running down his chest, and it was too much blood, too much, too much.

Finnian tried to hold back the spark of magic inside him, to control what he had never been able to control before. He’d rather take his chance with blood loss than an angry mob, but between the grip the starburst had on his thoughts and his body’s panic as his life dripped out of him, it was hopeless. The feeling of his skin knitting together was familiar and wrong, and he couldn’t stop it.

When the first gasp sounded from the crowd, Finnian stopped trying. He stopped struggling as well, hanging limply between the men as the whispers around him grew louder. Curiosity turned into shock, reluctance into open hostility.

No more blood ran down his torso, so the wound must have closed already. He didn’t bother to look, keeping his gaze on a patch of weeds on the ground in front of him. That way, he didn’t notice the thrown stone until it bounced off his temple, leaving a burst of pain behind.

“You let my mother die!” a woman shrieked. “She trusted you, and you let her die.”

“I bet he only came back to take her jewelry,” another woman joined in. “It’s. All. Gone.”

Three more stones accompanied her last words; barely more than pebbles, the pain they caused drowned out by the dread in his stomach. Finnian had taken nothing from Amelia’s house, but if something was missing, no one was going to believe him.

Against his better judgment, he looked up, scanning the crowd. Through his tears, all the figures melted into one, a quivering mass full of faces warped in disgust and arms throwing rocks and mouths snarling insults.

“He stole our money!”

Finnian had never stolen anything. He was a failure, but not a thief.

“He said there was nothing he could do!”

He had said there was nothing he could do because her husband wasn’t sick; he ruined his body by drinking himself into a stupor each night.

“He could have saved my child! He’s a monster!”

A child that had been dead and cold by the time he had arrived. Finnian said nothing. They wouldn’t want to hear the truth, to accept that there was nothing anyone could have done. It was easier to blame someone. To blame him.

More stones flew, pelting his shoulder, his stomach, his forehead. Some left bruises, some cut his skin; his healing magic surged through him, powerless against the onslaught. Soon, the cuts didn’t close anymore, leaving trails of blood running down his face and his bare chest.

“Ow! Hey, watch out!”

The grip around Finnian’s left arm wavered. One of the stones must have missed him, and the danger of hitting the men holding him was what granted him a short reprieve. He watched the blood drip off his chin, landing in small drops on the dust in front of his knees.

“You!” Luca shouted at someone in the crowd. “Bring me a rope.”

Finnian raised his head, looking at the man he had once considered his friend. The pain pulsed in his cuts and bruises, but the sting of betrayal hurt deeper.

“You know it wasn’t my fault,” he said. His voice was toneless, his throat aching. He couldn’t remember screaming, but the past minutes were all but a blur in his mind, a patchwork of pain and despair and omnipresent guilt that followed him into his nightmares.

It wasn’t my fault.

If only he could believe it himself.

Luca kicked him in the stomach. While Finnian gasped for air, fingers grabbed his hair, closing around his ponytail. Pulling his head back, Luca forced him to look up, leaving his throat exposed.

“Tell yourself that,” he said, twisting the ponytail until new tears filled Finnian’s eyes. “You made your choice. Now you’ll have to live with the consequences.”

Finnian blinked against the tears, looking past Luca at the whispering crowd. No one spoke up. Not the woman whose hand he had stitched up after she had torn it open on a broken fence. Not the man whose persistent cough he had cured with herbs he had spent the better part of a week gathering. Not the young mother he had stopped from bleeding out while giving birth.

All they cared about were his failures.

As Luca let go of his hair and grabbed his hands to tie them together with the rope someone had fetched, Finnian closed his eyes. With the fading adrenaline, the effect of the starburst came crashing back, leaving him nauseous and lightheaded. He focused on the feeling of the hemp fibers against his skin and the rough earth under his knees, but it wasn’t enough.

When he started to throw up, the men let go of him, taking a hurried step back. His clouded mind left him unable to figure out how to move his tied hands, so he dropped forward. At the last moment, he found the awareness to turn his head, so he only slammed his temple into the ground but didn’t break his nose.

His world turned black, lit by colorful flashes behind closed eyelids. His head hurt. His chest hurt. His knees hurt. Everything hurt. His magic tried to fix everything at once and dissolved uselessly. Sand clung to the blood and spit on his face, scratching his cheek as he finally found the wits to pull his arms closer and hide his face.

