#Ruby will definitely be feeling the bruises later

[somebluemelodies]

DAY TWO OF SPIDERBIT THEME WEEK STARTED BY @anonymous-dentist! :D SELECTED THEME: MURDER HUSBANDS (au slash something or other where purgatory happens later bc we were robbed of murder husbands plans) (i, uh… violence warning? murder husbands commit murder. i think this is one of the more interesting things i've ever written. you'll see why)

Their synergy is that of a well-oiled machine; quick yet eerily meticulous, like they’d done it together a thousand times already.

(Only one of them has. But the anger, the desire for blood and revenge from the other, is the perfect compensation.)

Their victims don’t stand a chance, one dropping to the floor right after the other with barely a chance to react.

The guard vaguely recognizes the man pinning him to the ground, whose arms are littered in scars new and old and whose clothes are stained with blood. A red and black dagger is held against its throat. They warned it, about this man. A potential threat, but not definitive.

Definitive, indeed.

The struggle only seems to make the man more pleased, laughing with a grin like the Cheshire Cat. The guard gets a few hits in with its baton, knocking him back, but he always comes right back, eager to fight. Eager to play. Eager to kill.

The other worker knows next to nothing about the other man dealing with it. But what’s more concerning is that they were wrong. There isn’t just one killer to be weary of. Since when was there two? Has it been two this whole time?

It’s this worker that’s the first of the two to go, the spider-hybrid above it playing no games with it, unlike his companion. The worker’s one and only attempt at self-defense is blocked with ease, and it watches as two extra sets of ruby red eyes open to stare at it, pupils as thin as needles.

(As if to say, you shouldn’t have done that.)

He strikes, and there are fangs piercing its neck. Immediately, it feels something coursing through its veins, numbing as its limbs feel as heavy as lead. The fangs are torn out of its white fur with no remorse, and the last thing it feels through coughing and sputtering is a spider leg piercing right through his chest. Digging.

And that’s that.

The guard sees it happen. And that’s the last thing it sees. Because the dagger that’d been shoved through its chest is pulled out and slicing against its neck, quick and efficient as it slumps to the floor, unmoving…

Cellbit climbs to his feet, lifting the dagger and swiping his tongue along the flat side of the blade, licking the blood clean off.

He watches Roier - his love, his husband - hold a heart without so much as flinching. If anything, the spider-hybrid seems just as pleased as he is, even if his expression is stoic, borderline angry.

(He knows how to read that man better than most people.)

Roier’s black sweatshirt is stained even darker still with fresh blood, hands covered in it too as he drops the organ carelessly, standing as well.

(Cellbit’s heart jumps, and he resists the urge to walk over, pulling him into a smothering kiss.)

It’s Roier who walks over to him first, finally smiling and looking evidently satisfied. Roier slips behind him, chin hooking over his shoulder, arms circling his waist as they both admire their handiwork.

“Que lindo,” the spider-hybrid murmurs.

The tone nearly sends a pleasant shiver down Cellbit’s spine. “Sim.”

Cellbit finally wheels around after a few moments pass, shoving his dagger away momentarily to cup Roier’s face and pull him into a bruising kiss.

His husband makes a surprised sound but immediately reciprocates, arms wrapping tight around his neck and deepening the kiss.

It tastes like blood; metallic and bitter and addictive.

(Cellbit’s heart hammers in his chest, and he’s never felt more alive.)

(Roier starts to understand the thrill, too.)

…

Two new bodies show up, mutilated and massacred as ever. But there’s a catch, this time. They don’t show up days apart; they appear on the same exact day, and the exact same place.

(And one of them is missing a heart.)

The dead Federation workers have been morbidly displayed on the quartz floor in front of the train station. Bloody symbols paint the pristine white floor crimson with another message, another clue.

Find it before we do.

Far away from the train station, in a tall, brooding castle on a hill, the island’s head investigator sits, carefully cleaning red off of his wedding ring as he and his husband strategize and plan out their next little date.

#one of my spider hybrid roier hc’s is that he has four additional ‘legs’ #kinda like some variants of spider-man having retractable mechanical ones #but these aren’t retractable or mechanical he just keeps them hidden a lot #unless he’s fighting #bc they’re very useful for fighting #on another note i think i surprised myself with this one #it is one thing to talk about wanting spiderbit to make out covered in blood and admire each other #and it is another thing to write it #i have no further comment #qsmp cellbit #qsmp roier #spiderbit #qsmp #blue writes qsmp #a.d's spiderbit week

[sincerelystesichorus]

astarion, anne carson, & autobiography of red - small character study blurb

In which I've written 40k words of Astarion character analysis fanfiction and I'm definitely still normal.

Astarion used to be blue, but ever since that night two centuries ago, he was reborn red. And he had spent at least the past century thinking that red was irreplaceable. It was – red, it was in his blood and the little blood Cazador would let him wring from rats, corroded and stained. His very life force. He was Cazador’s, his spawn, his jewel, his ruby. There was no cure for red. Not until you became the successful means to an end. He had been sure of it. Being red wasn’t good. It made everyone who wasn’t red, and that felt like most everyone, stare at you like you put off a certain aura… like they knew you were a monster that could only act off of instinct and emotion. And it was so frustrating, because parts of Astarion were blue still, knew what was better, but they were nothing in comparison to the suffocation of red. The emotions, and especially anger, fear, came on so strong. It was hard not to act on them, to test out what the boundaries of pure action were. Astarion knew the color and impulse all too well.

I expand way more on the idea of people as colors within my writing than Autobiography of Red does, where Geryon is the only one who is red. This further pushes Geryon's feelings of being separated from humanity in his narrative, but there's a lot of inherent evil and fucked up things within Faerun so I felt expanding on colors and specifically shades/hues was a better way to communicate this for Astarion.

Geryon's red is tied very instinctually to emotion though, and so representing red as a chaotic force of emotion in my fic didn't feel like too far a step. I took a lot of inspiration from Magic: the Gathering's color pie lol. While you never get an exact description of what's wrong with Geryon, you get a lot of the symptoms, reminiscent of some sort of innate childhood mental illness, on top of the obvious trauma present in his story.

