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lxnlxnranch · 7 months ago

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kisses in public

>> includes: sky and four a/n: sorry for being gone for like, a year, but I'm back!

Sky

As affectionate as the Hero of the Sky is, there is almost nothing that will stop him from showing his love and adoration to his beloved. There is no particular reason as to why he kisses his significant other in public, he just does. He’s a romantic at heart, and if he wants to show you how much you mean to him and you both happen to be in public- well, that is no issue to him! Because of this though, his kisses tend to be incredibly impulsive and rather out of nowhere. He feels like the sharp sting of wind on early spring mornings, the warmth of downy soft feathers leaving you gasping for air.

It was such a gorgeous day on Skyloft. Hylia had finally graced your group with a world that was fairly calm in comparison with all the others, and there was something simply whimsical and fairytale-like about being so high up in the sky. This wasn’t your first time on the floating island- you sincerely hoped it wouldn’t be your last- and the layout of the sanctuary was easy for you to remember. While the Chain were busy recounting Sun of their tales, you’d decided to peruse the Bazaar and restock on much needed supplies.

“Y/N!” Your name rang through the thin air, and you looked much more ahead of you to the source of the voice. The potions seller waved her hand through the air, a wide smile on her face as she beckoned you over.

“And good afternoon to you too, Luv,” you stopped just short of the counter, gazing at all the brightly-colored liquids scattered over the table. You swung your bag to the front of your body, prying out empty bottles as Luv continued to talk.

“My my, you’re almost here as often as poor Link! Now tell me dear, what would you like this time? I have a flash sale for the weekend, and everything is twenty percent off.” She gladly reached forward and took the glass bottles off of your hands, setting them on her workbench as she started to make preparations.

“Just some health potions this time, I’m afraid.”

“Oh not to worry my dear, anything for one of my favorite customers.” And that out of the way, your conversation immediately turned to the local gossip of the town. You couldn’t say you weren’t interested, and before you knew it you’d spent nearly an hour just at her stall. But what could you say? Learning that the people before you still had squabbles, embarrassing moments, and more, was grounding in a way. Hylians were always Hylians, with their problems and virtues and vices, you were all still the same, no matter how many centuries had passed.

Unbeknownst to you however, was the fact the Chain was already done with their debrief. Sky knew where you’d be, and he’d started looking around the Bazaar already, and there was just something different this time around when he did so. When his eyes fell upon your form, he swore he could feel his heart melting inside his chest. There was something he couldn’t quite describe, seeing you talk with his people. The way you leaned forward to listen to Luv’s conversation better, the way she genuinely seemed to enjoy your presence and dropped all pretense of wanting to sell. Fi hummed gently against his back, and he snapped out of his reverie. He wanted to see this more. He wanted to see you feel at home with the rest of his people, and maybe he should start looking for a ring? A brilliant smile made its way on his face, and he weaved through the crowd to make his way over. It was Luv to notice him first.

“Ah, Link!” She looked over your shoulder and waved, one bottle of half-filled potion in her other hand. You whirled around only to be met with lips pressed up against yours, the faint taste of pumpkin and wind reassuring you everything was alright. Before you could reciprocate, Sky had already pulled away, a scarred hand resting on the small of your back. “Hi Luv, how have you been? I feel like it has been ages since we last spoke!”

And as much as surprise kisses were common, you were still annoyed with the fact you were never ever able to kiss back. Sensing your distress, your hero turned and gave you a small peck on the corner of your lips and- “Goddesses Sky, that’s almost worse, you little rat!”

Both their laughter echoed throughout the market, and as annoyed as you were, you couldn’t help but join in.

Four

Four was never truly the type to enjoy public displays of affection; he always found them cheesy and embarrassing. Well, that was until he met you, of course. Now he could understand. As something as simple as holding hands and/or as exuberant as kissing in the busiest hours of the market, he now understood that love had no qualms about time nor place. This isn’t to say he didn’t like privacy. He was much more partial to subtlety: a kiss to your knuckles here, a peck to your temple there. His kisses were gentle, but they never betrayed how much love he held just for you.

The Hero of the Minish, the Hero of the Four Sword, the Hero of Light. Four wasn’t one for titles, but they followed him wherever he went. His people excitedly called his name, waved as he walked past stalls, threw him thankful smiles or reverent nods his way. He’d normally be alright with this type of attention, but not when he’d lost you just ten minutes before in the hustle and bustle of town.

“Y/N?” He called out, easily weaving in between crowds of people, his head swiveling this way and that to try and catch a glimpse of your cloak. Nothing. He pursed his lips, exhaling through his nose. You were both going to be late for dinner at this rate, and he did not want to be on the receiving end of Time’s disappointed stare. Just how in the world did you two get separated? You were looking at the same stall for the Goddess’ sake, he swore you were right behind him too. His foot tapped impatiently on the ground, nervousness starting to crawl up his spine. He doubted you were in danger, but there was still that slim chance-

There was a small bit of pressure on his pant leg, and Four was too experienced to not know what it was. He looked down by his left foot, and leaned down as a small smile graced his features. “Hello, my friend. Is everything alright?”

The Minish waved their arms in greeting, gracefully stepping onto the hand Four offered them as they sat down in the middle of his palm. “Hello Link! Y/N asked us to find you, they seemed rather lost when they stumbled on us.” And oh, wasn’t that a relief. He felt a breath he didn’t even know he was holding escape his lungs, and he straightened back up as he cupped the Minish with both hands. “Thank you, my friend. Would you lead me to them? I’m afraid we might be late for dinner.”

The Minish nodded, and they were on their way.

Soon enough, he was guided to a small bundle of trees just off the main market, the sunset washing everything in a beautiful orange glow. You were sitting at the base of the tree, your knees pulled up to your chest as multiple Minish ran across the tops of your knees, crawling up your hands and arms to braid various flowers into your hair. You could almost die with how cute they were, and you didn’t have the heart to tell them no as they started building a braided flower crown atop your head.

“There you are,” Four made his way to your side, opening his cupped hands by your knees. The Minish gently pat Four’s thumb and climbed out, joining their brethren in decorating your head. You couldn’t move much or risk throwing the cute creatures off your head, so you simply raised your hand in greeting.

“Hey. Sorry for getting lost, I swore to myself I’d be right back. That turned out rather well, I’d like to think.”

“It did, didn’t it?” He hummed in response, making sure the spot next to you was clear of Minish before he sat down. And here, with flowers cascading through your hair and Minish chattering away in the sunset’s dying glow, he was lucky enough to see the most beautiful sight in the world unfold right before his eyes. The hustle of the market was slowly quieting as more and more people started closing up shop, and as much as he’d love to stay here until nightfall…

“We ought to go back,” he gently took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles as he brought them to his lips. He kissed each individual one, and you could feel the heat radiating off your cheeks, and it was only a little consolation that you could see his own cheeks turn red. “We’re already running late as it is.” “Would you like to explain that to our little friends?” You tilted your head only a centimeter up, pouting your lips to motion to the frankly too adorable creatures sitting on your head.

And as much as you were both scared of Time’s signature disappointed look…

Four sighed, though there was no hiding the smile on his lips. It was in that moment you knew you’d won him over. He intertwined his hand with yours and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to your cheek, and he felt his heart squeezing almost painfully in his chest. Goddesses, he loved you so.

“Alright, alright, but you’re going to be the one explaining this to Time.”

“Hm,” you hummed, gently squeezing his hand. “I think I’m alright with that.”

#this writing is like a year/year and a half old lol #got inspired to come back to this blog so #here we are!#lu x you #lu x reader #linked universe x reader #linked universe x you #sky linked universe #four linked universe

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nethhiri · 8 months ago

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Marooned: Chapter 22

Kid x FemReader X Killer

Warnings: Briefly suggestive?

Changing Tides

There was no land in sight when you went out on deck. In fact, the wind was whipping at the sails and the Victoria Punk was speeding along. You looked around deck, "WHERE IS HE?!" The crew moved out of your way hastily as you stormed after your target. A few weakly put up their pointer fingers in the direction of his workshop. It was a cardinal sin to barge in without being invited. The crew all seemed to tense at once when you marched towards it and kicked the door open, slamming it behind you.

"WHO-" Kid looked up from what he was doing, to find you already eye to eye with him, leaning over his workbench.

"Why am I on this fuckin ship again, Kid?!" You slammed your hands down on the table. "You could have left me somewhere! Or waited to boot me off before you left!"

He pushed his goggles up to rest on his forehead. He seemed to take in a deep breath before he spoke, like he was trying not to yell. "First of all, I told ya that my girls would have been upset with me if I left ya all crispy. Second, did ya want me to wait until the island was crawling with marines?!" Kid tugged your sleeve to shift your hand away from what he was working on. "But if ya WANT to be caught so bad, I'LL TURN THE WHOLE DAMN SHIP AROUND!"

"IF I'M STUCK ON THIS GODDAMN SHIP FOR ANOTHER HOWEVER MANY WEEKS, I'M GOING TO LOSE MY CHANCE TO KILL THAT BASTARD, YOU FUCKIN SMARTASS." You pulled his goggles and let them snap against his head. "I need to find a ship and get after him!"

Kid rubbed his forehead. "Yeah?! And you think yer gonna find a crew?!" He couldn't hold himself back from adding, "That didn't work out well for ya the first time, did it, Rotten?"

The force with which you jumped over the table knocked him backwards out of his seat. Kid was easily the person who made you see red the fastest. "SHUT YOUR FUCKIN MOUTH!" Both of your hands together didn't fit around his neck. You pushed down with your full body weight, knees on either side of his chest. "STUPID FUCKIN THICK NECK TO HOLD UP YOUR STUPID FUCKIN BIG HEAD!" You growled out of frustration.

"FER MY BIG FUCKIN BRAIN," Kid cackled, slightly raspy from your grip. He wasn't even trying to stop you. His hands were behind his head, totally unbothered by your assault. That only served to make you more mad. Kid could tell you were about to really let him have it. Relenting, he admitted, "As much as I'm enjoying this, ya can calm yer pretty little ass down." Your eyes narrowed. "We're already in pursuit. Ya think I would let them get away with kidnapping my crew?"

"Why didn't you just say that?!" You eased up on your grip.

"And miss this view?" Kid snickered. He looked you up and down. "Yer hot when yer mad." He reached to grab your chin and you swatted his hand away. That didn't seem to phase him as the same hand grabbed your thigh. "If ya just scoot down a bit I got somethin for ya ta sit on," Kid licked his lips.

His grip released you quite quickly when you brought a fist full of armament haki down into his sternum. "Fuck you, Kid," you growled, watching him cough and roll around on the floor. You left his workshop just as huffy as you went in, though now you were conflicted. Now, you weren't sure if you were mad at him or not, if you were enemies or not, and worst of all, if you were horny for him or not. Him and his stupid fuckin big co-.

Quincy's vice-like embrace cut your thoughts off from going any further. "Y/N! You're okay!" She rocked you both back and forth until you gently pushed her back.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You smiled awkwardly at her. "Thanks for the concern. And you guys, all good?"

Quincy grinned, "Only thanks to you!" She grabbed your hand and pulled you to follow her. "Come on. We wanna show you something."

She tugged you along down to the women's quarters and very proudly presented an empty bunk to you. You gave her a questioning look.

"It's your bunk!" She was practically glowing.

"Oh... wow..." You didn't know what to say. You had no plans to stay here long-term, but you didn't want to disappoint her.

She rolled her eyes at you. "I know you're not staying." She put air quotes around 'not staying'. "Sleep here with us instead of alone up there." She added, with a sly grin, "Or in the captain's quarters."

You scoffed, "Absolutely not. He can kiss my ass."

"I bet you'd like that."

You shrugged. "Maybe I would," you stuck your tongue out at her playfully, before smiling. "Thanks, Quincy. That was... actually pretty nice of you guys."

______________________________________________________________

Sleep escaped you. Or maybe you were fighting it. The nightmares you used to have faded over time, and now they were back in full force with recent events. You leaned against Mini in the mouth of the skull at the ship's bow, staring out over the sea. The black waves lapped at the ship, the only sign of their presence was the sound of them against the wood and the occasional flash as the moon's light was reflected in your direction. A light, salty breeze sent shivers through you, though it wasn't uncomfortably cold. You didn't take your eyes off the horizon, waiting for the first glint of light or the first emergence of a shape that would mean you were closer to catching up with the enemy.

You had checked your log pose periodically, almost obsessively, to make sure the course of the ship was correct. You were in the weird limbo of being exhausted and yet not able to sleep in any meaningful way, maybe drifting off but waking up less than a second later. Settling on a semi-trance-like state, you rose and fell with Mini's breathing. The thoughts in your head kept circling back to all the ways you were going to make Giemsa suffer, all the ways you could prolong his agony.

Before long, the pink tongues of light that signified dawn licked at the sky. You squinted at the horizon, looking for any sign of a ship. Nothing.

Killer was on his way to the galley to make breakfast, noticing you as he did so. He caught Heat's attention as he came down from the crow's nest. It was shift change. Heat had been on night watch and would sleep after breakfast, while someone took his place in the crow's nest during the day. Killer gestured towards where you sat, "What's up with that?"

Heat shrugged, "She's been sitting there since midnight or so. Just sitting. Hasn't moved."

Killer nodded and dismissed him. He thought about asking you to help him in the kitchen, to get your mind off things, and perhaps for selfish reasons, too. However, after Kid had told him what transpired between the two of you, he figured you were probably still agitated. He didn't know you well, but he did know how much Kid irritated you. In fact, Kid would probably come bother you later on purpose specifically because he knew it irritated you. Killer sighed. He looked your way again before shaking his head and moving on to the kitchen.