“Pathetic piece of shit,” Luca muttered, kicking him in the side.

Finnian tried to curl up without throwing up again, the rushing of blood in his head too loud for him to hear what else Luca shouted. Not that it mattered much.

He might have to live with the consequences, but it wouldn’t be for long.

This was chapter one. If you want to see the next 32, you can download the ebook here — it's free.

#whump #my writing #fantasy whump #whump writing #writeblr #it's been a bit over a year and I decided fuck everything else for ONCE I will take the time and read the book I wrote for ME #And surprisingly I didn't hate it so far. Are there a few things I would probably have done differently now? Yeah. But whatever.#And then I thought why not put the first chapter here as well

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cuteangsty · 12 days ago

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Werewolf training log - sick day

Prologue | log 1 | notes

Tw: (light) emeto, living weapon, minor whumpee, dehumanization.

The beast grunts and shifts around in its little corner. I thought I had told it to be silent already. It's always so difficult with it. Is it not enough that I'm letting it sit in my office?

I look over the pile of paper on the desk, checking it quickly, I can't stop myself from sighing exhausted of dealing with... This. 'it will be worth it' ,I repeat to myself. I've been rereading this mental note very often lately...

"Moss!" I call it.

-Aaaaand... It ignores me as usual...

I went as far as to give it a name just so it pretends to have none.

*SLAM*

I punch the table, not so strongly, just enough for it to make noise. Moss almost snaps its head when turning to me.

"...ugh..."

"silence." I order.

A few tear tracks mark its face... And it sniffles... The silence only last 5 seconds before it shifts awkwardly, almost involuntarily.

"*cough*... Uuhg..."

I punch the desk again.

"No. No. No. You cried for me to take you inside the house, you cried to follow me and now, you have everything. Quit crying."

This time it only lowers its head. It stopped with the noise for a few seconds, only for it to puke on the floor.

"disgusting... As if you couldn't get any worse." I murmur as I get up.

At least it wasn't much to clean. I better get Moss out of here and it won't take long to go back to work.

I pick the mutt up by the gruff and drag it outside, if it's going to throw up, better do it outside, where I don't have to deal with it. I can give it some medicine later IF it really needs it.

I just wish it'd stop crying so much, now I can't even put the muzzle...

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

Moss slept through most of the day, I couldn't advance in any field of its training. It's too weak to get up, to eat... I didn't think a werewolf could get sick like this. I mean they are supposed to thrive in the wild, aren't they?

Eeh... Well... I have to at least take some level of responsibility for it here. The oatmeal I give it expired last month, I didn't think much of it so... Oh and It didn't complain either, I guess it was too hungry to cry...

Anyway, I managed to get some herbs for it back in town. It's probably getting better by tomorrow morning, I can't wait to get back to training it. I thought I had more time... It's growing up very fast, like, no, really, it was half the size 2 months ago... I have to tame it before it hits maturity, otherwise a crybaby will be the least of my concerns.

#whumplr #whumpee #whump #mine #whump prompt #whumper #whump community #werewolf hunter whumper #werewolf training logs #werewolf whumpee #werewolf whump #living weapon whumpee #living weapon #sick whump #emeto tw

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just-another-hornyposter · 1 month ago

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haii! our blog is prettyyyy self explanatory! we're a hypersexual system, you can call us R, our username, or any terms/titles you think feel right

info:

-bodily 18

-taken by our wonderful partner sys!!! they know about this blog lol

-collectively transmasc t4t mlm (but we'll take interactions from anyone!! please!!!)

-they/he/it pronouns

-we are extremely hypersexual, and very addicted to sex. we *have* to masturbate at least once every day. why dont you ask if we have yet today :333

dni:

-bigots

-discourse/syscourse blogs (why are you here let us be horny in peace)

-safe sane consensual kink (this is a risk aware consensual kink household)

-minors (i cant stop you ig but yeah)

taken anons (SOMEHOW????????): 🎼,

kink list and boundaries under the cut

boundaries:

-no face pictures or nudes/partial nudes

-no sharing personal info

-we can always say no to anything you request!!!

collectively we are a top and dom leaning switch

kink list:

-teratophilia (monsterfucking) (we are the monster)