Back to Astarion, though. I've just never not been able to code him with CPTSD, I think that's obvious, but I also know that poor bastard has a personality disorder skffkjdf. The game always hammers in he has no sense of self outside of his looks, which he can't even be sure of because he can't see himself. Astarion has to work his confidence and self-image off of memories of his body and face from two centuries ago, and from his master's word. Cazador has assigned him to this seduction role (or, I feel its at least implied that Astarion was ultimately forced into it because he was seen as the Szarr runt, he was pretty and easy to push around, and I'm also pretty sure Petras has a line about getting to eat dogs now and then?) and Astarion fulfills it because it's all he can do. All he feels good for. His actions aren't his own for two hundred years, and in a morbid way of coping with constant sexual trauma, he functions off of "Well, at least I'm pretty," but even that assumption comes from Cazador's rule.

Astarion had decided he was mostly pure red, splashes of black and blue coming in, bright and visible. The remnants of his past and an even deeper level of Cazador’s corruption, bruising his psyche.

Carson is again sparing with other color imagery as to fully emphasize Geryon feeling like this big red monster, but I love this little excerpt on fearful anger.

Black/shadow is already a strong force and theme within the game so it was easy to work with, acknowledging it as a sort of staining evil. Astrion has his later lines about how he never stopped viewing himself as Cazador's slave, and I think showing that corruption is obviously important. He's hurt but can still heal (as opposed to an ascended Astarion... who I have little if any hope for sdfkjdskf).

Cazador had spent the last two centuries branding it into his skin and mind, breaking his psyche to the point Astarion was worried there’d always be little cracks that remained. That he’d always be Cazador’s wilted poppy, ashamed and folding in on himself, his neck miserably drooped aside for the taking. 

Cazador is Astarion's Herakles, and I think that metaphor works even better considering that whole little side lore with Vellioth in the ruins. Herakles kills Geryon because he must, Geryon is a way for Herakles to ultimately reach a life free of consequence, but it's not like Herakles is innately malicious in the act. He is hardened after already facing so many labors and the trauma that was forced on him by Hera that induced his journey in the first place.

Cazador wants power, some part of him is probably truly convinced he's easier on his spawn than Vellioth was to him (a lot of insults to Astarion are about his feelings and "whining", Cazador feels vindicated in his trauma and is far gone), and sacrificing Astarion is simply a part of that journey. There is no world where their destinies do not intertwine. Geryon will always be pierced by Herakles, and Astarion wouldn't be the Astarion we know without being pierced by Cazador (and without his ultimate decision to finally separate himself from him, or to become him.) Astarion, understandably, will never not feel some sort of shame or agony over this moment, from natural emotions and I'm sure years of Cazador victim-blaming him. He consented to Cazador's help that night after all, didn't he? (And we simply won't acknowledge the coercion.)

Astarion’s attempts to prolong the inevitable were shattered by thick layers of stone suddenly slamming in front of his face, muffling sound and casting him into a void. He could hardly hear Cazador’s foul laugh as he departed. Astarion waited all night for Cazador to return. And then all of the next day, and the next one after that. Days became weeks. Weeks became months. Astarion started to agree that dying would have been easier. More peaceful. He had pondered hundreds of ways to attempt to kill himself while stuck in this abyss, the voices that had started developing only giving further inspiration, but it was impossible. He was sure.  All he could do was wait. Beat and claw at the stone around him. Curse. Repeat. Sometimes he'd wonder. If he'd ever get out of here. If Cazador would remember after forgetting. If this would be his forever. The voices began to recite to him again. Just how long eternity can be.

I think this is the greatest and most obvious similarity between these two, within Carson's retelling. Geryon feels somehow trapped and doomed by the narrative from his early childhood, and receives some blunt confirmation of it when he faces early sexual abuse. This affects his entire life, his early relationships. Geryon can't be older than ten in this excerpt, but knows the pain of isolation because of his trauma and for feeling different.

Astarion was plucked up by Cazador right out of law school. While for us it's not all that young, for elves he was fiercely immature, basically just starting to come into himself at his first big-boy job. Astarion was likely raised with a lot of privilege that also made him a bit more naive, his book smarts not meeting street smarts, which has him meet his end. In his undeath, that basically flips, Astarion plays his manipulation games and indulges in petty crime and seduction, unable to dedicate himself to studies. He reads and he's witty, but can you imagine the Astarion we know as a judge? It's giving Divorce Court. It's giving Judge Judy. (Honestly maybe that's what got him whacked in the first place.)

Astarion is already constrained to what Cazador lets him be as a slave. He's less than a person, and his own body is one of his greatest trauma sources.

All of this, to be punished so supremely when making an act of slight self-preservation. Astarion wanting to maintain some of his principles and let someone go. It becomes his greatest regret, his worst and most defining punishment. It's how Cazador breaks him.

I restructure some of the circumstances within my fic, as to better tie in the main romance, but it still functions as a punished act of self-preservation for Astarion. I'm also sure most people are familiar with the pain that solitary confinement can bring, but if not, it's genuinely inhumane and dehumanizing. Lack of stimulation is extremely damaging to the psyche, I wrote in Astarion breaking into psychotic episodes while enclosed, but even in game, he speaks about going catatonic. I'm sure minorly from exhaustion after fighting, but also from the isolation. His mind likely just drifted and dissociated beyond belief, and I can't imagine it. This is my favorite piece of Astarion's story we are given, it really is just so pivotal and heartbreaking, to be punished for having freewill in the most objectifying circumstances.

In summary to Astarion Ancunin I just sorta feel like this I guess...

ddfsdfdk but yeah just emo about my poor boy feeling so weird and disconnected yet so drowned in his own emotions you know...

[my homage to autobiography of red, fic series page, my ao3 page]

#astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 #character analysis #character essay #anne carson #classics #mythology #ao3 writer #bg3 fanfiction #feeling emo about the 6th century ig #character study #writeblr #geryon #my blorbos from fragmentary poetry and crpg #cazador szarr #halstarion #character psychology #just my opinions <3 #going delirious #sswcbh #qb

[thwardengates]

Sonic the Hedgehog

Just a lil characterization thing for Sonic in PICAU ^^ same rules apply as my chaos energy drabble post Not an obligatory read but if you feel like reading an essay go ahead I will not stop u!! it wld be very appreciated actually :]

First things first, Sonic is nonverbal in this AU. He did speak, and he might speak again as the story progresses, but for the time being he's gonna be entirely nv. The main reason for this is cause 1. Classic Sonic doesn't speak and I think it's cute, 2. He had to quiet down eventually, & 3. I said so

Second, there will be a LOT of focus on my au's divergence from the canon Forces plotline. Mostly focusing on the whole "6 months of torture" thing but made like, way worse because fuck those little anthro animals with supersonic speed & mountain shattering strength. just screw those little guys. ykwim.

