#whoa i did a write

[screechingfromthevoid]

Dorian with the crown keepers in some quiet taverns in quiet towns as they travel, he's always up late. He can't quite fall asleep well. So he sneaks out to a different tavern than the one they're staying at. He doesn't want to risk someone recognizing him in the morning.

At the new taverns, he goes straight to their stages. The emptier the better but it's not hard for him to convince a half drunk bard to get even drunker.

Sometimes he'd sit on the poorly lit stage and strum his mandolin and not say a word at all as he started to pluck out a tune. The chords are simple at first, something he heard in a dream. Every night spent working, adds another measure. Deeper swells and higher jumps. A mournful reverberation. He was stuck for a while.

Until he hears "glad you're not here... wish you were anyways".

Then, disjointed and seemingly unexpected, a reprise of that first plucking, an octave and a half lower. Still major, still jovial. Just. Deeper. Just... Realer.

I'll fix the transition later, he thought.

That's when the lyrics came. They weren't good but they spilled out of his mouth involuntarily. If it were up to him, those thoughts, those feelings would stay caged in his heart. Instead, a room full of strangers knew him more fully than his intimates.

Protector of air, guard of heart, bulwark of us

His simple plucked out tune, a dreamed up melody for a man he could only dream of.

You say you don't lead. But when I look to you, you're drenched in the boreal crux

A deep and quiet start to the encroaching swell, getting louder and higher.

Crowns of spiders couldn't tempt me astray from your due north

Trilled eight notes that felt like crawling legs and whispy silk on the back of the neck.

I thought you might be the wind caught in my sails. Always only you caught in my fibers

His last word carries a sour note, it sounded wrong, out of tune. Like he was.

A storm by another name, gold and red and melting black, tore us off course

Dorian's run was backwards, like he was free falling from a ledge. Accidentals plaguing it's decent.

It's harder than ever to orient through shades of grey and leave behind no remorse...

That reverberation was accompanied by a strain in his voice. Something that happened every night once he made it to that point. It came next to a swallow of something in his throat. That transition came to him, when Dorian thought about what got him out of his slump, he laughed. Bashfully, sheepishly. He always felt his face burn.

My heart aches. Stay steadfast. Fairer winds...

What a thing to say instead of I miss you.

I have stolen a world away. You are there, I am here. And all I want is to be together when we wake

His melody, their melody, picked up again. His fingers started to pluck staccatos in between the languid chords.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Or so they say. This distance has only made mine bleed icar

Dorian wouldn't allow himself to end this with a confession. At least, not one of guilt. It wasn't supposed to be about his straying. It was supposed to be about Orym. It was supposed to be about the man he-

I look for the direction ivy green grows. I look to you still, to find my way.

Sometimes he ended the song with another reprise of his dreamy melody. Sometimes, his fingers would slip on the strings and rancid mistakes would ring out into the crowd. It seemed to depend on how hard they fought that day. How much more Opal stained.

Dorian would always thanked the crowd before taking up the coins that were haphazardly thrown on stage. He wouldn't set out a hat or cup, it wasn't about that, but there was always coin at his feet by the end.

He'd walk quiet streets and thought about Bertrand. Dorian understood now, what he said about walking alone at night. He stepped carefully up lulling tavern stairs thinking about picking up a bottle for a round of "what the fuck is up with that" with friend that weren't waiting for him. He slid into the room he shared with his brother, acknowledging every time that this was the first time they did that. They never shared a room or a bed as children. They didn't share much. Now fully grown, he felt they were more childish than ever.

Dorian curled into himself on his cold side of the bed and thought about how he used to have a pulsing heart beat on his skin. Whether it was across his legs, against his back, against his chest. He never felt loneliness like this before. He never felt the absence of someone before.

And he was worse for it

[thorinoakenbutt]

Watching newer fans talk about DAV's marketing is funny as someone who was around for DAI's like

Remember how they marketed things that ended up having to be cut from the game like how originally they wanted it to be possible to overhunt animals for materials and have them stop spawning for a while

Or that whole timed sequence with the Red Templars where you could set their boats on fire

[singsweetmelodies]

AKA: angst, miscommunication and a/b/o, feat. brief/mentioned maxierre with piarles endgame (+ implied maxiel.) happy birthday @boxboxbrioche my love

"Hello, Charles," Max smiles when Charles runs into him (literally) in the Budapest paddock on Thursday. He's wearing the same Red Bull team shirt and jeans as ever, naturally, but something about him looks unusually relaxed and content. Sated, even.