-ddlb/ageplay

-petplay

-bondage (g&r)

-sadism/masochism (g&r)

-dubcon/noncon/r@peplay (g)

-degradation (g&r)

-praise (g&r)

-exhibitionism/voyeurism

-breathplay (g&r)

-power dynamics

-and more!

maybe:

-intox

-spanking/impact play

-boots (probably a no)

-anything not listed in the hard no section

hard no's:

-scat

-piss

-emeto

#t4t mlm #t4t nsft #t4t ns/fw #t4t bd/sm #ftm t4t #trans nsft #queer nsft #lgbt nsft #nsft t4t #nsft intro #ftm dom #ftm top #ftm switch #ftm nsft

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maccreadysbaby · 4 months ago

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Project: Killcode

batfamily + oc insert

tw: lots of violence, gore, s**cide, emeto, panic attacks, major & minor character death, insane amounts of angst

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

that list of tw's sounds so scary. i'd tell you it wasn't that bad, but... y'know...

CRY, I DARE YOU >:(

part twenty-three

❝ HIGHLIGHT REEL FROM HELL ❞

TUESDAY — JULY 24 — 2:40AM

BENTLEY FLINCHED HIMSELF AWAKE IN HIS BED FOR WHAT HAD TO BE THE FIFTIETH TIME SINCE HE STARTED TRYING TO FALL ASLEEP HOURS AGO.

He wasn’t sure why he was struggling with it so much that particular Monday night — especially since he and Koa had engaged in lots more physical activity than he was used to. He should’ve been exhausted. He was exhausted, but sleep seemed to be eluding him, just like it always did.

After Summer had healed Koa (thank goodness for her powers.) all seven of them stayed in their room for the rest of the evening, save Valor who was the best roommate ever and brought dinner to the dorm for everyone. Between getting punched, exploding Tyler’s gatorade, and having Koa black out on him, Bentley could confidently say he’d never had a more eventful first day in his life. (Not that he’d had lots of first days.) (He sort of hoped it wasn’t setting the tone for the rest of the schoolyear.)

Bruce called him after dinner to ask how the day went. Bentley told him the bare minimum. (A lie of omission is still a lie, his subconscious oh-so-helpfully reminded him.)

With the realization that he’d technically been lying to Bruce more lately than he ever had before, he tossed and turned in his bed for literal hours. It was edging on three in the morning when he pushed himself upright and glanced around his and Asten’s bedroom. It was pitch black besides the tiny sliver of dim light coming from beneath the door, and when he tapped his phone, it said it was 2:42am.

He had to be up in, like, three hours.

With a sigh, he rubbed his eyes and forced himself out of his bed, glancing at the lump on the top bunk that was sound asleep, unlike him. (Sometimes he envied Asten’s uncanny ability to sleep through anything.)

He moved across their room slowly and opened their door as quietly as he could, stepping out into the living area, and he was on a rooftop.

… And he was on a rooftop?

He glanced backward at what would’ve been the door he’d just stepped through, but was greeted by nothing more than roof and Gotham skyline. It was nighttime, and the sky was cloudy, with tons of stars twinkling through. A bitter cold settled into his bones and he shivered — winter wind howled around him, tugging at his hair and his clothes, and an onslaught of tiny freezing raindrops began pelting his exposed skin.

He tucked his (immediately frozen) hands into the pocket of his red hoodie, and did a spin, glancing across the rooftop as he did so.

There was someone on the edge of the roof, standing unsteadily atop a very sketchy, slick-looking metal railing, the breeze whipping and tearing at their clothes and hair. They weren’t much bigger than Bentley, and they were… familiar.

Bentley went forwards toward them, but he couldn’t move all that well. Like the cold was sinking into his bones and freezing his blood inside of him — like he was slowly solidifying.

Despite that, it only took a few grueling steps forward for the color of the other person’s hair to catch on the glimmering city lights in the distance.

“Asten?” Bentley questioned softly, a wave of fear surging through him when he realized what exactly was happening, again. “Asten, what… what are you doing?”

Bentley grew nearer to the edge at a glacial pace, having to put every ounce of willpower in his body into moving one leg at a time to get to him. The closer he got, he realized Asten had a paper balled up into his left fist. Similar to the first time this happened. Didn’t he have a picture of his parents, then?