Sonic doesn't give up, not even when he's faced with certain doom. We've seen that. that's how he is in Frontiers, and has been his whole life. So he stays that way. Sonic's capture wasn't pretty. It was fairly gross and bloody, and he looked like a corpse when he finally passed out. His legs were essentially mutilated from the attacks he sustained, and it definitely seemed like he broke a few bones other than his ribs. In an uprising war, it isn't going to be a nice gentle process, and when he's pitted up against phantom copies of Shadow, Metal Sonic, Chaos, Zavok, and then Infinite, he's bound to get beat up. A lot. He does get stronger every passing day (according to him, officially!) but it doesn't make it easier to handle four of your most difficult battles and then a new enemy on top of that. So yeah, he was pretty bruised and battered when he was taken captive on the Death Egg. So much so his legs weren't salvageable after the ordeal, and ended up amputated. (Because who'd think pushing past your limits could have repercussions?)

He's a little more serious than he has been in a few games. Again, more similar to Frontiers. He still makes jokes, but the psychological affects of six months of isolation with only enemies to accompany you & suddenly being unable to do the one thing you do best? It would take a toll. He stopped his snarky comments about halfway through his imprisonment simply because it wasn't worth the little energy he had. Most of it was pushed into conserving his energy, rather than making a snide remark at (fake copies of) your enemies.

He generates his own chaos energy! How? Fake Chaos Emeralds, of course!! Thrilling. Love to see immoral experimentation. Basically, the simple concept is: Eggman wanted to use fake Chaos Emeralds to act as the power/generator for things. It would keep regenerating, was incredibly powerful, and in the event the Phantom Ruby falls short on power, there was still highly destructive amounts of power available to him. But he needed a way to purify/funnel that energy into a more concentrated source, so he ended up using Sonic as a way to filter the energy into a usable form. Some of it is residual, but he also did end up with incredibly tiny, fragmented shards of fake Chaos Emeralds stuck in his body, which end up building up enough and reacting with each other enough to keep building up more energy inside of him, even without the help of an external source of chaos energy. Which essentially leads to constant overexposure. The main reason he doesn't end up vanishing from reality as we know it is because Eggman built up neutralizers that will keep the energy in check when it's not in use, because he can't have Sonic dying on him before the Eggman Empire is completed. His goal is still to kill Sonic in the end if it proves appropriate, or continue using him as a living battery, really.

Unfortunately it still follows a somewhat canon-compliant storyline, Sonic is rescued by the Resistance (+ Shadow and Tails, but that'll be explained in a later post really. All you need to know is I'm giving them a little more spotlight than just "did you know these are fake copies" and "I gave reason for classic Sonic being here so people cld still play as Sonic!") which also means he's away from those neutralizers. So for a good few days/weeks he's left overloading on energy n suffering while Tails tinkers away at his prosthetics. The whole "I'll destroy the world in 3 days" thing isn't going on here simply bc there isn't much that can stop Eggman n Infinite from destroying anything, bc Sonic is supposedly unable to survive for much longer than a day or two without neutralizers. It's more a backup plan if anything. Tails ends up making Sonic's prosthetics, which act as a natural outlet and neutralizer for Sonic's chaos energy. They basically funnel it out of his body and into the prosthetics, which automatically tune themselves to his needs, as well as dealing with his overload issue. Sonic ends up bunkering down with Shadow and Tails, though. He learns a lot about what happened in his absence through them. He also learns about their newfound friendship/bond, and even if he has his grudges about Shadow from the whole phantom-double nearly killing him thing, he's still able to forgive him, especially considering he kept his little brother alive and mostly unscathed the whole time, despite it being a literal warzone outside.

It does take him awhile to get back on 'talking' terms where he's more responsive and socialized again, and he's mostly miffed about the fact he wasn't able to help the Resistance sooner, due to Tails n Shadow forcing him to spend some time to recover and let himself get adjusted to his new set of legs. He's still stand-offish and sorta rockin' that thousand-yard stare when he scrapes his shit together enough that it's acceptable for him to join the fight again. He works alongside Shadow more than the Resistance though, simply because I can't imagine their little rivalry not having some teases about "I spent 6 months locked in a little space cage, and I'm still faster than you!" n also Shadow being mildly peeved at the idea of Sonic going from being weaponized/turned into a living battery to immediately wanting to join the fight again. I figure they'd also be able to connect a little bit cause they've got some similarities that aren't just... Fast hedgehogs. Now they've both been weaponized against their will bc I thought it'd be funny

Once Eggman realizes Sonic is in fact well alive and kickin', and with even more of a grudge and fire to fight than before, that's when the whole 'sun comes careening down to kiss us all a fiery last kiss goodbye' plan comes into action. He's able to get it goin' a little quicker simply because some time does elapse, but not soon enough that the Resistance n Team Dark aren't able to band together to kick ass. also omega gets repaired in this time ig. details details I'm not gettin' into them

Gadget is still very much here btw but this is mostly a focus on the non-resistance team (basically team sonadow dads + their strange fox son) and Sonic's experiences. forces does conclude blah blah I'm not doing all this rn more will get added later I'm tired

#sonic au #sth au #sth #sonic the hedgehog #peace in chaos au #picau

[bridgyrose]

Ruby: *getting slammed into the wall of the training room* That… that hurt…

Coco: *walking over to her* We should call it quits-

Ruby: *standing up* Not… until I… knock someone… out…

Velvet: Ruby, your aura is already in the red. If we keep going-

Ruby: I'll be fine. *shakily holds out her scythe* Im ready for the next go.

Coco: *sighing* Fox?

Fox: *walking over to Ruby and pushing Ruby over*

Ruby: *falling over without fighting back*

Yatsu: *picking Ruby up* Let's get you somewhere to rest.

Ruby: *struggling* Just… give me another… round!

Coco: *sighing* Is this about impressing Goodwitch?

Ruby: *sighing* No…

Coco: Look, kid, you cant push yourself like that. You want to be a huntress? Gotta know when to back off. Fighting until you cant fight any longer will give you a very short career.

Velvet: *nodding* You're strong, and you'll do well. We just have experience you dont. But… we can train you when Goodwitch is busy.

Ruby: Really?

Coco: You've got potential, kid. And who knows, maybe when the new students come around, you can best a few of them.

Ruby: So… why are you all here for break?

Fox: No where else to go.

Yatsu: And Velv and I aren't exactly fond of Mistral.