Several times over the day, people came by to check up on what you were doing, but they were all deterred by the aura of wrath that sat heavily in the air around you. All but one, that is. Maybe he was even drawn in by it instead of deterred. You tried to ignore him, even though you knew he was there. He made it very hard by moving to stand directly in front of you, facing the sea, same as you were.

"Go. Away."

"Is that any way to talk to yer captain?" He said without turning to look at you.

"No. But you aren't my captain." Mini snorted, punctuating your sentiment. "Get out of the way. I can't see."

Now, he turned to face you, leaning against the railing. "Yer seein the only thing that matters, doll."

You knew he wasn't gonna move. He was trying to make you mad on purpose. It took a considerable effort not to play into his hand. "Whatever." You moved a few feet away from him to stand at the railing and continue your watch.

Kid pulled a flask out and took a drink. He swished it towards you, "Want some?"

The offer was tempting. "No, I want all my senses sharp when I pull his heart out through his ass."

A bellowing laugh came from Kid. "Ya think yer gettin him first? Not a chance in hell. He's mine."

Your head whipped to look at him, "Excuse me?"

"He took my crew. He's mine."

This time, he wasn't even deliberately trying, though you were pissed now. "I know you're fucking joking." You took a step towards him, fist balled like you were prepared to swing, and you were. "He's mine. I've been after him for far longer than you and for a better reason," you snarled.

"And what reason would that be?" Kid challenged.

You turned back towards the sea and said nothing. Your nails dug into the railing. That part of you was for only you to know. Kid was far from the first person you would open up to about that. You channeled your anger back into thinking about all the ways you were going to eviscerate Giemsa.

Kid stood there facing you, watching the knuckles on your hands turn white and your jaw setting. "Fine." Kid said shortly. "Ya get first and last." He held a hand out to shake on it.

That was a shock. "What's the catch?" You were hesitant to accept this strange change of heart.

Kid looked away and waved his hand dismissively. "Nothin. S'only cuz ya saved my crew."

You nodded. That's basically a "thank you". You turned back to the water, without shaking his hand.

He looked around to make sure no one saw him stand there awkwardly holding his hand out and quickly ran his hand through his hair. Kid lingered for a minute longer before turning to leave.

"Kid."

He looked back with a grunt, expecting some smartass remark. The captain grinned, however, when he saw that your finger was pointed in the direction of the horizon, where the faintest dot of a ship sat.

Next Chapter

#sorry this took so long! work was busy af #marooned #kid x reader x killer #one piece #killer x reader #massacre soldier killer #eustass kid #eustass kid x reader #x reader #next chapter is planned to be spicy AND gory #possibly at the same time?#hope y'all don't mind

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melonba11s · 19 days ago

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Ache (Strade and MC BTD Fic)

Warnings: Teeth, Tooth related Trauma, Mouth Harm, Unskilled Surgery, Torture, Canon Typical Violence.

It had started with a dull ache. A dull ache that disappeared for days at a time. A dull ache that was forgotten about when you were dealing with much more serious wounds.

Then it became a constant ache. You chewed ice to numb it. Then the ice began to hurt. You resorted to Ibuprofen. Of course Strade noticed but he chalked it up to basement stuff, you jerking your head around too fast or snapping your jaw closed too hard.

And then the 120 pill count bottle was half gone and when he had a headache he only stared at you in disbelief.

You couldn’t help it, you said. It just hurt. Such a persistent ache that it prevented you from sleeping.

He sat you down, took a flashlight and looked inside, tutting about how “if it hurt that bad you should have said something.”

You didn’t want to tell him how badly it was bothering you. Because he would make it worse. And he did.

A digit pressed down on the back of your mouth, on the gum. You shrieked in the sharp lance of pain. He did the same on the other side, both points on the bottom row of teeth.

“Liebling, you never got your wisdom teeth out?” he asked. No, you hadn’t. They hadn’t come in, you figured. Maybe you’d hoped you’d never have to get them out.

But now you were faced with the ugly truth that… Yeah, they’d probably have to go.

While sitting underneath the man who had kidnapped you, and collared you so that you could never leave.

“Yep, those are gonna have to go.” Strade said aloud, he looked like he was thinking.

You weren’t even going to suggest going to a dentist. A dentist was expensive. And going out? Without a collar? With all those opportunities to escape?

No. You were stuck. And that made the ache so much worse.

Strade bought you some orajel. A few tubes actually. It worked a lot better than ibuprofen.

So much better you could forget about the problem for a bit, lull yourself into the idea that maybe they’d stop trying to come in and you’d be fine. You could eat just fine now and drink ice water again and sleep.

And then Strade came up to you while you were folding towels and told you to come to the basement. You were no longer fine.

You were on edge as you followed him, his hand gripping yours. You tried to ignore how the hold felt more… comforting and snug, rather than like a vice threatening to break your fingers.

In the basement was his work bench, pulled out into the middle of the floor.

“Lay down.” He patted it, giving you a grin. What would fighting do? Begging?

You laid down, the polished wood underneath you was slightly cool. Two hands brushed your hair from your face, patted your cheeks, and Strade gave you another grin.

“Comfortable?” he asked, a teasing edge to his voice. You weren’t. You nodded anyway.

“Good!” he laughed. “Stay there.” A command, firmly given.

You heard him rummaging around. You were beginning to wonder what kind of game this was.

Then the next thing you felt was a thick rope wrapping around your torso. You stiffened.

But of course he wouldn’t want you moving, yanking away from him. Trying to get off the workbench when it was clearly involved in what he had planned.

You flexed your fingers as he tied your wrists down too, then your thighs.

“Open up~” A familiar sing-song tone to his voice as he produced a ring gag. You complied, growing more confused by the second.

Then you jolted as there was the loud rip of duct tape in your ear. Strade chuckled.

“Sorry. Just can’t have you moving your head. It will make the work I gotta do even messier.”

Work. This wasn’t fun. He never called what he did down here work. Several strips were being pressed to your forehead, forcing you to stay looking up. You tried to lift your head. Nothing.

Alarm bells were going off in your head but you couldn’t question him because of the gag. All that came out was a whimper. A whimper that made Strade’s grin widen a bit.

“I was waiting on a mouth prop but what would you know! Delivery delayed. And you’re almost out of that tooth cream.”

You began trying to beg. Anything else. He didn’t pay much attention though.

“Are you scared?” he asked. You couldn’t nod. “It’s okay. Think of how much better this would be than the other outcomes.”

Other outcomes. Pockets of pus opening up in the mouth. Teeth decaying from the friction and falling out. Sepsis.

You reluctantly calmed down just a little. And then Strade pulled out his knife.

Not a scalpel. Not even a thin blade. His usual hunting knife.

And you began to jerk against your bonds again, short panting shouts echoing in the basement. Strade cocked an eyebrow.

“What? I’m most comfortable with this one!... You want me to be done fast, right?” An edge to his voice. He could make this longer if he wanted. He could make this worse if he wanted.

“Don’t worry! I’ll be careful!” He patted your cheek again.

You knew whatever orajel you had used however long ago was not going to help here.

“Keep your tongue out of my way.” A warning before you watched the blade pass your lips. Every protest died, as you flattened your tongue down as best you could.

And then. A hot gush of blood, it tasted of copper. A split second after the shock of the taste hit you, the pain did.

And Strade sighed like a romantic as you screamed, as he dug his knife in deeper. You could feel it grinding against bone.

“Aaahh, there’s that pretty voice.” you barely registered his words. You tried to jerk your head again but the tape wouldn’t give. You could only lay there and take it, screaming and crying. Your tears were soaking into your hair along with the sweat you had broken out in.

“I think that’s it…” Strade mumbled, it seemed he was talking to himself now. You weren’t a great conversation partner right now. He produced a strip of gauze now and stuffed it into the side of your mouth. “Keep that there.” Then he moved onto the other side.

At some point you were too exhausted to scream as loud as you had, and could only sob, your nails digging into your palms as you clenched your hands.

Pain seemingly fading into a loud buzz in your skull, Strade wavering in your vision before you clenched your eyes shut.

“I think that’s enough!” He sounded satisfied. More gauze was being stuffed into the left side of your mouth. You slowly cracked your eyes open. Hope began to flutter in your stomach at the possibility of it all being over.

Until he flashed a pair of needle nose pliers.

“I think I can grab ‘em now!” You wanted to throw up. All you could taste was your own snot and blood in the back of your throat. Then a firm grip on your jaw brought you back.

He was close. His eyes staring into yours.

“Remember. This is better than the alternative.” You just wanted a break.

A break that wouldn’t come. Because now those pliers were dancing around in your mouth. Brushing against broken and tattered flesh that made you flinch. Opening up and grabbing onto what they could.

And then the pulling. The voice you had lost came back slowly. Strades knuckles were pale, his bicep was flexing. He was sweating, and grunting.

You were screaming and begging, your tongue pushing against the pliers.

Something slid. You felt tiny strings of flesh pulling taut and breaking. *ping. Ping. Ping.* Each one releasing.

And then a pop. Another gush of blood filled your mouth and you began to choke on it as Strade jerked back.

He stared at your tooth like it was a treasure, his eyes twinkling.

He said something. You couldn’t hear him. You were sure he was talking normally, but to you it sounded like a whisper. You could only stare as he waved your tooth, something that had once been a part of you, in front of your eyes.

Then the clink of it being dropped and hitting the concrete of the basement floor.

You didn’t hear him. But you knew what he said.

“Time for the other one!” As the process began again. The removal of gauze. The pliers this time seemed to play with the loose flesh in your mouth more than before.

You willed this tooth to come out easier than the first. As if bone and sinew could prepare for Strade.

The other side of your mouth was still bleeding, forcing you to swallow every minute to not choke on your own blood.

It was almost over.

The grip. The pull. The sharp pain it sent to the base of your skull. The pressure building until the roaring in your ears returned, ringing in your ear drums.

Then the pop. And this time Strade didn’t show it off, he dropped it and the pliers instantly.

It was over. It was done. He was untying you quickly, cursing under his breath. The rip of tape off your skin, taking with it several strands of hair, you couldn’t feel. The relief of knowing it was over had caused a clammy chill up your body.

He was none too gentle as he dragged you off the workbench. Your knees hit the floor. It would definitely bruise.

And then his cock was shoved in your face. He had to have had it out already. Judging from the gathering of pre at the tip, how it already looked a little wet, you had to believe he had been jerking off at some point while he was cutting into you.

“Come on.” He urged you. Your eyes were wide, the gag still on as you stared.

And all of the relief was gone. Because you remembered who this was. This was Strade. And of course he had gotten off on this.

You could barely take a breath in before he was balls deep down your throat, gripping your hair, rutting against your chin like Ren did when he was in heat.

His cock was getting coated in blood, and it seemed to make it that much better for him. Grunting in German under his breath.

You don’t know how long he lasted. Maybe a few minutes. Maybe several. All you knew was that you were in pain. Feebly you wished you could at least bite him.

And then he was cumming down your throat. Not just once. But twice. First stopping for a bit, his hips stuttering, then giving two more wet thrusts before cumming again.

You had no choice but to swallow. Swallow like you did your own blood and snot and tears. You doubted anyone could mix up that toxic cocktail as well as Strade.

As he pulled out you were aware that you were definitely a mess. Your blood surely was dripping down your chin in waves. Splattered down the front of your shirt.

You lifted your shirt, you needed to clean yourself. All you did was smear your cheeks with it as Strade caught his breath.

The dull ache was back. You doubted either ibuprofen or orajel would help this time. At least the maddening pressure was gone.

“Here.” You looked up as a roll of gauze bumped into your forehead. Strade was holding it out to you, his cock still out and soft, his hands shaking. “Put that in. I can’t… Hands aren’t steady enough.”

You took it and spent way too much time carefully rolling perfect little rectangles of the fabric before placing them in your mouth. You bit down. It hurt.

But it felt better.

#strade btd #boyfriend to death fanfic #btd fanfic #strade #boyfriend to death

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stevecoven · 4 months ago

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Prompt/vibe: if Steve is stressed, how does Murph support him/help with that? Or vice versa?

"Dinner's ready, babe."

Steve didn't look up from the tapestry of maps and plans strewn across his workbench. "Uh-huh. Give me five minutes and I'll be over."

"Dinner is ready now, Steve." Murph stood in the doorway to the workshop, arms folded. Usually Steve's stomach needed no such prompting; he would be hovering by the stove before cooking was done most nights, hoping to steal an early mouthful. This was the third day in a row Steve had been so buried in this project that he'd forgotten to be hungry.

"Okay, okay." Steve sighed and heaved himself up from the bench. He grabbed a bundle of papers off the table and shuffled them into a pile. When he saw Murph raise an eyebrow, he said, "Just gonna look over these while I eat, then I can-"

"Nope, absolutely not." Murph shot out an arm and smacked the pile of papers out of his hands. Steve moved to grab them as they fluttered to the floor but Murph whipped a purple tendril of a finger against his knuckles. "Work stays in here. It is not coming in the house with you."

"But-"

"Don't care, Steve." Murph's voice was clipped with frustration but they knelt down to collect the papers and carefully rearranged them into a neat stack on the workbench. "It can wait."

“No, it can’t.” Steve rubbed his hands over his face. He hadn't shaved in days and the shadows under his eyes looked like dark pits. “I need to get this done and submitted to the guild, otherwise-”

“Otherwise what, Steve? Is anyone going to die?”

“...no.”

“Then it can wait.” He opened his mouth, but their commanding tone made him hesitate. Some deeply buried instinct still made it impossible for him to argue against a direct order.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m just stressed out about this whole thing. I can't figure out how to make it work.”

“Probably because you're hungry, and tired. And you stink.” Murph clicked their tongue sympathetically and guided Steve towards the door. “We can talk it through over dinner if you want. But you’re not coming back out here until you’ve had dessert.” They pushed him outside and pulled the workshop door shut with a slam. “And a bath.”