Probably because he's been winning practically every race this season, Charles thinks. That's enough reason for anyone to be looking relaxed and content.

Still, when he steps in a little closer to fist-bump Max's proffered hand, he can't help but notice it. Max's scent is... more than just content. He smells like he's only just come out of heat, and whoever was taking care of him did a very good job of it. He doesn't smell like sex, precisely, but he smells like what Charles would imagine afterglow would, if it had a scent. Golden and lazy and sated.

Oh, he's got blockers on, of course, but Charles has always been blessed (or cursed, depending how you look at it) with a very good nose. So. He knows immediately.

Some too-perceptive instinct is telling him that the timing of this heat has something to do with Daniel's return to racing this weekend. Almost like Max... wanted to get his heat over with before he saw Daniel again?

...That's a big stretch, of course, and Charles would never dare say it out loud. (Except to Pierre, maybe, because Pierre loves theorising about the latest paddock gossip just as much as Charles does.)

So he just smiles politely at Max, and says "Hello" back, and wishes for Pierre to appear out of some corner of the paddock somewhere. It isn't that Charles hates Max, or whatever the media likes to spin, but it's also true that Max isn't Charles' most favourite person in the paddock. (Obviously, that honour goes to Pierre.)

No, Charles' and Max's relationship is simply that of colleagues - good enough, if a little bland.

Which is why Charles is not expecting it at all when Max leans a little closer with something that looks almost like a conspiratorial grin. Charles has no idea what Max might want to be conspiratorial about with him - it's not as though he's leaving Ferrari anytime soon, despite what everyone likes to speculate.

Surprisingly, what Max says to him is not racing or incident-related at all. "Do you know where Pierre is?" he asks, as though Charles is the most reliable source of the Alpine driver's whereabouts. (Charles shouldn't be, but he's very flattered.) "I still need to thank him."

"Thank him?" Charles echoes, a little puzzled. "For what?"

And then Max says the one thing that blows apart Charles' world and turns his day upside-down immediately. "For agreeing to spend my heat with me so last-minute."

He says it so casually, too, and Charles...

Well. Charles knows that many of the other unbonded omegas on the grid like to spend their heats with other drivers. This might seem contradictory at first, but the thing is - while they might not necessarily trust each other on track, you can always rely on the fact that another driver, at least, won't reveal details of that hook-up to the press anymore than you will. Most of the alpha drivers on the current grid are decent enough people off-track that you can trust you'd be taken good care of, too.

It's something that Charles has done himself, too, once or twice - mostly with Alex, who is always incredibly kind about it, and makes sure Charles is comfortable and well-hydrated afterwards.

But mostly, Charles spends his heats alone. He schedules them carefully so they won't interfere with races, and then he bears them on his own, teeth gritted as he works himself open over and over again and clings to whatever article of Pierre's clothing he can find nearby.

It's never good enough, never, but Charles has never really wanted another alpha. He only goes to Alex if his body genuinely cannot go without it anymore, and then it's purely a case of friend helping out a friend.

So, really, Charles has no reason to be this shocked that Max apparently spent his most recent heat with Pierre. The two of them are friends, aren't they? Much better than Charles and Max have ever pretended to be. There's no reason why they wouldn't spend a heat together, really.

Except...

Charles grits his teeth, and it's only years of media training that enables him to still pass it off as a smile. "He did?" he asks, tightly.

Max laughs, still happily unaware that he's taken Charles' day and shattered it like a glass breaking into unrecognisable shards. "Yes," he confirms, and then he bumps Charles' shoulder, almost unbearably conspiratorial again. "You, of course, would know why I now need to thank him."

No amount of media training in the world could have helped Charles keep up his smile in response to that. Max notices - how could he not - and his own smile falls. "You two have not...?" His voice rises up in the end, like he almost can't believe he even has to ask the question.

Charles tastes something sour in his mouth, and by the way Max flinches back, he's sure it must be all over his scent as well, blockers be damned. "No," is all Charles says, brusquely.