Coco: Besides, Professor Ozpin is letting us stay here to train… as long as we do a few favors for him.

Velvet: Clean around campus, test a few weapons… keep an eye on you.

Ruby: *pouting* I dont need a babysitter.

Coco: No, but he's worried about you. Now, rest up and we'll have a training session tomorrow.

Ruby: *sighing and laying down* Looking forward to it.

#Ruby rose #Rwby ruby rose #Coco adel #Velvet scarletina #Fox Alistair #yatsuhashi daichi #Goodwitched au #Ruby will definitely be feeling the bruises later

[funtimebunnyblog]

So! What about the god ok switch-a-roo? The pillarmen are now human and their s/os are pillarmen!

I interpreted this request as body swapping (similar to what we see in a much later part of JoJo) and I hope this is what you meant, my dear Anon! 🙏❤🥰

If not and you meant for me to write this in another way, I am SO sorry I misinterpreted the request and I sincerely hope you still enjoy this nonetheless! 😅😇

Body swapping with the Pillarmen! 😱 🔁

(Under the cut for length!)

Kars:

• Ending up in your body will piss Kars off more than anything really.

• Don't get him wrong, he loves you with all his heart; it's just that he's a man who is rather comfortable in his superiority and status over your race.

• He had worked VERY hard to get himself where he wanted to be afterall...

• Suddenly being reduced to a mere Human is enough to make his (er... your) stomach turn.

• Kars' new "limitations" in your body however didn't stop him from working out how this happened and, more importantly, how to UNDO it ASAP.

• When you happen to come to in Kars' body, the feeling is unsettling and strange to say the least.

• Piloting not only a Pillarmans body but Ultimate lifeform's as well will take you some getting used to for sure.

• For one thing, you'll come to find his hair gets in the way of EVERYTHING.

• If the wind blows or if you happen to turn sharply it's suddenly in your (well... his, but you get the idea) mouth or sticking in your eyes or just plain in your face!

• You can't understand how he stands it at all!

• There's no time for you to ask him to teach you how to wrap it up like he does either to remedy the issue so you have to grin and bear it.

• On the other hand, even the slightest jump in your emotions makes his arm blades spring forth!

• You almost ended up accidentally stabbing Kars (while he was in your body) as a result of getting worked up over the whole matter.

• Kars could only watch you floundering about in his body, frowning and shaking your human head as he told you repeatedly to keep calm and they'll stay put.

• As if you could keep level-headed at all in this situation as it was.

• On the upside ot things however... you learn some interesting things about Kars.

• "...Wait." you paused, peering down at the muscular legs beneath you; your eyes bore into Kars' boots with a critical gaze. There was something cushy sitting just below the heel on the inside.

• "Do you... have cloth wedged into your boots?" A sangria eyebrow raised, ruby eyes falling onto Kars.

• You watched as the features of your own face shifted dramatically, mouth falling open, scandalized. "I--" he began, but your voice fell short as he couldn't find anything to say in defense.

• "Do you do this to make yourself look taller?" A wheeze rose up in the Pillarman's chest, rich barking laughter ringing out as you doubled over in laughter.

• You suddenly came to the realization that you had never once seen Kars without his boots off, the pumps at the very bottom of the boots gave him a little boost as it was but on the inside it quite literally felt like you were wearing a pair of high heels.

• You were starting to wonder just how tall Kars really was. Hell, you were starting to wonder if he even passed Santana in height without these boots on!

• Your laughter fell short as a familiar, much smaller, hand reached up and grabbed your new body by the scarf. You were hauled down to meet the burning and intense gaze of your own eyes, Kars snarling right up into his own face.

• Jeeze, had your face always looked that red when you got angry before?

• "If you speak of this to ANYONE, I will spill each and every one of your own secrets to the others," he growled lowly, giving your voice an uncharacteristically harsh and grating tone. "Am I clear?"

• It took all you had inside not to call him "shortie" once things were finally back to the way they were and you both settled back into your own bodies.

• Despite your curiosity, your question on his exact height would never get answered.

• Kars knew how to put those arm blades to use better than you of course...

Esidisi:

• Oh boy... you have to be VERY careful piloting this one.

• And I mean the absolute definition of careful!

• When your consciousness ends up transfered into Esidisi's body, its no surprise that you feel very warm and fuzzy on the inside.

• It's almost a feeling akin to when you sit just a little too long in a bath that's a little too hot.

• Strangely, it was actually kind of a comforting feeling amongst this whole ordeal.

• However, if you're not careful with your emotions (warm and fuzzy feeling or not) than you might just accidentally end up burning a hole right through the Earth!

• Or worse... end up spraying scalding hot blood and flaying fleshy veins dripping with the stuff in all directions.

• Your core temperature has to constantly be monitored or you'll pay the price.

• It seems like even if you unfocus for one singular second, the Pillarman's entire body starts to smolder like a cake burning in an oven!

• Esidisi, on the other hand, is actually quite enjoying being in your body.

• He's having a much better time than you are for sure. In fact, he's laughing like this is nothing more than a game to him!

• You'll have to keep your eyes on him because he can't keep his (or rather, your) hands off your body.

• "Esidisi!" You barked, the Pillarman's voice was like the clap of thunder as it raised in octave; clearing the air with its power and inevitably startling you (again) even though you were the one wielding it. "Get your hands out of there, right now!"

• Your command was met with laughter, you watched as a wide grin stretched across your own face as Esidisi pried your hands off of your behind (for the 3rd time) and tucked them neatly into your pockets as he continued to giggle to himself.

• "I wasn't doing anything~" he purred, making your voice sound uncannily like a bad child playing innocent, acting wasn't just caught squeezing your cake.

• He was being to curious for his own good.

• That and the fact that he's taking enjoyment out of little ordinary Human things while piloting your body

• Things like feeling actual pain when skin is pinched or when hair is pulled seemed like it could entertain him for hours on end.

• If you don't keep a close eye on him and his shenanigans, you might just end up getting your body back all banged and bruised up if he goes too far with his fun.

• Fair enough, as he might just get his back half-burned into the ground or covered in blood...

Wamuu:

• Wamuu straight up does NOT have a good time dealing with suddenly being Human.

• The fact that it's your body he's in doesn't help that any either.

• 12/10 would NOT do again. 0 STARS!

• Wamuu, always a composed and calculating Warrior and tactician, was now in full panic mode.

• All his life he carried himself with pride, building his little ego off all his strengths and victories because of his status and his incredible unmatchable power.