((Unlike Murph who either completely shuts down when stressed or goes into a state of mania, Steve just buries himself in whatever problem is stressing him out and forgets to do eat, sleep, or do anything else until it's fixed. Pretty sure I've already written another fic with this theme but I don't care lmao))

#replies #fic #the owl house #steve tholomule #toh oc #murph #sturphy

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omniblades-and-stars · 4 months ago

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OC SMASH OR PASS

Tagged by @teamdilf thanks!

Rules: pretty self explanatory. include physical descriptions or pics, and propaganda. the “other” label can be used for “sexuality misalignment” (ie: oc is femme and you’re gay, vice versa or you aren’t into smashing but a specific thing you wanna do with them like perhaps hug or study them under a microscope idc).

Dr. Louise "Lou" Miller

QUICK FACTS

5'3.5" (that half inch is very important) tall and just generally a small whisp of a thing.

Age: 38

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Mega Bisexual? Whatever bisexuality is called when it also includes aliens.

PROS

Cute accent! Tennessee born and raised and damn proud of it.

Adventurous. Adventurous in life and love, you'll never be bored with Lou around.

Lou is loyal and will put herself at great risk to her own safety and life to get you out of trouble. (Now, granted she may or may not have gotten you into that trouble in the first place.)

She loves cooking! Cooking is an important way that she shows affection (or just shows off honestly).

She is confident in her own accomplishments. She does freelance tech engineering work and also makes her own little gadgets to aid in her bounty hunting.

Despite being a bit wild, she's very neat. You'll never have to worry about cleaning up after her.

She has a friend for that. And that. She knows so many people who owe her favors. Need a patio built, she's got someone on speed dial. She's got more than one freelance merc wrapped around her little finger. Infer from that what you will.

*ahem*she'sflexible*ahem*

CONS

You are going to get into trouble when she's around. Trouble magnet. No sense of self-preservation.

Not the kind of doctor that can help you when she gets you into trouble.

Uses her bubbly and enthusiastic demeanor to hide a deep, deep sadness.

Messy, messy prior relationships and a tendency to latch onto anyone who's nice to her even if they don't stay nice to her. You may be subjected to an embarrassing encounter with an ex.

Poor decision making when she's stressed out. Likes to cause problems.

She has a dangerous job! She is frequently in mortal peril. This may be upsetting to you.

Confusing and inconsistent moral compass sometimes.

Neat freak that flips around to a bit of a pathology when she feels like things are out of control again. Everything goes in it's place right down to the lines she painted on her workbenches, the sections she sewed into her go-bag, the labels she put in her fridge. She tries really hard not to make a big deal out of it when she's sharing a space, but she is only human.

And um I'll tag: @commander-krios, @who-is-riley, and @daggertongue why not? No pressure though. I'm just out here spreading the good word of Louise Miller.

#sweet baby lou #this is my tag game now #that's my girl everyone be nice to her #hey can you guys tell that i love blue purple and pink?

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freneticfloetry · 7 months ago

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fic pride friday

I finally get to start a tag game! Saw this one go by in the wild, and though I couldn’t grab the exact post to reblog, I wanted to bring the concept over to my go-to folks.

Rules: Post your favourite line or passage from as many of your published works as you’d like. Let yourself feel proud of your creations! Tag as many people as you post snippets, so your fellow fic friends can be proud, too.

There’s a little slice of Husbands Era from words to get off his chest (911 / 911 Lone Star):

Times like this, TK honestly thinks he lives for the second that Carlos settles back and lets go. He hopes that feeling never gets old — the way he sinks back into his arms, just a bit, and his limbs lose the last of their tension, like he’s found the exact space where he fits and can exhale with his whole body.

There’s this Carlos and Iris truth swap from to build a home (911 Lone Star):

I think you're my new favorite person, she'd said — soft but sure, like it wasn't something wondrous after losing her dad, just laid in his lap like a gift — and he'd swallowed and said the only thing he could think of that might've been worth as much in return. I think I'm gay. She'd turned her head and smiled into his shoulder, slipping her arm around his to slot their fingers together and squeeze. Fine, she'd said, warm and wry and completely without surprise. I'll drop my 'think' if you will.

There’s this Met Gala moment from scenes from an unfinished story (The Magicians)

Really, he'd said flatly, when El had first shared the idea, you want to go as The Little Mermaid. Eliot had rolled his eyes. Well not the neutered Disney version, he'd answered, the Hans Christian Andersen original. In all its forbidden gay glory. Quentin had blinked, thoroughly confused, and El had given him a look he never did decipher. He wrote it as a love letter, Q, he'd explained, soft and sad, to a man he couldn't have.

There’s this moment before a bittersweet reunion from What Baking Can Do (The Magicians)

He's technically seen El… since; there's a copy made of clay back at the cottage, lying silent and too still in Eliot's bed. But this is the form he knows — towering and full of grace, even bent over a workbench, brows drawn together, sifting flour into a big wooden bowl. Quentin's clearly caught him mid-setup, a telltale line of little clay vessels arranged across one side of the table, and it's sort of fascinating to watch the way he's adapted, the duality of the picture it paints — a faded apron slung over some sort of sheer, gauzy shirt that's tied at his side, sleeves rolled at each cuff to the elbow and hands stripped free of rings, the room's worn wood and stone an unadorned backdrop for the drama of the dark crown of gems that still circles his head. It's an image Quentin doesn't think he could forget, but there's the strangest urge to frame it, hang it, label it in bronze: High King Humbled, 2017. Flesh and bone.

There’s this truly unfortunate timing from Confidence Man (What’s Your Number?)

The Imperial March is impossible to ignore in the best of situations, much less mid-cunnilingus, but trying to would be significantly easier without the subsequent knock on the door. She stiffens, fingers tightening in his hair, thighs clamping down around his head like a vice. "Oh, fuck," she moans, in a way that's meant to be mortified but, to his ears and his brain and every one of his nerve endings, still sounds like she's seconds from flying off a fucking cliff. "Ally, I swear to god," he says, locked between her legs, "if I come in my pants with your mother outside I may never maintain an erection again."

There’s this reflection on the past and present from Ashes and Flame (Every You and Every Me) (The Hunger Games)

I want it to be as it was. A purging of everything that haunts me, down to the smallest detail. But when I'm done, there's only space and shadow in living color, more abstract than anything that came before it. A fiery sunset over the Meadow grass, the shape of mockingjay wings. And two silhouettes on the horizon, together but separate, forever moving forward, and backward, and nowhere at all.

And finally, there’s this unbalanced negotiation from By Any Other (Lucky Number Slevin), which is maybe my favorite cold opening to anything I’ve ever written.

"You need a name." She spreads out the stack of takeout menus she's stolen from the front desk, sprawled on her stomach on their third motel bed in a week. The wallpaper is the worst she's seen yet, and is still somehow better than what was in her old bathroom. "What about Indian?" "As names go? It's a little tongue-in-cheek." He flops to his back beside her, scratching at his stomach and squashing half the pile. "I could go for some Chinese." She wrinkles her nose, wrestling the menus free. "No Chinese. I hate Chinese." "You are Chinese." "Yeah, it's tragic, they revoked my membership and everything."

Tagging in @liminalmemories21, @paperstorm, @carlos-in-glasses, @reyesstrand, @rmd-writes, @lemonlyman-dotcom , and @welcometololaland !

#tag games #fic pride friday

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gaycragula · 2 years ago

Note

Idk if your requests are open, but could I request junkrat and junker queen poly hcs? Fluff preferably but I'd also accept some hurt/comfort or angst

Male or gn reader your choice :)

Anyway, have a great day/night <3

Poly Relationship Headcanons with Junkrat and Junker Queen

Pairing: Junker Queen x GN!Reader x Junkrat Warnings: a little suggestive at one point but nothing descript, a little needy smoochin Word Count:1153 Masterlist going feral i love these fuckers so much

Your relationship with the two Junkers was interesting

Junkrat was definitely more sporadic than Junker Queen. He liked to jump from one topic to another while he spoke to you. You learned how to follow him fairly well but there were still times you just couldn't keep up

He did the same with 'projects' he worked on

Your garage had long been taken over by him for his gadgets. Metal and unfinished bombs were strewn about your workbench and on the concrete floor. It was, quite literally, like walking in a minefield when you stepped into the garage

You often heard something explode while he worked and you'd actually be scared if you didn't hear something explode

Dark splotches stained the floors, walls, and even the ceiling of the room from his bombs

When he did complete bombs, he would bring them to you with a bright smile, already talking about his little creation. He's asked you to detonate a couple of them before and always had the cutest look on his face when you would accept or if you'd come out to the garage to see what he was working on

He made you little goodies frequently and you had a fairly decent sized corner dedicated to the little things Junkrat makes you

He wore soot more often than not when he came back inside and always gave you those tear-filled puppy dog eyes when when you dragged him off to your bathroom to clean him off

Junker Queen helped you keep the rat under control. She was your firm voice and vice that you were sure kept Junkrat from experimenting with his bombs in your living room

Her voice carried in rooms, bouncing off the walls of your house. It made her a tad loud but her voice was always nice to listen to and you loved when she told you stories of her childhood

She loved telling you the story of how she became queen and always seemed to excited when she told you it

JQ showed you the ins and outs of her magnetic gauntlet and let you help her when she made modifications or fixes to it. She let you hold Gracie and you almost got the chance to hold Carnage before you turned down the offer when you felt the weight of the axe, scared you would end up dropping it

Going out with the two was always fun

With their size and appearance and probably their reputation, a lot of people went out of their way to avoid getting in your way. It's like scary dog privileges but amped up a couple notches

JQ always kept a hand on you, whether is be linked with yours, on your shoulders, or resting somewhere on your back. It was as much comfort for you as it was for her. She also liked to growl at people who looked at you a little too long

You often shopped for all three of you, grabbing snacks for the two Junkers so they'd have something to eat when they visited you. If you're a cook, they adore your cooking and Junkrat practically begs you to make something every night

Putting away the food and drinks when you get home, you almost always find a few things you were sure you didn't buy mixed in with the other items

Junkrat would avoid eye contact with you and shyly step out of the kitchen while JQ would give you a cheeky smile and a kiss on your cheek, saying something along the lines of 'The queen doesn't have to follow rules' or mention how good you treat them so they wanted to 'return the favor'

You found it endearing

Cuddling and/or sleeping with the two mountains

Junker Queen liked to have you laying on her chest where she can feel your heartbeat against hers. Junkrat liked to lay on your chest and listen to your heartbeat

JQ likes to run her hand through your hair and over your back until you'd fall asleep and then she'd roll over so you were both on your sides and pull you flush against her front

Junkrat, on the other hand, almost kept you pinned down most nights. Once he fell asleep, he would stay asleep. His head heavy on your chest as he snored quietly. If you moved, he would grumble in his sleep and tighten the grip on your waist until you settled back down

When both of them decided to stay, which was actually more common than not, you'd get stuck in the middle of the two. Junker Queen would be your big spoon, holding you just under her chin, your back to her chest. Junkrat would sleep against your front, face buried either in your chest and shoulder or in your neck

Your arm wrapped around Junkrat's waist, JQ's hand resting on the skin of your hip. Junkrat almost made a purring sound when he slept, the sound rumbling in his chest throughout the night and it was often one of the things that lulled you to sleep

In the morning, however, everything was different

Junkrat was sprawled out over his side 3/4 of the bed, having pushed you and Junker Queen onto a small section of the bed. You would end up on top of the queen, face tucked in the crook of her neck while her arms wrapped around your back

Kisses with the two were always a treat

Junker Queen was surprisingly soft with hers, almost treating you like you were fragile glass that could break with the wrong touch. In private, she likes to pick you up to kiss you, holding you up by your thighs as she pressed short, light kisses against you

She liked hearing you giggle when she would brush her lips over your cheek and she'd laugh when you returned the action

In public, her kisses were presses of her lips against your forehead or cheek

Junkrat was almost the complete opposite. When he kissed you, he kissed you like a man starved. In public, private, wherever. He kissed you like he'd never kiss you again, hungry and needy

It had gotten to the point where Junker Queen had threatened to 'ban' Junkrat from kissing you in public if he didn't calm down

It made you chuckle looking back on it and you had to tell Junkrat he could still kiss you, he just needed to control himself a little more out in public

After the little chat, Junkrat preferred to come up behind you and press a series of kisses to the top of your head while he draped his arms over your shoulders. It brought a smile to your face every time and you loved it

They loved you and you loved them and you adored having them around, no matter how messy your house might end up when they leave

#overwatch x gn!reader #junkrat x gn!reader #junker queen x gn!reader #junkrat x gn!reader x junker queen #x gn!reader #fluff #poly relationship #poly headcanons #overwatch headcanons #headcanons #kisses #cuddling

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superheroauthor · 5 months ago

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I’m Alive! Sparky The Superhero’s Story

Chapter Two – Hunting the Vampyre

(Part 1 The Crusher’s Fall)

She's a big lass and a bonny lass

and she likes her beer,

and they call her Chubby Applebottom

and I wish she was here.

Historical, Great Earth

My dream was one of ecstasy and fulfilment.

I was myself again. In my forties, I think. The real me, before I died.

I was in my workshop or someplace very like it. All around were tools, some normal, some strange to ordinary people.

I saw my hands lift out the green globe from a hidden pocket and place it on the workbench. I left it there, a pale globe waiting to be awoken, waiting to fulfil its meaning.

I went to another bench and took down a long cylinder of metal, some six inches long, about an inch wide. Into the vice it went. I then used a hand-drill to try and bore a hole right through it. The metal was hard and so I tapped the drill bit with several sparks to harden it and give it a tiny amount of magic. Now the metal parted easily and the bit went right through leaving me with a long hollow cylinder. I now took out a plate of metal and cut a piece of it out with a hacksaw. This I drilled in several places.