Max opens and closes his mouth for a moment, and then he reaches for Charles' shoulder. He hesitates, though, hand hovering awkwardly in the space between them. "I'm sorry," he says, and it sounds sincere. "For assuming. The two of you are so..." He makes a face. "You are good friends, so I thought if he would do it for me, he would of course do it for you too."

"No," Charles says again, and the word tastes acrid in his mouth. "We have never."

Not for lack of trying, Charles thinks bitterly, and then he forces himself to think of something else. Some excuse that Max will accept.

Fortunately, a little gaggle of people in bright Ferrari red are passing by, and Charles latches onto them with almost too much relief. "Ah, my team," he says, pointing. "I need to go."

It's stupidly obvious, as excuses go, but Max has the grace not to mention it. He just watches Charles go, biting his lip.

Charles wants to hate him. He wants to hate him more than anything else - for having a race-winning car, and a team that supports him properly, and championships, but more importantly than any of that, Charles wants to hate him for having Pierre.

It's not that Charles thinks Max is actually in love with Pierre, or even that they're courting. No, it was clearly just a case of friend-helping-out-friend. But even that is...

Unbearable. It is unbearable, because Charles hasn't had even that much.

Charles had only asked once, and only because he'd been stupid with pre-heat already and not thinking straight. Pierre's long, long silence before he'd said, very gently, "Charles... I don't think that's a good idea" had told him all he'd needed to know, anyway.

After that heat, though, Pierre had called Charles and made sure he was okay, and that he knew it wasn't personal, Pierre just didn't think it was a good idea to get that involved with another driver. Especially one who's also a friend.

Charles had accepted it at the time, and he's never had any reason to think that Pierre has changed his mind in any way.

Except now here Pierre is, apparently spending heats with Max fucking Verstappen, of all people. And, really. Out of everyone on the grid - every goddamn omega - it had to be Max, didn't it?

A part of Charles wants to fall to the floor in devastation, wants to tear at his hair and shake and cry to anyone who will listen, why doesn't he want me, why doesn't he want me?

But Charles remains standing, because even more than he's heartbroken, he's furious.

Pierre did not help Max through his heat because they're in love, or because they're courting. So, he must have done it as a favour to a friend.

Then why the hell would he not do the same for Charles?

Charles also asked him as a favour to a friend (and yes, maybe Charles wanted more, but he wasn't stupid enough to ask for that. He'd just asked for a favour, the way every unbonded omega on the goddamned grid asks their alpha friends for favours every once in a while.)

Pierre had said no, and that he doesn't do that. But he'd forgotten to mention the part where he apparently does do that.

If he were here, Charles might slap him clean through the face. It's not an urge he's often had when it comes to Pierre (or ever, really) but today...

Today. It's just. What the hell does Max have that he doesn't? Max and Pierre are friends? Charles and Pierre are better friends. Max is an omega? So is Charles, and he's better at that, too.

It's obviously not even about looks! Because Charles doesn't want to be rude, but he is definitely better-looking than Max. It's just a fact, as true as "the grass is green" or "Charles is Monégasque" or "Charles is in love with Pierre."

No. Fuck that. None of this makes sense.

If Pierre is willing to spend a heat with Max, then there's no reason why he can't help Charles through one, too. It's not like Charles is asking Pierre to love him back - no, he's long since made his peace with the fact that that, at least, is impossible.

Charles has always wanted too much, though, and if he sees even the faintest chance of getting what he wants, even if it is just in the form of a favour to a friend -- well. He will never not go for the gap.

So Charles waits, increasingly impatient, for his media and team obligations to be done for the day. As soon as they are, he heads for Alpine, because there is no way Pierre will have left already - he is far too dedicated to them, staying behind extra hours to learn as many names as he can and give as much feedback as possible and help with everything that needs helping.

Right, because isn't Pierre just so incredibly helpful. Normally, this would make Charles smile, fond - but today, it makes him want to snarl.

Helpful, yes. Except to him, apparently.

No. Charles will not accept that.

Various team members glance up when Charles storms into the Alpine hospitality, freezing with coffees half-way to their lips and tracking him like the spectators to a tennis match as he storms across their building and towards the driver's rooms. One particularly brave soul ventures an "Er..." but Charles is already across the room before he's even finished saying it.