• Now, with all of that ripped away from him, the Warrior felt too vulnerable and naked for his liking in this Human form.

• "Ow! OW!!!" Wamuu cried, eyes wide as your hands flew to your back. "Why does it hurt there? Do you always have pain like this?" Came the question, it was more than strange (and a little unsettling) to hear your own voice asking you that so desperately.

• "You get used to it." You replied, the deepness of the Pillarman's voice sending deep vibrations through the hardened chest as you spoke.

• "Why-- Why does this body feel so sluggish? I feel so inexplicably weary..." "I know. You get used to that too." "WHY IS EVERYTHING SORE?! WHY IS EVERYTHING CREAKING?!" "It's fine. That's normal."

• On the other hand, your mind suddenly being swapped into Wamuu's body isn't quite as bad as being in the others but... there are still some things to get used to.

• For one thing, it was hard to get used to simply walking around in it.

• Wamuu was so immensely big, muscular and heavy that you felt as if you were shaking the Earth with each step, causing you to lumber and stumble around with no grace to speak of.

• For another, a wirlwind just seemed to follow you wherever you went. It was honestly harder to control than it looked!

• When you wanted it to move one way, it went another. Wind blew up, wind blew down.

• You found yourself standing around, massive hands flying to the loincloth in an attempt to keep it from flinging up and showing too much.

• You wanted to spare least a shred of Wamuu's lost dignity while he wasn't piloting his own body after all.

• His horn is an entirely different matter.

• At one point the breeze blew too strong and the Pillarmen's signature headpiece suddenly flew right off his head and then... out sprang the horn.

• It shot 18 feet into the air, skewering two trees and drilling right through them like an overcharged power drill; a terrifying whir filling the air as chunks of wood flayed in every direction.

• The entire time you screamed in terror (you had no idea Wamuu's voice could go so high until that moment), slicing through an entire plot of trees as Wamuu yelled for you to put it away before it went for something breathing... like your own body that he was currently inhabiting.

• In the end, the relief you both feel to be back in your own bodies once the entire mess is fixed is immeasurable.

• You also both agree to never speak of the experience again for as long as you live.

Santana:

• Much like Kars, Santana is more unimpressed about the whole thing rather than upset or worried.

• Apart from you of course, Santana just barely tolerated Humans (or Primitives as he liked to call them) as it was.

• He often spoke about how fragile and flawed your kind was, honestly the defenselessness of a Human was laughable in his eyes.

• Therefore, he absolutely does NOT like suddenly being reduced to one, even if it is your body.

• The entire time he's practically pouting, the very definition of apathetic, grumbling to himself and following close behind as you tried to chase down the person responsible for the swap.

• "This form is... limiting." Came the low growl, each word sounding so very unlike you despite the fact it was your voice he was using. Santana practically spat as he kept talking, "Flawed. Primal. Defenseless."

• You were handling things admittedly better than Santana but it was still more than overwhelming.

• For one thing, you'll come to find that Santana's senses are extremely heightened.

• You never realized how very unbelieveably strong a sense of smell, taste and hearing could be until now.

• You could smell animals that had passed through the area nearly a fortnight ago just by putting your nose to the air. You could hear the thumping of your own heart from where it sat back in your own chest as Santana followed close at your heels.

• For another thing... Santana's body felt... odd.

• It was a strange and indescribable feeling; it was best put as you felt like a substance that constantly balanced between solid and liquid.

• How on Earth could he stand being a living mass of puddy and sharp deadly bones all the time?!

• As Santana kept grumbling about how very imperfect his new form was, your only hope was to give him that huge bag of gummy bears you had been saving in your bag for later to snack on.

• It would give you a moment of silence to think straight. However, if Santana was himself that would've been a good idea but in this case... not so much.

• "What's wrong?" You questioned, the Pillarman's gravely voice holding a different tone than you were used to as you used it, studying him.

• Santana had suddenly stopped following and was now slumped over, clutching at your stomach. A low whine surfaced, almost a sob, as he spoke through clenched teeth.

• "Do.... not.... feel..... good." Came the whimper. You came rushing to his side, your temorary body dwarfing your real one as you pulled Santana close to see if he had somehow gotten hurt.

• "What--" the question fell short as you spied the now very empty bag of gummy bears laying nearby.

• That bag had been huge, filled to the brim with bright and colourful gushy candy... and Santana had eaten ALL of them.

• It was that day that Santana found out that a Humans biggest flaw was that too much sugar made them sick.

• Good luck with enjoying getting your body back when the time comes as you now suspected you would spend your time kneeled over a bucket with a hot water bottle instead of celebrating...

#funnybunny #pillarmen #pillarmen headcanons #kars #esidisi #wamuu #santana #kars x reader #esidisi x reader #wamuu x reader #santana x reader #anon ask #my writing

[kiki-shortsnout]

Do you angsty Loki/Tony/Stephen HC? Like during and after battle?

‘On a scale of one to ten, where is he?’

‘In terms of being angry? Oh, he’s definitely in the triple digits,’ Stephen answered, lifting Tony’s chin so he could see the gash on his forehead better.

Tony clenched his hands on the bathtub, hearing his fingertips squeak on the plastic as he gripped it, throbbing shards of agony streaking up his arm.

‘Hey, don’t do that,’ Stephen whispered in a low voice, reaching out to clasp Tony’s wrist. He tugged gently until Tony relinquished his grip, settling the hand into Tony’s lap, careful not to aggravate the bruised, damaged fingers.

Tony bounced his feet on the floor, curling his toes on the bathroom mat, focusing his gaze on it as if that could somehow settle his frantic thoughts. ‘It wasn’t me being stupid,’ he seethed, the venom coated words seeping out from his clenched teeth.

Stephen chose not to answer, the intricate lattice of his mandalas appearing around his wrists. He gestured down to the sterile needle and thread he’d left on a tray beside the bathtub, the inanimate objects floating into the air towards Stephen’s hands.

‘Where are you on the scale?’ Tony asked, trying to blink away the blood dripping into his eye as he watched Stephen thread the needle, his hands unusually steady from the help of his magic.

‘Double digits,’ Stephen’s voice was curt as he lifted the needle up to Tony’s face. Some of the furious anger making the muscles tight in his face bled out as Tony flinched. Grinding his teeth together, he tried to hold himself still as he fought against the panic creeping up on him, desperate not to make Stephen angrier than he was.

