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protecterfromafar · 2 years

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a kitten's needs

❥ Ayato X Gender Neutral Reader

❥ after a night of your master punishing you, amidst your master taking care of your superficial wounds, you want more...and being such a kind man, he offers it to you

❥ 18 + only | rated e | explicit sexual content

❥ aftercare, anal sex, breeding, creampie, established relationship

❥ read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40547937

Laying across Ayato’s lap while absolutely bare, you could honestly fall asleep right then and there. Not even factoring the fatigue of letting him train and test your obedience coupled with sexual pleasure, his soothing hands on your skin make it all the more somnolent.

“Your skin takes on a lovely shade with abrasion.” Ayato cooes, rubbing warm ointment across the tender flesh of your ass cheeks. “Are you in any pain?”

“No…” You sigh softly, clutching the pillow soaked with your drool from moments earlier. “I feel fine…you didn’t have to do all…this…” Your body is already warm the way you were splayed out across his thighs; there’s a clear difference in your mind between your shared intimate desires and his keen gaze solely focusing on your naked body.

Ayato huffs and massages the back of your thigh. “What kind of master would I be to neglect my possessions? It would be a shame if I brought you to so much ruin that your body could no longer withstand my touch.”

Your cheeks flush then, burning at his poetic kindness. “My L-lord…”

“You don’t need to adhere to our titles now…is there a collar around your neck?”

He is right; the pair of you have already established boundaries and rules. The moment you agree to wear a collar bearing his name, you follow his commands lest you want his punishment (which is definitely most of the time since disobedience is in your nature).

But right now, you are collar free, being tended to by Ayato, who is not your master at this moment.

“Sorry…Ayato…”

“Mmm, good kitten.” Ayato praises you softly. You squeak at his words. “So easily flustered, aren’t you?”

You whine despite knowing deep down he’s right. “Not always!”

“But…right now?”

“Hng..” You bury your face in your pillow, pouting. “I’m not answering that.”

Ayato merely chuckles. “Well maybe you won’t,” his hands slide up your inner thigh, teasing you ever so lightly between your legs. “But your body answers honestly to me.”

You gasped as he touched you, swirled his finger where you were sensitive and wet. Your back arched on instinct, tensing as he fondled you with gentle ease. “A-ayato!” “Leaking already? I was trying to give you an earnest massage for your bruised skin to make sure you heal properly. Do you get aroused with every touch I give?”

A small moan leaves your lips, further drooling onto the pillow as he trails a single finger back between your cheeks. The soreness of your ass has gone by now, but the dampness of his cum still lingering inside of you despite Ayato cleaning you rather well invites his explorative graze. “N-not true?”

Ayato clicks his tongue in playful disappointment. “I figured I had given you quite the experience tonight…I stopped counting how many times you came while I spanked you, while this tight little hole was stuffed so full. Was it not enough, kitten? Is your heat not satiated?”

His praise coupled with your magic word has you losing your self-control faster than you’d like. You can already feel warmth brewing low in your abdomen, the dampness between your legs most likely felt on Ayato’s bare legs. Though he has a loose yukata over his shoulders, hiked up above his waist, you know he is just as bare as you underneath everything.

It would be…so easy…for him to just…

“Naughty…” Ayato hums, one finger slowly stroking your insides, swirling around in a mess he created while watching you writhe against his touch. “Looks like my needy kitten needs more attention.”

You want to protest, but the prospect of having more than just his finger penetrating you once more clouds your judgment. When Ayato nudges in a second finger into your sloppy hole, you definitely lower your pride to receive him. “Aya..t-to…” Ayato humds, his free hand smoothing over the expanse of your back as he fingers you slowly, rolling and spreading his two fingers inside you. “Do you hear how wet you are?”

Your pillow muffles your whines, but you certainly can hear how slick your ass is. “P-please…” You beg bashfully.

“Please what?” He teases you, stroking the back of your neck with warm fingers. It brings a pleasant chill through your body, mewling like a little kitten would.

“M-make it…wetter…”

Ayato does not hide the amused laughter at your phrase. “A collared kitten would be spanked for such a request.” You mewl at the implication, your thighs becoming even more damp with the tone of his voice.

But you were not a collared kitten right then and there, so he indulges in your desires…for now.

“I suppose I’ll reward you.” Ayato says while slipping his fingers free from your hole. “Stay on your stomach, but put your back to me.”

You do as you are told, using your arms to crawl over the futon. Your knees slide down Ayato’s outer thighs, straddling him quite lewdly. You crawl back just enough until you feel a gentle hand against the curve of your backside, stopping you in your place.

“Stunning.” Ayato murmurs under his breath as he parts the fabric covering him, draping it behind him to expose himself completely. “Why do you look…so much better…with your body already used by me?”

The pillow becomes less and less effective at muffling your moans, especially when he teases your hole with the head of his cock. It feels so sticky, stroking you slowly as he leaves a trail of precum against you. In this position, his thigh presses between your legs, allowing you to grind against it for sweet, sweet friction.

“Relax, kitten.” Ayato cooes, gently nudging your opening until his head catches. You moan at the sensation, shivering as he slowly slides deeper. He takes his time with you, especially with the absence of lube since he has used it all on you just a few hours previous. The remnants of his old cum is enough to not tear skin, but perhaps not enough to ease the burn.

Your heart thrums at his softness, enjoying your lord’s sweet moments when he offers them. As much as him destroying your sanity with divine punishment, you equally love when he shows just how much he truly cares for you behind the commissioner’s facade.

“So tight…” Ayato grunts, massaging your hip as he inches forward with nothing but patience.

“D-deeper!” You whine, the stretch of his cock making you want to scream in delight. You have no doubt drenched Aayato’s thigh in precum, but you think he doesn’t mind quite yet.

Ayato caves for you, lifting his own hips just enough until his balls are pressed against you, not an inch left for Ayato to give. You moan at the sensations of him throbbing inside of you, sliding back into its proper home. You felt as if your insides were meant just for him, conforming to the shape of his length so he fits tight like a glove.

“F-fuck…” You curse, shaking as he’s holding you absolutely still. There is truly no better feeling than Ayato’s cock balls deep inside of you.

“Naughty language.” Ayato clicks his tongue but he doesn’t spank you. There’s no time for that now. Instead, he slowly drags his cock back out only to thrust back in. The tempo is drastically different than before, no roughness in his movements or his words.

Ayato drowns you in praise, admiring his own cum now sticky on his shaft every time he ruts into you. The hands on your hips and thighs are gentle, fingers squeezing you so delicately like a treasure. He takes his time fucking you, watching your tight swollen hole stretch for his girth and disappear into your hole.

The slowness is maddening but absolutely intoxicating. If Ayato moved any faster, however, the magic of the placid mood. And you know he won’t hesitate to jump on a moment to collar you up and destroy your insides one way or another.

Not now…not yet.

“You’re making such a mess of my leg, dear kitten. Are you addicted to my cock that much?”

You could not fathom lying. “It’s so good…I’m gonna cum…”

Ayato chuckles. “Your words are starting to match your body’s responses.” He pulls out halfway, holding still and causing you to cry in desperation. “Do you feel how tightly you’re squeezing me? You want to keep me buried deep inside so you can milk me of everything I have.”

“A-ayato! Put it in!”

“Hmm? Put what in?”

You feel embarrassment take over your body as you lift your head up from your pillow. “Put your cock inside me and cum!”

“Hmm…I think that can be arranged.” Ayato is in no punishing mood, but to say he doesn’t enjoy teasing you enough until you beg would be naught but a lie. He pushes back inside of you, rubbing his balls against you until you cry out. “Squeeze me nice and tight, kitten.” His deep sultry voice is enough. Clamping down hard on him, you climax with passion. You throw your head back, lost in the throes of ecstasy as you cum all over Ayato’s thigh. It’s intense, exhilarating, despite how slow and gentle he has treated you.

“G-good kitten, keep squeezing me, I’m so close.”

The stutter in your voice gives you a wash of pride you don’t usually experience with Ayato. You love relinquishing all control to him, so much so that when he falters because of you, it only inflates your ego.

Amidst your shivering, pleasure still having its hand around your throat and at its mercy, you clench your ass around him. Over and over, you tighten around him, whimpering as you can feel how much he’s pulsing inside of you.

But even the temperate Kamisato Ayato quakes under your grasp. He moans softly behind you, spreading open your cheeks as he cums. You feel his sticky warmth filling your insides, coating your walls in his seed once more. You feel claimed, owned, and very much loved. Each squeeze of his balls and low grunt from his lips make you leak even more, tiny rivers trickling down his thighs at how good it feels to be bred.

You reach down below, palming down your torso and stopping at your belly. You swear you could nearly feel him beneath the skin, marking you as his own. Deep down, you wish he could keep cumming, filling you until your belly is swollen and puffy with his seed.

“Mmm…kitten, you drive me crazy.”

Ayato slips his cock from inside you, the sound wet and lewd. You cry at the loss, especially when his cum starts dripping out of you.

“Look at you. Such a lewd little hole.” Ayato murmurs, using a finger to push some of the cum back inside you. “Do you want to be plugged, kitten?”

You nod incessantly, reaching between your legs to try and plug yourself with shaking fingers. “Ayato…p-please…”

He gently crawls out from under your thighs, rummaging to a host of custom-made toys crafted simply for you and you alone. Ayato hums once he’s found something suitable for you before returning to your side. “Relax for me, love.” Ayato soothes his hand over the small of your back, pressing cold metal to your hole. “Exhale.”

As you listen, Ayato slides the plug into your ass. You whine softly as it enters you, stretching wide once more before settling just past your swollen rim. It’s comforting, cooling the burning sensation only Ayato could dissipate.

“Good kitten.” He purrs. “A fitting tail for such a pet.” Ayato lays the other end of the plug against your back, a long fluffy tail to accentuate your attitude. “Do you feel better now?”

You can only sigh in relief. “Mhm…t-thank you.”

Ayato smiles and rummages around the room out of sight. “My poor kitten…needing to be fucked even after I tortued you all night. Perhaps I’ll have to be a bit rougher next time.”

You wince, fear and excitement manifesting in goosebumps on your skin. But, perhaps it is in your nature, but you feel like you’ll have to disobey even more if it gets Ayato to punish you to your absolute limits.

“You are quite lucky, however, that I enjoy wiping the slate of your body clean so I have a fresh canvas to paint on for next time.”

Oh…you were certainly doomed.

#genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin #reader #x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #kamisato ayato #ayato x you

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mangofetts · 4 years

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star wars filthy headcanons

NSFW UNDER THE CUT!!

din djarin

HUGE breeding kink. this man loves to fill you to the brim. every mandalorian learns from a young age about the resol’nare and he wants to fulfill his duty as best he can. on the subject of this, he cums a lot, like an unhealthy amount. this comes from the mando race in general.

big bondage fan. loves to use the binders on you or tie you up with rope. he uses the magnetic binders so he can pin your hands above you and keep them there without him constantly making sure they’re there. also helps him relax and make sure that you don’t make any moves to take off his helmet while he’s not paying attention (not that you would, but he likes to make sure). he also likes pinning you with his body. loves gagging you as well.

cum play. since his load is big, it doesn’t stay in you for long so he likes to go back in with his fingers and plug your cunt so no more comes out. he loves facials and/or cumming on your chest, belly, and thighs. something about that just drives him crazy, seeing you marked with him. he also scoops the cum up and feeds it to you or even rubs it into your skin like it’s oil for a massage (he’ll clean you up real good if he does that don’t worry ;))

gun play. he likes when you’re helpless under him with his blaster to your forehead as he tells you to not move or make any noise. there have beens times where he fucks you on his blaster and makes you suck all your juices off of it. HE ALWAYS MAKES SURE THE CHAMBER IS EMPTY AND THE SAFETY IS ON BEFORE HE DOES THIS. he does not want to hurt you unless you want it and he would never shoot you.

control and authority kink. he likes to have control over you. likes to pull your strings and make you do whatever he says. even better if you’re a brat, he’ll just have to be rougher with you.

a dom/sub relationship, with you being the sub most of the time. you guys use a lot of bdsm elements. you don’t call him any names in bed unless he wants you to. it’s either mando or din.

cockwarming!! he likes to make sure that his cum stays inside of you and he likes the feeling of you around him.

praise kink both ways. he likes to praise you for taking him so well, for listening to him. and he likes to be praised because he wants to know what he’s doing is good. he’s been deprived of praise since he was little (the mandalorians are proud of him, just never showed it) so he needs it when he’s with you.

paz vizsla

once again, huge breeding kink for the same reasons as din. he also just loves kids and would like to have his own clan instead of looking after other foundlings. he also cums an inhuman amount.

DADDY KINK. he loves being your daddy in bed, especially when you’re nice and desperate for him. this also has to do with the breeding kink, just all around big daddy vibes.

body worship. people are often afraid of him and he blames it on how big he is. sometimes he needs someone to tell him he’s not frightening. he loves doing to same for you, complimenting you endlessly if you need some pick-me-ups or if he’s just in the mood (which is literally all the time.

cockwarming. after filling you up, he likes to clean you up, and then put his soft cock back inside of you so his cum stays inside of you. will usually end up in morning sex.

praise kink. he LOVES being praised by you. telling him that he’s so good, that he’s absolutely beautiful, and that he’s strong makes him PREEN. he tries to return the favor by praising you, but he stammers and stutters it out because he’s not used to saying stuff like that out loud.

size kink. this man is 6’3”, almost 6’6” with his armor on. he loves smaller people because they’re tiny and fragile and he could just crush them in the palm of his hand. he is THICK. 100% GRASS FED BEEF MY GUY. big tiddies, big arms, big guy in general. he is very blessed under the belt, his cock is inhumanly big. he likes to hold you down and make you take it. likes to watch you take it too. if you want to drive him crazy, make it look like you are absolutely struggling to take him; any form of that will make him keen. tell him that his cock is too big for you, that’s he’s so big and that he’s going to split you in half. he will break you and you won’t be able to walk for days.

definitely a voyeur. he likes watching you pleasure yourself. he also likes being watched, even more than you’d think.

likes when you play hard to get. like he’s a predator and your his pray. alas you won’t run very far, his legs are longer than yours, but it’s what he does that makes it worth it.

boba fett

control kink, this is pretty obvious. notorious bounty hunter. he likes having complete control over you. this leads into his bondage kink.

bondage, also likes using the binders on you, no rope though, just the binders. he likes to watch you struggles and they make pretty bruises on your wrists and ankles.

likes to mark you up, make sure everyone knows that you’re his. he doesn’t want to lose his baby now does he? bites and bruises all over your body from his mouth, hands, and sometimes his boots if you’re into that.

spanking as well, he likes to make sure that you stay in your place. he doesn’t like a brat; he knows how to tame one though!!

gunplay FOR THE WIN. likes to hold the gun to your head while he fucks you, sometimes puts it in your mouth. he likes to fuck you with it and make you suck the barrel of it off. LIKE I SAID BEFORE HE MAKES SURE THAT THE CHAMBER IS EMPTY AND THAT THE SAFETY IS ONE. also likes using vibroblades on you too.

likes to slap and pull your hair.

HE CANNOT BE GENTLE AT THE BEGINNING OF YOUR RELATIONSHIP. you have to sit him down and explain/convince him to take some scenes slow. once he gets the hang of it he likes slow sex. likes to revel in the pleasure.

definitely likes to tease. he likes seeing you desperate. loves keeping you wrapped around his finger.

darth maul

breeding kink, he wants you to get pregnant SO BAD. he really wants kids of his own. he LOVES coming in you and plugging your cunt with a toy.

cockwarming. something about having his cock in you relaxes him immensely. he likes having you in his lap while he works and you sleep (or squirm).

likes to sub AND dom. he likes being fucked and fucking. ruling mandalore is hard and sometimes he needs to give someone else control. usually the scene is you fucking him with your cock, or you fucking him with your hole. either way is a great time for him.

likes to hurt you, but only if you like it. most of it is lightsaber play and knife play. he likes watching you scream and writhe under him. one time he used the saber to carve his initials on your thigh. another way he likes to hurt you is digging his sharp horns into your inner thigh while he’s eating you out. he likes watching you flinch away from him.

praise kink. he is not what people picture when they think of a handsome man. so whenever you praise him is a nice time for him.

MASTER KINK. he likes being called this, it’s like he has an apprentice even though palpatine told him he was incapable of having one.

likes collars and harnesses. he likes letting people know that you’re his. plus your chest looks amazing in those harnessses.

DIRTY TALK AND PET NAMES. this man is one smooth motherfucker. he’ll call you princess/prince, baby, kitten, darling, sweetheart. he will whisper dirty things to you, just to get you riled up.

kylo ren/ben solo

the biggest dom AND sub you will ever see. he likes being fucked and fucking.

pain kink, if he’s subbing, he likes when you pull his hair, cut him with his pocket knife, burn him with his own lightsaber, or even you stepping on his dick. not too hard, you don’t want to damage his goods, but hard enough for it to be slightly painful. the thrill of it all makes him blow his load HARD. if he has any open wounds he likes to press on them so more blood comes out + it’s painful. scenes like these usually end with a short trip to the medbay. if he’s domming he will not hurt you, not even superficially. most of the pain comes from him pulling your hair and pushing you to your knees harshly.

praise kink. after everything that’s happened, he definitely wants some soft loving sometimes. he likes giving and receiving praise!! although it takes him a bit to get the words out since he never says those things out loud anywhere else.

also kind of has a master kink, but prefers to hear his name over that.

he takes almost all of his stress out in your sessions so he’s nice a pliable after a good fuck or two.

aftercare is HIGH TIER. he has a nice bed, you like to stretch out on it while he gets you a glass of water and a warm wet towel to clean you up. usually some back rubs as well.

he loves being degraded. being told that his dick is too small, or that he’s a slut, or even that he’s nothing gets him going like nothing else. any insults you throw at him will be met with a groan or a keen if it’s especially mean.

can absolutely go more than one round. his stamina IS CRAZY.

these are off of the top of my head lol

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10millionyearsdungeon · 4 years

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Kinktober #14 - Blood

A/N: So, after discussing prompts with @hisoknen at great length, we came to a conclusion that there wasn’t enough darkfic content for Mr. Sunshine Personified-- Mirio “Lemillion” Togata. Turn away now if you’re the slightest bit squeamish. Apparently this one has been anxiously awaited for a while...