I took a lump of wood and carved it into a more rounded piece.

You see, I was making what we called a gum. I think that’s the word. It is an archaic word, dating back to the Great Earth. It is a projectile weapon. A sophisticated projectile weapon with moving parts.

Bow and arrows worked on this planet, crossbows, catapults, slings that fired small spears but there were no working part projectile weapons.

It was not that these things were banned, just that no-one had thought of making one. They were far too complex, even with magic. Who would need one in a city when you can carry a sword or knife or stave?

I noticed my hands were smaller than they used to be but still very nimble.

My hands were carving and smoothing down the handle to the gum. This was going to be my greatest achievement if I could make it work.

Gum? Gut? Grim? Something was not right.

Gat? Grat? Grun? Gum?

The word was wrong. A small projectile weapon . . . I reached deep into my mind. Suddenly it was flooded with ways of making living people into zombies. Not good zombies but slow-walking, stiff-moving zombies. The sort people would notice at once unless it was dark.

Ah, there. There was the memory I was seeking. The projectile weapon was a gun, a handgun.

A gun!

I moved some plans across to this bench. The first design was one that was a one-shot gun. One you had to reload each time you wanted to fire a projectile. The next one was a side by side, firing two shots with two triggers.

Ah, there it was. This one had a rotating cylinder in which you put projectiles. There was a ‘close-up’ of that cylinder on the plan. It had seven drilled apertures. Seven little projectiles could be loaded into this.

My thoughts drifted and I just watched my hands, drilling, shaping, making the handgun until it was fully formed. I had used screws to hold it together. That and solder made from silver and green-metal.

I opened up the gun and span the cylinder, it rotated as smooth as silk.

Now for the projectiles. They were nothing special. Just bullets in a mould. Like when I had been making silver bullets to kill werewolves for my catapult. Those were round, these were longer and cylindrical.

I did it. I finally did it. I opened up the green sphere, the momo globe. At the bottom I could see a golden leaf and it was covered by a thick green liquid. I had never seen such a thing before. The green liquid seemed to move, to undulate, to dimly shine.

I had never seen this before but my body knew what it was. I dipped the end of each bullet into the green slime, one after another until I counted one hundred. Ninety-three went into a pouch. The remaining seven were loaded into the gun.

Now the finale. I eased off the top of my left index finger and a line of sparks flowed forth. I let this line hit the hammer mechanism of the handgun. It heated under those sparks and glowed red, a puff of black smoke and I knew the job was done. I replaced the tip of my finger.

I replaced the tip of my finger? This was not the old me. The one that had lived. This was me, me, Sparky!

Sparky dreaming!

The dream changed and now it was black. I knew this dream. I hated this dream but I could not escape it.

I was in the old manor house of Doctor Gory, a female doctor of incredible beauty who was totally nuts and liked inventing the weirdest things that had ever been even imagined. The house was far from normal cities, far up north. Past Castle, past Dee and Ness. From there she used a special train that she had built, just for her own use, at great expense. It travelled from Ness to her hidden estate. On that estate a castle, a manor house and many parks.

A park? Of course, you are a city person, you don’t know what a park is.

That is an area of greenery with bushes and trees and wild things growing. Animals but not beasts live there. There are no parks in The Smoke. There simply is not room.

I was in the cellar of the manor house in her laboratory there. I was the first you see, the first dead body. Doctor Gory was trying to use sinus like the sinus-tists did on Great Earth. She was wanting to use technology, not even fully understanding what technology was. It had never existed here, not on this planet.

On this planet was magic and clockwork and steam.

Tied down to an operating table, a slab, ‘tricity was passing through my body, never-ending. Although my body twisted and arched, bent and shook and twitched, it did not come to life. I had died ten years before and the body had rotted. She wanted my body, my brain as I had been an inventor, a man some thought a genius.

The dream flickered back to me, alive, as Sparky.

I now know all languages and have a lot of knowledge I did not have in my real life. I have the knowledge of every person used to create me, even the ones whose body parts were ruined and discarded in the process of making me. The only part of me that truly belonged of me was part of my brain. The front cortex. The rest of me was made from hundreds of other people.

The dream flickered back and I was still dead. Only my head laying on the slab, the ‘tricity still passing through it, so it had a chance to survive and not rot.

Doctor Gory’s process used decayed body parts in order to give life to the rest. She kept adding and adding human remains and stayed with the parts that survived the process. The only truly original part of me was that chunk of my brain. All the time the creator was working on the body ‘tricity had to be passing through me and the body or the whole thing would die.

I had hundreds of parts attached to me at different times and slowly but surely parts attached to me did not die. Four parts of a skull that could withstand the process and then a torso. A tongue, an arm, a leg, another leg. Parts discarded, parts attached until I was whole and the flesh was now fresh.

Trepanning my skull to put another line of ‘tricity into it, a hole in my chest to add a line to my heart. A monumental surge of power . . .

I’M ALIVE!

I woke screaming, as I always did. No-one complained. No-one ever complained about my screaming.

The first one who had done just that had been beaten to a pulp in the fear and anger the dream had left me with. He had been banging on my door as I awoke, still half in my dream-state. After that the landlady told all her residents, then and after, I suffered from grisly nightmares and none should go near me when I woke.

One fool ignored this and smashed open my door while I was still asleep and screaming from my dreams. The crossbow bolt took him in the heart and he died.

A hefty bribe to the landlady, a golden sovereign no less, and it all went away.

Dawn had arrived.

Everyone say hello to Dawn.

The best time of the day!

I thought carefully about what I was going to wear today. The trench coat always, with its secret pockets and magic, it was one of my most well-designed items. My trousers were looking dirty and I brushed them out best I could and then brushed off my trench coat too. I did not clean my boots. Shiny boots get you noticed. I did brush my brown bowler hat, mould had started to grow on it.

In the cities, everyone wore a hat. A person without a hat was not worth calling a person. A poor man would wear a cap, a poor woman a scarf around her head. An office worker would wear a bowler hat, the rich man a top hat. The women of these elevated peoples would wear a hat of varying colours, sometimes with frills, sometimes with elaborate decorations, sometimes just a plain hat but always a hat, never a scarf. A boy would always wear a cap until he was an adult, a girl a plain bonnet.

Working boys and girls wore bonnets – sex workers. The men and women who gave so much pleasure. The pillars of the city, the people that the city could not do without.

Even roadmen wore hats, even normal tramps and drinkers who lived under the arches. To be without a hat meant you were a non-person. Someone who should leave the cities and go outside.

My shirt was linen and could do with washing to get the bloodstains out but there was no time for that today. I looked around for my silver topped cane, I found that and then I saw it.

It was there.

On the inner sill of the window, the gum!

No, not gum, gone, no not that – gun! Handgun!

Someone had made that gun and it was not me. It was someone in my dreams, someone very skilled. Someone who had plans and designs for such a thing. I had no such plans, not in my last life, not in this life.

It had a rosewood handle, a reddish brown that made it stand out. A long barrel, about five inches, a chunky cylinder for the bullets to live in.

There was even a carrier, a holster for it. A leather holder but with no belt strap. I turned over the holster and saw the blue patch on it and understood.

I washed and dressed. I changed my mind on what to wear. I put on a suit. An old brown suit but a suit nonetheless.

I pressed the holster to my belt and it stuck fast. That holster would be firm now. I gathered up the tools of my trade.

Killing unnatural creatures that was my trade. The Creators made them and I killed them. Partly to stop normal people from getting hurt, partly just to piss off the Creators who made them and were so proud of these abominations.

Today, I would be hunting a vampire.

The first vampire was created about two hundred years ago. Created, not formed naturally. Not a single human being had ever became a vampire through a pact with the devil. The first vampire was created by Otto the Bloodthirsty, just outside the city of Czar. Myths had been circulating for centuries about such creatures, so he created one.

Vampires are very different from the myths about them. In the stories they are affected by a long-lost God, whose son was nailed up to a cross. The myths tell us crosses will drive a vampire back.

Vampires do have a connection to crosses. They collect them. When shown one, the vampire will often try to buy it off you for their collection, however basic it might be. As there is no relation between modern religion and vampires, they have no fear of them whatsoever. Same goes for holy water. A stake through the heart, whatever it is made of, kills them, as it would any human. Cutting off a hand works just as well, letting the blood completely drain out of them so they are vampire no longer. Their hearts pump blood at a much faster rate than humans, so this can be very quick and they cannot fight while it is happening as they are becoming weaker at a fast rate.

We now come to the myth of vampires making others, like werewolves are supposed to do but cannot. Halfbloods is the name, those that have been turned by vampires into a similar form of themselves. They can walk in day but cannot make other vampires. They drink purely to kill and to taste blood. Halfbloods look sallow and have dark rings around their eyes as if they have not slept in weeks. They are skinny and emaciated as they can no longer eat any food or take any drink at all. Once you know about them, they are easy to spot.

When a vampire dies their skin ages and then falls away to leave a skeleton. When a halfblood dies its skin goes black and they just lie there.

I was after a very special sort of vampire. The Vampyre.

The Vampyre was supposedly from the Old World. Humans had migrated from the Old World thousands of years past but their myths and stories were still part of our lives. Part truth, part fiction, they were still our myths.

Vampires, in the Old World, in a place called Bulgaria, had a creature called the Dhampyr. This abomination was the result of a breeding between a male vampire and a female human. In the Old World that is. Here they had to be made. And only one person made the Dhampyr. Madame Jenna.

Not the sweetest of females but the Creators never were. Her mind was twisted and her hobby was torture. In making all the unnatural creatures, she always used torture. To make a vampire you needed a live person. It took a special sort of Creator to take a live person and turn them into a half-dead one. A creature that lived on blood and nothing else.

Madame Jenna made the Vampyres, a weaker sort of vampire but still very powerful. And she did this by first torturing the human subject until it was out of its mind.

This Creator had three workshops that I knew of, but she was not the objective. The new Vampyre was. It had killed two working girls in Whitechapter, also a male for rent in Sojo and a woman in Bankside. It was rumoured the woman in Bankside was not a prostitute which confounded the stories from the grotty newspapers. The Daily Sketch had been using big banner headlines to tell everyone of a serial killer that was killing prostitutes, snatching them in the fog and taking them away. Their bodies were being found horribly mutilated in nearby alleyways. The Sketch had reported seventeen of these murders.

I had asked a reporter from the Daily Sketch what he thought. He had confided in me (after I broke both of his arms) that there had only been four grisly killings, the others were normal murders blown up to look good and sell newspapers. He himself had sliced a female murder victim open to make sure the story ran and ran.

He died, slowly hanging from a lamppost. No-one really cared – he was a reporter after all and a most unpleasant one at that. When reporters stop bothering the families of murdered people, when they stop intruding into innocent people’s lives, then they might get sympathy. When they stopped making things up just because the story did not suit the facts, I might defend them. Until then, they were fair game.

So, the fourth victim was different. From my reporter source I was told that she had been cut up, her body was half drained of blood and there were puncture wounds in her upper right thigh. This victim was not a street person. He had heard that she was on the drug Eternity.

Eternity was a strange narcotic indeed. Normally people got addicted to drugs and came back day after day for more. With Eternity, only one dose was needed. One dose and you dreamed the life you wanted to have. Your body did all the normal things, it went to work, it washed itself, it cooked, it ate and drank. Your mind though was on a whole other plane.

It was always the same dream. You were a God on Earth 1.1. You mixed and battled with other Gods. The whole population of the planet worshipped you, would do anything for you that you asked them to. The Gods used mortals as their pieces of a game. The battles of the Gods were fought using mortals. That game took an Eternity.

There was only one problem with the drug Eternity. As it was a one dose drug, it was hideously expensive. The going rate for one tablet was . . . twenty-five pounds. That was a huge amount. Half the price of a terraced house. And who could afford to own a house?

I had all the details of this woman. She was single but very rich and not an heiress, nor ever married. Where had the money come from? Even a high class call girl would not make that sort of money.

An office worker might get a mortgage for that sort of money for a property but then he would be paying back his whole life. And it would be a very well-paid office worker to do that. Most people rented, only one in maybe five hundred ever owned their own place, even with a mortgage.

I left via the window as usual. Even in daytime the smog was fighting a battle with the normal air to who controlled the streets. Visibility was not bad today, you could see almost thirty feet in front of you.

The streets were busy. A woman got pushed into the road by a pedestrian in a hurry. We heard the scream as the tram rolled over her. No-one paid any attention. This was quite normal. Men, women, children pushed into the road and sometimes killed by trams was a day-to-day occurrence here. There were just too many people on the pathways.

I purchased a newspaper from a vendor on the corner and went to the tram stop. It was a stop covered because of the rain at weekends. I did not open my newspaper. All too soon a tram screeched to a halt. On I got, ignoring the driver. I sat down on the top deck. I was at the front so I could watch who came up the stairs.

Two stops down the conductor came up and seeing me approached.

“Single to Bankside,” I told him, watching his every move.

“Two pennies,” he told me. Bankside was a long way through the city.

He looked me up and down and so I took off my trench coat and he saw my suit and took note of my brown bowler hat.

A suit and a brown bowler hat did not mean a city gent. They wore the black bowler hats and did not get on the trams near the slums. No, a brown bowler meant a wages clerk or something lowly but still an office worker. Maybe an accountant down on his luck as I had not come from the best of areas.

“Won’t rain today mister.” He pointed to my coat as he took my tuppence and gave me my ticket. “Not for a couple of days yet.”

“I feel the cold!” was my excuse and he shrugged and went downstairs to catch more fares.

I got off at Bankside, my coat over my arm. This was why I was wearing a suit. No tramps here, no roadmen, no beggars. Just men in suits and bowlers passing back and forth. The occasional man in a top hat, presumably an owner or a director of a company.