His gaze focused on the Cloak floating beside the bathroom cabinet, ready to pass Stephen anything else he needed. He hated this, hated that both his lovers were furious with him, that the happy memories of the time spent in the Sanctum bathroom were now becoming tainted with his bad decision. This was a place where he shared early morning showers with them both, indulging in soapy giggling as they washed each other, steam fogging the glass from their intimate times. Even this tub he was sat on served as a treasured memory, a place for hot baths and whispering affections, lingering hugs after battles, reassurance as the warm water soothed the aches and pains away.

‘Why not get magic to sew me up?’ Tony asked, chuckling to try and break the tension, wincing at the pain in his ribs.

‘Because my hands are more precise,’ Stephen muttered, distracted.

He knew better than this, he really did. Pepper had chewed him out enough over the years about it. It had been one of the pivotal reasons they’d ended their relationship years ago, her citing his reckless behavior, his no sense of self-preservation. Even Rhodey had spent countless hours over the years screaming at him about it. Tony couldn’t help it, there was something ingrained in him after all his years of being Iron Man.

In the heat of battle his entire world had condensed down to one thing.

Loki.

His lover had been distracted, not seeing the blast of energy hurtling towards his back. Tony had. He had seen Loki’s broad, defenseless back, had already seen the civilians who had succumbed to the villain’s weapon, people they couldn’t bring back. In that split second, Tony had seen someone he cared about, someone he loved in danger.

And he had acted.

‘You really should go to the hospital for all of this,’ Stephen said, finishing his stitches. He stood up and took a step back to examine his handy work.

‘No! No-’

‘I know, no hospitals,’ Stephen appeased, seeing the grip terror had upon Tony at the mere mention of the word. He hated hospitals, needles, he was only just tolerating Stephen’s care because he trusted the man.

Trust Tony had probably shattered with his impulsive decision.

‘Let’s take a look at the rest of you, arms up please,’ Stephen ordered, tugging at the edge of Tony’s t-shirt.

Without thinking about it, he did as he was told, anxious to at least have one of them not mad at him. He was able to bite back the scream of pain as he lifted his arms, but his grasp over his body wasn’t as strong, his vision blurring around the edges as he pitched forward. Stephen leapt into action to catch him, and the panicked yelp of his name allowed Tony to shove aside the unconsciousness threatening, concentrating on the here and now.

Keep it together.

‘Are you alright? Sorry, I’m still in doctor mode…I forgot I can…just stay still, I’ve got you,’ Stephen whispered. Tony felt a ripple of magic and then his t-shirt was gone, cold waves of air licking at his skin. Stephen’s touch was gentle as he probed the enormous blackening bruises on Tony’s side, but he couldn’t help the wounded yelp escaping as Stephen brushed against something painful, the noise amplified by the bathroom walls.

They both heard something crash to the floor outside, and Tony saw a flash of green magic illuminate the space under the bathroom door before footsteps stomped away.

‘None of your ribs are broken, or fractured, but it’s going to be very painful for the next few days. I’ve got something that can help ease the pain,’ Stephen murmured, his eyes narrowing as he examined Tony’s fingers.

Despite trusting Stephen, he flinched away, holding his arm close to his body, afraid to let Stephen near it. He’d had so many injuries to his left hand over the years that it was now sensitive, a vulnerable part of himself that he didn’t like others touching.

‘Tony, sweetheart, it’s alright, you can trust me. Let me see it, please,’ Stephen begged, and Tony couldn’t work out why he was upset, why he had anything to be upset about.

Am I going to lose them over this?

Pepper had already ended their relationship with him because of this, and he hadn’t learnt, couldn’t control his impulses. If anything, he cared about these two stubborn assholes more, couldn’t bear to think about them leaving because of the same reason.

I’m sorry.

‘No breaks here either, a torn ligament possibly and a few stretched tendons, I’ll wrap it up later, don’t use it for a few days.’

Stephen stretched his hand out to the Cloak, taking the adhesive gauze pad it was holding. He gave Tony another once over before bending down on his knees, brushing back Tony’s bangs so he could apply the pad, sealing the wound.

He caught Stephen’s wrists as his lover went to move away, clutching them as hard as he could, even as his fingers pulsated with pain.

‘I’m sorry,’ Tony blurted, closing his eyes against his angry tears. ‘I saw he was in danger and I…I just-’

‘Look at me, Tony.’ Stephen brought his hands to Tony’s face, encouraging his damaged hand back down. ‘For a split second there, I thought I’d lost you,’ Stephen murmured, hand cradling Tony’s jaw, the tremor back in his grip now his magic was gone. ‘You were just lying on the ground, not moving. We heard your body hit the floor, heard the…’ Stephen couldn’t finish his sentence, closing his eyes as he swallowed thickly.

He surged forward, seizing Tony in a hug, cradling the back of his head as he held him close to his body, quivering with his pent up fear, his anger at Tony, his relief.

‘Jesus, Tony. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life.’

‘I’m sorry, I just…I saw him and-’

‘I know, sweetheart, I know. I would’ve done the same, for either of you,’ Stephen swore, stretching back so he could rest their foreheads together, inhaling shakily. ‘I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.’

‘Me neither, but I know I’d always do everything in my power to save you both, even if that means flinging myself in front of some intergalactic laser beam from some wannabe villain,’ Tony joked, his own tears falling as he saw tears squeeze out from Stephen’s clenched eyelids.

They clutched each other, reassuring themselves that the other was alive and well, that despite Tony’s damaged and bruised state, they were both alive to fight another day.

‘Go talk to him. I can hear him pacing from here,’ Stephen murmured, leaning down to peck Tony’s lips with his own, careful of his split lip.

‘Alright.’ Tony got off the edge of the bathtub as he took a deep breath. He knew he had to face Loki, had to say sorry somehow, but suddenly the bathroom floor was looking like a great place to sleep on.

‘Tony?’ Stephen’s voice sounded like it was far away, and Tony tried to reach out for him, his arms feeling like they were wading through treacle. ‘Hold on, I’m going to put you in bed-’

‘No! I’ll never hear the end of it if he thinks I’m bedridden. Let me explain to him I’m fine and then we can go from there.’ Tony gritted his teeth as he hobbled out of the bathroom. He could do this, he’d defended the Earth against all sorts of threats, had been stabbed by Thanos and still managed to stand, he could make it to Loki.

The Sanctum hallway wavered for a moment, splashes of ruby from the rugs blurring together with the dark wood into a dizzying kaleidoscope of color and pain that Tony was victim to. A hand on his back centered him, forcing the world to stop spinning.