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

On the surface, everything was smiles and effortless bravado. After regaining his quirk, Lemillion was everything the public wanted to see in one of their top heroes; he was compassionate, devoted to service, and protected the weak. He went out of his way to ensure that justice was served with a million-watt smile. But that wasn’t the Mirio Togata you knew. You had lived with him for a few months in his home, though he wished you would grow to know it as your own. It tugged at his heartstrings to watch you cower away from his shadow when he’d open the door to the room you shared with him. He smiled the same warm smile he flashed the cameras and approached you casually, stripping his costume off with careless, unhurried fingers. Chains tinkled as the links rattled against one another. You scurried to the wall, crouched in on yourself as he continued to change. In the low light of his bedroom, he looked every bit the gilded god he projected himself to be. All blond hair and sky-blue eyes, he strode to meet your curled form and crooned softly as he rested a heavy hand on your head. “Hey, there. Is that any way to welcome me home?”

You whimpered in reply, words long escaped you when he was this close. It had been months since you had seen the sun, let alone interacted with anyone other than the grinning hero bearing down on you. “W-we...w-wel…” He smirked at your attempt to mimic the word. “It’s been a day.” Mirio stretched, his muscles quivering under his tanned skin enticingly. He took a knee and met your frantic gaze, heavy hand still resting atop your head. “It’s time to play!” he sang out, patting your hair like you were just another child he had rescued from the clutches of some villain. You shrunk and whimpered at the phrase, eyes immediately welling with tears as he strode to the nightstand to pull out his toys-- a familiar flash of silver glinted in the light and only added to your growing dread. It had been the same every night since he took you. Every night had been punctuated with blood and silver-- your blood. He took great care in hiding you away, making sure your connections had been tied off so none could discover his dirty little secret. “Oh, you’d think by now you’d enjoy our time together, Y/n.” He took out the first blade, a scalpel sharpened meticulously, and he held it teasingly against your skin. “I mean, you’re the first to have lasted this long.” The first cut always took you the longest to acclimate to-- the sting of the blade dragging in long, loving strokes into your tender flesh coming long after the cut had been made. Mirio sighed audibly at the sight of first blood beading up along the trail left by his tool. By virtue of your quirk the skin mended itself slowly, leaving behind a stream of claret in its wake. You hissed at the sensation of your body knitting itself back together only to be met with another slash at your chest. Skin split, you dared to look down only to be met with the sight of muscle fiber and more red shining back at you. Mirio added a thick finger to the cut and dug around, marvelling at the sensation of slick muscle under the calloused pad. With a loud gasp, you choked out a cry that drew his attention from the red oozing around his fingers. Your skin fought to mend itself around his busy fingers, only to be beaten back by your captor savagely ripping the newly puckered skin open with a finger curl. Your screams were exquisite, every note colored with both fear and anguish as he continued to explore the trail of vessels and arteries running along your exposed meat and tendon. Pulling back his hand, he inhaled the iron and copper scent of your blood as if he were appreciating a rare vintage wine. Dragging his tongue along his bloodstained palm, he moaned low and painted his chin in your colors. His eyes were chips of ice in a sea of gold, sharp enough he could cut you with his gaze alone. Your back thudded against the drywall, a rabbit caught in a snare you knew what would come next. His cock twitched to life against his bare, muscular thighs and dread set back in. Your exhausted body writhed futility against your chains and the cold wall at your back as he closed in, the surgical steel blade shimmering in red and silver.

It came down quickly. The sudden slash across the tender meat of your neck left you soundless, barely breathless before the spurt of your scent drew him to his work. Your body slunk to the floor, your blood pooling around his feet as he knelt down and watched the life start to leave your eyes hungrily. “You’re so beautiful like this…” he whispered, awed at the red staining your paling skin. Your hand held feebly against the gushing injury, doing little to slow the flow. He made another series of more superficial cuts along your neck and shoulder, all the while minding the depth and rate of your breathing. Your vision was beginning to fade. Tendrils of black invaded and threatened to overtake you. Your body heaved with every struggling breath you took, oxygen failing to meet your ever growing demand as your blood continued to run freely down your arm and onto the floor at your captor’s feet. He dropped to his knees and lowed his head to drag his tongue along the puddle, pulling up with a groan you could only describe as ecstatic. Consciousness was leaving, and the slash was mending under your hand, but the damage was already done. With a third of your blood volume wasted on the floor, coherence was a luxury ripped away with eager hands.

Senses dulled, your scalp burned with the sudden pull to your knees. Your torso was sticky in trails of drying scarlet, a sight that stirred more desire in Mirio. His cock bobbed proudly against his chiseled abs; he drank in your dazed whines and parted your lips with the head of his throbbing girth. “Say aaah,” he grinned, tongue lapping at the remnants of your life drying on his lips. His grip on your hair tight, he pulled you onto his length until tears pricked your eyes and he could see the noticeable bulge of his cock in your throat. Your gag was weak, and your reserves were few when he brought another swift flick of his tool along your cheek. He flayed your skin from your cheekbone to marvel at the tendons holding your face together and shivered at the moist tightness of your esophagus contracting around him. Your quirk was working slower, the healing taking minutes what once took seconds. The sight of his cock peeking between tight cords of sinew and slick muscle made him swoon. It wouldn’t take long for him to hold you until consciousness faded from your eyes and he came into your stomach with a howl. When you came to he was already rutting into your abused hole with abandon. Your body tensed instinctively at the intrusion, but you felt his fingers rummaging through the new gashes he had made just below your ribcage. The sensation of his fingers digging into your wounds left you moaning. His conditioning brought you to the brink of delirium. Pain washed with pleasure, an ocean of suffering meeting an estuary of ecstasy and you were caught in the middle riding each wave with a shriek. “Oh, you’re finally awake. Hope you don’t mind. Of course you don’t mind! Look how tightly you’re squeezing my cock when I do this!” He wiggled his fingers against what you were certain was your liver and your heart rolled over in your chest. Your cunt clenched around him tight enough that you thought you would split in half from the force alone. Legs trembling, you came at the feeling of his head bruising into your cervix and him scissoring your wounds open with curious fingers. Panting, you groped around despite your shackles for something to ground yourself with. In your shuffling, a thought occurred to Mirio. It was one thing to feel your blood rushing around his fingers and under his touch...he wondered…

You came down slowly, still floating in that in-between when you felt cold sink into your bones. Your body convulsed against the permeation hero at the new sensation. He’d never used his quirk on you before, and the sensation filled you with equal parts dread and revulsion. He held you firmly, his fingers like meat hooks into your ribcage as he rooted around through your back until he found what he was looking for. Your heart thrummed in your chest like a trapped bird in a mine against his fingertips. Breath left you in a sharp exhale as he materialized his hand around your heart and gave it an experimental squeeze. He could live off your screams alone feeling your heart chambers fill and contract with blood in his hand. With nowhere to run to without facing that indescribable pain ripping through your being, you dug your nails into the floor. More pain burned through your nerve endings, reminding you that you were ever present despite the fog of your continued blood loss. Pain kept your mind with him, kept you close. It was as if he had planned it from the start, knowing how he could draw out the most broken parts of you and leave you bare for him to exploit. Your walls clenched tighter with every gentle squeeze and caress of his hand as he salivated at the sensation of your aorta pulsating with every strangled beat. “I could end you, y’know...just one squeeze and your life ends in blissful agony…” he whispered lovingly into your ear. It was almost intimate, the way he held you and your life in his hands. You were cradled against his solid muscles as he draped himself over your back, hips still idly pistoning into your aching heat. Your heart beat tirelessly in his hand; in that moment he felt himself fall even deeper for your broken being. Rapt in your exquisite suffering, he clenched his fist tighter around the pumping chambers and buried himself deeper into your gaping hole, emptying himself into your waiting womb with a joyous groan.

Your breathing stopped with that final squeeze, cueing him to release and rhythmically massage your exhausted muscle back into being. Your body shuddered; your lungs burned with the promise of more pain in the hours to come. Part of you missed the loss of your captor, but you knew it wouldn’t be long before he had you doubled over for him to wring dry; after all, it was your job to help your hero unwind. Maybe you could learn to love him in spite of the monster bleeding you to unconsciousness to explore your body uninhibited. After all, he has your life in his hands...

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jaskierswolf · 3 years

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A Thirst Like Flames

Part 6/6 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

Ship: Gerlion - Rated: E (for smut) - Also on AO3

Rated E - for smutty reasons.

Dandelion shivered as he wrapped his heavy burgundy red cloak around his shoulders. Kaer Morhen had some of the most beautiful views in the continent but it was bloody freezing. It was his first day at the keep and he had yet to meet the other witchers, too exhausted when he’d first arrived, barely conscious as Geralt dragged him through the gates. One bath and a good nap later, he felt more like himself again. If not a little nervous, not too dissimilar to stage fright he’d experience in his youth. His heart felt like it was racing in his chest and his fingers tugged at his clothes, needing something to do.

The sound of his footsteps reverberated in the draft halls, the acoustics just perfect for a performance. Dandelion made a note to bring his lute down to dinner once they’d settled in. Geralt’s family had probably heard of him, maybe even heard his songs through other, less talented, bards, but Geralt was the only witcher from Kaer Morhen that he’d had the pleasure to meet.

And oh it certainly was a pleasure.

The scent of cooking venison filled his nose as he drew closer to the kitchens, making his stomach rumble in anticipation, and he could hear the sounds of laughter.

“Ah, found them,” he cheered to himself, pulling his cloak tighter around his shoulders. The feathered bonnet that was usually perched on his head had been left behind in Geralt’s room, instead the thick woollen hood was keeping his ears warm, and completely messing up his hair.

Dandelion had hoped that he would look his best when meeting Geralt’s family, but alas the cold had rather scuppered that dream. So, he took a deep breath and held his head up high before entering the room. As expected the witchers fell silent, Geralt’s eyes found his across the room, and it was easy to get lost in his gorgeous golden gaze. Dandelion winked at his witcher before turning to the rest of the room. There were more witchers there than Dandelion had been anticipating. Geralt had only told him about three other remaining Wolf School witchers, Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert. The silver haired witcher resting closest to the fire with a book in his hand was most likely Vesemir. Another golden eyed witcher who bore a striking resemblance to Geralt, aside from the vicious scar that ran across his cheek and his dark brown hair, was probably Eskel. That left a third witcher with golden eyes, who he assumed to be Lambert, and two others. One had long flowing dark brown hair, and startling blue eyes, the other bald with a thick dark beard and green eyes. The latter two both had dark tanned skin that was striking in comparison the chalky white skin of the Wolf witchers.

“Greetings, I am so sorry I’m late. I do hope that Geralt wasn’t too much of a grump without me,” he flashed a charming grin at the occupants of the room.

Lambert burst into fits of laughter and stood up, pulling Dandelion into a tight hug, lifting him off the floor. The air was forced from his lungs and he squeaked as his legs were suddenly dangling in the air, but warmth bloomed in his chest. Lambert was supposed the most prickly out of Geralt’s family, and Dandelion had apparently won him over purely by teasing his own grump of a witcher.

“I like this one, Geralt. He can stay,” Lambert laughed as he dropped Dandelion back to the floor.

“Ah, why thank you, Lambert.”

“Geralt was inconsolable, pacing the floor, pulling his hair out. If he hadn’t already gone grey….”

Geralt growled from the corner which set Lambert off again. “Shut up.”

“Oh bite me,” Lambert snapped back.

“Boys!” The elder witcher, who Dandelion was sure was Vesemir, barked and the two younger wolf witchers fell silent. “We have a guest, try not to act like animals.”

“Well-” Eskel started to say with a crooked grin, “-we are wolves.”

Dandelion giggled and strutted across the room until he reached Geralt’s chair. The seat next to his witcher was vacant but it didn’t matter. Dandelion fell into Geralt’s lap, pressing his lips to his cheek. “I think it’s sweet that you were worried about me, darling. Now then, are you going to introduce me?”

“They know who you are, Dandelion.”

Dandelion scoffed and rolled his eyes, running his hands through Geralt’s hair. It was surprisingly untangled, still soft and well conditioned despite the hike up the mountain. As he carded his fingers through the silver locks, Dandelion could smell the gentle scent of chamomile, the oil that he’d bought for Geralt on their first anniversary before their journey to Kaer Morhen. His usual lavender oil was too strong for Geralt’s heightened sense of smell, but the chamomile was subtle enough and helped to calm the witcher even when he was high on those blasted potions.

He began to separate the strands of Geralt’s hair, fingers working nimbly as he continued to speak. “They may know me, but I am afraid I wasn’t quite in my right mind when I arrived. I only know of your family, dearest, and unless I’m very much mistaken. I’m not the only visitor this year?”

“Vesemir, Eskel and Lambert you know,” Geralt gestured to the golden eyed witchers in turn. “Aiden,” he pointed to the blue-eyed man who had now settled onto the seat next to Lambert and was happily draped across the man’s lap. “Coën.” The green-eyed witcher smiled back at him. “And this is Dandelion, my bard.”

“I am absolutely thrilled to finally get to meet you,” Dandelion cooed at the witchers, not bothering to look at the braid in his hands. He’d done this so many times that he could probably do all but the most complex designs in his sleep. When he wasn’t playing his lute or scribbling away in his notebooks, he often needed something to do with his hands. Otherwise he felt restless. Geralt had noticed and suggested the braids. Dandelion had tried, and was still trying, to get his witcher to let him curl his hair, but Geralt was being stubborn about it. “Geralt has told me so much about you,” he lied.

Eskel chuckled. “That would be a first.”

“And probably a last too,” Lambert agreed.

“Fuck off,” Geralt grumbled and Dandelion giggled, poking his witcher’s nose with one elegant long finger.

“Be nice to your brothers, Geralt-” he chided before brushing his lips against Geralt’s ear, “-or else we won’t get to enjoy that fantastically large bed of yours later.”

The other witchers in the room all groaned, just as Dandelion had suspected they might, but he played innocent and smiled brightly up at them all, launching into a tirade of questions to divert their attention. Kaer Morhen was fascinating and Dandelion wanted to know everything! He was particularly curious as to why there were two witchers from other schools in the keep. There was just so much potential in just this one room! Dandelion’s reputation as the White Wolf’s bard and poet was about to get a makeover, he would be the barker for witchers everywhere!

The evening passed in merriment, music and mirth. Wine and liquor were spilled, and the roast venison was simply to die for. Dandelion kept a hand on Geralt at all times, in his hair, resting on his thigh, his arm, his shoulder. After a year together, Dandelion still couldn’t quite believe that he was allowed to love this beautiful, kind and generous man, and that he was loved in return, but Geralt showed his love and devotion every day.

It wasn’t poetry and roses like Dandelion was used to, but it was Geralt’s own unique language of love that Dandelion delighted in learning, and he’d always been a quick study.

No, Geralt’s love was more heartfelt than any superficial trinkets or flowers that would die. It was woven into the very essence of Dandelion’s lute, each note the instrument played, every word that fell from his lips. The love shone in the stars above their camp as they cuddled together for warmth, Dandelion’s chest pressed to Geralt’s back as their limbs tangled together. It was in the breath of each kiss, the swing of his swords.

Geralt’s love was all encompassing and it was his.

Or perhaps he was merely a poet in love.

What did it matter? The result was the same. They were happy together, despite the darkness in the world around them, there was light, like the flames that danced in the hearth as Vesemir began to snore.

Dandelion sighed, rubbing his nose along Geralt’s jaw and kissing his neck. “Time for bed, my love?”

Geralt grunted and swept Dandelion up into his arms. The world spun and Dandelion squeaked as he hurried to fling his arms around Geralt’s neck, not that he thought Geralt would drop him, but, well, it was always better to be safe, and it gave him an excellent excuse to continue kiss the pale skin of Geralt’s neck. The bruises never lasted more than an hour but it didn’t mean that Dandelion couldn’t try. He giggled as he nipped at the skin below the witcher’s ear.

“Would you two get a room?” Lambert groaned.

“Oi,” Aiden swatted his boyfriend over the head, “don’t be a spoilsport, we could always watch.”

Dandelion winked at the Cat witcher, making Lambert flush a deep red. “Out!” he barked.

“With pleasure,” Geralt chuckled, carrying Dandelion through the halls and back up to their room.

It didn’t take them long to disrobe, lips moving in slow languid kisses as they caressed and touched and held each other close. Dandelion’s fingers hooked under the chain of Geralt’s medallion, the only item left between them, and he held the silver wolf in his hand before kissing the cold metal. The witcher shivered as the medallion once again rested on his chest and Dandelion moved on to kiss the pale pink scars that covered his shoulders.