Two Crushers were walking up and down, moving on people who do not fit. One of them, even now, escorting away a working girl. Both of them ignoring the flower girl who was selling roses and buttonholes.

I got a buttonhole, a tiny red rose bloom to bring out the brown in my suit. It also made me fit just a little more. With the bloom I was now more likely to be an accountant than a clerk. I moved through Sharpneedle Street and down an alley into Gower Street, another alley and into the back of Broker Mansions. Four storey houses, semi-detached but local for the businessmen of The Smoke as townhouses.

I noticed even the air seemed better in this area, less fog. I did not know why this was.

A street urchin made a grab at my coat and I knocked him aside with the top of my cane, stunning him but not hurting him too much. I had no problems with what he was doing. Everyone had to make a living. Everyone had to earn their crust.

I found the house I wanted, number thirteen. I went between two houses and was about to go into the garden of number thirteen when I saw someone about to open the back gate from outside.

Now there was a bonny lass if I ever saw one. A face so pretty it would make angels weep. Near on my height, topping out at about five foot ten. And cuddly, she must have twenty stone and she waddled as she moved. A true woman, not one of these sticks that thought they were feminine.

This woman was no lady who starved herself for the sake of fashion. She was truly beautiful. She wore a pale pink hat, wide brimmed with woven strands of straw as its decoration. The pink of the hat was faded but the hat nonetheless was in good condition, no mould, no holes.

Her dress was faded pink too with a red border at the bottom, hemmed to stop it fraying. A red border too around the bodice that tried in vain to hold the overflowing mounds of her breasts. Her bosoms were pushed up by the bodice, almost but not quite escaping.

I did nothing . . . but watch. She opened the garden gate and went in. The garden was not much. There was not enough space in the city for large gardens. It was just grass with a border of flowers left and right.

Up to the back door this vision of loveliness went, I heard a snick then a crunch and then another crunch. She was breaking in through the backdoor. It seemed fair. Most thieves would have slid a knife in and snipped the window sash and gone in through the window. I would have gone in that way. Very little damage and easy to get in . . . and no noise.

This glorious entity of pulchritude though would have had problems getting through the window with her curvaceous body. The door made excellence sense and now it was open I moved like a cat through the garden and followed her in.

She had ignored the kitchen, the living room too, maybe because the curtains were open. I could hear her feet clump up the stairs. Moving low, I followed her, I did not approach the stairs until she was past them and into one of the bedrooms. I bided my time, counting to one hundred. I then went up.

She let out a scream when she turned and I was in the bedroom beside her. In her hand was a wooden stake. Drawers and cupboards were open, her breathing was hard. She stared at me and I just stared coolly back. I did not do a thing.

A silence of moments that seemed like hours passed between us before I spoke.

“Robbing the place?” I asked, grinning to hopefully show I was not bothered by this.

“I am not!” she declared haughtily. “I am looking for clues.”

“Yeah and I am Methuselah the Mechanik!”

Mechaniks were the sinus-tists of this world. They invented the things we use every day. They used clockwork and magic and steam and made trams and trains. It was they that invented gas lighting. They made the glow globes that are in nearly every household. They made glass by putting sand in clockwork steam presses.

Methuselah was the first and greatest, or so the legends go. He worked with the punks to make more cities. They showed him how to make trains that ran on steam made by clockwork and magic. They showed him how to build houses in a day by piling bricks and using steam-leverage magic.

“Not you are not. He is dead centuries ago.”

This was a beautiful but literal person. I looked into her hazel brown eyes, noticing her pretty face once again. I would put her age about twenty and five.

“I mean, you are not looking for clues. What clues could there be here?”

“I am hunting vampires. There was a spate of killings in Castle about three months ago. Twelve men and one woman died. Most of them were prostitutes, some were just poor. No-one was ever caught for it. The Crushers only hunt what they can see. They don’t investigate crimes unless they are bribed.” She paused for breath. “We have had four in this city now. Three prostitutes, two woman and a man and one that does not figure. One that is plain wrong. So, I am investigating, looking for clues as to why the vampire took this one.”

“The newspapers are claiming seventeen. It has to be true. It is written there in black and white.” I was trying a theory.

“Newspapers? Huh! They would not print a true story without embellishment. They cannot print facts, just stories about how they see them. Mother Thompson’s six-year-old was snatched. The reporters camped out on her doorstep for a year. They pestered and pestered her until she longer wanted to go out. She stopped shopping then stopped eating. That only made the newshounds more interested. In the end, she hung herself to get away from them. And guess what? That became a story too.”

“On that I do agree. The only good reporter is one sitting on a sword.”

That made her smile and that single look, that tiny bit of emotion, lit up her face like a glow lamp in a thunderstorm. It hit me harder than any punch thrown by an enemy, in this life or the last.

“I found this on the top of the set of drawers.”

It was a simple punched tram ticket. A return.

“Why is this so special?” I asked, bewildered.

“When you leave the tram, the conductor rips your ticket in half. She got a return and went both ways, hence the punched ticket. She then got the ticket back from the conductor. Why? She bought it home and put it in a place she would see it every day. Why? Because it meant something to her. It was special.”

I checked the ticket again. It was a ticket to Finch Green. That was the north part of the city, it was supposed to be beautiful up there.

“This was in a drawer,” she said and showed me what looked like a silver collar.

“Search some more. I think you are getting somewhere.”

She stared at me, shrugged her shoulders and carried on searching.

I started to get an idea of this woman whose house we were intruding so rudely upon. She would not mind. She had gone to the ground.

I heard a cry of triumph and the lady in pink was brandishing another stake made of silver.

“Try the wardrobe. You’re looking for a larger item.”

“You do something. Don’t just stand there looking like a paca scanning for worms.”

“I am doing something.”

I picked up the silver collar. I slid my hand into my coat and pulled out what looked like a tiny glow globe.

I swept this over the collar. The globe glowed but so did the whole room.

“Out!” I cried out to her, slipping on my coat. “Now! Tucus!”

“Don’t you call me names!”

“Crushers will be coming. This place is magically alarmed. Go to the Murky Café. Do not let Tucus close up until I get there.”

It was still morning but you never knew when the Crushers came a-calling. The collar and the tiny globe went into a normal pocket in my coat. I had to give this delectable creature time to get away.

I ran down the stairs and into the living room. I jumped right through the bay window there. Glass smashed to smithereens around my exit, yanking at the wooden surrounds of the window too. A Crusher was running towards the house and saw me.

I ran the other way, fast as my legs could take me but the Crusher’s long legs were making a difference. I saw an alleyway and dodged into it, only to find a footpad in waiting.

“Crusher!” I shouted and he lost his nerve and was now running beside me.

It was easy for a person to lose their nerve against Crushers. They were seven foot tall and built like houses. Massive muscular frames with fists that could punch through walls.

The Crusher was gaining on us so I tripped the footpad and then kept on running. It didn’t work. The Crusher had not seen the footpad do anything wrong so just hurdled the prone body and kept on running at me.

He would gain on me and hit me with his truncheon, there was no doubt of that now. There was no other choice. It was a time for action.

I turned, waving my cane around. The Crusher tried to slow, tried to stop but could not. That huge bulk was in motion and it was coming at me like a train. When he was almost on me, I did not hit him with the cane. Instead, I extended my right arm and a silver skewer slid out the sleeve and smashed into the chest of the Crusher.

The Crusher fell on top of me. He was still breathing. The skewer had smashed through the ribs but had not hit the heart. He was hurt but not too badly, not for a Crusher.

He was heavy, I could hardly move. It seemed he was stunned as he did not attack me. Or was simply using his weight as a device to hold me down prior to beating me up for committing a crime.

I had no wish to go to a wellbeing clinic after this Crusher kicked seven bells of out of me. They were expensive places. Those places were not for the poor. It was said they charged five shillings just for something to give you pain relief, let alone set a broken bone.

I was wearing my trench coat so had weapons everywhere but this was of little use when you had something that felt like thirty stone on top of you. I moved my hands slightly and found what I was looking for, a knife. It was not big, only a couple of inches long. It was used for snipping window sashes or sometimes for building inventions. It was razor sharp.

He grunted once as I slid it into his side. He grunted again as I twisted it and then his weight started to lift. He was getting up, slowly but up all the same.

I must have put magic into the holster because the handgun drew so fast and I shot him. The area where the bullet went sparked with little flashes of lightning. It became green tinged and smelt rotten.

The bullet had entered in his chest and now there was a six-inch-wide hole . . . and he was still alive. He was tottering but alive. My silver topped cane whipped up and caught him right in the groin and he fell back.

I lumbered to my feet, cane in one hand, gun in the other. Waiting ready for action. Nothing!

He was dead.

Did I care I had killed a Crusher? Someone who was there to keep order. Not in the slightest. They were brutes, almost animals.

I frisked him. His truncheon that was so heavy I could barely lift it. Pipe and smoke-weed. A bag of sovereigns, penknife, kerchief, which I think for him was a handkerchief.

I took the bag of sovereigns. That was why I had frisked him. His bribe money. All Crushers had bribe money. They carried it on them. If left in their rooms it could be robbed, so they carried it on them.

I gasped and staggered back. He was shrinking. Now six-six, now six foot, now five eight, now five-five, now five foot two inches tall.

I heard that when they retired, they shrank to normal human size but had not truly believed it.

This was not the time to think about that though. I walked, not ran, down the road and put my hand out to summon a cab.

It was not just trams that used the roads in The Smoke. There were all sorts of horses and carriages too. The most common were the hansom cabs. A small cabriolet carriage where the driver sat high up on the back and the seating part of the cab for passengers was below him. His reins went over the top of the cab to control the horses.

Why did the fast-moving trams not hit them? Firstly, the trams had set paths and secondly it was the magic buffer. The magic buffer on a tram stopped it hitting anything of size. When something large was in the way of the tram the magic buffer affected the steam engine of the tram and it ground to a halt. From a hansom cab up, was the size to stop a tram. A man, woman or child in the road would not stop a tram at all. It would hit them smashing them to bits and rolling over them as if nothing had happened.

People in The Smoke grew up knowing this and were well aware. There was no-one to complain to about it anyway. The city was massively overpopulated and it was just seen as a way of getting rid of fools. Not the nicest way of thinking but the people of The Smoke, especially the poor folk, grew up hard.

A cab drew up.

“Where to?” the driver asked surlily.

They were never polite unless it was to someone who looked like a gentleman. Even then, it was only to get a better tip.

“Train station in Whitechapter,” I told him getting in, not giving the full address of the place where I was going.

He whipped the horses up and we were almost flying through the streets. Not as fast as a tram but not far off.

reblog for next chapter

#fiction #Sparky

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sims2packrat · 10 months ago

Note

Hello, gorgeous! Hope this message finds you doing great! Is there anyway you or another pack rat might have Aslyli’s blacksmith sets stashed away somewhere? Those sets and the farrier tools look amazing, and so far I’ve only been able to recover some tool sets, the workbench, and the vice, sadly. Any help would be greatly appreciated!

Hello feydecay!<3 so terribly sorry for the late reply (AUG 8 2023 fucking hell I'm so ashamed) unfortunately I couldn't find anything from Aslyli? I got no match whatsoever. Maybe my google-fu is off today or I've completely lost my touch lol. Anyhow! Does anyone have anything from Aslyli and could re-upload for feydecay?

Also, if you could share and/or link the files you have, that would be much appreciated! :-D

Edit: @amythestfenix kindly re-uploaded the blacksmith set here! Thank you so much!

#feydecay #ask #aslyli #Asylaraber #found

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k1nky-fool · 2 years ago

Text

They Called Her Mania

Part 3/?

Masterlist

Doom Slayer/ OC (Mania)

Pairing: M/F

Rating: Explicit (NSFW)

Warnings: horny filth, size kink, oral (f-recieving), some dom/sub dynamics, but both are switches.

For @ninjarose23 because you were kind enough to comment on my last chapter.

-X-

It was unfortunate what he found on the other side of the gate. There was minimal demon resistance. Apparently it actually took a bit longer for a place to fill back up after he'd cleared it.

He procured his helmet, and he found the sweater that Mania had left behind. However, her twig was in a less than ideal condition.

It had completely snapped in half; probably the result of a larger demon stepping on it. More unfortunate that the demon hadn't at least gotten stuck in the foot with the nails, but the bat was not in any state to be repaired.

He would definitely have to find her a new weapon. Mania had said she was near-sighted. Which meant the majority of guns would be out of the picture. Not to mention, she was also nearly half his size, so any of the wide-range, heavy weapons were also not viable. Though there was definitely one gun she would probably thrive with: shotgun.

It wasn't a good idea to try to hit a demon with a shotgun at long range anyway. But a sawed-off barrel and a melee weapon would be right up her alley. It was absolutely stunning to see her work with a melee weapon.

Small, soft, Mania, that could kill anything she came across, and leave him begging just to let him touch her. The thought of holding her came back full swing, only now he wished he'd ignored Vega, and pinned her to the workbench just to see how much of her fantasy she'd let him get to before stopping him.

"Your heart rate has risen with no exterior motivation, and I am reading a spike in testosterone." Vega commented.

There was never a time he wished he could smack Vega before, but he was coming dangerously close to it. "I'm heading back."

The portal opened, and he stepped back into the threshold of the Fortress. Mania was nowhere to be seen. He headed back to his workshop, taking off the armor, and leaving the retrieved items there, while he went off to take a shower.

He didn't know how many hours he'd been awake at this point, but Vega hadn't mentioned that he was nearing the edge of his sleep schedule, so he would continue on for now.

Mania was still absent, and she didn't come to the workshop. He knew she'd talk to him when she was ready. But he couldn't pressure her into saying or doing anything. He certainly couldn't pressure her into trusting him.