‘I thought I had to talk to Loki, alone?’ Tony questioned.

‘And last time I checked I was with you both? I might be mad at you too, but I’m not going to let you struggle all the way there,’ Stephen promised him.

Loki was pacing beside the oddly shaped window of the Sanctum, his arms clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable as he stamped.

‘Actually, the funhouse corridor is looking like a better option,’ Tony whispered, taking a step back into Stephen’s body.

‘I’m glad to see that you are in fact alive, despite my earlier conclusion,’ Loki snapped, coming to a standstill, his back to Tony.

‘Loki…I’m-’

‘Sorry? Sorry for putting yourself in danger? For not trusting me to watch myself in battle?

For making me think I’d lost you!’ Loki shouted, whirling on his heel and glaring at Tony. He could see blood staining Loki’s leather, knew it was his, could remember the terror on Loki’s face as he carried him away from battle, the way he frantically called his name.

Anthony! Please, Norns! I cannot…Stephen! Help me!

The words ricocheted around in his mind, Loki’s despair, his overwhelming fear of a few hours ago still potent in his memory. He met Loki’s gaze and any humor, any of his usual cocky brashness evaporated under the sheer fury radiating from Loki’s posture.

‘It was foolish of me to put my trust in you,’ Loki spat, his hands tightened into fists at his side, furious streaks of red straining his pale cheekbones.

Despite his shame, the pain coursing through his body like glass shards pumping through his veins, Tony took a challenging step forward, holding his ground even when he couldn’t quite see Loki clearly.

‘What did you want me to do? Stand there and let it happen?’

‘I expected you to trust me!’ Loki hissed.

‘And I do trust you! But in that moment, all I could see was that you were in danger! Someone I loved was in danger and I acted. I’m not sorry Loki, I’d do it again, a thousand times over if it would keep you safe!’

Loki’s frustration exploded from him in a blast of green energy. It washed over Tony and Stephen leaving them unaffected, but the glass cases of the artifacts shattered, flinging glass on the floor.

‘I did not ask you to sacrifice yourself like that for me. How do you think that would make me feel, how it would make Stephen feel if we lost you in such a way, you infuriating mortal!’

Tony tried to take another step forward, his brain trying to come up with a counterargument even as the world was pitching sideways, nausea scrabbling up his throat. It was all too much, the pain, the implications, and while he never backed away from a fight, Tony found that he couldn’t do it anymore.

‘Listen, I know you want to shout at me some more, hell you can punch me later if you want, and I know you’re trying to teach me a lesson right now, but could you please heal me? Can’t you take your anger out on me some other way?’ Tony begged as he crashed to one knee, sweat dripping off his body as he fell forward onto his uninjured hand.

‘What happened? I thought you said you could heal him! I knew I should’ve taken him to the healers at New Asgard!’ Loki shouted, suddenly beside Tony. He was rolled over onto his back, both of them looming over him with pale, waxen faces.

‘He needs rest Loki, he’s exhausted.’

‘Then why is he not in a bed!’ Loki demanded.

‘Because I’m sorry,’ Tony croaked, trying to rub his head against Loki’s leg, his limbs trembling as his body began to succumb to his exhaustion. Stephen lifted him, handing him over to Loki as he went to talk to the Cloak, barking instructions at it. Drained of any sort of fight, Tony went lax in the arms holding him, the jostling of Loki’s chest against his as he walked creating enough pain to keep him conscious, and he was ashamed of the guttural whine that escaped his mouth.

‘Put him down carefully and don’t aggravate him any further. You can shout at him later,’ Stephen instructed Loki, ready to chase the Asgardian out if he needed to.

Tony just wanted to sleep, wanted to burrow down into Stephen’s mattress and blankets and pass out, just so he could escape the pain and their wrath for a few hours. Cracking open his eye, he watched Stephen shut the blinds to his room, searching through his draws for something.

Loki made an intricate gesture with his fingers, and a ceramic pot fell out of thin air and into his palm. Opening the lid, a pungent smell pierced the air, a woodsy mint tang, almost like eucalyptus. Tony sucked in a sharp inhale through his teeth as Loki smeared the white salve over his ribs, his gaze flicking up in a tormented expression as Tony struggled to hold himself still.

‘You really thought… Anthony…you really believe I would punish you in such a way, that I would not heal you if I were able?’ Loki asked, fingers feather-light over his skin.

‘You’re really mad at me,’ Tony gasped, tossing his head back against the pillow at the flash of heat settling into his skin.

‘Loki’s magic doesn’t work in that way, he’s not a healer,’ Stephen explained, carefully settling on the bed on Tony’s other side, running his fingers through Tony’s hair.

‘No matter my anger, I would not punish you in such a way. Do you not think it pains me to see you like this, to know I did not do enough to prevent it, to be reminded of just how fragile you are!’ Loki angrily muttered. ‘Give me your hand.’

Just as he had with Stephen, Tony initially refused, wrapping his free arm around his elbow, hiding his hand away from them both.

‘Anthony…’ Loki gasped.

‘Loki, sweetheart, Tony’s had a lot of serious injuries to that hand, still suffers from some of the mental trauma. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you.’

‘Anthony, beloved, you can trust me. Listen to me, focus on your ribs, you must be able to feel the clutches of agony loosening their hold on you.’

Tony could, his breathing was easier, but he still held his arm close, his fear mingling with the old horrors of previous betrayals.

‘Tony?’ Stephen questioned.

‘Don’t leave,’ Tony whispered, ‘I’m sorry for what I did, for being who I am, but-’

Loki silenced him with a fierce kiss, holding Tony’s face in his hands, waiting until their gazes locked.

‘Nothing is worth your life, especially not mine,’ Loki told him viciously. ‘I am honored by the depths of your love for me, touched that you find me worthy, but I am more resilient than you, stronger because of my heritage. There is not much in this universe that can harm me, but there is so much that can harm you,’ Loki told him, his eyes going filmy wet.

‘I can’t lose you, Lokes, can’t lose either of you.’ Tony stretched forward to kiss him again, tentatively offering his hand for treatment.

Loki took it, his touch tender as he applied the salve. Tony didn’t watch as he worked, nuzzling his face into Stephen’s chest, breathing him in, inhaling the lingering scent of battle and sweat.

‘Ah, took you long enough. Tony, I need you to sit up for a second, come on.’ He reached a hand beneath Tony’s head, encouraging him to sit up, supporting his weight. The Cloak dropped something into Stephen’s hand, draping itself over Tony’s legs, its collar fluttering at the bruises on Tony’s chest. ‘Open up, sweetheart.’