“I love you, dearest Geralt,” Dandelion hummed, and Geralt’s finger hooked under his chin, lifting his head so their lips once again met in a soft kiss.

They’d made love before, but this was Geralt’s room, not some shit-hole of an inn, or in the exposed elements of nature’s forests. This was a home, more importantly, it was Geralt’s home, and he was honoured to finally be a part of it. There was a whole new level of intimacy which warmed Dandelion’s heart, like the sun rising over the horizon, flowers blooming in the spring and fluttering cries of the birds to bring in each new day.

Geralt lifted him up, carrying him towards the bed and Dandelion could feel the anticipation, lust and arousal begin to cloud his mind in a dizzying haze. His witcher was looking at him with the utmost adoration and oh did that make his heart sing. As his back hit the mattress, Geralt stopped and stared at him, a calloused finger brushing against his cheek. It was almost too much, burning in its intensity.

Dandelion let out a nervous giggle, leaning into his lover’s touch. “What is it, my dear?”

Geralt just shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Poppycock,” Dandelion declared, reaching up to capture Geralt’s lips in a quick kiss. “Tell me, darling.”

“You look beautiful.”

Dandelion felt himself blush. His hair was fanned out behind his head and he was sure his face was the colour of the sweetest roses but he was nothing extraordinary, certainly nothing that Geralt hadn’t seen before. Yet this fire that burned between them felt entirely new, and his witcher’s expression was so tender, so heartfelt.

“You look beautiful,” Dandelion echoed, and then because he was a poet. “Radiant as the sun, and as ethereal as the moon, my darling, my dearest, my… hmmph!”

Geralt cut off his ramblings with a kiss and Dandelion wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck, pulling him closer. They had time to savour every moment, every touch, every kiss. They had forever.

#the witcher #geraskier #gerlion #geralt x dandelion #geralt/dandelion #wolfie's witcher writing

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themamayaga · 3 years

Text

Lesson Learned Ch 2: The Hollow

Summary: Missy has a surprise for you.

Warnings: Graphic violence, Dark! Missy, I mean it’s Missy, Implied Ownership, Description of murder.

Ao3: Chapter 1 & Chapter 2

When you wake it's to a shuddering pain in your knee, a tap, then a prod and when you groan and try to move away it’s an unbearable pressure holding your shattered knee to the floor.

A gasp tears from your tired lungs pushing you forward, trying to sit up but another pressure is placed on your chest holding you down by the sternum with near-breaking brutality.

“Oh, you’re awake, finally” Missy slowly comes into focus above you, leaning on what you can now see are crutches she’s pinning you down with, “I thought I was going to have to start breaking things to get you to wake up.”

“Feels like you already started trying,” you wince feebly trying to lift the crutch off your sternum so you can get to the one pressing on the already searing pain of your knee.

“Not hard enough,” she pouts, watching with amusement as you paw at the length of metal keeping you down “Do you want to see your surprise?”

You stop trying to move, swallowing the terror rising like bile in your throat to speak “S-Sure.”

She removes the crutch from your chest and knee tossing them down onto you. “Then come along Poppet, time for your walk.”

You watch as she begins a manic dance around the tardis console and you realize she had to have carried you here.

Taking slow deliberate movements you check yourself, a new blooming bruise at your chest, a stinging at the side of your face where you landed on the teacup. When you touch your face you find small butterfly bandages holding the wounds closed and shoot you to check your knee. Wrapped around the majority of your leg is a soft white wrap, not a proper cast but it’s something.

“Thank you,” you whisper, tears welling in your eyes.

“For what?” There is laughter in her voice when she speaks. She knows what for but you have to say it. Say something nice for her.

“Thank you for patching me up,” you don’t have the force the smile you give her, you didn’t expect her to patch you up and she did.

“Couldn’t leave you totally useless now could I,” She strolls over offering you a hand, as you take it she yanks you up hard enough to nearly pop your shoulder out of place and you stumble into her.

Her arms wind around you and you screw your eyes shut as her lips press to your cheek, her tongue dragging there for a moment until you realize what she’s doing.

Tasting your tears.

“I can’t let you break completely on me,” she plants a small peck on your nose and let’s go, “I’m not through playing with you yet.”

Her words offer only superficial comfort as you tentatively try to walk with the crutches, moving far slower than her as she dances to the Tardis doors.

When she throws them open all you see is white. It takes a few moments for your mind to catch up with what you see. She took you to the snow. She took you home.

“Missy-“ a sob catches in your throat and you hobble faster trying to keep up with her as she walks out of the tardis and into the blinding light.

The chill hits you like a wall as you step outside the tardis and you breath deep, relishing in the frost fresh air.

Your eyes close and your face tilts upwards in the late afternoon sun, basking in its warmth.

“Well, when you’re finished-“ you can hear the roll of Missy’s eyes without having to look at her.

“Thank you.” You whisper with total sincerity, beaming at her until her laughter fills the air.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

It’s then that you take a moment to look around, suspicion curling in your chest like a snake.

The white around you clear and you can see stones littered amongst the whiteness.

Graves.

“Wh- what are we doing in a graveyard?” You try to push forward on your crutches but the snow makes it so much harder to walk.

“Well-“ she twirls landing to rest her elbows on a tombstone in front of her, “I said I had a surprise.”

Confusion knits your brows together and you watch as her smile splits her face and she nods down at the stone she’s resting on.

The stone bearing your name.

You stare for so long that she groans, shifting off the stone to wrap an arm around your shoulder.

“Come now poppet, don’t be boring.” She hums into the shell of your ear, lips grazing as she speaks “Ask me how I did it.”

“How did you do it,” you ask back voice barely a breath.

“Atta girl!” She claps her hands together and moves to bounce in front of you.

“Well, it was deliciously simple. See while you were out after our little row I decided I was ever so cross with you for wanting to leave and I thought ‘I could just kill her’” her hand is gripping your chin then forcing you to meet her eyes.

“So I did. Kill you.” She pauses booping your nose as she skips back to the gravestone to brush the snow off the top “or well a clone at least. Got very good at making those during a little mining excursion a while back.”

For a moment she pauses, pouting, looking wistfully at the grave “She didn’t scream like you though, close enough, I guess. Call me old-fashioned but I prefer the original.” She offers you a wink and continues “So I took that poor little broken thing and dropped it off here. Didn’t take long for them to find you, I left you on display after all. Now there’s an investigation but it’s going to go cold very quickly I’m afraid.”

It feels as if the floor has been ripped from under you as you stare past her shoulder into the distant white. There are no words for the hollow hole in your heart. Slowly you put together all the pieces.

Everyone you have ever know, everyone you have ever loved, has buried your corpse.

For a moment you try to find a way to reconcile, turn up at their doors, but from the look of the stone it’s been some time. You would only hurt them, confuse them, break them.

Despair swallows you hole leaving nothing but rage behind.

“Ah, there’s my girl.” Her voice is victorious as she strides towards you, boots crunching in the freshly fallen snow “A little slow on the uptake but I think you’re getting it.”

She places a tender kiss on your lips, “There’s no home to go back to,” another kiss more insistent “No home but me.”

Her hand curls in your hair forcing you to meet her kiss, devouring and sharp.

For a moment you nearly lose yourself in it allowing whatever comfort she gives you but your blood is in her mouth, on her hands.

In one sharp movement, you slam the crutch into her jaw, not caring as her teeth sink hard enough into your lip to split as she stumbles away.

As soon as she is an arms distance away you swing again, but she sees it coming and grabs it mid-strike.

“Naughty naughty.” She hums, pushing the crutch back at you until you fall in the snow.

“See this is why killing your clone just wasn’t as satisfying,” she smiles as she crouches down watching you try to find purchase in the snow to scramble away. Her face is inches away as she licks your blood off her teeth “No one quite fights like you.”

Then her hands are in your hair, dragging you back into the tardis, kicking and screaming into the winter air.

#missy/reader #missy x reader #gomez!master x reader #graphic violence #dead dove

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antiquechampagne · 3 years

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Antique Champagne - CH48 - Welcome Home

Payne woke late in the morning. She appreciated Hancock giving her the chance to sleep in, even if every muscle creaked like an old wooden floor every time she moved. They hobbled into Goodneighbor by late afternoon. The guards returned their mayor’s friendly wave with a brusque head nod.

“Guess Daisy’s eating a late lunch,” Hancock mentioned as they walked through the empty courtyard.

Payne glanced over to the pair of shops. K.L.E.O. looked to be in the back taking inventory. Guess they would have to sell what little scrap Hancock had scrounged on their way home later.

Once inside, they started up the spiral staircase. Payne thought of how nice it would feel to get out of her armor, take the rest of the day lounging and recuperating.

Hancock must have read her mind. “So, does it feel like a bourbon or beer kinda night?” His easy smile was a bright light in the dusty landing.

“Both sounds great.”

Reaching Hancock’s bedroom door, Payne lead the way in. Her hand was still on the door handle when, out of the corner of her eye she saw something move. The whir of a minigun warming up barely registered when she instinctively pushed Hancock out of the doorway. Time slammed to a stop.

Thum.

Bullets blasted across her body, burning, burying themselves deep into her flesh. One of the projectiles slammed into her helmet, snapping her head back. Shards of glass, plastic and metal sprayed in every direction. Payne dropped to the floor like a sack of tatos.

Stunned, she tried to blink away the blood pouring down her face. A rancid burning smell raked her nose. A pair of combat boots stopped inches from her face, standing between dozens of flaming holes in the wooden floor. Payne tried to move to defend herself, but the grinding of broken bones sent arcs of pain through her shoulder and arm.

“Fucking brahmin shit, doesn’t anything kill this bitch?”

Fingers reached into the gaping hole of her helmet, roughly peeling the shattered shell from her head. Glowering down at her with utter disgust and hatred stood Fahrenheit, the muzzle of her minigun still red hot from the recent barrage.

Words tumbled awkwardly in Payne’s head; she could only manage a guttural growl. Ignoring the pain, she tried to clumsily reach for her weapon. Her hand was swiftly kicked away, her arm wrenched painfully backwards.

“Just stop. This is getting pathetic.” Fahrenheit reached down and easily disarmed the prone bodyguard.

Behind her, the sounds of cursing and fighting reached through the door. Payne tried to turn to see the struggle but found only one of her arms would respond. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one that noticed.

“Oh, what is this?” Fahr stepped towards her legs. She laid her minigun on Payne’s thigh. The flesh under the burning hot metal began to sizzle. The smell of barbeque meat wafted over her. Payne’s heart dropped. While her head, shoulder and belly burned, she could feel nothing below her waist.

“Quit playing around. We have a crowd to address.” Marowski stepped into view from the balcony doorway. He glanced around. “Seriously, Fahr? Look at my floor! That’s going to come out of your pay.”

“Sorry, boss.” Fahrenheit chuckled. “Can’t wait to play with you later, freak.”

Her twisted little smirk grew as Hancock, bound and beaten, was drug into the room. Blood dribbled down from a bruised and busted cheek. Payne was grateful to see that he looked like all he endured was a quick scrap.

The shock of seeing Payne laying in a growing red puddle on the floor washed over his face. Her heart sank. Before either could get a word out, the thugs holding him tied a tight gag around his mouth. Whatever he wanted to say was lost in a handful of grunts and growls.

“I know how much you love showboating for a crowd. We got everyone in town to come out to see you one last time… but you don’t have to say a thing,” Marowski smugly gloated. “all I need you to do is swing.”

“John!” Payne tried to launch herself forward, desperately grabbing at the nearest set of legs. Pain exploded from her shoulder, the splintered bones grinding under her skin. The shock nearly sent her hurdling into unconsciousness. All she accomplished was curling into a partial fetal position.

Fahrenheit sent two of the three thugs back into the hallway.

“Ted,” she ordered, “make sure she doesn’t move. I’ll deal with her after.”

Ted nodded, taking his place a few feet away, tommy gun in hand. From the floor, Payne could not see the silent crowd in the square below when Marowski and Fahrenheit opened the balcony door. The last she saw of Hancock was his one glance back at her before Fahr shoved him out into the ominous sunlight beyond, shutting the door behind them.

Ted.

Studying her guard’s face, she finally placed him. This was the guy she had played cards with on her first official job for Hancock, right before she put a bullet between Bobbi No-Nose’s eyes. His jaw was set, but his eyes shifted ever so slightly back and forth. He was trying hard to hide it, but his tell was on full display. He was nervous.

Quickly, Payne assessed herself. Her flesh was still sizzling from the bullets lodged in her shoulder and torso. She had no idea if she had been hit anywhere below her waist, so she ignored her lower half. The gash on her face was mostly superficial but was still bleeding heavily. Luckily it seemed her helmet absorbed most of the force of the blow. Her one good arm was the only thing holding her somewhat upright. Her brain raced, trying to formulate any way that she could overtake the man guarding her and then somehow make it to the balcony. Seconds ticked by.

She was failing. Failing John. She didn’t have the time to fail.

A crazy idea took hold. It was something she had never tried, but right now, she had no other options.

“Hey,” she looked up meekly, trying to come across even more pathetic than she must have already looked. She coughed. “Can I get something to drink?”

Ted grunted and glared. He rolled his eyes.

“What? Afraid I’ll bleed on your boots? There’s some dirty water right over there.” He didn’t move. “What the fuck can I do? Give you a paper cut with the carton? We both know you’re holding all the aces. I can’t hardly move.”

Payne nearly gave up, but then Ted pursed his lips and looked around. There was a carton within easy reach on a table by the bed.

When he glanced down at her, she silently pleaded with her eyes, trying to play upon any lingering comradery that might be left in him.

He only had to take a step to grab it. He knelt down, placing it on the floor in front of her.

“Mind opening it?” She made a few feeble movements with her bad arm.

“Oh fuck me. Fine.” Ted gave her a hard glare. “No sudden movements.”

Payne nodded. He shook his head as he took his hands off his gun and tugged at the glued corners of the paper carton.

With every ounce of strength she could muster, Payne launched herself at him, grabbing the back of his head with both hands, forcing him face to face with her.

“LISTEN!” She delivered the commanded with a hushed voice, but one with the ring of absolute authority. To her surprise, even though his eyes snapped open with shock, he waited, frozen. Listening.

This was her one shot. She had one simple demand. Two words. She pushed. Using sheer force, she pressed it into his mind. Ted resisted. His mind twisted and turned, snapped and jumped like a wild animal caught in a hunter’s trap. She struggled against him, loosing and regaining footing in a desperate gambit to save the one person in the world she truly could not loose. She ignored everything. She had no idea of anything surrounding her. The only thing that existed in this moment was the two of them, locked together in a mute battle of wills. Her body was failing. Pressure was building. It did not matter. She would risk everything if that meant having a chance to saving Hancock.

Each heartbeat felt like an hour, but still she pushed, intruding into the man’s mind. Momentarily, she sensed Ted’s resolve faintly falter. She attacked, capitalizing on the temporary weakness, driving the command further in. She could feel something inside her brain unravel, then snap. A sensation like a gunshot ricocheted off the inside of her skull. Her left eye went dark. She could suddenly only smell roses.

Don’t back down now!

Payne redoubled her efforts; the throbbing in her head threatening to swallow her. With a final push, his mind folded, collapsing like a house of cards. The command settled into place, imprinting, taking root.

Payne wasn’t sure, but she may have even gotten in a little smile right before the pressure in her head exploded, throwing her into violently into the void.

#antique champagne #fallout #goodneighbor #fan fiction #fanfic #payne #hancock #fahrenheit

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scrapironflotilla · 4 years

Quote

One burst a few feet over the crest-line, hitting gun, horses and my own poor horse. I had just time to call to the gunner drivers that it was no use running about when another 5.9 H.E shell came just right for us. It struck a little tree about 12 foot up its trunk and exploded. I felt something hit me on the left breast and on right instep, no pain and did not think I was wounded. I looked up and heard Corpl. Jack saying his leg was broken, and the lad laying next to me looked pitifully round and I saw he was practically disembowelled by the base of the shell. Then I opened my shirt, found a fair hole about 4 inches above the left nipple, and a lot of blood flowing, foot only bruised, but very painful, and end of the left spur shot away. The bullet, or shell fragment, had gone through my medal ribbons. Did not feel sick and was not spitting blood, so concluded it was not serious, but as well to clear out; picked up my kit, got out the field-dressing and stepped off down the road. Clancy of the machine-gun detachment helped me unpack the FFD which I held on the wound. Halfway down the hill found B and C companies just arrived with Stephen; also my poor horse lying dead. Stephen had just finished him off. Secured my sword, on which the horse had fallen, bending it to scythe shape, and offered it to the advanced dressing station at Vendresse. There Meaden diagnosed my trouble as a superficial injury; but he was wrong, as I know the bullet if not in me will be in my trousers. Got a dressing put on, felt fine, and asked if I might return to the battalion. This was refused, and quite right, as I soon felt groggy with loss of blood, and pain and stiffness increased. At about 1 I drove off on the box of a horsed ambulance to Villers 4-5 miles back, and beyond the Aisne, where a fresh dressing was put on, and the missle was found lying on my breast bone. I decided not to have it out then as I had had enough interesting incidents for one day. Of the sights and sounds at the dressing station it is better not to write.

Diary of then Lt-Col Cecil Lowther, entry of 15 September 1914.

Lowther was at the time commander of the 1st Battalion Scotts Guards and was wounded by a shell fragment during the First Battle of the Aisne. He’d later go on to command the 1st Guards Brigade and then become military secretary at GHQ.