Charles knows the way to Pierre's driver's room as easily as he knows the way to his own (incidentally, it's on the same side of the building) and it's mere seconds later that he's bursting through the door of Pierre's driver's room.

Pierre freezes when the door slams open, mouth caught in a comically surprised expression, but it relaxes quickly into a fond (if still somewhat surprised) smile. "Charlito!" he says, standing up and reaching a hand in Charles' general direction. "This is a nice surprise."

But Charles is not in any mood for pleasantries. "Did you spend a heat with Max," he asks, but it's not really a question as much as it is an accusation, pointed and sharp.

Pierre freezes again, the smile slowly dropping off his face. His scent goes bitter with unpleasant surprise. "I -"

"If you lie to me, I am going to slap you," Charles says, injecting the words with just enough of a snarl that Pierre will know he's not messing around.

Pierre's expression goes from shocked to hurt to angry almost faster than Charles can process. "I wasn't going to lie to you, Charlo. I would never. Not with you."

He sounds sincere enough about it that Charles almost feels guilty, but then Pierre adds, "He's just a friend who needed a favour" and Charles is right back to furious.

"I was a friend, and I needed a favour," Charles says bitingly. He doesn't have to say anything more, because he knows Pierre will understand exactly what he means.

Pierre's face shutters, closing off completely. Even his scent goes blank, like Pierre is deliberately shutting off every part of himself. "That's different."

"How?" Charles hisses at him, and Pierre obviously wasn't expecting the vehemence of it, because he stumbles a step back. "How the hell is it different, huh?"

Pierre's expression does something complicated, and he makes a rough noise, low in the back of his throat. "It just is," he says, and refuses to elaborate.

Charles is livid. "It just is?!" he explodes. "Tell me how it just is, Pierrot, because I sure as fuck don't get it. I am your friend - non, I am your best friend - but when I ask for this favour, you say no. Then when it is Max, you say yes?"

"It's different," Pierre says again, sharply, as though sharpness alone will make Charles drop the subject.

He really doesn't know Charles if he thinks that will work. "It is not different. Not at all. What, unless you are trying to say that you don't want me?"

"Of course I-" Pierre starts, then cuts himself off with a groan, dragging a hand down his face. "I don't want to do this with you, Charles."

"Well, I want to do this with you," Charles retorts, unfazed and as fuming as ever. "What is it, huh, Pierre? You prefer Max over me?"

"Of course not," Pierre says, and he has the audacity to sound almost offended.

"But you must, if you fucked him and not me," Charles snaps. He's not entirely sure what he's trying to accomplish here, but he knows - he knows that he's furious, and Pierre is being a fucking asshole, and he needs Pierre to admit that much. At least.

Pierre, however, seems determined to continue being a stubborn asshole. "It wasn't like that," he insists, and Charles sees red.

"It's exactly like that! I asked you to fuck me, to help me through my heat, and you said no because you do not want me."

And that, somehow, is the last straw.

"Shut up, Charles," Pierre growls - actually growls - at him. "Just, shut up. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I don't?" Charles snaps right back, goading. "Why don't you tell me, then?"

Pierre snarls again, guttural and furious, and Charles knows that he should be terrified. But right now, he's far too furious to care.

"Tell me," Charles goads again, because he knows that nothing will ever compel Pierre as much as a challenge will.

Pierre is breathing hard, his fists clenched, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly. "You think you know what happened with Max, huh?" he asks, and Charles has never heard him sound like that. Despite himself, it sends a thrill through Charles' whole body. "You think you know what I want and don't want?"

Charles lets his belligerent silence do the talking for him, and Pierre's eyes flash. "Well, do you know that none of it is true? Do you know that none of the rumours of me with all those omegas are true?"

"What do you--" Charles begins, but Pierre cuts him off with a single hand held up, raised as sharply as a slap.

"Do you know, Charlito," he says, almost viciously, "that I've never been able to date any other omega for longer than a few months because I was always comparing them to you?"

Charles jolts where he stands, all the breath wrenched from him. "What--"

But Pierre doesn't give him a moment to process that. "Do you know that I only agreed to spend this heat with Max because he was desperate and out of options?"