The slight burnout from working tirelessly on his armor repairs was getting to him, though. Vega would have to run a diagnostic on his armor, anyway. Instead of burning himself out further, he took a book off the shelf and left to rest in his room.

Surprise came when Mania was waiting for him outside the bedroom. She looked frozen in place, struggling to say anything at all. He just opened the door, and let her step inside first.

It took her only a moment to be sure of her choice and take his invitation. "Umm… your room is bigger than mine."

"The Fortress was a command center. This was supposed to be a general's room, but yours was a vice commander's." He explained. She looked around at his excuse of decor. Most of it was just guitars, shelves of vinyl records and video games, and old Metal band posters.

"Well, you certainly found your niche." She chuckled, though the silence he left open made it awkward, and it was getting to her. "I- I'm sorry I freaked out on you. I- I just… you've been nothing but kind to me, but I still- … you didn't deserve that, and you-"

"I'm not angry at you." He interrupted her rambling. He went to sit down on his bed, leaving enough room for her to do the same if she wanted. "You got scared. It happens." He said, "The least I could do is trust you with my name."

She pulled his tags out of her pocket, undoing the small tangle. "Flynn B. Taggart." She read off. "I figured you were probably a marine. I knew a few that worked at the shop and you remind me a bit of them the way you carry yourself. At least it's not the same as army guys."

"Figures nothing much had changed in the hundred years I was gone." He chuckled.

"Well, I find military guys are creatures of habit." She remembered. "Even you have your habits."

A teasing smile spread across his face. "Oh, you've been looking into my habits now."

"Not on purpose" She defended, sitting down on the bed with him. "You're just really obvious."

"I am not-"

"You have terrible posture when you're around the Fortress," She began, "but every time I walk into the room, you straighten right the fuck up."

"Alright, you found one habit-"

"You also bite your tongue when you're concentrating." She pointed out.

"I- " she was right.

"You also crack your knuckles like I do." She listed, "And when you zone out while working, you hum the tunes of Metallica songs. And those are just small habits. Imagine what I could find in a month or even a year." She added.

"And what makes you so good at finding my habits?" He asked.

"Well, being a little scared of you made me try to analyze the hell out of you." She shrugged. "But most of it is because you are very difficult to ignore."

"Oh? And why's that?" He smiled.

"Well, you're absolutely massive, I'll start with that." She teased, barely managing to hide her snickering.

"Really? Maybe you're just small."

"I am quite tall for someone of my profile, thank you very much!" She feigned offense, and still laughed.

"Then why are you so easy to pick up?"

"Flynn!" She laughed as he wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her, only to plop her back down on the soft mattress.

"What else?" He asked, holding himself up so he didn't fall on her.

"Well, you certainly aren't difficult to look at." She chuckled, looking up at him, pink dusting her cheeks. "Makes it a little easier to pick up on things when I'm looking at you anyway."

"Mania-"

"Tara."

He actually felt his heart leap at her correction.

"M-My name is Tara Callaghan." She said softly.

Tara. It was a beautiful name, for a beautiful woman. It wasn't riddled with distrust, or something a demon would ever say. It was hers.

"Tara." He repeated. He was close enough to her, that he could hear her take a fast breath in and out, and he could even see her pupils dilate, even as her eyelashes fluttered. "I like that name."

The rise and fall of her chest became more sporadic as she glanced around his face for some clue, anything that could give her a hint as to what was going on in his head at that moment.

Flynn himself wasn't fairing much better. Just the fact he was paying such close attention to her eyes, and her breathing told him enough. He wasn't searching for anything as he glanced around her face. He simply admired her.

Tara's hair fell around the pillow like a dark halo. Green eyes still looked around to solve the puzzle that was Flynn Taggart. While her face usually held an array of freckles and spots, each one was disappearing in the low light, the redder her face became. Her mouth opened as though to say something, but it was like she was still pulling the syllables out of her brain while Flynn's grip on her side tightened the more he thought of what he wanted to do to her. It took everything in him to not give in, but the thought of scaring her away was more terrifying than any demon he's faced.

"Flynn." She said it almost like a warning, but it came out mostly like a plea.

I'm fucked.

"Tara?" She had much clearer attention on listening to him now. "May I kiss you-"She didn't wait a second to let him finish asking before she'd grabbed the sides of his face and claimed the kiss for herself.

Flynn also figured he wouldn't waste time, and kissed her back with the same eagerness she'd attacked him with. She really did kiss like she meant to fight him; some personal inner rampage they'd both been holding back, only for her to draw it out of him when he was trying to keep it under control.

He let his hand leave her side, running it up her stomach and chest, and taking her face in his hand, forcibly slowing her down a tad. She couldn't stop the way she whined, as his pace slowed.

Flynn was effectively holding her down, and making her take it slower. It wasn't easy to get her buzzing excitement to turn to a deliberate pace, but he wasn't budging. Tara's frantic pursuit gave in to her need to show him she could be good. At least this time. She could let him take the lead, and not have to prove she was too strong to be taken care of.

She didn't want to be too strong for this; Flynn was a weakness she wanted to accept. But when his fingers trace her jaw like feathers, he wasn't a weakness, but a carer. Tara could be vulnerable, and Flynn would touch her like he knew just how raw she was under her shell she just abandoned.

He pulled his lips away from hers, and moved from his spot on the bed. He got up on his knees, and easily pulled Tara's legs open to let him sit between them. He leaned over her, tracing touches up her ribs, and kissed the soft spot of her pulse on her neck, feeling just how rapid the rhythm was that made her mind rush. More kisses to her neck made her whimper, and tense for only a second at a time.

"Tara." He rasped. "Do you want me to stop?"

"Please don't." She breathed out. "Please, don't stop, Flynn." It stirred something in him the way she begged him to keep going. It was like he'd been waiting years to hear her say that.

Despite his teasing, he knew he was quite intimidating, especially now that he could see his hands in intimate comparison to her body. Flynn's hand covered from just under her ribcage, to dangerously close to her hip bone.

Flynn also knew his strength. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, or worse, scare her. He tried to keep all of this in mind as he let himself sneak a hand under the tank top she wore. "Still alright?"

"Yes- please just-" Her words died out in the moan as he slipped his hand under her bra and easily palmed her and pinched a nipple. "-Fuck.."

She took the opportunity to lift her whole top over her head, leaving her bare chest beneath him. He was about to enjoy what he had, but her fingers in his short hair, pulling gently stopped him. "Your turn first." She commanded.

Flynn didn't even let himself think over it before his shirt was on the floor. Anything to enjoy the half naked blessing under him.

She moaned and gasped as he gave small pinches to her exposed chest. Flynn let himself indulge in putting a hard nipple in his mouth, and letting Tara scratch at his scalp, being unable to get a grip on his short hair.

His short hair became more of an inconvenience to her as he made his way lower, making quick work of her shorts, exposing her wet, dripping, pussy.

However, he didn't let Tara off easy. Flynn took his time, giving soft kisses to her thighs, still playing it safe and not biting. He couldn't wait to hear her come completely undone at the mercy of his tongue, but he wanted to hear her ask for it.

"What do you want, Tara?" He asked, confidently, knowing she would struggle with her request.

"Mmm- you know~" It was like music to hear the strain in her voice, trying to get the words past moans and heavy breathing.

"I'm not sure I do know." He placed a kiss so close to her throbbing clit that she almost felt like punching him, but all she could manage was a weak attempt at pushing his head where she wanted it. They both knew that her strength was nowhere near enough to make him do anything he wasn't already planning on doing. "Use your words, Tara."

"I- I- please, Flynn- just-" Tara whined at him.

He's barely touched her and she's falling apart. "Please what?"

"Please- fuck- make me cum on your tongue." She broke.

That's all he really wanted to hear. "Well when you ask so nicely."

His tongue licked from her hole to clit before he sucked hard enough for her to see stars. Not even ten seconds in and she could feel the tension building up in her core. Flynn didn't slow at any point, despite how she clawed and attempted to pull at his hair, or how her soft thighs squeezed around his head.

What was simultaneously the worst and best of how he circled his tongue around her clit, was that she couldn't pull him away, or push him down. Flynn locked his arms around her hips, and no matter how much she struggled, there was no moving against him unless he wanted her to.

"Fuck! Flynn, I'm- I'm gonna-" she completely fell apart as her thighs tightened around his head and she all but screamed out.

Flynn savored how she spasmed around his tongue before he got up to take a look at her. Tara's chest rose and fell at an unsteady pace, slowing ever so slightly as she came down from her high.

She sat up, and accepted his kiss as he came up also. Tara could taste herself on him, but she didn't really care. She also placed kisses on Flynn's jaw and throat as he removed the rest of his clothes. Though, Tara had no intentions of letting him stay in charge.

The second he was slightly off balance, Tara gripped him and flipped him under her.

"Fuck- Tara!" He groaned out as she grinded down on him.

"I think it's my turn." Tara chuckled as she looked over his form under her. Many on Earth saw him as a god. Many more in hell imagined him as a titan or a legend. There certainly was some sort of power trip that was not wasted on Tara as the thought of holding a god beneath her went through her mind.

Though as of now, he wasn't The Slayer. He wasn't a god, a titan or a legend. Flynn was just a man. A man she trusted and wanted to get absolutely ruined by, but still just a man.

Tara moved on top of him, dragging a massive, twitching, cock up and down her dripping pussy. Flynn was clearly trying to control himself by holding onto the outside of her thighs, but she could tell he was slowly losing it with how his fingers dug into her flesh, and would probably leave little bruises.

"-Tara, please."

Suddenly his desire to hear her beg for him to make her cum was understood. "Please what?"

She could tell when he realized the script was flipped on him. Once at breakfast, again at the scanner rig, and now while she kept his release just out of reach until he asked her for it. He always kept away from eye contact before eventually coming to terms with how he'd been bested.

It was quite entertaining to watch his face while his mind blanked of all coherent sentences while she felt down his chest. "I'm not moving until you tell me what you want."

"Make me cum." It was almost like he was angry with himself that it took him so long to form the words. "Please."

"I'll take that." Tara smiled, finally sinking down on his thick cock. It was difficult to take him. When he finally bottomed out, she had to stop for a moment to adjust to the size of him. Tara might need to admit she was a little too ambitious, but she was eventually able to move, lifting her hips and falling down again, earning a soft groan from Flynn.

He could tell she was struggling, but it didn't bother him. Instead, he sat up, and wrapped strong arms tightly around her waist and hips. He started lifting her and moving with a slow, deliberately rough, pace, as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

Tara was seeing stars. Her arms wrapped around his neck, losing grip on her self control every time he hit that one spot. As her second orgasm built up, Flynn's thrusts became quicker and sporadic, like he was more desperate to feel every inch of her.

He began mumbling low assurances into her neck as she cried with how rough he became. "You're beautiful. It's ok, you're doing so good. You feel so good. It's ok." Flynn gave small kisses to her pulse and throat in between sweet words.

"S' so much."

"You can take it. It's ok." He assured her again. The rough pace, with soft words sent her over the edge, and he was followed soon after.

Neither of them moved while coming down from the high. Neither wanting to let go and have to process anything else for a while other than being wrapped up in each other's arms.

When they did move, he was hesitant to let her touch leave him. Tara noticed, and gave a soft smile. "I'm not about to disappear, Flynn."

He hummed in response. "Still don't want you to go."

She couldn't help but giggle. "Then come with me to the shower." That sounded like a good idea.

The two of them got cleaned up, though the whole time, he still didn't let her leave his touch for more than a few seconds at a time. Somehow, Tara didn't mind. If anything, she also seemed to not want to leave his touch for any longer than she had to.

Flynn didn't ask her to stay, but she didn't leave. They both seemed to agree it was too hard to separate for the night. Well, at least to sleep, since it was always night in space. Regardless of the hour, it was the easiest Flynn had gotten to sleep in years.

-Tara-

She was the first to wake up, though he had wrapped an arm around her waist, and rested his head on her chest. He was heavy, so Tara definitely wasn't going anywhere any time soon, but she also didn't really want to. Honestly, his weight was more comforting than awkward.

Flynn stirred slightly as she absentmindedly guided gentle fingers through short hair. Somehow it wasn't strange to see him like this. Like he wasn't worried about anything. His forehead where his brows were always scrunched together was softened and his breath was steady and slow.

Tara had certainly never seen him like this before, yet didn't feel new at all. Like he'd always meant to be this soft, but just couldn't while he was burdened with consciousness. While there was always something to be worried or angry about.

Ever so slowly, he became more aware of the waking world. Not that he seemed all that happy about it, but the way he stiffened, and tightened his hold on her waist told Tara that he was definitely awake. "Good morning, love. You look like you slept well."

"Why'd I have t' fuckin wake up then?" His groggy morning voice, paired with how low his voice already was, made it sound like a lion was arguing instead of Flynn. He was many things, but a morning person was not one of them.

"Because as fun as last night was, we still have shit to do."

"Why do I even wanna get shit done?"

Sure, she'd pull the card. "Because if you wanna repeat last night, then we gotta do shit."

Flynn rolled over and sat up as quickly as he could given that he had less than enough brain function to do so. "Fine, I'll get shit done."

"That's what I thought." Tara chuckled, placing a brief kiss on his cheek. She got up and stretched, earning a few satisfactory pops from her back and shoulders. "Did you find my twig yesterday?"

Flynn's expression changed from tired to slightly guilty. "Yeah, about that. Twig didn't make it back from Lima in one piece."

That sucked. "How bad is it?"

"Completely snapped in two. That baron probably stepped on it." He said, "But I did bring it back. Even as busted as it is."

That hurt a bit, but it was just a baseball bat with nails in it. Something like this was bound to happen eventually, it was just unfortunate that it was now, when usable weapons were few and far between. "Thanks for bringing it back anyway. What am I supposed to use for a weapon now?"