This entry is from his unpublished diary, held by the Imperial War Museum.

#ww1 #wwi #great war #world war 1 #western front #british army #cecil lowther #battle of the aisne #imperial war museum #military history #history #casualty

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setsailslash · 4 years

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Hi! I don't know if you are still taking prompts, but if you are, i would love to see straight macho red hood getting stuck in a wall (or fence) and being used by some thugs and naughty street-rats. Love your work!

so this prompt had me stuck (hah) for the longest fucking time that i almost gave up on it because im not a noncon kinda gal and also because i never could quite figure out a concept that made stuck in a wall trope make sense. but here it is!! classed up because nothing but the best for my boy 💖

warning: this is consensual mob/jay with a bonus scene of (slight dubcon) father/son incest, if that doesn’t float your boat, stop at “daddy dearest” and you will still have all the mob/jay content my gutter trash brain can provide.

Side A.

The tiny bulb over the doorway was nearly inconspicuous.

It was a simple system really. When it was green, it meant the room was available. And when it was red, it meant the room was occupied.

A hand on the door knob, a twist, and an easy push inwards: Four unfurnished walls in one solid colour and a hole in one.

Impossible to miss really with the room set up just for this, and Jason got to say, he was impressed.

When he took over the Iceberg Lounge, he didn’t know about the kind of entertainment hidden in the back rooms of the club. He knew Penguin for all of his shady dealings, knew the man’s schedule down to his very last shipment of umbrella machine guns but he never did quite guess the level of depravity within the man’s prized villainous lair.

He probably should have though.

It was effectively a hole in the wall. The hidden trap door blended nearly seamlessly into the rest of the room. It was evenly padded around the hole in the same nude shade, just enough to make sure there wouldn’t be any bruises or scrapes at the waist even when it got a bit rough. And Jason could only imagine how rough it got.

There was a dimming light switch by the door and even at its brightest setting, the warm lighting of the room was kept low enough for things to be seen but not nearly enough to catch the truly unsavoury details to be examined for long.

Jason didn’t know his masochistic streak ran this deeply but.

It wasn’t like anyone had to know.

Side B.

Jason’s cheeks burned.

Both his ass and across his face, even if no one could see the latter.

He lost count after the eleventh round, losing time with it too as the way one man fucked him would blend into the next.

At times, it felt as though there weren’t a single pause in between, and he’d imagine one faceless man lining up after another just outside of the door with their cocks already hard and straining inside of their pants. The bulb would turn red to green and right back to red just as quickly when they got their cocks sinking balls deep inside of him in one easy plunge with the way the hole in the wall kept his ass right at fucking level.

A taller man might even have to drag him up by the hips until he was standing on his tip toes to push into him.

At other times, he’d be left alone just long enough for him to clench down on empty, left aching and be given nothing at all. This felt especially punishing when he could feel the cooling trail of semen trickling down the inside of his thighs as he struggled to keep from rubbing his legs together in any sort of attempt to keep from feeling like he’s gaping.

At those times, Jason tried to recall the details, focusing on how he could feel the way the different men would fuck him instead.

Some came easily, a few short erratic thrusts and they were done. Jason barely felt the way they would sheath all the way inside, filling him in girth and depth before they were already coming.

A few liked their foreplay, using what felt like three or four fingers to prod and pull and dig into the rim of his hole, pushing in deep to their last knuckle and aiming right for his prostate. And they would be particularly merciless about it too as they rubbed the rough pads of their fingers over that single spot where he was oversensitized already until they could finally feel the way he tried to squeeze weakly down around their digits as he shuddered through an orgasm before they ever even pulled their own cocks out of their pants.

There were even men that didn’t just ignore Jason’s erection between his legs. One jerked him off in pace with his thrusts while another reached around and kept a near bruising grip around the base of his cock long after he was rendered to sobbing for relief. This one man in particular had pressed his thumb against Jason’s slit, smeared the tacky drool of precum all over the crown of his cock and kept him on edge until it hurt.

It left him babbling even though he knew the man wouldn’t be able to hear a single word out of him.

On his side of the wall, the room was much smaller where Jason was laying down on his front on a padded board. His skin was slick with sweat and each time they thrusted into him hard enough to rattle the wall a little, he could feel the rub of his hard nipples over the fabric of the thin tee he never considered to take off.

The friction burning raw and hot, pulling whimper after whimper out of him if the man on the other side decided he wanted to be especially brutal with him.

Slapping a hand down on his ass and squeezing hard, gripping him by the hip to pull him onto his cock even if the hole in the wall provided very little give for that, less than an inch of space if Jason kept the narrowest part of his waist right at the circumference of the hole itself. But it was that tiny bit of drag that forced the free falling moans into a near wail when the man would fuck into him, full force still, pressing his balls right against his backside like he could force that inside of him too.

The sound proofing was good enough that Jason couldn’t make out the sound of the door opening and closing on the other side at all. Sometimes he could hear snatches of the things the men that were taking him would yell as they came inside of him.

Most of it obscenities and more of it some variation of what a disgusting filthy whore of a public toilet his hole made.

The dehumanization at being referred to just a hole to be fucked over and over again like a mantra was just enough push him over that edge once more, this time screaming into his fist to stifle the noise. Drool trailing down over the bitten swell of his bottom lip to smear all over his chin as he saw white.

Jason could feel the distinctively warm splash of the man’s cum as he pulled out at the last minute and came all over the small of his back, rubbing the length of his softening cock over the crack of his ass to leave thick sticky streaks of release everywhere before he pulled away completely.

There was a pat against the side of his hip that he faintly registered in the aftermath, like a wordless little good job that made Jason curl his fucking toes into the wet tiles beneath his bare feet.

There was no more room inside of him.

An unmistakable heaviness inside of his abdomen. He was stretched and stuffed full and dripping wet. He was also pretty sure there was a puddle of cum and who the fuck knew what else at his feet if the feeling between his legs was any indication at all.

Because he was soaked.

His vision was warped by the wetness gathered over his lashes, leaving them clumping against his cheeks. He was still catching the last of his breath when he felt the curl of another man’s hands around the swell of his ass. Felt the dig of the man’s thumbs against his wrecked hole, pulling his rim apart, exposing how ruined he was for anything else.

And Jason could only begin to imagine what he looked like after having been fucked this many times while he was kept pinned in one place.

There was the press of the man’s cock against him, searing hot and thick and going slow as he pushed inside. There was an obscene sensation of the semen already in him seeping out around where he couldn’t quite clench down tight enough with how used and abused he had been all night.

The remaining thought inside of his head as his eyes went dark was this: What was one more time really in a string of many?

Daddy Dearest.

When the light goes dark and stays dark for the night, Jason has already passed out.

Even though his arms were always kept free and the latches to get himself out of this very literal hole in the wall were all entirely within reach for him, Jason never even came close to thinking about that.

Wingman is the one to come in through the employee side of the room, unlocks the door to the sight of his boss fucked to oblivion. Jason’s hair is a mess and his face is worse off when there’s drying sweat and snot and spit, eyes all red and puffy and still wet with tears.

As he unlatches the hidden trap door that allows the occupant of the hole to come out, Jason barely even stirs. Wingman is gentle as he maneuvers Jason out from it.

A faint groan from a mouth that’s been bitten hard enough to draw out the taste of blood, and Wingman swipes the pad of his thumb over the small split. Feels how lax Jason’s mouth goes as his jaw falls open for him, how easily it is for the man to press his thumb all the way inside of that mouth to run it against the edge of teeth and the soft cloying touch of tongue.

Jason draws it into his mouth and sucks at it like it’s reflex.

It’s only logical that Wingman shows his boss to another one of Penguin’s back rooms when the time is right. A night much like this one where Jason needs this kind of love but a room where Jason gets to stay on his knees all night as men use him for his lips and mouth and throat until there’s nothing else he knows but the sweet sore ache in his jaw kept wide and the taste of semen filling up his stomach with every cock he takes.

His boy’s gorgeous really when he’s been given the thorough attention and adoration he craves.

Love not said in any kind of superficial lies but told in actions, in the strict repetition of acts performed until all the evidence amounts to zero deniability. In providing Jason with everything he needs.

Wingman picks him up, brushes the sweat soaked bangs from Jason’s forehead and presses a faint kiss to it with all the affection he can give.

“I’m proud of you, son.”

For all of his misgivings as a father in the early years of this boy’s childhood, Willis Todd likes to think he can start to make up for some of it if he tries his hardest now.

#mobjay #jason todd #willis todd #dc #please read the warnings!#kuro's 200 subs promptathon #this actually makes the 20th fic of my promptathon but im still going to do a wifey bonus fic because the support has been so overwhelminnng #anonymous #and yes if it isn't completely obvious one member of the mob is def willis

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salamanderergfanfictions · 5 years

Text

BSD, mult. chars, Yosano, Atsushi, Chuuya POVs, fight with Dos.

Title: The Narrow Space Between Breaths

Notes: The majority of this was written before season 3, yet, I was reading the manga at the time, so it weirdly contains spoilers as well as totally disregards it. I also will be the first one to tell you--I don’t fucking know how Rashomon works. I just don’t, if someone would explain it to me, that’d be great. Also, if someone would just like to explain to me the...whole plot of BSD that would be great, kthx.

The take-away is, I took hella liberties, I had hella fun writing it, so the most I can wish for is if someone enjoyed reading it at least a little bit. Thanks!

Summary: A fight with Dostoevsky, and the aftermath.

“How fortunate that you are all in the same spot, it makes things easier,” Dostoyevsky smirked. “I’m going to rid the world of unsightly Ability users with a godlike power. You can’t stop me yourself, Dazai. Only gods can duel one another, and I don’t plan on being challenged.”

Dazai’s eyes widened.

“Armed Agency members,” Dazai’s voice echoed across the warehouse, gaining everyone’s attention by the urgency in which he spoke, “Protect the chibi!”

“Who?” Kunikida yelled.

Dazai pointed to Chuuya with a dramatic swoosh of his arm.

“What?” Chuuya started as all the eyes of the Agency members turned to him, “I don’t need any of your shitty people protecting me!”

“Don’t worry, Mister Fancy Hat City Guy!” Kenji said, raising his fists over his head, “We’ll protect you!”

“I don’t need your—that is not my name!”

“Port Mafia, do the same. Defend your executive with your lives,” Mori said calmly, leveling an intense glare at Dostoyevsky. “And if there are any of our men left standing should Chuuya-san die, I will kill them myself.”

“Hey, hey,” Chuuya’s eyebrows shot up, deeply confused at the concern Mori was showing as well as the threat against his subordinates, “What the hell is going on?”

“Chuuya-chan is the biggest threat to Dostoyevsky’s plan right now,” Dazai said, more for the benefit of the Agency members, “He just said it, ‘Only gods can duel one another’.”

“But what the hell does that mean?” Kunikida shouted.

“While it’s true that I’m the only one that can match Dostoyevsky intellectually, this isn’t just a battle of wits. And in terms of pure power, even god-like power,” Dazai left off to glance at Chuuya, a dark, assessing glint in his eye that knocked the other man back a couple of years and dozens of missions. “In its raw form, there is no match for Chuuya’s Ability.”

Chuuya grimaced and looked down at his gloves, “You fucker. So, I guess that means...”

“If you would,” Dazai nodded, before forcing a cheesy smile on his face and tilting his head, “Only if you want to, of course.”

“You fucker,” Chuuya repeated harshly, tugging off his gloves and throwing them to the ground. “You better stop me, when it gets too—”

“I will.”

Chuuya’s breathing quickened, ”None of that suicidal bystander bullshit. You void me when you get a chance.”

“Have I ever let you down before?”

“Don’t ask me a question with an answer like that right now!”

“Chuuya,” Dazai said in warning, his teasing smile gone as he watched his Agency members fighting Dostoyevsky’s henchmen.

“I got it.” Chuuya grit his teeth and put the appropriate amount of dramatics into his next words as he stared at his hands waiting for the black and red stains to overcome him, to rewrite who he was and control his body as if Chuuya Nakahara never existed in the first place.

“‘O, grantors of—’”

He was cut off as a bullet bent around him and ricocheted off the floor, it was high caliber enough that a large divot was left in the cement. Chuuya turned around to glare at the sniper laying on the rafters above everyone.

“...That could’ve hit my hat,” Chuuya said darkly, clenching his fists in outrage, “I’m gonna kill that fucker first.”

“Actually, Chuuya would be much more useful if he focused on Dost—”

“‘O, grantors of dark disgrace,’” Chuuya recited again, forgoing dramatics this time for pure fury, “‘Do not wake me again.’”

—

There was a lot of carnage, a lot of blood, a lot of dust, rocks, and the groaning, broken, dying, dead bodies scattered throughout.

Yosano came to after healing herself, blinking blood out of her eyes and coughing up dust. She wiped a line of spit and blood from her lips as she pushed herself up with one hand, looking around for her comrades. Dazai had yelled for everyone to retreat from the building not long after whatever Nakahara had become...the pure hell that had been unleashed. Yosano had seen destructive Abilities before, but never anything as raw and indiscriminate as that, not when being channeled through a person—a person who supposedly was their ally. The last thing she had seen before turning her back to try to make it out was Nakahara sending a massive black hole toward his own men, cackling madly from blood-soaked lips while doing it. The sight and sound had chilled her to the bone. She hadn’t envied Dazai having to wade into that chaos for the chance to get skin on skin contact, though she knew that was the only hope they had to make it stop.

It was quiet now, quieter, at least.

Yosano gave one more hacking cough and stayed kneeling on the floor till she was sure her shaking was under control. One of her heel tips had snapped off, which was going to make it difficult to balance, but she wasn’t about to walk around without anything covering her feet, not with all the jagged pieces of stone, rebar, and nails littering the floor. The clothes and shoes Yosano was wearing were beyond salvage, though even she would not have wanted this kind of excuse to go shopping.

Thankfully, she hadn’t gotten pinned down beneath any columns or large stone slabs. It would have been horribly inconvenient to be crushed and just waiting to slowly bleed out before being able to heal herself, over and over as the cycle repeated. Yosano had seen the kind of mental break that kind of stress could induce on someone second hand, she had no desire to experience it—

Her eyes went wide.

“Kuni-Kunikida!” She yelled, getting to her feet quickly, wobbling on her uneven heels, to hurry to her friend’s side. The man was further away from the door than she was, which meant he hadn’t given up on trying to get Dazai to leave with him, even as load-bearing columns were being destroyed. He was limp on the floor, the longest strands of his ponytail were quickly being stained from blond to red. The puddle of blood and hair were stretching away from Kunikida’s head like the corona of the sun. I might have enjoyed it, Yosano thought in fragments, each step on the cement floor jolting a different thought into her brain, I might have thought it was pretty, maybe I would be laughing…

Yosano tumbled gracelessly to Kunikida’s side, her hands trembling as she reached toward his neck, his skin cold as ice against the pads of her fingers.

“Idiot,” She cursed in relief as she felt a thready pulse almost the same instant her butterflies gently landed on his cheek.

Once he was safe to move, she began dragging him toward the door herself, an exhausting task as she did her best to avoid the worst of the debris as well as keep balanced. Eventually she had to stop and take a break before attempting to continue, barely holding back a frustrated yell.

“I got him,” A voice behind her said, a head of bright blond hair accompanying it. “Is he all healed?”

Yosano gave Kenji a quick once over, but the young boy looked as hearty and hale as he ever did and nodded, “Yes, just get him out of the building for now. Is Tanizaki with you?”

“Yep!” Kenji smiled, “He had to call Naomi first, and I think she’s yelling at him ‘cause he has a silly expression on his face.”

Yosano brushed the comment aside easily, “Come back in when he’s done, I still don’t see Dazai or Atsushi anywhere and we need all the hands we can get.”

“Okay!” Kenji flashed a thumbs-up before lifting Kunikida up enthusiastically. Yosano almost laughed at the sight of the two of them walking away, a young boy carrying a man almost two times his body length like he was an overgrown baby, his legs hanging off the side and skimming the ground. Instead, she let out a heavy sigh and looked around again, only a few people were up and moving now, and none of them in an off-white coat or with white hair.

“Yosano-sensei, if you’re done staring into space, your assistance could be used,” Mori called out to her, his voice lilting and recognizable in a strange way. Yosano felt an irritated twinge go up her spine as she glared at him and that disgusting smirk on his face. But she was still a doctor, and there were people, mostly Port Mafia members, bleeding all around who needed her help. Just because Mori was here didn’t mean it was the same as the other time.

Over the next few moments, muscle memory took over and Yosano quickly got to work on the people around her. As expected, Mori was unscathed, almost suspiciously, taking into account where he had been when the major wall had collapsed, but he was tending to the injuries he could as well as performing a kind of reverse triage for Yosano.

“He’s dying,” Mori could be heard saying in a bored voice and Yosano would rush over, regardless if that person was Port Mafia. Working like this with him as a partner brought up bad memories and a sickening feeling of familiarity that she fought hard to ignore. She concentrated on her work, the broken bones, the gashes and gaping wounds. Most of her own had just been wounded superficially, only Kunikida had, unfortunately and thankfully, been the worst. Kenji had left him leaning against a miraculously still standing wall outside in the sunshine, dazed, covered in his own blood, but not a scratch or bruise on him. Atsushi made quick work of a rock that had pinned him down toward the back of the building, pushing it off with transformed tiger arms, and then had tried to make a hasty retreat in the wake of Yosano’s generous, yet overzealous, offer to heal him. Much to Yosano’s delight, he had not been fast enough. He was now lifting stone slabs along with Kenji as Tanizaki very reluctantly played nurse to Mori. The young boy could be heard making noises of disgust every once and a while followed by Mori chuckling.