"Do you know," Pierre continues, dangerously soft, "that I had to think of you just to be able to come at all?" He stalks a single step closer to Charles. "Do you know that I had to pretend it was you all the time just so that my knot wouldn't go down?" Another step, and Charles is shaking all over, but he can't move. Pierre has him pinned down, completely rooted to the spot with his scorching gaze and world-ending words.

"Do you know," Pierre concludes, softest of all, "why I really said I wouldn't spend a heat with you?"

Charles isn't sure how he even manages to form the word. "Why?"

Pierre's eyes are so, so dark as he stops just in front of Charles, raising one hand to ghost just millimetres above Charles' collarbone. "Because," he says, and his voice is rough. "I knew that if I did, Charles, if I fucked you even just once, I wouldn't be able to hold back. I would bite you, then and there, and I would make you mine."

All the while that he's been speaking, Pierre has been tracing his fingers upwards, a slow, slow torturous slide mere centimetres above Charles' skin. Charles can almost feel the heat of his touch, almost but not quite, and when Pierre stops just below Charles' mating gland - Charles whines and shudders forward, the combination of Pierre's hand there and that word mine too much for him to resist.

Pierre's fingers touch the overheated skin of Charles' mating gland, and the world explodes.

Charles' knees buckle, and his head spins, and he has to press his thighs together in a desperate effort to ease the sudden and burning need there. He's wet, he can feel it, leaking slick all over the place just from that one touch.

Pierre jerks his hand back, of course, but even that split-second of contact was enough to destroy Charles perfectly.

Pierre is panting, and he looks about as wrecked as Charles feels. "So do not stand there and tell me that I don't want you, Charles," he says, and his voice shakes - anger or desperation, Charles can't tell. "Not when I have done nothing but want you for as long as I have known how to want."

Charles shudders, the full weight of Pierre's words sinking in on him all at once. As Charles stands there, processing, he watches as the world rearranges itself entirely.

Charles breathes in, and then he breathes out. "Fuck you, Pear," he says, only a little shakily. "No, seriously, fuck you. How obvious do you need me to be? I literally asked you to spend my heat with me!"

For a moment, Pierre looks so indignant that he forgets to be angry. "You asked it as a favour to a friend!" he protests. "I just said, I can't do that! Not if it's you."

"Yeah, well," Charles says waspishly, "I only asked it like that because I thought you would say no otherwise."

And all at once, Pierre's expression transforms as he comes to the same sudden and brilliant realisation Charles just had.

"Charles," he says, shell-shocked. "If you're saying what I think you're saying..."

He glances down at his hands, clenches them tightly into fists again, then looks back up at Charles, his gaze burning. "You have to know, you can't take it back. I'm not going to let you take it back. Not if you mean it."

"God, Pierre, you are so fucking stupid," Charles says, and alright, maybe he is still a little angry about the whole situation, after all. (He thinks he has the right to be, though.) "Why do you think I was so angry that you went for Max?"

When Pierre doesn't say anything immediately, Charles snaps off a sharp step into Pierre's space, flicking his fingers against Pierre's forehead. "Yeah, it's because I wanted you to choose me. Only me."

Pierre's hand comes up, grabbing Charles' wrist in a bruise-tight hold. He draws Charles' hand away from his face, but then he doesn't let go, just keeps holding on, fingers circling Charles' wrist like they're meant to fit there. "Only you?" he echoes, and it sounds like a question.

Charles nods, because there was never any other answer, and he's about to say it, too, but then Pierre kisses the words right off his mouth.

If Charles' world hadn't already exploded so thoroughly earlier, then it would now.

It's a good kiss. No, it's better than a good kiss - it's a fucking incredible kiss; Pierre's one hand still wrapped around Charles' wrist while the other finds its way to his waist, like it belongs there. Pierre kisses him like he's still a little angry, but also like he's never meant anything more, pouring every part of his soul into it. Pierre kisses him like he's already imagining the night they're going to spend together after this, and he kisses Charles like how he's planning to fuck him later.

Charles has no objections to that. None at all.

Well. Except the one.

He pulls away from the kiss, pressing his palm hard to the side of Pierre's face. "You're going to spend my next heat with me," he says, orders more like, and it's far too possessive, but he can't bring himself to care. Not one goddamned bit.