“Asten?” Bentley tried again, continuously forcing himself forward. “Can you hear me? It’s Bentley, Asten. I’m here.”

He finally got close enough to hear his quiet sobs, and a few more steps revealed that Asten was trembling, though Bentley wasn’t sure how much of it was from the cold and how much wasn’t. Asten’s shaky breaths rose from his mouth in clouds of vapor. Bentley’s did not. Like he didn’t even exist.

When Asten didn’t move, Bentley exhaled shakily, adrenaline burning through his veins like gasoline. “Asten, please. Can you hear me?”

Again, he seemed to be the only one capable of hearing himself just like last time. He glanced around the rooftop for any signs of Nico or Jason or somebody Asten could hear, but Bentley was the only one there.

Asten let go of the paper, and it blew back onto the roof toward him. It was a newspaper clipping, crumbled and haphazardly torn from its original paper.

It stopped blowing in the wind when it hit Bentley’s shoe — he knelt down and grabbed it, flipping it to the backside. There was a list there that said: Gotham Tragedy Casualties. Beneath that heading was a long list of names, hundreds in tiny print just on the small sliver of paper he could see. Right in the middle of the list, circled by a red pen, were five names: Nico Rockefeller, Bentley Whittaker, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, and Damian Wayne.

Gotham Tragedy. That was the name given to the mass destruction Asten had caused after his uncle died.

When Bentley stood back up was about the time Gotham came into focus below them. The city lights were shining in the distance, but the closer Bentley looked, the more destruction he noticed. Buildings reduced to rubble, burned into nothing more than smoking piles of ash in a large radius around the building they were standing on. Roads covered from one end to the other in debris and rubble, police and firetrucks and emergency response vehicles still sifting through the long fizzled-out wreckage for survivors.

That’s about when Bentley realized they were back on top of the exact building Asten had taken Jason’s gun on. The one he’d stood on the edge of once before, a long time ago. The one where he’d destroyed… everything.

“Asten…” Bentley tried again, taking another glance at the boy across the rooftop. He had the sudden urge to cry but fought it down, for the other boy’s sake, on the off chance he started hearing him. “Please get down, buddy.”

Asten turned around unsteadily on the railing, facing Bentley with his back toward the city, but he didn’t look at him. He was looking more… through him. Bentley noticed that his gaze was focused on the piece of paper that was blowing across the rooftop. His nose and cheeks were red from both the crying and the cold, making his green eyes look greener in the same weird way Dick’s eyes looked bluer when he cried.

“Asten, please,” Bentley tried, stepping forward again, though it was no use. He was invisible.

Asten only stared forward, the despair and sorrow that had been painted across his features fading into an expression that was freakishly numb and empty.

Bentley took one last step forward, close enough that he could probably touch Asten’s legs, and he felt his eyes start to burn. “Please get down. What am I gonna do if you’re not here?”

The wind whipped at Asten’s blue hair, and with the city lights behind him, it sort of looked like he had a halo of light. He shifted his weight only slightly, and he took a shaky breath in. Then he closed his eyes.

“Asten!” Bentley shouted, trying to move forward, but his feet wouldn’t lift. “Please, Asten, please, I’m right here. I’m right here, I’m not dead. Please.”

Asten’s hands went from fists to loose by his sides, the tension leaving his shoulders and body. He exhaled a long puff of vapor that floated away in the wind.

Then he let himself fall backwards.

“No!”

Bentley lurched forward, grappling for Asten’s ankle, his foot, his pants, anything. But his hands went straight through his legs like they weren’t even there, and he disappeared over the edge and left Bentley on the rooftop alone. He tried to summon water but he couldn’t feel any. The whole city went quiet.

Bentley stood eerily still, his mouth hanging open, and he didn’t dare look over the edge no matter how close he was to it. He swallowed thickly, his hand drifting up to cover his mouth. He stared blankly at his own feet.

He couldn’t… why couldn’t Asten…

Bentley’s knees hit the rooftop with a thud, and he suddenly felt kind of like he was drowning. Like the world was moving without him. He couldn’t hear, he couldn’t see. He knew he was sobbing now, so hard it actually, physically hurt, but he couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t hear anything.