Yosano opened her mouth to snap at the doctor to leave him alone—

“Did you hear that?” Tanizaki said, his head perking up, but he didn’t move from his task of keeping the Black Lizard member from bleeding out. “Did anyone hear that?”

Yosano wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, “Hear what?”

“I did,” Mori said with a curious tone. “It sounded like—”

A cough.

Kenji pushed and lifted concrete pieces until the infinite black of Rashomon could be seen under it. As soon as there was no more reason to be activated, Rashomon returned to its owner, unveiling what it had been protecting.

“Hello~” Dazai greeted them all chipperly, looking as if he was perfectly at home underneath a ton of rocks, two Port Mafia members, and covered in blood.

Yosano raised her eyebrow at his tone, “I almost got my hopes up seeing that much blood, but it’s too bad my Ability won’t work on you.”

Dazai grinned at her, “The only thing I’ve been in danger of is being bored to death by my abysmal company. It’s such a disappointment I wasn’t able to be buried alive with two beautiful women instead, I wouldn’t have minded that as much.”

Akutagawa let out a cough. Despite Rashomon having returned to a coat and the danger of being crushed gone, he still hadn’t moved from his shielding position over Chuuya and Dazai, supporting his body on shaking arms. Chuuya was pinned below Akutagawa and on top of Dazai, bleeding heavily from his mouth and head, soaking Dazai’s shirt and coat. He appeared to merely be unconscious, but Yosano could see he was breathing shallowly. She couldn’t even begin to fathom the physical toll an Ability like that took on the body of the one using it, Nakahara had looked like he was being crushed from the inside out just a few moments after activating. But from how he and Dazai had been talking before, this probably wasn’t the first time, which meant he had survived before and would survive again. As long as Dazai got to him in time. Yosano wondered if she would be able to trust Dazai that much with her life, deciding on the answer before she had even finished the thought.

“This one’s been coughing in my face for the past ten minutes,” Dazai said drolly, lifting his chin up at Akutagawa. “Tuberculosis would be such a terrible way to die. Too slow.”

“Give the hat guy here,” Yosano said gruffly.

Dazai held up his hands, “What, do you think I’ve been clutching him to my chest the whole time? He fell on me, and then this idiot fell on both of us, ruining a perfectly good death by crushing. It would have been fast and lethal. Akutagawa, get off.”

Akutagawa finally seemed to come back to himself and rolled off to the side. In the back of her mind Yosano made a note to check on him as soon as she was done with the Port Mafia executive. She carefully turned Chuuya on his back, without any help from Dazai, who merely stayed laying down on the ground like it was a comfortable bed. Or perhaps he was imagining it was a coffin with the way his hands were folded peacefully against his chest.

“Is he dying?” Dazai asked, a smile creeping on to his face. Yosano gave him an answering grin of her own.

“Not fast enough,” She said gleefully, raising her machete she had pulled out of nowhere, and letting loose a truly terrifying cackle.

A few feet away from them, as Yosano worked, Akutagawa was pushing himself to his feet, stumbling away from the wreckage with a determined look on his face, before tripping over some smaller pieces of concrete. He went to his hands and knees hard, his breathing slowing as sweat rolled from his forehead and down his face. He squeezed his eyes shut and a few more drops hit the floor.

“Are you okay?” Atsushi bent down next to Akutagawa slowly, laying a gentle hand on the other’s shoulder.

His hand was roughly shrugged off as Akutagawa got to his feet with the same dogged determination as last time.

“Get off me,” He leveled a glare at Atsushi, though the effect was diminished by the paleness of the other’s face and the tremors of fatigue running through his body. Atsushi backed off anyway, holding his hands up with a nervous smile.

“I was just—”

“Shut up,” Akutagawa snapped, “I don’t need your help.”

Atsushi watched Akutagawa take a few more shaky steps before collapsing to the ground again. This time he stayed down, his breathing coming out in ragged gasps even in unconsciousness. Atsushi moved to check on Akutagawa again without the other being able to refuse his help, but another Port Mafia member with long black hair reached him first. The man in black gently moved Akutagawa’s head to his lap and although Atsushi couldn’t see the other man’s mouth, he could tell he was smiling.

“He reached his limit under there, continually using Rashomon in a defensive position against tons of rock, knowing any slip of control could mean his executive getting smashed,” Dazai explained in a bored tone of voice.

“And his mentor,” Atsushi added with a meaningful look, “You were in there with him too.”

Dazai shrugged.

“You should probably thank him,” Atsushi pushed, not bothering to tear his eyes away from Akutagawa and the Port Mafia member to look at Dazai’s reaction. “I know I will.”

“Thank him? If he had practiced using Rashomon defensively when I wanted him to, it wouldn’t have taken that much concentration in the first place and he wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Atsushi pursed his lips, “I’m still going to thank him.”

“Atsushi-kun is so thoughtful,” Dazai’s voice lilted in his ear, “Doing unnecessary things.”

The comment made Atsushi frown even more, and he turned around to retort, but Dazai was already walking away. At first Atsushi thought Dazai was hanging his head because he was somewhat cowed by what Atsushi had said, but that didn’t seem likely. Atsushi watched him for a few more seconds in confusion, as Dazai slowly walked a random path through the rubble, his eyes focused on the ground, before understanding. Though he couldn’t think of anything that Dazai had with him that he would have been able to lose. Maybe it was his book on a thousand ways to commit suicide.

Atsushi turned back toward Akutagawa, intending to attempt to approach the other man again, but something caught his eye several feet away. It was wedged between two large pieces of cement, bent out of shape and covered in a light layer of dust, but still recognizable. Atsushi used his tiger arms to push the pieces apart, pulling it out gently once there was enough room. He was pleased when it almost immediately retained its former shape.

“Dazai-san,” Atsushi called out, holding the item up in his hands, turning it, “This?”

Dazai turned around, his eyes going wide in surprise for a half second as he saw what Atsushi was holding up.

“Heh,” He let out a light chuckle as he walked forward, “Like I said, Atsushi-kun is too thoughtful.”

Atsushi beamed and held it out for Dazai to take, “I wasn’t the one looking for it.”

Dazai shrugged nonchalantly, slapping it against his leg to try to get even more of the dust off. He held the object up and squinted at it, assessing, “But seriously, isn’t this the ugliest hat you’ve ever seen?”

Chuuya felt light and bubbly, like his body and insides had been given a power wash. He also felt strangely naked with his coat, hat, and gloves missing in the wreckage of the building. Chuuya didn’t want to look around for them though, he didn’t want to see any of the bodies of his subordinates that had been caught in the crossfire, either when part of the building had collapsed or by his own hand. Mori and the Agency’s doctor had been able to heal some, but Chuuya could still remember the looks on the faces of the ones he had aimed at himself, their screams as limbs were blown off or the silence as they were swallowed up into nothing. Chuuya looked down at the pale skin of his hands, clenching them hard enough that his short nails dug into his palm and they ached from the tension.

“Shame, even Yosano-sensei’s Ability couldn’t fix your ugly face,” Dazai quipped from behind, extremely disappointed when Chuuya did not react. He could see the other man was still dazed from the aftereffects of Thou Shalt Not Die, a bright, glassy look in his eyes as he stared at his lap. It was the best shape Dazai had ever seen Chuuya in after using Corruption, he was kinda pissed about being robbed of being able to see the stupid face Chuuya made as he slept. It had been too dark in their makeshift tomb and Dazai had to perpetually turn his head away every time Akutagawa coughed. It had been doubly annoying that neither of them had even responded just a little to his genuine, sincere attempts at a meaningful conversation.

“Here,” Dazai shoved a black bundle under his nose, sitting down beside him once Chuuya had taken the clothes with a shocked expression. “Close your mouth, I can smell the wine from here.”

Chuuya blinked slowly as he looked down at the pile. His coat was folded in a precise square with his pair of gloves laid neatly on top. There wasn’t a speck of dust on either of them. Chuuya put on the gloves first, feeling more like himself once the leather covered his hands and the cotton-headed feeling of the doctor’s Ability began to fade.

“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know where—” Chuuya was cut off as Dazai plopped his hat on his head with a put-upon sigh, pressing down till it covered Chuuya’s eyes.

“Yes, though it pained me to even touch such a tacky thing.”

Chuuya righted the hat on his head, “You didn’t wait around as long you usually do before stopping me.”

“Chuuya was bringing down the whole building and Dostoevsky escaped, so there was no more need. Besides, it wasn’t as much fun watching this time.”

“He, what? Escaped?”

Dazai shook his head, “Don’t worry about it now. We’ll see him again, you can avenge your subordinates.”

Chuuya absentmindedly shook his head, “I won’t be able to avenge my subordinates unless I kill myself.”

Dazai grinned slyly, leaning back on his arms, “What a strange mood you are in this evening. You’re not my usual type, but I suppose an exception could be made considering our history. How about it, does Chuuya want to die with me? We can spend eternity in the afterlife together.”

“Ugh, I had been taking peace in the fact that I wouldn’t have to deal with you in death, but you’ve just soured that thought.”

“Chuuya started it.”

“I was—” Chuuya started, his voice coming out hoarse and tight, “I was saying that the one who killed my subordinates was me, only my death would avenge theirs.”

“I can follow a basic conversation, you know. I’m not as dumb as you.”

“Shut up. I’m obviously not going to do that though, so…I can only offer compensation to their families, if they had any, maybe donate to a charity or something.”

“How altruistic of the Mafia member.”

“Not altruism, business. The Port Mafia donates money to a lot of charities, you should remember that.”

“I do, it is a good strategy. A great strategy, one might say. A genius strategy—”

“Shut up.”

“It’s not going to help. Not you, anyway. Donating an outrageous sum of money to people in need won’t get the screaming out of your head, the terror-stricken faces, and the knowledge that you’ve killed people who were under your command. Who looked at you like you were a monster in their last moments.”

Chuuya swallowed heavily, missing the numb, tingling feeling he had before this, wishing he could go back to that time a mere few minutes ago when he felt like he was floating above his body, that none of this was real. He didn’t want to hear what Dazai was saying, it was insensitive, and ill-timed, but nothing that hadn’t already been ringing around in his own head. Chuuya had killed people before, people he knew, people he didn’t, men and women, young and old, but he had always done it with the knowledge that they were enemies of the Port Mafia. He had always done it in his right mind, for the past four years at least, and even before then, Dazai had been there to control him. This had all been Dazai’s plan today, a stupid plan, in hindsight. Unleashing Corruption in such a small space with so many of their allies around, it had been a Hail Mary, and it had failed. Dostoevsky had escaped, and as usual, the Mafia had suffered many more casualties than the Agency. Chuuya’s authority might have even been damaged over this with the survivors, and he couldn’t help the small thought eating away in the back of his brain that perhaps Dazai had done this on purpose.

Chuuya slowly brought his gaze to Dazai’s, narrowing his eyes, trying to assess what was going on behind that dead stare. Maybe Chuuya would be able to see something to prove that Dazai had planned all this in an effort to cripple the Port Mafia and take down Dostoevsky all at once, if that good-goody two shoes persona he showed the Agency was really just a big act like Chuuya had always suspected. Chuuya had seen Dazai do similar things when they were younger, he wouldn’t put it past him now. Dazai might have been able to change the color of his clothes overnight, but re-dyeing the soul took a lot more effort.

“So don’t b—” Dazai paused to reconsider what he was going to say, either ignoring or unaware of Chuuya’s suspicious stare, “Speaking from experience, performing a couple of good deeds doesn’t completely erase your past wrongdoings, nor does it lessen the burden on your soul, or magically make you a better person. But it helps, if you really try, it does help. It’s all you can really do anyway.”

Chuuya’s eyes widened, that wasn’t flippant or teasing. It didn’t make light of the deaths that Chuuya had caused or taunt him for caring about them. In fact, it had almost seemed…honest. Chuuya’s heart started beating faster as a thought occurred to him.

“Is that why you left the Mafia?” He asked, pushing himself into Dazai’s space, deciding to quickly take advantage of the rare sight of a serious, candid Dazai. Dazai looked taken aback by the question, his eyes popped open comically, and Chuuya grinned at having caught Dazai by surprise for once. He spent the next few moments in breathless silence, aware that should Dazai deign to answer, almost four years of doubt and hurt feelings could be resolved.

“Yes, and no,” Dazai finally said.

Chuuya dropped away from his former partner, his former executive, “What does, what does that mean? What kind of shitty, ambivalent answer is that?”

“It means yes and no, Chuuya-chan,” Dazai sing-songed out, his eyes squeezing shut as a large grin spread over his face.

Chuuya’s shoulders fell, and his eyes slowly drifted back to staring at his hands, clenching and unclenching them with the calming feeling of tension from the leather against his knuckles. These are a new pair, He thought absentmindedly.

Chuuya knew he wouldn’t be getting anything else out of Dazai now, the other man’s mask had already been put on, the walls were fortified, and Chuuya had never been allowed past them. He may have been given glimpses, but never trusted with more than that. Dazai…Dazai had seen everything of his, whether he had waited for Chuuya’s trust or not.

“Thanks,” Chuuya said after a moment, unable to think of anything else and deeming it innocuous, and true, enough for him to get away with. No matter what he told himself, it felt like dust coating his tongue. “Asshole.”

Dazai’s smile stayed as big and fake and cheesy as ever, “Of course, partner.”

Chuuya looked away. The conversation still felt unfinished, an inhale that had been stopped before filling the lungs, incomplete and unsatisfying. It hung in the air around them, permeated by dust and rubble and death, by all the words Chuuya wanted to say, and all the words Dazai wouldn’t ever.

The silence stretched on between them, as usual.

How long would this one last?

End

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #yosano #atsushi #chuuya #dazai #multiple POVs #implied romance #not canon compliant #season 3 spoilers #manga spoilers #I liked writing this #fanfic #salamandererg

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violetsmoak · 5 years

Text

maybe this is how it starts [1/?]

Cover & Disclaimer

Warning: In case it hasn’t been made clear, Dick Grayson is currently “dead” (since this takes place during some of the Spyral arc)

AN: I had way too much fun writing this. Dialogue is my happy place.

Maybe this is how it starts: with Jason lugging a bleeding and unconscious Red Robin up a rickety fire-escape, swearing every time the kid’s stupid fucking cape gets stuck on a metal edge.

Ivy’s latest creations—some kind of Venus Flytrap-vampire hybrids—have done a number on the guy. When Jason found him, his erstwhile replacement was suspended by a network of razor toothed vines doing their best to burrow through his suit’s Kevlar. Judging by the puddle of blood below him, they were pretty damn well succeeding.

As luck would have it, plants and vampires have the same aversion to fire. A brief stint of arson later (and a few gashes of his own to show for it), and Jason had Tim hoisted over his shoulder and Ivy knocked out. After a moment debating it, he’d grappled toward his nearest bolthole, the police sirens wailing in his wake.

It’s pure coincidence he found him. Jason’s only just gotten back to the city, taking a short break from intergalactic outlawing. As far as he knows, Tim’s been zipping around the world playing chicken with a bunch of ninjas and an irritating reporter. Not that they interact much beyond the occasional text or major crisis in Gotham under normal circumstances, of course. But Bruce’s demon spawn’s been back from the dead for two weeks now, and everyone’s been sticking closer to the home front since then.

Not too close though.

Jason’s still twitchy about spending long stretches of time at the manor. Since the demon brat’s resurrection gave him a bunch of friggen superpowers, Jason’s erred on the side of self-preservation. It’s not as fun teasing a ten-year-old when said ankle-biter can lift a car and crush the life out of you with it.

He’s pretty sure Tim has been steering clear of the manor for that same reason. And avoiding any parts of Gotham where Batman and Robin might be patrolling. Because of course Bruce is crazy enough to take a twerp with a hair-trigger temper on patrol.

Like it doesn’t matter he has the means of caving someone’s head in with a flick of his finger.

It’s why Jason took a detour near Robinson Park tonight (he avoids thinking about the fact it was part of Dick’s usual patrol route). It’s also why he happened to stumble upon Ivy about to turn Tim into plant food.

And really, Ivy? Vampire plants? How bored were you?

This safehouse is one of his smaller ones, the top floor of a three-story walk-up listed as unsafe and condemned for demolition. Jason’s been paying city officials off to ignore it for as long as he needs it; it’s not the fanciest or most upgraded spot, but it’s got running water and it came with the furniture. That’s about all he cares about when he’s tired and when someone unsavory comes looking for him in his usual digs.

This neighborhood is also in the anti-social and distrustful part of the Upper East Side where no questions someone in a scarlet helmet carrying what looks like a dead body up a fire-escape. Especially someone stumbling around and making as much noise as Jason is.

Vines must have been poisonous, too. No wonder the kid’s out cold, I feel like I was hit by a truck. And my arms going numb where they got me.

The door’s easy enough to get open, even one-handed, but he must stoop and contort to get himself and Tim inside considering all their armor. Blood smears across the handle and he makes a mental note to scrub everything down with bleach tomorrow.

Tim makes a discontent sound when his head knocks against the archway,

“Oh, yeah, like you felt that,” Jason mutters, kicking the door closed behind him and heading through the kitchen and down the narrow hall toward the living room and bedroom.

He bypasses the couch because stains are a bitch to get out of that upholstery and he doesn’t want the whole place smelling like stale blood forever after this. Bedsheets are easier to toss. There’s already a rubber sheet on the mattress here, legacy of several incidents where he’s shredded his stitches or didn’t bother changing after a particularly brutal fight.