"Vega and I are working on something." Flynn promised as he got up. "Along with trying to find something to get you a little more armored in the field."

"You know I need to be a little more mobile than you."

"We can handle it. Don't worry. We won't send you into a fight with something that'll get you killed." He offered. "In the meantime – you know how to use a sawed-off shotgun?"

Tara eyed him suspiciously. "If it weren't the end of the world, I'd call you a cop. But yeah, I have some experience."

Flynn nodded, seemingly satisfied with her answer. He turned his back to her as he lifted his sleep shirt off, revealing quite the array of red scratches that she had left The night before. "Then you'll do fine. See you in the shop?"

"Definitely." She chirped awkwardly, turning on her heel and moving on light feet from the door.

"Hey, I want that T-shirt back!" He yelled after her.

"No 'ya don't!" Tara head him laugh in the distance

-Flynn-

The workshop was exactly how he'd left it, which was always a good sign. Though, he had a feeling today would be long before Vega became a pain in the ass.

"Enjoy your night?" The AI asked.

"Yes I did, smartass, thanks for asking."

"I, for one, thought you would kill each other a week ago."

"Well, we didn't."

"Even still, it only took you three weeks, one day, fourteen hours, and sixteen minutes to decide to sleep with her instead."

"That long!?" Tara joined them. "Damn, I must be losing my touch."

"For Tara, it only took two weeks, three days, two hours, and eleven minutes to decide to sleep with you. Which happened only an hour after deciding she wouldn't have to kill you."

"Fuck yea, it did."

Flynn was struggling to keep up. "What the hell is happening?"

"Either being horny is a competition now, or we're getting slut-shamed by a robot."

"I mean no offense."

"Then we're competing, I guess." She deduced. "And I'm winning."

That was something he could understand. "Then you won't be for long."

Tara bounced her head from side to side in thought. "Nah, I don't think I'll fall behind."

"That sounds like a challenge." He teased.

A mischievous grin spread across her cheeks. "If you can surprise me by the next mission then…"

"I get to be on top." He supplied surprisingly quickly.

"Fine. I'm only agreeing because I don't think you will." She said, "And if you can't, then I get-" she looked around the workshop until her eyes landed on the weapon rack. "Then I get to shoot the Gauss Cannon at a Girl's Night."

"Deal."

"You gonna take a swing, or are you gonna wait until I least suspect it?" Tara laughed.

"I know exactly what will surprise the hell out of you, and I don't need to be subtle to do it." Flynn let himself drift closer to her.

"Oh? Care to enlighten me?" She took another step closer to him and gently pulled on his belt with a smirk.

He towered over her. He knew how big he was, and Tara seemed to be completely unfaltered by it. Hell, she was attracted to it. "No."

She laughed as he stepped back and began working at his station again, fixing his armor. Flynn tried to pay her no mind for now, but even with her simply sitting on the floor, going through holograms about demons, she somehow kept drawing his attention.

Eventually he turned on a playlist, hoping it would distract him more than she was. His plan backfired on him when Tara began humming along to songs she knew, and even when she didn't know one, she picked up on the melody enough to follow along. It made it far too easy for Flynn to realize that he loved her voice.

It had been hours, and Flynn had made some good progress on his suit repairs. A few more small fixes and it would be good as new. Tara for her part, didn't look any less burnt out. She laid flat on her back, scrolling through one of his old discoveries on Mars about Summoners.

One song ended and the next began. It was a slow, jazzy song, one he remembered his mom liking back in the day. Most of those memories felt so far away that it was like he was remembering a fact that he'd been told about someone else. Not like it was his own life.

But this was his own life, and if he had it, he was gonna use it. Flynn strolled up to Tara. She shot him a confused look when he offered a hand to help her up. It was break-time and goddammit, they both needed to stop using their brains for a little.

She skeptically took his hand and he helped her up. Flynn was met with very little resistance as he pulled her to him and started swaying her with the song.

Tara barked out a laugh, settling into the dance easily. "You're just a big doofus, aren't you?"

"At least when the armor is off." He chuckled back, swaying side to side with Tara to to slow swing of the song.

The two fell into comfortable silence. He'd be lying if he said this didn't have the same effect on him as he was trying to have on her.

In moments like these it felt far more intimate than having her in his bed. Simply having her close, enjoying the warmth of her waist in his hands and her head resting on his chest in quiet lull with the music. Like he was trying to tell her that the only thing that he could ever ask for was for her to stay.

Please, just stay.

Tara gasped slightly and lifted her head for a moment like some realization just hit her like a truck. Green eyes searched his face for some clue, and ultimately landed on the exact conclusion he was waiting for her to find.

"Shit." It was spoken like the word had surprised her.

There it is.

The way to surprise Tara wasn't to make a smooth move, or say something that made her face turn red and her knees weak. No, it was to show her that she was safe. Truly, unconditionally, safe.

The song ended just as slowly as it started. Her forehead dropped against his chest as she let out a defeated sigh. "You win."

"I'll stash that away for the future." He placed a kiss on the crown of her head as he held her there. Eventually he let her go sit down once again after their little break, and he got back to work on the suit.

Flynn could get used to this: having someone else in his workspace, just to enjoy having the company. Hours could go by and he would just be happy that she chose to stay. Every once in a while he'd see Tara shuffle or move around. Maybe he should get her a chair, or something softer than a scavenged rug to sit on.

A soft "Oh fuck." Came from where she was laying on the floor.

Tara had found a picture from the Lazarus project with a sleeping demon set into a wall somewhere in Hell, but she looked terrified.

"What is it?"

Standing up, she brought the hologram to him. "She look familiar?"

Oddly enough, she did. Really, the thing looked like a Summoner, but six times the size with more gold than he'd ever seen on a demon, running along spines and embedded in her head. It looked like the bony wall had swallowed most of her, and she lay sleeping there.

"That's the original Mania." Tara said, pulling up another report. "Dr. Hive on Lazarus was trying to wake and weaponize her. When that didn't work, they just harvested the energy from the prison."

"That's the energy they used on you?" He asked.

"Yeah… she was a titaness. Records at her prison say she was feared and respected across her realm, but she decided to conquer territory that didn't belong to her. Other titans didn't like it, all that much and they turned on her. But her energy stayed within the prison, even in her sleep. Every so often, her energy would build up enough and influence working minds to attempt freeing her."

"So Hive wasn't as smart as they thought."

Tara laughed. "Maybe not. I think they definitely weren't as objective as they thought. This report is nothing but hypocrisy from them about the nature of Mania. They just thought they were built different."

"What about the demons?" Flynn asked, idly fiddling with wiring while they spoke. "Why do they call you that?"

"I think some may actually have me confused with her." She guessed. "The more coherent demons can tell that I'm at least mostly human. But I don't know if they call me that because it's the only name they have for this energy, or because they believe I'm some kind of reincarnation or something. Honestly, I hope I never find out."

"That's a smart choice." He agreed. "I don't usually read the reports unless I have to figure out how to kill something I haven't met before. Everything else is just fucking aggravating."

"Fair enough, but unfortunately this means I have to find an answer to a question before it finds me and answers itself." Tara figured.

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"If the Hell Priests conquering Earth give more than one sleeping titan energy, then what does that mean for Mania and me?"

#doom oc #doom fanfiction #doomguy x reader #doom slayer #doomguy #doom slayer x oc #doom slayer x mania #doom slayer x reader #oc mania

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libellule-ao3 · 7 months ago

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4,6,9,24 and 40 for the ask game my lovely dark friend 🖤

Hello my dear Dark Queen🖤

Thank you for your asks!

4. what’s an inside joke you have with your family or friends?

After inadvertently sitting on a 'fragile, please handle with care' label, I took my children to school. Then on my return, my partner said he approved of what was written on my bottom before removing one of the fucking labels. Instant of mortification realizing how many people have seen that on my bottom!!! but now the word 'fragile' is our code for pointing out a problem with our outfit for good reason or…as a joke. 😈

6.what’s the best and worst part of being online/a creator?

The process of publishing and engaging with nice people who share similar interests and are in a spirit of sharing and conviviality. Additionally, I love discovering the creative processes of those whose works I appreciate, or their perception of a character.

Despite my strict conception of a safe space, having an online presence sometimes entails exposure to potential unpleasant or malicious behaviours. This triggers negative emotions in me such as insecurity, frustration, disgust, disdain, or rejection. Furthermore, I make no excuses for these behaviours because I believe that if someone is mature enough to be on social networks, they are mature enough to know how not to be a jerk. That said, if this is the aspect of their personality they want to show to the world, so be it, but I am not obliged to endure it, and I will organise my online experience accordingly.

9.tell a story about your childhood

Okay… One time, I was poking around my grandfather's workshop and I found a can of neon pink spray paint that he'd used to mark trees for cutting. A dream for any kid! 🤩And the old greasy workshop, full of old and not so old tools, needed redecorating from my point of view. From nails to chainsaws, workbenches, vices, spanners, drills, sledgehammers, axes and walls. Everything in the workshop got a girly touch, but my grandparents didn't appreciate my creativity. 🤣

24. what’s one thing you’re proud of yourself for?

My professional and personal career.

40. any bad habits?

I curse regularly, sometimes in quite a creative manner.😅

#ask game #lib talks

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theriveroflight · 1 year ago

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Heads Up, Seven Up Tag Game!

Thanks to @multiversal-madness for tagging me.

Rules: Post the last seven lines of your WIP, and then tag no more than seven people to continue.

There’s two workbenches pushed together in an L-shape, with a stool that Kamila presumably drags around when she needs it. There’s a miniature bandsaw, a belt sander, and a soldering iron on one of the workbenches. The other is largely empty save for an anvil. Both of them have a couple built-in vices. There’s also a welding station facing away from Alma’s desk, with heat shields all around it. The welder sitting on top of it is of decent quality, and the mask sitting beside it will protect Kamila’s eyes. “That’s pretty much it,” she says. “Do you want me to make something for you?”

started a new Ghost Trick WIP after I hit a plot wall

Tagging: @magicwhiskers29 @courtrecord @snapdraqons @tiredfloridianbutverygay and anyone else who wants to!

#ghost trick #wip #my writing

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toolssuppliersinuaedubaiuae · 11 months ago

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#Bench Vice suppliers in Dubai #v-block supplier in uae #carbide endmill supplier in Dubai uae #carbide drill bit supplier in Dubai uae #mitutoyo distributors in dubai uae #dubai

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caseoficarus · 1 year ago

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LOADING FILE… ID #010815 AKA CODENAME: ICARUS. ETHAN HOFFMAN. FELIX MALLARD.

— GENDER: MALE. PRONOUNS: HE/HIM. AGE: TWENTY-TWO. YEAR: JUNIOR. STUDYING: ENGINEERING. CITY OF ORIGIN: SAN JOSE, CALIFORNIA, USA.

NOW PLAYING… PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS BY KID CUDI. A CLUTTERED WORKBENCH, ANOTHER ROUND OF SHOTS ON HIM, REWEARING LAST NIGHT’S CLOTHES IN THE MORNING, ELABORATE HANGOVER CURES.

IF THE WALLS COULD TALK, THEY’D TELL YOU HE STOLE THE DESIGNS OF AN INVENTION THAT AWARDED HIM A SCHOLARSHIP TO ATTEND UNIVERSITY.

MENTOR: AVILA, FRANCISCO. INDUCTION YEAR: 2020. ERROR: FILE IS CORRUPT. PLEASE REFRESH.

Name: Ethan Wallace Hoffman Nicknames: E Age: 22 Birthday: August, 15th, 2001 FC: Felix Mallard Gender: Male Pronouns: He/Him/His Sexuality: Bisexual Height: 5′10 Blood Type: B+ Build: Slim Vices: Cannabis, Alcohol, Cigarettes, Party Drugs Favorite Colors: Red & Black

History

Ethan had always been the golden boy. Born to a renowned inventor and toy maker (think the likes of the Bop It or Furby) the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. From a young age Ethan showed signs of wanting to be just as inventive as his father and his creative spark was nurtured as soon as he started crafting his first creations out of cardboard and tape. The older he got the more tools became at his disposal and while Ethan never ended up reinventing the wheel, he felt he got damn close. He watched his father’s success and knew one day he’d follow in his father’s footsteps and be a great inventor. Coming from money and his father’s impressive line of work it was no surprise that Ethan made friends easily growing up. Who wouldn’t want to be friends with the kid who practically gave out toys just for hanging out? His house was always deemed the cool hangout spot for his extensive toy collection and movie theater in the basement. The older Ethan got his house soon transformed into the party house whenever his parents were away on vacation. While Ethan wasn’t the type of guy you’d go to if you had a problem, he could easily be depended on for having a good time and to cheer you up if you were in a bad mood. He was always carefree and reckless and with parents who hardly told him no his impulses only flourished. Ethan always did well in school despite his party boy nature. Learning came easily to him but that didn’t mean he went off to university directly after high school much to his parents' chagrin. Instead Ethan took off several years to travel the world and see what it had to offer. He visited over ten countries during his travels and made hundreds of new friends in the process but when he returned to the states his parents had an ultimatum for him. If he wanted to continue being supported he had to go off to college and get a degree. While the pressure was only light from his parents he took it as a sign to go to university as far away from them as possible as an act of rebellion. Money wasn’t an issue for Ethan but still he applied for various engineering scholarships. Feeling like he was in a time crunch and ultimately from his own laziness he ended up using one of his father’s inventions to win the scholarship he used to get into Daskalos University. He’d liked Greece from his time traveling and thought that it was as good a place to go to university as any.

Headcanons

He lives in his own dorm without a roommate. He figured having a roommate could wind up being a buzzkill and he wanted the privacy to be able to bring home whomever he wanted whenever he wants.