The world blurred and moved around him, and suddenly, he was somewhere else. On his knees, choking on his own sobs in the middle of a road full of rubble. Smoke was rising in plumes on all sides of him, and everything seemed to be roaring like the day Asten destroyed Gotham.

Bentley couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. What was he supposed to do? His breaths kept getting caught in his throat like there was something blocking the way, and after a few moments of that, he started coughing, which made everything ten times worse. He tried to breathe but all that came out were wheezy, violent sort of half-sobs-half-hyperventilating thingys that left him kind of dizzy. His body wasn’t listening to him anymore. He could feel himself trembling so hard he was probably vibrating across the ground, and he could feel his stomach churning inside of him, but there wasn’t anything he could do.

Asten had…

Asten… his brother… he… he was…

“Come here, you little prick!”

Bentley’s eyes flicked up when a small figure staggered toward him, stumbling and hobbling all over the place. He wiped his eyes and blinked, and upon closer inspection, he realized it was… Nico. He was covered in blood and dirt and ash, his blonde hair no longer blonde but a mixture of colors bestowed upon him by the warzone. He kept trying to use his powers to no avail, the yellow lightning crackling at his feet but only sending him a few yards forward before it stopped and he stumbled, and Bentley quickly noticed why — because his leg was broken.

Like, broken broken. Like part of his left calf and foot was mangled and not facing the right way broken. Bentley could see the strange angles even with his sweatpants on, and his entire left pant leg was soaked through with blood. He was crying, tear-streaks cutting through the rest of the blood and grime on his face and making pitiful little dots all over the front of his hoodie.

“Nico?” Bentley breathed, nearly inaudibly, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them just like he used to. “Asten, he…”

Nico went straight past him without even a glance in his direction.

So no one could see him.

Bentley just sat. He brought his knees in tighter and stared blankly, hiccuping and spluttering pitifully to nobody but himself. He wanted to glance around but he was afraid he’d see Asten if he did, so he didn’t.

His own voice pierced the air before he could even comprehend what he was saying. All it was was a broken sounding little:

“Dad…”

There was a shout from behind Bentley that was so shrill he flinched, whirling his head around to check what was going on.

Nico shouted in terror and staggered backwards when a purple portal spun to life ahead of him, The Void stepping out of it right in his face. Her purple hair was still half cut where Damian had gotten it with his katana, and she was bruised and cut up and dirty, too.

Before he could as much as think, The Void grabbed Nico by the head and shoved him into the rubble, hard, face first. Bentley thought about moving toward them, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t move, like his body was cemented to the ground.

He shouted: “Nico!” But no one heard.

All he could do was watch as she climbed on top of Nico, who kicked and thrashed under her weight, crying and screaming the names of what seemed to be every person he knew, but finally settling on yelling for his parents again and again. Bentley tried so hard to pick his feet up, to move, to scoot, to crawl, to something, but he couldn’t. He couldn't move. He couldn't think.

“Nico, no!”

The Void grabbed Nico by the hair and started slamming the back of his head into the rubble over and over and over and over and over again until they were both red, and his face was blank, his shouting silenced, eyes open but unseeing.

Bentley turned his head away and closed his eyes, slapping his hands over his mouth, the sudden but powerful urge to vomit taking ahold of him full-force. A sort of strange, stunned numbness sprang to life inside of him. He’d never really felt like that before. Like… like he was so stunned and scared and grieved and enraged and traumatized that it all sort of boiled into one big… nothing. Feelings that were so strong his body just… canceled them out for his own good.

He coughed a few times that almost resulted in him throwing up all over himself.

“I…” He whispered. Who was he talking to? He didn’t know. No one could hear him. No one could see him. No one could touch him. He was a ghost. “I wanna go home.”

And then a voice came. A voice he recognized from a long time ago, that came from everywhere and nowhere. A voice that made his hair stand up, that made him want to crawl in a hole and never come out again.

“You got lucky, babybird. The choices you made prevented these… unfortunate events from taking place. But what’s the fun in keeping them to myself? After all, no one ever realizes how lucky they are until they see the alternative,”

Bentley was suddenly in a solid white plane of emptiness, still sitting, still unable to move, to think, to breathe, still feeling like he might throw up and pass out and die. He didn’t open his eyes, didn’t move, in fear of her being there. He thought she was dead. He thought she was dead.