“You’d better not have this thing fucking armed,” Jason tells Tim after he tugs off the cape and cowl and reaches for the tricked-out bandolier. “I mean it. If I get electrocuted, I’m letting you bleed out.”

“Awesome…bedside manner,” Tim mumbles. “Ten out of ten…would recommend.”

“Dick.”

“No…Dick’s dead…I’m Tim.”

Jason groans. “That was pitiful. Like, me levels of bad. How much blood have you lost?”

Nothing but a pained wheeze in response, and Jason rolls his eyes, continuing to strip the kid down to his underwear with rough efficiency.

Though Tim’s arms and legs are peppered with bruises and a few tiny gouges leaking blood, those injuries are superficial for the most part. It’s only the one gaping hole in his right side where one of the vines pierced through the armor; it hit nothing vital, but it’s bleeding like a son of a bitch.

Jason heads to the bathroom to grab the med kit (which is stocked better than most hospital supply closets) and injects them both with something to counteract the poison. It’s a broad-spectrum antitoxin, geared specifically toward Poison-Ivy related emergencies (and he really hopes she hasn’t gotten more creative than the whole vampire-plant hybrid thing) and sets to work stitching the rent flesh and muscle in Tim’s side back together. He takes longer than normal because his vision is blurring, and his fingers trembling.

Side-effect of the antitoxin.

Tim’s already passed out again, his chest rising and falling in a regular rhythm that assures Jason the kid’s not about to seize up and die. Still, he maneuvers him roughly into a recovery position and sticks a bucket beside the bed. It’s not unheard of for Ivy’s poisons to cause projectile vomiting.

“Don’t say I never do anything nice for you,” he grumbles, and takes the time to check for injuries of his own. The room sways, his eyes drooping, and he decides if he hasn’t bled out now, there can’t be anything too pressing.

Jason barely shrugs out of the bulkiest bits of his armor before plummeting face-first onto the bed beside Tim.

Horizontal is good; he likes being horizontal.

He doesn’t intend to stay there. Not being the same bloody mess as Tim, he’s okay with crashing on his couch because it’s an amazing couch. He might actually sleep better on it than the bed.

Except, sleep is a goddamn glorious temptress and sounds so much better than willing himself to trudge back across the apartment.

“You’d better not snore,” he tells Tim’s back, before pressing his face into the pillow and letting beautiful unconsciousness swim up around him.

There’s no transition from being asleep to being awake. One minute, Tim is swimming in the dreamless black of total oblivion, and the next he is staring up at an unfamiliar cracked ceiling.

His mouth has the rancid metallic taste it always gets when he’s been dosed with something—sedative or antitoxin, maybe—and there’s a body beside him. It’s a fact that should concern him—he’s woken next to unconscious or dead bodies more than he’d like to admit—but the unhurried, easy breathing suggests it is voluntary unconsciousness. Scent returns next, the air damp and cool, with a hint of mold mixing with odors of cordite, gun polish, drying blood and cigarette smoke.

Familiar cigarette smoke.

Jason, he decides, not even having to glance to his side to confirm his deduction.

Memories of the night before return, along with the itchy sting of new stitches in his skin and what appears to be a hundred paper cuts across the rest of his body. He can feel that especially well, since he has no clothing other than his underwear and the air is aggravating the broken skin.

This had better not be another Paris situation.

He’s not sure why that’s his first thought, because obviously he had to lose his uniform to be treated, but he doesn’t like the idea of being manhandled while mostly-naked. Not that there’s anything to worry about from Jason. Even if he wasn’t an ally-maybe-friend-not-quite-brother most of the time, the Red Hood has a very well-known attitude towards untoward behavior and minors.

Still going to check his phone for any blackmail material, though.

It’s what Dick would do in this situation.

Would have done.

Tim swallows the painful lump in his throat.

He continues to stare up at the ceiling for another few seconds, choosing to collect his thoughts rather than dwell on unpleasant realities. It’s easy to put together the chain of events from when he passed out in Ivy’s clutches to waking up in what is clearly a safehouse. It’s happened to all of them at some point, so there’s no associated panic. He is, however, curious about one thing that’s different from usual.

“Jason.”

The flatness of his tone marred by sleep, makes him sound groggier and less aware than he would like.

There is no response. He knows the older man is awake now though; it’s a universal talent of the Bat-trained, being able to rouse from a deep sleep to peak awareness at the drop of a hat.

“Jason,” he repeats, a little louder, still studying the cracks in the plaster that spread and merge with a spot of water-damage.

“Mmf…ckff…”

The words are muffled by a pillow, but understandable. He’s awake enough to formulate a response. Good, on to the next bit.

“Why am I in bed with you?”

And is there any way to make that question not sound disturbing?

“…No blood on the couch…” is the grumbled, surprisingly coherent response. “S’my favorite couch…”

Which makes a Jason-like amount of sense, even if it doesn’t outright answer what Tim is asking. He decides the conversation isn’t worth the trouble of dragging it out of the other man, mostly because he’s pretty sure a half-asleep Red Hood is just as hard to interrogate as an awake and alert Red Hood. Maybe harder, given the propensity for slurring his words.

And so, Tim eases himself gingerly upward into a sitting position, hissing when the movement tugs on the skin around the wound in his side. He examines it with a frown, noting that it’s far too close to his right kidney for his liking; he’ll have to take a break from patrol for the next few days to let it heal, and to make sure it doesn’t get infected.

Though, it won’t be due to subpar first aid, he allows, considering the neat row of stitches holding the still angry red wound closed. “At least your sewing has improved.”

“Screw you, my sewing’s awesome.” This time Jason definitely sounds more awake, and there’s a shift of the bed. “Martha Stewart’s got nothing on me. You snore, by the way.”

“I do not.”

Tim glances over at the other man, taking in his somewhat bloody appearance. He’s in a sweat-stained t-shirt, and there are a few slashes in his arms that are scabbing over; probably from the vines. He hasn’t shaved in a long while, and he’s got a bad case of helmet head—the red roots are coming out again. Coupled with the bloodshot eyes, he looks like someone who just got off a bender.

“You look like crap,” Tim tells him bluntly.

Jason rolls his eyes.

“Aw, thanks Timbers. And you’re welcome, by the way. You know, for the whole saving your life thing.”

Tim grits his teeth, knowing the slightly mocking tone is meant to get a rise out of him. Jason is nothing if not excellent at pushing people’s buttons.

“Thank you,” he says. Annoyance about this whole situation aside, he is grateful. He thinks a year ago Jason might have left him to him die. “I appreciate it. Really.”

“You’d better. I almost left you to strangle on the fire escape in that ridiculous cape of yours. You know one day that’s going to get stuck in a jet-engine or something right?”

“Bruce is the one that tackles runaway jets, not me.”

Jason makes a dismissive gesture.

“So, how many times is that now?” he asks then, reaching for the shabby night table beside him and finagling open a drawer. He pulls out a rumpled pack of cigarettes and a zippo. “I’m starting to wonder if I should be waiving the family discount for my services. I mean, it’s not like you can’t afford it.”

“What’s the point? You’ll have died of lung cancer before I have to make a payment.”

Jason makes a point of holding his gaze as he lights the cigarette between his lips, just to be contrary. Tim makes a face at the acrid waft of smoke that follows.

“And that’s my cue,” he sighs, swinging himself over the bed and promptly putting his foot down in a bright red garbage pail.

“Watch the bucket,” Jason tells him after the fact, mocking lilt in his voice.

Tim closes his eyes and silently counts to ten.

It could be worse. It could be Damian.

“Can you, for one second, not be a total jerk?” he asks conversationally, carefully stepping out of the bucket ad getting to his feet. “Where’s my suit?” Jason motions vaguely in the direction of the floor, exhaling a stream of smoke. “Thanks. That’s really helpful.”

“I aim to please.”

“Right.” Tim is the one to roll his eyes now. “At least tell me you have a coffeemaker in this place.”

He’s getting one of those headaches, and at least forty percent of it is not caused by Jason.

“That would be lying though and lying is wrong.” This is said with a shit-eating grin. “Your choices are Earl Grey or mineral water.”

Tim curls his lip. “You’re destroying the whole tough-guy image I have of you. What kind of vigilante doesn’t drink coffee?”

“The kind that likes having a sparkling white smile?”

“I don’t know if I can take you seriously anymore.”

“Yeah, well, I never took you seriously,” Jason retorts, flicking his cigarette into the nearby ashtray. “I’m taking you even less seriously since you’re standing there near-naked with rat’s nest hair and a hard-on.”

Which causes color to flood Tim’s cheeks and an unfortunate automatic flick of his eyes downward to see that, damn it, he’s right.

“Shut up!” he snaps, grabbing the nearest pillow to cover himself, and Jason guffaws. “It’s a normal biological reaction.”

“Still funny, though.”

Tim’s already stumbling from the bed in embarrassment, looking for the bathroom.

“Door on the right,” Jason calls after him, disgustingly amused. “Don’t get your stitches wet.” Just as Tim reaches it, he pitches his voice louder: “And if you need to rub one out in there, have the decency to rinse down the wall!”

Mortification hits Tim even harder than before.

“Fuck off Jason!”

He hears a roar of laughter from the bedroom.

I take back what I said about Damian.

TBC

Next Chapter

#jaytim #tim drake #jason todd #red hood #red robin #jaytim fanfic #jaytim fic #fanfiction #batman fanfiction #pre-slash #eventual slash #hurt/comfort #friends to lovers #bromance to romance #witty repartee #snark #jason is a little shit #i live for sarcastic tim

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baelllamyblake · 6 years

Text

You’re My Everything. ( Bellamy Blake x Reader )

Request : Heyy! If you're still doing requests can you do a Bellamy x reader where they get into a fight and it kind of follows the quote "Since I'm not your everything, how about I'll be nothing at all to you?" And it ends in fluff? Sorry if that didn't make sense!! - ANON

Pairing : Bellamy Blake x Reader

Warnings : Angst, hinted smut, fluff, like 4 curse words

Word Count : 2,452

A/N : woo second request ever & sorry if it doesn't really follow the quote my baaaad also a lot of sentences are random, imagine those as your thoughts? idk Keep requesting me though !! This is really fun !! love you !!

FEEDBACK IS GREATLY APPRECIATED SO PLEASE FCK ME UP WID IT <3

“ How’s the princess doing? “ Bellamy peeped in from the entrance of your room with a sweet tone and a happy. You shifted your glance from your leg brace to Bellamy, returning his grin with a smile of your own.

“ Just fine, king. Knee aches a little. “ You replied shortly after heaving your tired body off of your bed. Your balance faltered slightly under your bum knee. Bellamy’s hand instinctively shot out for you to grasp on. You regained your balance quickly and intertwined your hand in Bellamy’s, taking him by surprise.

“ Why, I’d love to hold hands with you, Bell. Thanks for asking. “ You playfully teased your freckle-face best friend with a tight grip on his hand and a self-satisfied smirk on your face.

“ You’re not funny. “ Bellamy groaned out, an adorable eye roll to go with his grumbling. This boy is too perfect; this has to be a dream.

“ Hey, I don’t see you letting go, handsome. “ You mentioned flirtily, your gaze flitting from your hands to Bellamy’s eyes. He breathed out a low chuckle before dragging you of your room into the Ark’s metal halls, fingers still connected.

“ You done, Y/N? I have something to show you. “ Bellamy abruptly halted your frisky advances, avoiding your sight so you wouldn’t see the growing blush on his cheeks. You laughed bubbly at how boyish Bellamy was acting; the polar opposite of his somewhat guarded personality. It was different, refreshing even. He maneuvered between the crowds and through the halls with ease, suddenly screeching to a standstill at a left turn.

“ Okay, I know for a fact that you don’t get see these often since you’re always working so close your eyes. “ Bellamy elaborated the reason why he lugged you across the Ark, his eyes twinkling happily. You furrowed your eyebrows in suspicion and hesitantly complied with his instruction, blanketing your eyes with your hands. Bellamy steadily guided you around the corner and slowed to a complete stop.

“ You can look now. “ You could hear the giddy smile Bellamy had on his face in his words. You lifted your hands and revealed a sight that took your breath away. The view of the moonrise left you speechless in awe. Bellamy contently watched you admired the marvelous spectacle of space.

“ This is fucking amazing, Bellamy! I’ve been dying to see one of these! “ You exclaimed joyfully, rapidly whipping around to tackle Bellamy in a bear hug. He wrapped his strong arms around your waist and twirled you around as you giggled radiantly. This was another of those countless moments that you wished would never end. However, all good things must come to an end.

“ Y/N Y/L/N? May we have a word with you? “ The guard politely interjected between you and the words on your clipboard. Your head shot up, eyebrows furrowed instantly. A whole team of guards with guns in hand loomed over you.

“ That’s me. What do you need? “ You replied, briefly scanning the faces of the guards with a perplexed expression.

“ Do you know the whereabouts of Bellamy Blake? Have you seen him at all recently? “ The guard queried sternly, maintaining a ardent yet monotone voice. He jutted out a digital pad with a picture of Bellamy to refresh your memory. Honestly, how could you forget a face like that?

“ No, I haven’t seen him all week, sir. What’s going on? “ You answered the guard truthfully, ripping your gaze from Bellamy’s picture to the stony-faced man. An anxious feeling grew exponentially in your chest, what happened to your best friend?

“ We’re suspecting that Bellamy may have shot the chancellor. Anyway, thank you for your time, Y/N. Let’s move out. “ The man respectfully dismissed himself and his team with a gesture of the hand. You were at a loss for words as you watched the retreating figures of security briskly jog out of the medical ward and around the corner. Why would Bellamy shoot the chancellor?

It took a few weeks but Camp Jaha was up and running like a fine-tuned machine. You operated along side Doctor Abby in the makeshift medical ward, treating limitless, superficial wounds of the Ark citizens. You sighed out exhaustedly, plopping onto one of the gurneys after clearing an Ark citizen to return to their normal duties after suffering a sprained wrist. Who knew that Earth would be such hard work?

Your mind wandered off to the well being of Bellamy. You haven’t seen him since the shooting incident and it was literal agony. You couldn’t recall how many days you spent cooped up in your room pouring your thoughts over Bellamy. You were shattered to pieces the second you found out he wasn’t on the Ark anymore but rather on a trip to the ground. You still haven’t figured out why Bellamy vanished into thin air. He avoided you completely the week before and left without a single goodbye. Bellamy left you stranded in space while he did only God knows what on the ground.

“ Y/N! Prepare for emergency surgery! “ Abby rushed in yelling, breaking you of your deep thought. A delinquent followed suit after the doctor, she was carried in on a stretcher while her lower back was a painting of dark purple with mixes of yellow and dark blue. You scrambled quickly for scalpels, bandages, and other resources; unable to get a look at who you were going to cut open.

You planted the materials in Abby’s hand as you dawdled to the other side of the gurney. You were in complete shock as the person you were operating on was none other than Raven herself. She became a good friend of yours after insisting she get another physical, even thought it was her fifth one. You envied Raven about how headstrong she was on becoming a Zero-G mechanic.

“ Raven? “ You questioned incredulously, she made it down here too? How? Why are you so out of the loop?

“ Y/N? “ Raven reflected the surprised look on your face before it twisted in what you assumed to be painful anguish. You couldn’t believe that Raven was risking her life to walk again by going through with this surgery. The guttural shrieks Raven emitted as she was sliced into was inhuman, something you thought was impossible. They echoed in every direction of the camp, even Bellamy heard them.

It was a bloody mess and it felt like eternity before the bullet was extracted from Raven’s spine. You were flabbergasted at how Raven miraculously didn’t die during the surgery. You spoke to Finn about the delinquent’s time on the ground as Raven snoozed peacefully facedown on the gurney.

Bellamy slept around with almost every girl in their camp. He never mentioned a word about you to anyone. Apparently, Bellamy has a secret sister named Octavia. You didn’t even know who he was at this point. It was absolute torture to listen to Finn about Bellamy but you maintained a cool exterior, playing it off as well as you could. You two weren’t as inseparable as you thought you were.

You thanked the security guard for allowing you passage into the improvised jail in the Ark. Abby had sent you on an assignment to bandage up the two prisoners before their questioning. It would be easy peasy, you thought nothing of it as you would be happy to do any for Abby. Little did you know that Bellamy would be one of the detainees.

Bellamy’s heart stopped altogether, he could recognize your voice anywhere. The thought of him abandoning you haunted Bellamy ever since he pulled the lever in the drop ship. He could barely sleep a wink without you showing up in his nightmares. The weight of your friendship came crashing down on him as Bellamy would fuck the heartache away and end up feeling emptier than ever before. He knew that you were going to despise him but you don’t know how much Bellamy would give up to hold hands with you one more time.

You crouched in front of Murphy and began tending to his scrapes, bruises and cuts. It’s amazing how much the human body can withstand and how it could repair itself on its own. Bellamy’s eyes tunneled holes into the back of your head before Murphy took notice of his dark and worried countenance.

“ Do you know her? “ Murphy quizzed Bellamy, a conceited smirk on his blood-splattered face. You peered up to Murphy looking over your shoulder with that odd smile. Naturally, you glanced over your shoulder and your heart instantly sank to your stomach like a heavy weight. Bellamy shamefully hung his head down low, averting his gaze from yours.

“ Bellamy? “ You managed to choke through the tears welling up on your waterline. The miserable image of your broken character would be forever burned into the back of Bellamy’s retinas.