Pierre growls, low in his throat, and pulls Charles even closer to him. "No, chéri," he says, too-softly. "I'm going to spend every single heat with you from now on. Forever."

"Forever," Charles breathes, and then he kisses Pierre again, hard, making it a promise. "Forever."

[vinelark]

🦋

🦋 Recommend one or three of your own fics!

because it’s you, i’m reccing you’re the trouble that i always find, my wenzhou dreamsharing/timeloop fic. this one’s for fans of. well. wenzhou, and also mindfuckery and amnesia and soulmates and violence and love interests who are bratty and dramatic in the face of impossible circumstances. (so, again, wenzhou.) it’s also a fic that @bluecrystalrainingdaggers beta’d and therefore the plot is is 200% stronger than i ever anticipated when i set out to write it.

there’s also a fantastically produced podfic!

[totallynotobsessedwithfandoms]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: CT-7567 | Rex & Ahsoka Tano Characters: Ahsoka Tano, CT-7567 | Rex Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Inner Dialogue, Rebellion Era (Star Wars), Rex is only mentioned, Ahsoka Tano Needs a Hug, Character Study, Kind Of, comfy-vember 2024, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, No Beta We Die Like Clones Summary:

@comfy-vember on Tumblr's day one prompt: a new day

Ahsoka Tano's musings before her first mission for the rebellion.

[vulpinesaint]

OH NOT THIS BITCH AGAIN.

[marshbarks]

i designed these style kids in 2016 and lost all the old art so this i based almost ENTIRELY off of my memories of the designs and im ccrying

[kalashtars]

SOMETIMES WE TAKE CHANCES! SOMETIMES WE TAKE PILLS! I COULD WRITE IT BETTER THAN YOU EVER FELT IT!!

[crescentmoonrider]

A viper-lizard's tales, chapter 199 "Slow work"

in which Azula doesn't understand the choices she has

read on ffn

read on ao3

[jobethdalloway]

You know it’s love when she reads fics you wrote for a fandom she’s barely familiar with

[dashiellqvverty]

love when a late night comedy news/talk show has a joke referencing “the writers” or whatever and then suddenly theres a picture of a cracked dot com or collegehumor alum in a silly situation

[cwarscars]

[ hidden ] [ IDK I JUST KSJSKAJJS *hides in a hole and fills it with sand ]

kinky/rough smut prompts

CW: VERY NSFW! contains potentially uncomfortable kinks like bondage, cum play, knife play, sensation play, etc. feel free to combine prompts & change pronouns/descriptors as needed. put under a read more for viewing safety, & it’s also rather lengthy as well. written from the perspective of the sender — ‘my muse’ = sender, ‘your muse’ = receiver. !!! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !!!

@dyuuku

[ hidden ] — your muse makes my muse come in their pants

there are only certain kinds of clubs that the general will attend; never the sort to be found in the bustling rave of a 'young persons' place, he'd instead attended the bars suited for those with a little darkness in them. music subdue in favour of the sounds of screams ( some pain, most pleasure ). the sorts of places frequented by both the well-versed and the curious. which one the other man is, heidegger hadn't yet worked out-

it hadn't stopped them from fumbling, however. wandering hands and lips that greet one another with zeal. the press of palms that admire a body well-built, muscle worshipped. heidegger's no knowledge of the man before him, nothing more than what he liked to drink and how he seemed to enjoy having his neck grazed.

heidegger can feel the chef's fingers around the leather of his harness, a gentle tug between kisses - the general's own teasing a nipple through his shirt. a pinch of his fingers slightly twisting skin, the slightest hint of a pleasure to be had from pain. a free hand that slips from dyuuku's torso and instead between his legs -

a bulge that has heidegger smirking, has his lips spreading a smile amidst the lashes of tongues. the other man's mouth explored as his hand runs the length of his excess. though tempting to free his lust of its cage, it's far hotter for him to continue to tease. the hand that had cooed his chest now moved to shift the other man in closer. to have their heat shared, a sweat that soaks the hair on heidegger's chest - a frenzied fever that has the other breathing heavy and heidegger pining.

his hand continues its motion, a harsh stroke embracing girth, material used to edge the other. a squeeze enough to have a whimper out of the other. a moan quickly silenced with the force of another kiss - this time, the slick of the general's tongue between dyuu's lips, muscle on muscle - his dew sweet, the sort between his legs ( heidegger can bet ) sweeter.

with every twitch and every coo that comes from dyuu, heidegger tweaks his movement - a twist of his hand, grip lessened, grip hardened. a palm that focus on the end of the other's member; an embrace that circles sensation, that clasps his clothed cock - movement easy with the slick of pre-cum that has his pants slide so carefully alongside sway.