“But everything makes a ripple, babybird. You know that better than anyone. Down to the smallest detail — who you say hi to in the hall, where you sit in class. You may have closed the door on the circumstances I just showed you, yes… but now you’ve opened doors much, much worse. Would you like to sneak a peek into your future?”

Bentley didn’t get time to respond — not that he would’ve anyways — because, suddenly, the white was changing and moving around him, smoke swirling and making images, a flurry of scenes flashing in front of him like a highlight reel straight from hell.

First, Rockie appeared in the white nothing with him, crouched next to him, looking panicked. In a split second, there was a BANG! BANG! and though Bentley couldn’t see where the shots came from, two big stains of crimson began to form and grow on the front of Rockie’s t-shirt, and his green eyes blew wide. He opened his mouth to speak and blood came out.

Bentley gasped and shouted: “Rockie!”

Rockie fell. Bentley made some sound of terror he didn’t really hear, but the second he reached for his roommate's body, it disappeared.

Bentley spun around, hiccuping, wiping the ever-flowing tears off of his face. He scanned the rest of the white. “…Rockie?”

“No! No! Please, don’t — no, Bentley! Help! Help me!”

Bentley whipped around at the voice. The smoke swirled and spun until three people emerged from thin air — two adults in white suits and a small child they were dragging by the arms. It only took Bentley a split second to realize that it was Bellamy.

He was fighting against them as hard as he could with his tiny self, while simultaneously bawling his eyeballs out and screaming as loud as he possibly could. They slammed him into a wall and began to put something on him. Something yellow, and tight — a straight jacket.

Bellamy fought against them hard, sobs wracking his tiny body as his brown eyes flew everywhere they could. “No! Please, No! Bentley!”

“Leave him alone!” Bentley tried, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t take a single step.

There was a shnnk, and one of the people pulled out a massive knife from absolutely nowhere, pressing it to Bellamy’s throat.

He went dead silent. Bentley tried to speak, to shout for him, to move between him and the person, but nothing happened. He couldn’t move. Everything fizzled away instead.

In their place appeared Valor, who was laying on the floor, facing away from Bentley. His hands were cuffed behind his back and his wings were all curled and folded up in a way that looked immensely painful, secured by thick metal wiring. He was missing a myriad of feathers and the wires were digging in, leaving the platinum feathers stained and splotchy with blood. In fact, all of him seemed bloody — he was wearing a white jumpsuit Bentley had never seen before, but most of it was dotted with crimson.

Bentley crouched where he was, scanning his bloodied figure with a sniffle. “Valor?”

Suddenly, a person in white showed up and kicked him straight in the stomach, hard, sending him onto his back instead. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and his entire face was bruised and cut and bloody. His nose was pouring blood everywhere, his one open eye was bloodshot, and he was trembling. He hardly even reacted to the kick besides a slight wince and a small noise.

Bentley sobbed. “Stop it! Leave him alone!”

The second kick, and Valor did nothing but curl in on himself pitifully. As soon as Bentley reached out for him, they fizzled away.

“Stop it!” Bentley sobbed, bringing his knees back up and burying his head in them. “Please, stop it. I… I want to go home. Please.”

“Oh my God!”

Bentley couldn’t help but glance up at the distraught voice ahead of him, if only a little bit.

There was someone he didn’t recognize on the ground in front of him, huge, red bullet wounds littering their torso. It was a boy — an older boy, maybe Jason’s age, with tan skin, dark hair, and brown, dull eyes. A puddle of blood was pooling on the white floor beneath him. His chest was still rising and falling inconsistently, but it looked difficult, forced.

And suddenly, someone else appeared — the one who’d yelled. Koa.

He was all scraped and bruised up, dawning a bloody nose and a big gash on his eyebrow. His seafoam green eyes were wide with disbelief as he crouched down next to the boy on the floor.

“Artimi,” He started, his eyes immediately welling up as he gathered the older boy up into his arms the best he could. “Oh my God, you-“

Artimi.

Artimi’s dull eyes flicked up to Koa, slowly. A look of gentle relief washed across his features. “Koa.”

“They sh… shot you,” Koa stammered, his breathing growing increasingly ragged when he realized his hands were stained red with the blood of his guardian. He sobbed lightly and turned to look into the white abyss. “Summer!”