“ Y/N, I-I can explain- “ Bellamy stuttered nervously, forcing himself to look into your intense gaze.

“ You just fucking left! You left me all alone in fucking space, Bellamy! You were everything to me and you just left! “ You interjected rapidly, shutting Bellamy down in the middle of his sentence. You raged on like a burning forest fire.

“ God, I was so in love with you, Bellamy. It was obvious that I was head over heels for you. I thought you felt the same way until I found out you slept around as soon as you landed and you didn’t even tell anyone about me. It’s like you wanted to forget all about what we had. “ You dejectedly spilled your guts out to Bellamy, painstakingly reminding him of his mistakes. The tears were refusing to stop falling and you felt defeated. It hurt to kick Bellamy while he was down but you wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. You were sick of crying yourself to sleep and repeating it over and over again.

Bellamy was at a loss for words, he couldn’t believe he caused that much suffering to you. Bellamy couldn’t face the facts that he was falling in love with you as well. He tried his best to suppress the relentless emotions through other girls yet it never worked. He was deathly afraid, emotions were distractions and distractions got you killed on Earth.

You were sick of waiting for an answer from Bellamy so you left, leaving him in the dust. He called out to you but to no avail, you simply ignored it and kept walking without even looking back.

“ Okay Y/N, that is enough for you. It’s time to go to bed, honey. “ Raven shut down your drinking spree by snatching the tin cup out of your hands. She couldn’t help but laugh at how childish you were acting. Raven couldn’t believe how drunk you got trying to forget about Bellamy. You were practically falling out of your seat and rambling on about nonsensical topics to her.

“ No, stop! You’re not my mom! I can do what I want! “ You slurred drunkenly yet you didn’t attempt to resist against Raven throwing your arm around your neck. You stumbled on your feet like a dead weight and Raven’s leg wasn’t helping her in any way to support you.

“ Do you need some help? I can take it from here, Raven. “ Bellamy piped up from behind her, offering her a helping hand. Bellamy was truly a blessing from heaven.

“ Thank God, yes, please. Y/N’s quite the handful. “ Raven groaned in relief, briskly handing you off to Bellamy He swept you of your feet bridal style and carried you back to your room. You leaned your head on Bellamy’s shoulder and studied his strong features through hooded lids.

“ You’re the best and I don’t actually hate you. I love you so much, king. “ You unknowingly admitted your true feelings to the man you’re supposed to hate. Bellamy scoffed a chuckle, unsure if you actually meant it. After all, you couldn’t even walk since you were so shitfaced.

“ Alright, princess, time for bed. “ Bellamy pushed the door open with his boot and gently laid you down on your comfy bed. He tucked you neatly in bed, bringing the blanket up to your shoulders. Wait a minute, how’d you get here? Where are you? You silently thought to yourself before you saw Bellamy making a quick beeline for the door.

“ If you leave, I’ll start crying, king. “ You threatened in an unforgiving tone, forcing Bellamy to stay the night. You felt the bed dip and warmth radiating off of Bellamy. Something you haven’t felt in a long time. You snuggled right into his arms, further confusing him with your sudden affection. Just day before, you were working hard to avoid Bellamy and now you’re drunk, cuddling up to him. Oh, you’re out cold.

“ Y/N, I’ve loved you ever since I met you on the Ark and I never meant to ditch you out of the blue like that. I had to come down here to protect Octavia. I couldn’t bare to leave her alone. I never forgot you. I couldn’t, it was impossible no matter how hard I tried. I could never forget you, princess. I love you too much. I’m so sorry that I caused you so much pain and suffering but I promise that if you let me, I will fix everything even if it takes all of eternity. I love you, please, I can’t lose you. Not again. “ Bellamy was putting everything on the line by pouring his heart out to you. You were completely blindsided by his moving confession, tears dripped down your cheeks one by one.

Not knowing what to do or say, you just shot out of bed and crashed your lips onto Bellamy’s. He stumbled from the sudden momentum but was quick to welcome you in his loving embrace. The kiss was desperately needed and passion-filled. It left you both breathless and starving for more.

“ Did you know that you’re an huge asshole, king? “ You teased playfully as you drew shapes in Bellamy’s broad chest with your fingernails. The last hour consisted of possessive grabbing, sex growls, and muffled moans. Man, was it awesome though.

“ Yeah, I know but you know you love me. Don’t lie, Y/N. “ Bellamy poked fun before rolling over you and peppering your face with quick pecks. “ You’re my everything, princess. Don’t ever forget it. “

Bellamy truly loved you with all his heart and soul.

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zephyroh · 7 years

Text

this is just me at 4am (welll, 5 now) trying to dig a but into trini’s character

Read on AO3

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She was staring at the wooden table as if she could pierce a hole through it if she tried hard enough. Her skin was itchy and burning hot as if her blood was trying to escape her veins. She could hear her heart beating and felt it in her throat. The room was silent except for the ticking of the clock, punctuated with her mother’s occasional sighs.

Tick. Tock.

Trini shifts slightly on her chair.

Sigh.

She was counting the seconds in her head. Tick. Tock. Seventy-two. Seventy-three. She was trying really hard not to look up because she knew all too well what she would find. Her father’s sad eyes and her mother’s clenched jaw and stiff posture.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Her mother had begun tapping her painted nail on the table. Trini’s body tenses even more at the anxiety-inducing sound, like it was ready to start running to flee at any given moment.

Tick. Tock. Tap. Sigh.

The silence was crushing her and she felt life she was drowning. She hated this so much.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Her mother firm voice finally breaks the heavy silence after ninety-eight seconds. Trini couldn’t help but quickly glance up to meet her mother’s eyes before returning to the spot on the table she’s been previously staring at. She holds back a tiny smirk, feeling satisfied that she didn’t crack first.

“Are you taking drugs again? Is that it?”

This time, Trini was the one letting out an exasperated groan. Her mother was saying that like she used to smoke crack or shoot up heroin, when she actually just used to smoke weed on some occasions. And her mother would have never found out if she hadn’t find a little bag of it while cleaning her room – even though Trini explicitly expressed she hated when her mother did that because she was capable of tiding her own room.

“Maria…”, her father tries to intervene with a soothing tone.

“No, I’ve had enough. She’s been even more distant, going out at night – yes muchacha, we’ve noticed – getting weeks of detention for destroying school property, sometimes coming home with bruises- I can’t pretend that everything is fine. Talk to us, Trini!”

Trini closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. If she had a dime every time she heard that phrase, she would be able to afford any college she wanted. But how can you tell your own mother you don’t feel comfortable talking to her. That you don’t know how to put words on what you’re feeling. That’s you don’t want your parents to really know what’s going on because you don’t trust them to understand. Even more now that you’re an actual superhero.

So as usual, she just keeps quiet.

Tick. Tock.

She hears a muffled sob coming out of her mother’s throat and the sound breaks her heart. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to make her mother suffer. But she felt like she was suffocating herself, and just wanted to crawl inside her own skin so she could finally feel peace, even just for a second.

Tears started to burn her eyes as her mother buries her face into her hands. The guilt creeps inside her, making its way in her bones, shaking her to her core.

“I’m fine, mom. I promise.” She finally managed to breath out. She doesn’t know what else to say. She doesn’t know how to say it. The words feel stuck in her throat, unable to come out in an intelligible way.

She tentatively lifts her head to look at her parents’ reaction. Her father gives her a small smile, appreciative of her effort. Her mother however, looks at her with a resigned face, and Trini knows she doesn’t believe her. She then sighs once again and makes a vague gesture with her hand, signaling that Trini was free to go.

As the girl leaves, relieved that the interrogation seance was over, her heart doesn’t feel any lighter.

Saturated guitars and guttural screams blast from her headphones as she climbs up the mountain. She is out of breath from running, feeling like her lungs are about to explode. She usually goes for a run after those kinds of arguments with her parents, running until her head is cleared and her body exhausted.

As she reaches the top, she breathes in the fresh evening air and closes her eyes, letting the small breeze caress her skin. The moon is high, not entirely full and no clouds are shielding its light.

Trini takes in the sight of the valley she grew accustomed to, and remembers the time she thought it would be the only thing she’d missed here when she’d have to move again. Now she can add four infuriatingly friendly individuals to the list of things she’d miss.

She had been doing yoga poses for three and a half songs when she felt the ground vibrating from footsteps. She feels the air shift behind her, betraying the presence of someone without having to hear them. Trini’s training kicks in in a second, abandoning her pose to adopt a defensive posture. In a swift move, she spins on herself, raising her arms and closing her fist… only to be greeted with Kimberly’s crooked eyebrow and amused smile.

She drops her stance immediately, stiffening her back and crossing her arms. She doesn’t know yet if she felt irritated by the other girl’s presence or not. Seconds pass by without either of them doing or saying anything. Trini then turns her back on Kim to resume what she was doing earlier, after removing her headphones nonetheless.

Kim must have took that as an invitation to stay because Trini feels her move to her side, sitting a few feet from where Trini was standing. The latter was forcing herself to look straight ahead, trying to focus on what she was doing. Part of her wanted to ask Kim was she was doing here while the other didn’t want to start a conversation she couldn’t continue. If Kim was bothered by Trini’s lack of reaction to her presence, she didn’t show it as she stretched her legs and rested on her forearms, looking up at the moon. Trini internally cursed herself when she realized she was staring a bit too long, noticing too much how the moonlight lighting Kim profile accentuated the features of the beautiful girl’s face.

When Kim spoke softly, Trini almost jumped out of surprise as she wasn’t expecting it.

(Her heart skips a beat and her cheeks feel warmer than before – Trini tries to convice herself it’s because of the yoga.)

“I come here often to clear my head when things at home are… too much.” She says as if Trini asked a question. “My parents are having a few friends around. I figured I’d spare them the embarrassment of explaining how their perfect kid ended up kicked out of the cheerleading squad and ended up in detention for the rest of the year.” She lets out a humorless laugh. “And it would spare me the trouble of trying to pass as the brilliant, well-mannered daughter.”

She pauses, frowning slightly, then continued talking – though Trini wasn’t sure if she was talking to her, or to herself.

“I spotted a tiny silhouette on my way up, it could have been no one else but you, I figured.”, she teases. Trini merely groans at the mention of her size. “I usually go a bit further, into the forest, to take a swim in the river. There’s a great diving spot not so far from here. The water is cold as hell most of the time, but it feels good.” Kim continues to ramble, filling the air with her calm, soft voice and for once, Trini thinks listening to people talking isn’t that bad. “I found it a few months ago when I got lost actually. Well, not lost lost, ‘cause there’s still reception in the forest so I could use Google Map, but I didn’t take the path I used to and ended up finding this place.”

She pauses once again. As Trini was balancing herself on one single foot, she feels the need to keep Kim speaking. Her heart’s pace fastens again when she speaks for the first time since Kim arrived.

“Then I’ll be sure to avoid that spot.” Her words sound harsher that she intends to when she blurts them out. In the corner of her eyes, she sees Kim raising an eyebrow and tilting her head in confusion.

(She cursed herself once more for thinking about how cute she looked.)

“You’d throw me off that cliff too.”, she deadpans, shifting her head to look straight ahead.

There’s a moment of silence before Kim’s light laugh breaks out. The girl throws her head back, bringing a hand to her mouth to muffled the sound, in vain. As Trini sees tears forming at the corner of her friend’s eyes, she feels her own lips curving and she doesn’t even try to stop them.

“Oh my god!”, Kim breathes out as she tries to calm herself. “You are never gonna let this go, are you? I can see it, years from now, when we’re like forty and we have saved the earth like ten times, you’ll still rant about that. “

The short girl pretends not to notice her heart warming up at the idea of the five of them still being together forty years from now.

Kim then exaggerates a frown and mumbles in a deep voice. “Sorry Jason, I don’t know if I can trust Kim for this mission. Last time I did, she pushed me off a cliff. Those things stay with you, you know....”

Trini lets out an amused laugh at Kim terrible impression of her.

(Her heart hasn’t slowed down since before.)

She tried to regain her composure, breaking eye contact with a smirking Kim, looking very satisfied with her teasing. There’s a moment when all they can hear is the wind going through the leaves of the trees, before Kim starts speaking again. She talks about how she loves the water, how she and her parents always spend their holidays on the beaches of Florida, how she used to collect sea shells when she was little, how she ended up dressing almost entirely in pink one summer when she mistakenly put a red shirt in the laundry machine and all her white shirt turned out colored and her mom made her wear them as a punishment – “the universe does have a wicked sense of humor, don’t you think?”.

She talks about nothing and everything, superficial or deep, and Trini doesn’t feel so alone or numb anymore. She doesn’t know how much time passes and doesn’t want to find out. She doesn’t want to go back to reality yet.

When Kim stops speaking, simply laying there, her eyes closed and body relaxed, the silence doesn’t feel as heavy as it once did.

“You talk a lot.”, Trini whispers. Her tone isn’t aggressive. She simply states a fact.

It doesn’t faze Kim as she laughs softly. “And you don’t talk much. But that’s okay, I can talk for the both of us.”

Trini will probably never admit it out loud in front of Kim, but those words – so simply said yet filled with understanding and without any judgment – nearly brought tears to her eyes.

“I used to never talk honestly about my feelings. With my parents, with my ‘friends’ at school”, she spits the word ‘friend’ as if it burned her mouth. “After… After everything, I’ve decided that I officially don’t care anymore. Fuck it. Fuck everyone. I’m gonna say what I want to say, and not what everyone wants me to say. It feels liberating. You should try it sometimes.” She pauses for a second before adding. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Kim doesn’t look at her when she says that. Her tone sounds casual but Trini can feel Kim just doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable and she couldn’t be more thankful for that. She couldn’t have handled it otherwise.

She had abandoned her yoga poses a while ago and was now completely facing Kim, watching her silently, her hands tucked in her jacket. The other girl was now sitting up, looking down at the ground in front of her. Trini could feel there was something on her mind and she was hesitating to say it, despite her statement about free speech a few seconds ago. Kim finally looks up at her when Trini sits next to her, imitating her previous position as she spreads her legs in front of her, laying on her forearms. Kim accepts the mute invitation to keep talking as she starts speaking again, though her voice feels heavier this time.

“I’m not really good at comforting people you know… Usually, I can pretend and say what people expect me to say. But honesty and sincerity, with actual friends- I’m not really sure how to do it. I saw you were upset earlier and I didn’t know what to do… So, I guess rambling my whole life story was the first thing that came into my mind.”

She tries to laugh but her light tone doesn’t feel quite right. She shifts awkwardly next to Trini, as is she didn’t know how to behave – staring at her hands, avoiding Trini’s gaze.

A whiff of wind passes through leaves again. A faint sound of singing birds can be heard from afar.

(Trini doesn’t notice because she can only hear her heartbeat.)

She leans her head against Kim’s shoulder as she speaks softly.

“Thank you.”

And when Kim leans back, resting her temple on her head, Trini thinks silence isn’t so terrible as well.

#trimberly #kimberly hart #trini kwan #pink lemonade #power rangers #i haven't written in a looooong time #but i felt a bit inspired #not beta'd so i apologize for the mistakes #my fics #mine #*powerrangers #mywork #myfics #mytrimberly

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dawnstruck · 7 years

Text

i think i’m entitled to your body

Yoonbum’s eyes are black mirrors, reflecting Sangwoo’s madness back at him.

[Read on AO3] Rated Explicit. Warnings: Rape/Non-con

Iconography.

Sangwoo, in essence, is a creature of habit.

He doesn't have OCD or anything stupid like that, but he believes in maintaining a certain order. So he keeps his apartment clean and his clothes nicely folded and put away. His aftershave and hair gel bottle stand by the sink with their label facing forward. He goes shopping every Thursday afternoon, and once a months he drops by the library to return his books and check out some new ones.

He generally also has a strict routine when it comes to his victims, mostly just for efficiency's sake.

First he charms them, then he wines and dines them, then he fucks them, then he chains them, tortures them, kills them. He makes them enjoy his presence first, makes them cum and quiver and hungrily lick their lips at him. That's half of the thrill for him, to turn things around like that, to confuse them, to watch the sudden whiplash realization in their eyes as they begin to understand that this is happening.

With Bum, things are different. This is one of the reasons he is even still alive. Because he is something new, something unprecedented, something aberrant.

Girls moan Sangwoo's name when he's got his tongue on their clits and his fingers up their cunts, but they start screeching as soon as they see the knives. Yoonbum stares up at Sangwoo and his baseball bat like a pious man whose prayers have just been answered by a capricious god and he says I fell in love with you.

Still Life.

The thing with people is that they are quite boring when they are dead. There's that short surge of adrenaline when he kills them, of course, but that only lasts so long.

Bum, he decides, is more entertaining when left to live.

Aesthetic.

The radio is idly playing old love songs and Sangwoo sits at the kitchen table while he watches Bum scrub the floor.

Bum is wearing his old outfit, the one the CEO's daughter had worn. It's one of Sangwoo's favorites, just because it's such a familiar sight. The crop top rides up every time Bum leans forward, exposing his white spine, vertebra by vertebra, before sliding back down again. The folds of the skirt are splayed around him and his ankles peek out from under it. His knees are perpetually blue with bruises, but his broken legs seem healed now, at least superficially. The soles of his naked feet face towards the ceiling. They are slightly dirty, which is why Sangwoo told him to clean to fucking floor in the first place.