"are you going to cum for me-" he pants, breaths heavy between kisses - their shared lust so swollen that the general can feel it between his own legs, too. a hand that quickens its movement, that delights in the excitement of the other. the subtlest of moans that fall from the corners of his lips, and the ones he's not so subtle about, too. "cum for me-" he urges again, lips taken from dyuu's to instead part upon his cheek "i'm going to-" he can hardly let go of his words; excitement, a tremble in his voice and a quickness in his wrist - "make you cum."

he can feel the other man tense; muscles tight, his expression a shift from pleasure to absolute. eyes closed, lips open - an ungodly moan to escape him when all of the others had been so quiet. a flex of his thighs, the stiffness between heidegger's fingers one that jerks and twitches and alongside that final breath becomes wet with lust. a damp seeping through cloth and onto the general's fingers, a few final teasing tugs to have the other man stutter and shudder and fall forth into heidegger's arms. his head lax against the raven-haired man's chest, lips on sweat - hands on skin. a moment shared between two strangers that heidegger could do again and again and again until the two can't cum anymore-

a hand grasps dyuu's head, fingers slipped through hair as he encourages the man to admire his scars. a whisper, a breath that sees heidegger once again kissing him. a final press of his hand against dyuu's crotch, an immediate shiver in response "you owe me."

[breadboysteals]

Just said chill for the first time ever

[glowingreverie]

.

[caffeinated-creepshow]

TRATM VIII: The Penalty Game of Nightingale

Chapter eight of The Raven and the Mockingbird, a T-rated Deadman Wonderland fanfic from 2013-17. Since this an archive, I am not editing the chapters as they are posted. (Two instances of accidental repetition were deleted this time.) Follows an OC named Tsumetai and her relationship with canon character, Toto Sakigami.

Word count: 1115 | Original Quotev post | Summary and masterlist

Full chapter below the cut

As Toto and Tsumetai delved into a world that shall not be mentioned, Sanae was in surgery for her most major wound: the gash in her side that she had created herself. They sanitized and cleaned, stitched and sewed, drugged and numbed Sanae's body as the wound slowly got closed. After what seemed to be an day's worth of working, Sanae slowly slid her eyes open, only to see the nurse responsible for the Penalty Game standing above her.

"Hm....So you're awake? Good," the nurse said, smirking down at Sanae. "I've been waiting for the day that you would be in here, and that I'd get to dissect you." Grimacing, Sanae glared up at the nurse.

"Screw you," Sanae said, her glare intensifying. Feigning hurt and shock, the nurse raised a hand and covered her open mouth, her eyes wide.

"Oh, watch your mouth young lady! I could take that tongue out of your mouth here and now," she said, her eyes glinting maliciously as she met Sanae's glare.

"Fucking try it, bitch!" Sanae yelled, attempting to sit up and hitting the loose straps holding her stomach down. "I'll paint these dull walls with your blood in a minute!"

The nurse acted as if she were contemplating Sanae threat as she said, "Hmm...I cannot officially do anything until I'm told what to take away...." She had a fake look of thoughtfulness as she glanced back down at Sanae.

Scoffing, the raven haired Deadman smirked slightly as she said, "Of course. You can't do anything until someone is firmly restrained, can you? That's when you feel confident and shit, right?" Her glare remaining steady, Sanae lied back down before muttering to herself, "Psh...Sad."

Sneering, the nurse glared heavily at Sanae as she smirked to herself. Getting upset, the nurse turned to look behind her and yelled, "Has her penalty been decided yet?!" The smirk on Sanae's face faded slowly as she turned back to look at the nurse. Taking note of the nurse's impatience, she took what little amusement she could from the situation.