“Koa-“

“Summer!”

“Koa, Koa, it’s okay,” Artimi reached up as far as he could manage, balling up the front of Koa’s shirt in one hand, turning it red. “There’s not enough time.”

“Don’t say that!” Koa all but shouted, turning to look the other way again. Artimi tugged on his shirt to gain his attention.

“You’re my brother. I… love you,” He forced out between strange sounds, rattly breaths. “I love you.”

Koa shook his head, a few more silent but violent sobs wracking his body. “You’re going to be fine.”

Artimi frowned, managing to bring his hand up to rest it on the back of Koa’s head and leave a bloody print there. “I love you, Koa.”

“I…” Koa blinked, voice breaking when he continued, shakily: “I love you.”

Artimi smiled, and then his expression faded, the shine leaving his brown eyes… empty.

“Artimi?” Koa said, nearly inaudibly, pulling the older boy’s body closer to himself and holding it there, eyes wide and stunned, rocking back and forth in the slightest. “No. God, please, no. Artimi... Artimi, wake up!”

Artimi did not.

“Artimi, wake up!”

If Bentley hadn’t already been crying his absolute eyeballs out, he definitely would’ve been, come Koa’s incessant, heart-wrenching sobbing and screaming that he was forced to listen to for at least fifteen entire grueling minutes. It was all iterations of his previous words -- begging Artimi to wake up, repetitive intervals of no and oh my God and please, please, please that eventually faded into indecipherable and heart-shattering weeping.

Bentley didn’t even try to move that time.

But eventually, that image faded, and was replaced with a new one.

Varian. He was bloody and beat up and bruised like the rest of them, his skin a ghastly pale, eyes dulling by the second. He was walking -- more like staggering. His entire shirt was stained red, and a knife had been plunged into his abdomen, only visible by the protruding handle. He was leaving bloody footprints on the ground and was having a hard time standing up.

“Varian!”

Varian looked up, sort of past Bentley, realization and recognition crossing his face. “Nightwing?”

That's when Dick faded into view in his Nightwing suit, lunging for Varian. At a good time, too, because the child collapsed directly into his arms. Dick lowered him down to the floor, holding onto him sort of bridal style.

“I don’t want to die,” Varian muttered weakly, quickly, his dark eyes flicking down to the knife, then up to Dick. “I don’t want to die.”

“You’re not going to die,” Dick reassured, glancing around. He would've sounded calm to anyone who wasn’t Bentley, but Bentley was able to catch the underlying quiver in his voice and tremble in his hands. “You’re okay, you’re okay… B, I need medevac at my location now. There's… Varian, he…”

Bentley saw Dick tense when Varian started crying softly. “I don’t want to die.”

“You’re not going to-”

“I don’t want to die!” Varian repeated, a bit louder, his cries increasing steadily in volume. “I just started living, I… I can’t… I can’t die yet!”

Bentley sobbed softly, his hand finding his mouth again, and even though he wanted to look away, he couldn’t.

Dick pushed Varian’s hair back away from his forehead. Bentley heard a voice on the other side of his comms -- it was Bruce’s voice.

“Nightwing, you’re behind the barrier. We… can’t get to your location,”

“What?” Dick questioned, numbly, and Bentley saw the way his expression shifted behind his mask as he looked down at Varian. “Bruce… he’s…”

“Stay with him, Dick,”

“I don’t want to die,” Varian repeated, hiccuping lightly, reaching out for nothing in particular. Dick took his hand.

“You’re okay,” He replied, though it was obvious his voice was thick with emotion. He reached up briefly with the other hand and ripped his domino mask off, tossing it to the side, revealing very watery, very blue eyes. “I’m here with you, Varian.”

Varian just sort of stared at him for a while. “You’re Bentley’s brother. And Nightwing.”

Dick sniffled lightly, nodding. “I am.”

Varian took a deep, shaky breath that ended in a few wet coughs, blood splattering across his chin that Dick quickly wiped off with his own sleeve.

“You have… to tell my parents. Not… not Batman,” Varian said softly, eyes drifting down to the knife. “Please.”

“Okay,” Was Dick’s response, though it was hardly audible. He reached up and pushed Varian’s hair back again.

“I don’t wanna die,” Varian finalized, shaking his head with a sniffle. “Can you hug me?”