He makes Bum shave his legs now, too, because the hair is kinda off-putting. Bum ends up accidentally cutting himself more often than not, but the droplets of blood welling up and the smooth expanse of skin make it worth it.

Bum's fringe swishes across his forehead and he pushes it back with a careless forearm.

He's almost pretty this way, dressed like a girl and working like a woman. He really deserves a reward.

“Hey, Bum,” Sangwoo says and sets his feet down on the still wet floor, “Let's go out tonight.”

Pastiche.

He enjoys dressing Bum, using his miscellaneous collection of trophies. The shoes and coat are what Bum wore when he first broke into the house. The skinny jeans Sangwoo bought for him on their last shopping trip, from the girls' section no less, because Bum was too tiny for anything else. The shirt is a leftover from Sangwoo's high school days, from before his military service had made him buff up, but it still hangs off Bum's narrow frame like a flag of surrender. The many wrinkles, however, just barely disguise the outline of the old bra Bum is wearing underneath, the off-white one Sangwoo had found in his trashy apartment. His favorite, though, are the deep red panties, the ones that looked quite nice on the girl from two weeks ago, but that are rather too snug around Bum's front, making him wriggle in discomfort.

It's like a little secret that only he and Sangwoo know about.

“Try to look more alive tonight,” Sangwoo tells him, “Last time, the others thought you were demented. They thought I had been roped into babysitting my dumb little cousin or something. I had to explain that we are friends and that I actually like you. Embarrassing as hell, let me tell you.”

Bum ducks his head but gives a quick nod.

“Just smile a little,” Sangwoo says and ruffles his hair, “I'm sure they'll like you.”

Fauves.

The bar his friends choose is a nice one. Sangwoo has been here before, but not in a while. He frequents other establishments when he is actively hunting, not wanting to risk that someone might remember his face and connect it to the disappearance of whatever girl he took home that night.

The lights here are dimmed, the music loud enough that you have to raise your voice a little to be heard all the way across the table. They are a rambunctious group, so it's no problem, really.

Bum is by his side, crammed into the corner of the bench, drowning in his heavy coat. Sangwoo casually leans back, putting his arm up onto the backrest. He doesn't touch him, but Bum shrinks anyway. Sangwoo smirks into his drink.

On the other side of the table, the guys are teasing Jun about something and it takes Sangwoo a while to catch on. Apparently, they caught her looking at edited pictures of some k-pop band and, hah, she is one of those girls who is into gay guys. Everyone's laughing now and her face is red, but she does not even deny it.

“It's just wrong,” Seong-Ho says, carelessly flapping a hand, “What kinda guy would do that?”

“A gay one, Seong-Ho,” Nari says with a roll her eyes, “That's kind of the point.”

“Still,” Seong-Ho insists. He's always too loud, to direct. He wouldn't know subtlety if jumped into his face and bit him. Though subtlety probably wouldn't do that.

“What about you, Sangwoo?” Hwan asks in that moment, leaning across the table, “Would you kiss a guy?”

“Ah,” Sangwoo makes a show of thinking about it, lifting a finger to his mouth, “If he were really cute, I guess.”

There's surprised laughter and Seong-Ho yells, “No way!”

“I would, I would,” Sangwoo insists playfully and then, just for the hell of it, proves it.

The back of Bum's head feels fragile in his cupped palm, like the skull of a newborn, like an overripe peach that will bruise too easily. Amid the music spilling out of the speakers overhead, Bum's breath is little more than a wheeze.

There's laughter all around them. Bum quivers, a rabbit in a snare. Move and you'll suffocate. Don't move and eventually just stave. His lips are cool and bloodless. Sangwoo angles his head and pushes his tongue in.

He makes it dirty, revels in the jeering and giggling of his friends. They are so easily entertained by such ordinary things. It's just a kiss but all they see is depravity. Sangwoo wants to show them what it's like to cut a heart open.

Well, he thinks when he pulls back and Bum's mouth is wet with saliva, maybe he had shown them that anyway.

“And this,” Nari says, “Is why Jun likes that kinda stuff.”

“What, what?” Seong-Ho says, “I still don't get it.”

“Because that was hot,” Nari insists, “Two guys making out is hot.”

“It's not,” Seong-Ho groans, “They're just... C'mon, girls are much better.” “Double standards,” Nari complains and elbows Jun in the side as though asking for backup, but the blush is still high in Jun's cheeks and she seems incapable of speech.

Bum is red, too, but it's a different kind, embarrassed, yes, but sort of sick and feverish.

Just a kiss, Sangwoo thinks. Just a kiss does that to him.

And he'd never thought of fucking a guy before, but lately the idea has taken root in him like a cancer, changing his very being to the core. It's too late to purge it now; he's let it fester for too long.

Palimpsest.

Yoonbum is a great many things, has been a great many things, always depending on what Sangwoo wants him to be. A little monkey kept for entertainment. An obedient lapdog. A child that needs to be taught how to play by the rules. A victim. His mother. A comrade. His lover.

Sangwoo barely lets the paint dry before he starts on another work of art right on top of it.

Grotesque.

There used to be that slightly sick smell about Bum, like a dying animal. He's almost bizarrely underweight, but lately he's been filling out a little. Sangwoo has been feeding him well. He's still not much to look at, but Sangwoo likes the way his bones make the shadows bow on his skin.

He spreads his hand across Bum's concave belly, runs it up to his chest, so his thumb is on the right nipple and the tip of his little finger on the left. He grins. Bum is so small, childlike and feminine and just this side of morbid.

Bum sucks in a shallow breath and turns onto his front, presenting Sangwoo with his ass, so Sangwoo hooks a finger into the waistband of Bum's panties and pulls them down a little.

There's still hair there, on the pale cheeks and running along the crack, and Sangwoo grimaces in distaste. It's not too bad, he guesses, but for next time he'll have to figure out a way to get rid of that.

“Huh,” he says, pressing a thumb to the hole, surprised by how velvety soft it is. He's never done anal before, since most girls don't exactly offer on the first night, and it's not like Sangwoo ever gives them a chance for a second.

He closes a hand around Bum's upper arm and turns him onto his back, before leaning over to fish for the plastic bag from the drug store he went to a couple of days ago.

“I bought lube,” he explains, weighing the bottle in his hand and popping the lid open. The smell is neutral. He doesn't like any of the scented, self-warming shit, so this is just some random cheap brand.

When he scoots back, Bum has turned back onto his stomach. Sangwoo frowns.

“Turn around,” he says, pushing at Bum's shoulder, and Bum obeys, if reluctantly.

“I looked this up online,” Sangwoo explains, squirting some of the lube onto his fingers, “Sleeping with guys is a little more complicated. But I guess if you're used to taking that huge dildo, I don't have to be too careful.”

Bum lets out a shuddering breath, but pushes the panties down all the way, shimmying out of them until they are tangled around his ankles. His dick is still limp, but Sangwoo doesn't care about that for now.

He lets his lube-covered finger circle around the clenched hole a couple of time, waiting for Yoonbum to at least marginally relax into the touch. Then he dips in, just the tip, shallowly thrusting. It's unlike what he expected.

It's not like a girl, not like a girl at all. But while girls are hot and tight, Yoonbum is even hotter and tighter. It seems impossible that Sangwoo could actually fuck him, but he had seen the dildo and that was bigger after all. Still, he feels himself getting excited at the thought of actually pushing his dick into that heat.

He'd been vaguely curious before but now he has made up his mind. With a quick hand he adjusts himself in his pants, while the other lets his middle finger push deeper into Yoonbum.

He adds another finger soon, starts out gradually again, but then crooks his fingers like the online articles had instructed him to, and – there.

Bum's breath hitches and he bucks his hips. His eyes are wide and when a whimper escapes him he presses his hands over his mouth, as though surprised by the sensation.

Sangwoo, however, is distracted by how Yoonbum is clenching down around him, even as he repeatedly scissors his fingers. It's pure muscle down there and Sangwoo can't wait to actually fuck him.

Patience, though. Patience.

He takes his time, more or less, properly opening Yoonbum up, until he is subtly writhing against the sheets, but then he reminds himself that Bum has done this before, in a way, that he should be able to handle it.

With his free hand he shakes the pack of condoms from the plastic bag, wrestles it open and pulls out a condom. He carefully tears the wrapper with his teeth and then he pushes down his underwear to get at his dick. He has to pull his fingers free from Yoonbum to properly roll the rubber down; it barely takes a few seconds but as soon as he is done, Bum has rolled over again.

“What the hell, are you really that much into doggy?” Sangwoo snorts, “C'mon, it's no fun if I can't see your face.”

This time, it's more difficult to maneuver Bum around. His hands are clenched in the bedroll and Sangwoo has to knock his knees aside to get at him.

Bum is full-on shaking now, one of his arms thrown across his eyes as though to hide himself. His hesitant erection is wilting again. Sangwoo wrinkles his nose, annoyed by the pathetic display.

“Geez, I'm not going to rape you,” he sighs, before grabbing Yoonbum by the hips and then pulling him forward so that his ass is snug against Sangwoo's hard cock.

Yoonbum whimpers but does not move again. His breath is shallow and rapid. Sangwoo frowns.

So far, Bum had always wanted all of this. He had wanted to kiss Sangwoo, to jerk him off, too suck him off, to kiss his feet and massage his shoulders and wash his hair. He's supposed to be begging for this, too.

In the faint moonlight streaming in through the window, Sangwoo can see the shiny scar tissue crisscrossing along the blue pulse of Yoonbum's wrist.

Dick in hand, Sangwoo takes a moment and thinks about what little he knows. Bum has never exactly been forthcoming about the details of his life, clamping up whenever the subject arose, even though Sangwoo had told him about his own past the moment they really met. He had thought that Bum was just a loser who didn't have any hobbies beside stalking, that he was embarrassed about how no one wanted to keep him around. But maybe there is more to it than that.

Slowly, he connects the dots.

“Your uncle, huh?” he says dispassionately, watching as Yoonbum flinches violently, and that's enough confirmation. It's really too much of a cliché, but Sangwoo mainly finds himself disappointed by the fact that Bum is not a virgin anymore.

He's glad he bought the condoms, though. He doesn't watch to catch anything.

“Hey,” Sangwoo reaches out, prying Yoonbum's arm away and revealing his face. Bum is crying now, the sobs raking his body, and it's really a quite pitiful sight.

Sangwoo bites the inside of his cheek.

“Stop crying, it's annoying,” he says, though it does little good. Yoonbum merely presses his other hand over his mouth, feebly trying to silence himself. His tears should be ugly and they are, but there is something about them, too. Something innocent.

Distantly, Sangwoo finds himself wondering when the abuse might have started, whether Bum had been a still a kid, whether anyone ever noticed or cared. He wonders if Yoonbum actually tried to kill himself over it or whether the cuts on his wrists were just cry for attention. He wonders whether Bum always knew he was gay or whether that realization only hit him when he came for the first time with his uncle's dick up his ass.

“Bum,” he Sangwoo says, bowing down to nuzzle his face against Yoonbum's neck, “This is our first time. I want to enjoy this with you. Don't you wanna make me enjoy it?”

His tone his persuasive, saccharine sweet. It's the voice he always uses to take Yoonbum hostage with, the one that made him understand that chains were no longer needed between them. All Yoonbum wants is to be loved and Sangwoo's words can paint such a pretty picture.

And really, a few moments later, Yoonbum's milk pale arms twine around Sangwoo's neck like the tendrils of a young plant and Sangwoo presses a sweet kiss to his tear-stained lips.

“There you go,” he whispers, “Thank you, Bum. Thank you.”

He reaches between them then to take himself in hand and guide himself in. Yoonbum is still tense, still shivering, but he hides his face against Sangwoo's chest this time and lets it happen.

The size difference between the two of them is really rather ridiculous, and Sangwoo wonders whether he could crush him just with his body weight alone. Instead, he presses farther in, until Bum's back arches, his head falls back and his mouth forms a perfect little o-shape.

Sangwoo gives a smug little smirk. That first time he'd allowed Bum to jerk him off, Bum had been blushed at how big he was, but now he was feeling the full extent of it.

Yoonbum's ass, in turn, feels incredible. It's definitely different than take a girl, the angle is a bit off, and it's even tighter than expected. Sangwoo groans lowly.

“That's it,” he praises into Yoonbum's starving ear, “You're doing so well.”

Bum lets out a stuttering breath, forcing himself to relax; then he presses back.

“Yes,” Sangwoo says, pulling out and immediately fucking back in, “You've wanted this for a long time, right?”

He thinks of Yoonbum in his shitty little apartment, splayed on the equally naked mattress and furiously fucking the dildo into himself, like an animal wanting to be mounted. A surge of arousal hits Sangwoo and sits up again, pulls Bum into his lap instead and keeps thrusting up.

Bum's crooked legs try to find purchase on the sheets but he whimpers in pain, hoists his upper body up instead, his thin arms quivering under his own weight and the force of Sangwoo's thrusts.

Soon, his hair sticks to his forehead and, when Sangwoo looks closely, he can see sweat like dewdrops collecting in the hollow of his collarbone.

Sangwooo grunts again, digging his thumbs into the grove of Bum's hipbones as he keeps him in place. And a criminal should not be leaving fingerprints, but this is more a question of an artist claiming his masterpiece.

Yoonbum, it turns out, sounds quite lovely when he comes.

Diptych.

Afterwards, Sangwoo pulls him close, so that Yoonbum's head rests against his chest. Their naked bodies are still entangled with each other, half-wrapped in the sheets. It would not work any other way. Remove one and the scene is destroyed, the meaning lost.

They belong together, juxtaposed like this. This is how it was meant to be.

Surrealism.

Yoonbum is full of surprises. Yoonbum doesn't make sense. Yoonbum does not stab him, but tries to feed him rat poison. Yoonbum begs to suck his dick, but flinches when Sangwoo brushes a strand of hair from his face. Yoonbum tries to escape but hides from the nosy police officer.

Since Yoonbum showed up, it's as though Sangwoo's world has been titled, bit by bit. At first he didn't notice, but one day he looked up and everything was off and he couldn't quite recall how things had been before.

He's not sure what to make of it. It should feel like a loss of control but instead he merely finds himself intrigued.

So he waits. And he waits. One day, he is bound to find an answer.

Impressionism.

It's a Sunday and Sangwoo does not feel like studying. His professors are always lenient with him, even when he hands in his homework late, so he's not too worried about lazing about.

They are lying on the sofa together, with some dumb action movie playing on the TV. Sangwoo's eyes are on the screen, but he isn't really watching.

He's got Bum pulled into his lap instead so that Bum lies cradled against his chest, but if he glances down along the bridge of his nose he can see the tension coiled in Bum's shoulders, in the line of his neck.

Sangwoo bought some cheap chocolates at the corner store and he's been dropping single ones into his mouth at irregular intervals.

“Hey, Bum,” he says now, chewing on another praliné, “Want a taste?”

He tilts Bum's chin up to kiss him, to push the remnants of sweetness into his mouth. The mixture of molten chocolate and saliva is honestly somewhat gross, but there is always something intimate about sharing bodily fluids with someone. Maybe Sangwoo will do him bareback after all one day. It's a nice thought for the future.

“Okay, this sucks,” he says a few minutes later when he has finally given up on the movie and is reaching for the remote control. He hesitates.

“You wanna keep watching?” he asks with a sideways glance at Bum.

Bum, fingers curled into Sangwoo's shirt, quickly shakes his head.

“Alright,” Sangwoo says and presses the off-button. The screen goes black. “Next time, you get to pick.”

He leans his head back against the armrest then, looking up at the wood-paneled ceiling. His hand comes up to settle between Bum's protruding shoulder blades.

A few minutes later, Yoonbum has fallen asleep.

Self-portrait.

It's quite strange to think that Yoonbum's life seems to be the inverse of Sangwoo's. Sangwoo killed his parents to escape them, but when Yoonbum was orphaned he ended up in the hands of his uncle. Yoonbum stalks people to get them to like him but keeps getting caught while Sangwoo kills the people who trust him too easily and no one suspects anything. Yoonbum, a really sweet gentle guy if you get down to it, but easily written off as a creep, and Sangwoo, who is constantly underestimated, misinterpreted, just because he has a nice smile.

They really are made for each other, in a macabre sort of way. Their jagged edges fit where previously Yoonbum had cut his wrists with them and Sangwoo had sliced through people. They fit and they match and someday, maybe, they will even merge and become one, indistinguishable from one another. Maybe it's already started.

“I love you,” Sangwoo says and the words quietly echo off the steamed up bathroom walls. He brushes the wet hair out of Bum's face, laying him bare, even though they are both already naked.

“I love you,” he repeats and Yoonbum's eyes are black mirrors, reflecting Sangwoo's madness back at him.

Abstract.

Yoonbum's gaze is liquid, his voice gossamer. He's a whore who learns to ride Sangwoo's cock with little prompting. He still cries sometimes, lachrymose as he is, though most days he is more demure than deceitful. He kisses like he smiles, with panic crouching at its edges, but he is always there when Sangwoo returns after vagrant hours, and usually that is enough.

He's a parasite who has dug his roots into Sangwoo's flesh, or maybe its a symbiosis, or maybe they are not living things at all.

So they fall asleep next to each other and there's something cathartic about the sunrise now, something almost sanguine.

Sangwoo thinks of slaughter and of the steel he keeps in his basement. Yoonbum mumbles in his sleep, rolls over to bury his nose in Sangwoo's side of the pillow.

Death, Sangwoo knows, would really be too easy.

#ks #killing stalking #tw: rape #fanfic #mine #artsy

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