His favorite color is red and is almost always wearing it on his person in the form of red converse.

Before he graduates college he hopes to come up with the next greatest drinking game to rival beer pong. So far all his ideas for games are too elaborate for drunk people to understand.

He was almost kicked out of the dionysia for being late. He shows up just in the nick of time more often than not.

Ethan attends almost every party on campus. He’s under the impression that a party doesn’t start until he walks in.

He schedules all his classes for the afternoon or evening because he’s rarely up before eleven AM.

#daskalosintro

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wintersandthebeast · 2 years ago

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24. Rain

RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi

Link to Master List

(images are from vhenan_virabelisan on instagram...and this photo of ethan inspired this entire story, so you can thank her for that lol)

Karl’s eyes closed against the incoming kiss, and after Ethan had uttered I trust you , he felt an unexpected welling of tears behind closed lids. Trust? Karl was a killer--he was a monster, created by another monster--and unlike his time spent in the other place with Ethan, Karl on this earth had a cadou. He had animal instincts. It was one of many reasons he isolated himself for years. Indulgence was infrequent, calculated, and still often ended poorly, for his lack of social skills paired with his rough handling and altered DNA made for a man not created for love or tenderness or--

Ethan was pressing into him, desperate in his own way. Karl still had one hand to the other man’s throat, the other uncertainly lingering by his side. But his fingers curled into a fist and he flexed his fingers as he sensed something else. Fear? The engineer pulled back and nearly jerked Winters upright, turning the man’s throat in his hand and inhaling deeply. As though he could intake his very essence.

Something had happened; Karl didn’t know what, but he felt and smelled the terror coming from the other man. Whatever had scared him, Ethan had called Karl to him. And was now begging for Karl to consummate their relationship, despite always keeping his distance before. Despite having no memory recovery of their previous time together.

After Karl drank in the scent of the other man, his yellow eyes scanned the room. He could feel the unease. Some leftover fragments in Ethan’s mind, perhaps. He slid his hand from Ethan’s throat down to his shoulder and made his mind up quickly. Ethan wanted him? Karl didn’t take much convincing, and although he was loath to submit to his own feral instinct, he also loved the power…he’d dreamed of taking Ethan since he’d seen the man. Even before they officially met.

“Not here,” he growled, and pulled Ethan out of bed after him.

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

Ethan stumbled along the darkened hallway feeling both trepidation and excitement…but that was all he ever felt around Karl, wasn’t it? The other moved with all the energy and loudness of a freight train through the hallway. When they reached the kitchen the metal objects began to rattle and Ethan’s heart doubled in speed. Karl grabbed something unseen from his now-repaired-dining-table-workbench, and then dragged Ethan out the door.

Ethan wanted to protest. He was barefoot. So was Karl. The moon was hidden by rain clouds, and the light from the manor didn’t reach very far into the expanse of the garden. Now the fear returned. Was Karl really going to drag him into the woods? Weren’t there wolves? Other animals? Ethan was propelled by his own feet and the vice grip Heisenberg had on him as they descended into the stone walled gardens, some of which overlooked the west mountains, away from the village remains.

Now the dim light turned into darkness, and Ethan blinked when Heisenberg sat on an overgrown stone slab boundary, yanking the blond onto his lap and taking control of the back of Ethan’s neck, hands grasping at the short strands of hair as he pulled Ethan’s mouth down onto his own. Rain chilled Ethan’s skin when he leaned forward. When he shivered, he felt the wave of heat again…Karl, too much of a match for even the biting cold of late Romanian winter.

The passionate moment was punctuated by the rain, but also with Karl raking his hands down Ethan’s back in a less-than-gentle way. Ethan’s sixth sense was mixing with Karl now, unwillingly. He could feel the anticipation, the almost-giddiness. Almost out of time. Can’t hold back much longer. Can’t hurt him. Get him ready.

The searing pain from Karl’s hands and the warmth from his body were interrupted with other flickers. The flashbacks.

Ethan’s senses were too overloaded to process the where or what of the flashbacks. They weren’t unpleasant, he simply felt as though he were dissociating from this moment and into other moments where Karl held him. Where he should have felt fear from Karl’s uncertain grip on self control, Ethan simply felt anticipation.

Karl had dropped whatever he was holding, and his hands simply grabbed Ethan over and over, running along his back, ribs, digging into his thighs and dragging the other’s groin over his own. Ethan whimpered into the kiss when he rubbed against Karl’s hardness. This whimper seemed to push Heisenberg further along, because he grabbed Ethan by the shoulders and instantly they were both off the bench and onto the ground.

Wet, cold grass rubbed against Ethan’s entire back, piercingly cold, and he almost cried out from the sensation. But in another instant he heard fabric ripping and realized Karl was tearing his clothes off. The man writhed, attempting to assist the other in removing everything. Moments later they were both naked in the rain, Karl crawling up and over Ethan, his eyes glowing faintly.

Ethan heard the clanking of a chain--one of the things Karl had picked up, he realized, as the magnetized iron shot up and looped around Ethan’s wrists. His arms were thrown up over his head and he stared up in a strange state of fascination at the restraints. When Ethan tugged against the chain, it stayed put, as though it weighed hundreds of pounds. Somehow the submission pacified Winters and his body relaxed despite being chilled with rain.

Now Karl poured something onto himself, his hands, Ethan’s crotch…oil? The blond bit his lip to keep from gasping, but moments later Karl’s rough hand slid down to stroke him, a growl in the other man’s chest. Karl was, if possible, breathing faster and harder than Ethan as he pushed a finger tentatively inside the other. Ethan’s lip now wasn’t sufficient to keep him silent and he grunted, then moaned loudly.

Suddenly Karl’s hand was back on his throat, stifling the moan and turning Ethan’s face to the side. He could smell the damp earth, the frosted grass, as Karl’s wet hair fell into the crook of his shoulders. The older man was muttering to himself rather than Ethan, low notes of German as he licked and tasted Ethan’s flesh. His breath was hot, his tongue demanding and his bite barely restrained. Ethan struggled against the chain, wanting to embrace the engineer, run his fingers up the other’s back, but when he found he couldn’t move his arms, his hips instead came up to beseech the man for more.

With an angry, gruff sound Karl pulled away, withdrawing his fingers and sitting up, the look in his eyes as he stared down at the blond hungrier than ever. He’d wanted Ethan this way since watching the stubbornness, the fire, of the other months ago. Wanted to take all of the other’s need for control, for safety, and turn him into something else--something dependent, something that answered to another. Give him respite from the responsibility that plagued his very being. Tear it all down.

And build something else back.

Karl’s hands clawed into the dirt as he pushed forward, his tip at Ethan’s entrance, his face a foot over Ethan with tangled hair hiding most of his dangerously hungry expression. He tried to smile, but it turned out as a snarl, as he teased and pushed further. Below him Ethan still writhed, hips bucking up in a silent beg. The man’s face was an expression of lust that if anything matched Karl’s--the only nagging fear lingered in his eyes. They were wide, white shining in the dark, betraying his uncertainty despite his trust in the other.

Karl could feel Ethan’s cock against his lower stomach as he pressed, teasing them both, and now the snarl did transform into a smile, only momentarily. They were both slick with the oil and now dripping from the rain. Hand around the other’s throat, feeling familiar now, feeling right. Ethan’s eyes closed against it as though he too found it reassuring.

In a barely intelligible voice Karl issued, “Look at me,” before grasping Ethan’s hair with his other hand. His command was followed and the man’s wide eyes now fluttered as Karl moved the hand on Ethan’s neck to cover his mouth. Then Karl sank in deeply, pushing with his hips until he was buried in the other man. Though he craved to let instinct take over completely he held back, pausing with a grunt while Ethan writhed and spasmed. He knew he was wide, and was trying to allow the other time to get used to him. But his breath became even more ragged and began puffing around them in a cloud of steam as Ethan moaned behind the hand, his eyes continually fluttering shut.

“I said, look at me,” Karl growled, with a tug at Ethan’s hair, and now Winters’ eyes flew open again. Karl pulled back out, his own lids heavy with the sensation of the other man clenching around him. His heart hammered when Ethan continued to obey, the whimpering moans intensifying as he again had to adjust to the absence of Karl inside him. His eyes were steady now.

Talking meant Heisenberg was still in control, meant that he could hold on and not lose to instinct, so he continued, his eyes dancing with pride at Winters’ eye contact. The fear was fading from Ethan’s hazel eyes, slowly being replaced with something else, something just as primal. Submission. Trust. “That’s it,” Karl breathed as he pressed forward again, this stroke slightly faster, slightly less careful. Ethan panted into Karl’s palm. And even though Karl was faltering with his own caution, the other’s hips still rose to meet him until Karl was grinding against Ethan’s thighs.

With another squeeze from the man below him, Karl groaned and nearly collapsed onto Winters. He caught himself with his palms, Ethan’s mouth now free to mutter its own curses and groans as Karl quickly withdrew. Their eyes met one more time, Karl’s control now completely faltering as he choked out, “Ethan,” before driving into the other man. His head fell onto Winters’ chest and there his hot breath issued, repeated grunts as he began to thrust faster.

It was excruciating--Ethan wasn’t ready for this fast pace yet, but he knew as he heard Heisenberg’s steady timed grunting that the other was deep in his own need, having held back all he could. This knowledge along with every captured sense around Ethan was too overwhelming--heavy chains on his wrists, cold earth all around him, colder rain drenching them both, the delectable and overwhelming bodywide sensation of being completely filled, the tang from Karl’s earlier bites on his neck and shoulder, and now the other’s building passion as he worked in a furor to open Ethan up for him.

Ethan’s gasps were punctuated by the fuzzy, warm images of flashbacks that opened up a thousand more touches. Karl’s lips on his neck. Tracing his tongue along Ethan’s ear. Strong arms around him, lowering him down onto hot thighs. Spreading his legs for entry. So many different memories blended, fading away again every time Karl intensified his breeding instinct, pulling Ethan back into the present, where the hissing sound of midnight rain washed away every hesitation and he again melted in the other’s arms.

Karl’s hands were still clawing into the dirt, but now as he lost control he began seeking Ethan by touch, his face pressed into Ethan’s chest, his tongue and teeth exploring. The iron chain collapsed as Karl furiously pounded, and the blond reached around for anything to grasp. Another stone bench was just out of reach of his fingers, and now he grabbed it, bracing himself so that Karl could work his entire body. Ethan’s toes curled as the pain and pleasure began to cause a repetitive throbbing sensation deep within his groin.

“F-fuck!” was all he could muster, a desperate sound that left chilled blue lips. He had never had this and had always wanted it. His entire life was a series of rescues, whether he was rescuing himself or someone else. Ethan never had the time or found the right person to take away that burden, willingly take charge of him, push him into submission, but he craved it with every fiber of his being.

Now he brought one hand down from the position he braced with to run through Karl’s soaking wet hair; the other’s head was still down as he succumbed to the rut, but now at Ethan’s tender touch his head snapped up, familiar snarl on his scarred lips as his breath puffed around them.

Karl’s forearms ground into the dirt as he crawled up toward Ethan, teeth bared, looking almost monstrous in the dark. Ethan’s other hand curled up to Karl’s cheek as his legs now wrapped around Karl’s waist. He met the ferocity and animalistic aggression with tenderness, fingers stroking the wild hair and scarred skin. Karl growled, flinching away as if the display of affection hurt him. Ethan grasped the man’s face and pulled it back toward him, continuing to lovingly stroke the scars and wipe the strands of hair away from the other’s haunted, lost eyes.

The flashbacks stilled as Ethan instead began to sense Karl’s inner emotions. There were no thoughts as he pumped his hips, but the emotions were all full of pain--hate, regret, loneliness, desperation. It seemed to emanate from Heisenberg like his radiating heat, or the electric sizzling in the misty air. His only release from this mental prison was physical, and he was close. Ethan tightened his grip on Karl’s face, now the one forcing eye contact. He’d been pushed closer to the stone slab and now propped his back up on it, rising toward Heisenberg with a resolve in those hazel eyes where fear had been before.

“Karl,” he said with a hitch of breath, feeling his own need throbbing alongside the other’s. The wind picked up, howling as though it intended to wipe them both from the earth. Sheets of rain fell and Ethan threw his head back, feeling the crook of the cold stone as Karl plunged one final time, the groan of the engineer lost in the wind and Ethan’s gasps as he felt the other man’s release trigger his own--

And then Ethan froze, hands clawing to sit upright as he gasped over and over. Karl hauled him into his lap, sitting back on his haunches. Ethan was now the one scratching the other grunting man’s back as Karl buried his face in Ethan’s neck. The engineer held onto the man who belonged to him, keeping him pinned through his orgasm. They came almost together, Karl’s groans low, Ethan’s gasps almost sounding like sobs as he trembled. Karl held him tightly, lips pressed into Ethan’s neck.

He finally looked up at the blond with bleary eyes, seeing Ethan’s dark amber eyes go wide with surprise. The convulsions slowed, both men physically spent, but now Ethan’s breath didn’t return. He stared at Karl with a new expression--shock. Disbelief. Some strange, eerie slack jawed look that made the brunette sigh and loosen his hold on Winters.

“Ethan,” Karl began hesitantly, unsure what this new look was. He gulped in the rainy air and swallowed. He prepared to hear rejection, hatred, mockery. Any number of things he’d heard before. Karl swallowed.

“Karl,” Ethan said breathlessly, and now the long thin fingers wound themselves up to Karl’s face again. Ethan’s mouth was open, his lips parting in a half-shocked smile.

“It--all came back.”

The engineer gave a slight shake of his head. He didn’t understand.

“Everything.” Ethan exhaled, his nostrils flaring, and he pressed his forehead against Karl’s. His eyes closed in ecstasy. “I remember everything.”

#winters and the beast #wintersberg

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