Dick didn’t even say anything. He just sat down comfortably and pulled Varian into his lap like he’d done to Bentley on countless occasions before, slinking his arms around him softly. Varian cried quietly like that for a while, and Dick did, too.

Until Varian fell eerily silent. Eerily still.

Dick just held onto him and cried.

Bentley sobbed and turned away, bringing a hand up to grab at his chest. “Please, let me go home. I want to go home.”

“Poor Bentley,” Her voice came. “Scared to face the truth? Scared to face your future?”

Bentley cried quietly, a sudden feeling of rage blossoming inside of him. (Maybe he wished he killed her when he had the chance.)

“Let me out!” He screamed.

“Oh, come on, Babybird. What’s the fun in-”

“Bentley!”

Bentley glanced up at the sound of the voice, but it was distant and muffled, like he was underwater. Everything was white and no one was there but Varian and Dick. A sharp pain stabbed through his head like someone was playing with a drill inside of his skull.

“Bentley, wake up!”

Varian and Dick disappeared, and a person in white fizzled into existence in front of Bentley, with pistol in their hand. Silently, they brought it up to aim directly at his head.

BANG!

Bentley woke up screaming.

He couldn’t even comprehend his surroundings. He could feel that someone was touching him, maybe even two or three someones, and he could tell everything wasn’t white anymore. He was sitting on his bed, he knew that much. And he couldn’t breathe. And he was crying. And he was about to-

One of the someones shoved something in his hands, and he hardly even recognized that it was their little trash can before he retched miserably into it.

One of the someones had their hand on the back of his neck, and another one had their hands on both of his knees. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t hear.

It had to have been ten minutes until he became coherent enough to vaguely comprehend what was going on around him. He was in his and Asten’s bedroom at Redwood Academy. Sitting on the edge of his bed. The lights were on, and the door was standing slightly ajar. It was raining outside — he could hear it pecking on the window. He was crying. Hard.

Asten was kneeling on the floor ahead of him with an alert, worried expression on his face. He was the one who was holding onto Bentley’s knees, watching intently as his brown eyes flicked about the room. The other someone was Valor, who was sitting on his right side, supporting him by holding onto the back of his neck. He could feel the slight weight of his big wing getting draped around his shoulders.

There was a third and fourth someones in the room Bentley hadn’t noticed because they weren’t touching him — one was Varian, crouched down next to Asten, eyes watery and looking kind of terrified, and the other was Rockie, who was standing behind them. Shadows were moving in the light beneath the door that indicated others were outside of their room.

“There you are,” Asten said softly, taking the nasty trash can from Bentley’s hands and putting it back in the floor.

Asten. Asten. He wasn’t… and Varian, he…

“It was just a nightmare,” Asten continued. Bentley hadn’t noticed how much he was trembling until Asten reached up and put a hand on his shaky shoulder. “You’re okay.”

Bentley put his head in his hands and rested his elbows on his knees so he was folded over on himself, tucking his face away so he wasn’t crying in front of everybody. He wasn’t sure how much use it was, given he was sobbing so violently it was shaking his entire body. (At least he was managing to keep it silent.)

He felt Valor’s hand move to rub circles on his back, and Asten’s took its place on the back of his head. “You’re awake now. You’re okay.”

Bentley shook his head lightly. “It was her.”

He couldn’t see Asten, but the way he fell eerily silent for a few moments let him imagine the closely bridled shock that crossed his face.

“No it wasn’t, B. She’s dead,” Asten said lowly, coming in closer to Bentley’s head so Valor and Varian couldn’t hear him.

“She-“ Bentley hiccupped lightly, shaking his head again. “She showed me… stuff. I saw you…”

“Bentley, she’s dead. Bruce saw it with his own eyes. She’s dead,” Asten replied, smoothing down the hair on the back of his head. “It was just a nightmare about her… about what she used to do.”

Bentley said nothing, but dipped his head down until it was resting on his knees, and he cried there.

After a few moments, he heard Varian say something to Asten, and he heard Asten say yes. Then a second later and he was being gently hugged by someone else who was also crying. He didn’t hug Varian back, but he did let his head rest on his shoulder.

If she was really dead, why did it all feel so… real?

tag list that never works lmao

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere

@skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy

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