"Yeah, we're ready," said one of the guards as he walked in with a few others, rolling a stretcher over to the two females. "We just need to get her tied down." Nodding, the nurse made a sound of approval as the guards undid the loose strap around Sanae's stomach, before lifting her from her hospital bed and setting her onto the stretcher. They first strapped down her arms, then her legs, and onto her torso and head, rendering her immobilized. A confident smile slipping onto the nurse's face, the guards rolled Sanae out into the arena for the Penalty Game. Following, the red-haired nurse put out her cigarette before slipping her hands into her lab coat's pockets.

'I wonder if Senji is going to be watching this...' Sanae thought to herself as she lied on the stretcher, eyes closed tightly. 'I hope not...I don't want him to see this...' Without her knowing, her wish came true, for Senji's eyes had left the screen almost immediately after the match had ended.

A vicious smile on the nurse's lips, she walked over to the stretcher Sanae was lying on as the raven-haired Deadman said, "Just get it over with..." Slipping a scalpel and forceps from her pocket, the nurse looked down at Sanae, head tilted to the side as Sanae glared at her. Her smile turning to an evil smirk, the nurse fiddled with the scalpel. "The only thing that you take out better be what you're told. If I find that something else is missing, I'll take whatever you took from me from you."

Rolling her eyes, the nurse looked from the scalpel to Sanae and said, "If I did that, I wouldn't be alive. My life is on the line too, y'know. And anyway, it's a fairly useless organ that is getting taken away." Anger present on the nurse's face, she gritted her teeth in irritation. Rolling her eyes, Sanae snickered to herself. Sighing angrily, the nurse averted her eyes to hide her angry.

"Just get it over with, alright?" Sanae demanded, getting impatient.

"Well then. Someone's impatient," the nurse said as she started making marks for where the incisions would go. Starting to chuckle to herself, Sanae quickly started full out laughing, causing the nurse to slip up with the marker. "You moronic child!" she yelled, eyebrows furrowing in frustration.

Smirking, Sanae continued chuckling as she slowly regained her composure, before stating simply, "It tickles." Shaking her head in disgust, the nurse muttered something to herself as she continued marking Sanae's body for incisions. "Bitch," Sanae said in response.

Smiling to herself, the nurse replied, "Thank you. I try."

"Not that much, apparently."

` "Why don't you go and fuck yourself?"

"I would, but I'm a little tied down, if you can't tell."

Shuddering slightly in disgust, the nurse said, "May as well get this operation over with. Knock out gas please!" Eyes fluttering closed, Sanae slipped into darkness as the nurse giggled sadistically. Making the first incision, the nurse followed the marks she had made. As she did so, Sanae dreamed of before she had been brought to Deadman Wonderland. After all the incisions were made, the nurse prepared the spleen for removal. Cutting it out from Sanae's body, the nurse pulled it out and put it into a glass jar. Slowly stitching the opening back up, the nurse also began to clean up. After the last stitch was made, she wiped the blood off of everything and set her tools onto the table next to her. "Wake her up!" she demanded as she took the jar over to a shelf.

Stirring slowly, Sanae's eyelids twitched as she regained consciousness. The nurse turned around as she removed her gloves and threw them away. Opening her eyes, Sanae slowly took in her surroundings, only to see the nurse looking down at her.

"Welcome back to reality," she said in a sickly sweet tone, causing Sanae to grimace.

"Shit, talk about a rude awakening. The least you bastards could've done was let me wake up to a somewhat decent face. Hell, I would've taken a fucking guard in a body suit. But no, they let me wake up to you. I hope you enjoyed being inside of me because it's the first and last time you'll ever see me," Sanae said harshly.

Sneering, the nurse said, "You think I enjoyed having to be anywhere near you?" Scoffing, the nurse glared at Sanae, disgusted.

"Glad the feeling's mutual."

Walking towards the door, the nurse simply left Sanae to be taken care of by the guards.

[narwhalandchill]

i love your extra long monologues abt tartaglia so this is exactly what i meant by my ask thank you sm for ur response 💗

THANK UUUUU And ur welcome im so happy ppl enjoy the thoughts my Diseased mind for this bastard maniac spews out 💕💕🩵🐋🐋✨ i have a problem and im Not fixing it