Tony did as he was asked, grimacing against the bitter pills placed on his tongue, fighting the urge to spit them out, glaring up at Stephen.

‘They’ll put you to sleep but they’ll help, I promise,’ Stephen swore, holding a glass of water to his lips.

‘Sorry,’ he croaked again once he finished drinking, scrunching his eyes up as Stephen lay him back down.

‘No, I am sorry for being angry, for fighting with you while you were injured, for making you believe that I would allow you to suffer in such a way. I wish I were a healer, that I did not have to watch you endure this alone.’

Tony flexed the fingers of his injured hand, laughing a little in relief as the pain receded to a dull ache. ‘Come lay down with me, I think I need sleep,’ he requested. He usually grumbled at how soft Stephen’s mattress was, preferring a firmer mattress, but right now it felt heavenly. He wriggled down further into the blankets, sighing loudly as both his lovers flanked him.

‘Sorry again,’ he whispered, holding back his tears as he felt twin kisses on his forehead.

‘Sleep beloved, we will watch over you,’ Loki told him, the edge of his finger stroking over the bridge of Tony’s nose.

‘We’ll tell you off when you wake up, douchebag,’ Stephen added, snaking an arm cautiously over Tony’s shoulders.

Despite the feeling of his battered body, Tony found himself falling asleep quickly, the sounds of his partners whispering, the soothing strokes to his body and the medication all sending him into a dreamless sleep.

#frostironstrange #Loki #Tony Stark #Stephen Strange #writing prompt #Ask #answered asks

[rexscanonwife]

OOH OKAY UM I hope this idea isn't too angsty but what if in your self ship with Norman, he was kinda keeping the Goblin side of himself secret from you at first, so maybe there's one day that you're going down the streets of NYC just minding your business when suddenly there's an explosion from the store right in front of you that comes WAY too close to hurting you, maybe you even get knocked to the ground or scratched up by some flying shards of glass, and you see Goblin flying out of the building on his hoverboard, cackling and being evil and all that, but then he catches sight of you and he just. Freezes. You can't see anything behind the mask, of course, but he CAN see the terror in your eyes as you look up at him, not even realizing exactly who it is behind the mask. Something would bring him back to reality, maybe Spiderman swooping in so he has to make a getaway, but that's definitely a moment that would haunt him, especially the next time that he sees you.

(Also I haven't seen the movies yet so sorry if anything here is inaccurate 😅)

RUBY OH MY GOD YOU GET IT!! YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT HERE >:'0 and later that night when he finally gets home, still sweating quite a lot from the effort it takes to take himself back from the Goblin, he sees me in the kitchen or something. Not eating anything, just seeming to be deep in thought, when he gets my attention I greet him with a kiss like I always do and when we pull away he can see the scratches on my face from the shrapnel from earlier. He gingerly brushes his thumb over them and asks me what happened, even though he knows, and I lie and tell him it was an accident with something else.

But that's not the incident that wakes him up, no no. and am I gonna take this as an invitation to talk about it? Yes. I am so very sorry.

I imagine The Incident would take place on the night of our anniversary. Celebrating another year of marriage, being together, and loving one another, although there is a bit of tension carried through the night.

Norman has been a little bit on edge lately. More confident than usual, yes, but also more paranoid. He's been having small outbursts of anger and jealousy, running off in the middle of the night and coming home with new bruises. Something's obviously been wrong with him, but I've had so much trouble reaching him as of late. But he promises that tonight he's gonna make up for all of that, he's going to apologize for his behavior and thank me for my patience and for continuing to love him by spending the whole night together.

Or at least, that was the plan. While we're at dinner, he seems like he's better for a little while at least. Smiling and laughing with each other like normal, his eyes look tired but more like my Norman than they have in a while.

and he has a gift for me! A necklace, with a beautiful emerald pendant. He kisses the nape of my neck softly after helping me put it on, and promises that things are gonna be different, but that doesn't last long.

I don't know it at the time, but he catches wind of Spiderman being in the area, and he can feel the Goblin trying to take over his body and he's trying so hard to fight him off. Sweating profusely, he excuses himself and runs off, leaving me flabbergasted and honestly pissed. So I go after him, I follow his trail all the way up to the roof where I find myself in the middle of a fight between Spiderman and the Goblin.

Soon as I see those piercing yellow eyes, I freeze up in fear of course. Trying to keep myself hidden, I can't tear my eyes away from the fight. But I hear the Goblin call Spiderman "Parker" and suddenly it hits me.

His voice, his small frame, it's Peter! The boy I babysat as a kid, I've thought of him as a little brother all these years, so when I notice the Goblin throw a pumpkin bomb at him my body reacts before my mind does and I tackle him to the ground before it can detonate. The force of the blast throws us both against a wall, and Peter gets back up but it's not like I have any kind of special powers so I'm definitely knocked unconscious, blood dripping from my nose.

the Goblin approaches and Peter puts himself between us, but something starts to wake Norman up inside. Something shiny on the floor, a pendant. One he recognizes, too. The blast also broke the clasp of my necklace and the gem now lays cracked in pieces on the floor.

The realization of what's happened is enough to snap Norman out of it, and hopping off his glider he takes off his helmet and throws it away from him. Seeing his face for the first time and seeing who it is, Peter is taken aback too and doesn't react fast enough when Norman pushes him out of the way and falls to his knees next to me. He cradles me in his arms, the same way I've done on so many nights when he came home from the reckless violence the Goblin made him commit. Gently rocking me back and forth while begging for me to be okay between sobs.

After this, Peter understands what's happening and with a clear head he and Norman agree to work together on a cure!

Because the one thing that's more powerful than the Goblin's influence is Norman's love.

#brie babbles #self insert talk #green meanie #INHALES #I AM SO SORRY I WENT OFF LIKE THIS #I JUST THINK ABOUT THIS SO MUCH #like?? i came up with this scenario a WHILE back #and its been living rent free in my head EVER since!! #like the DRAMA #and the ANGST #a little angst is GOOD sometimes honestly!! as long as it has a happy ending #also as a constant reminder of what he cant afford to lose i go partly deaf in one ear from the incident #anyways YEAH #thanks for the ask ruby and im so sorry again ajhsgks

[whump-me-all-night-long]

The Jewelry Box: Diamond's Pain

BTHB card: Self-Harm

Ok, this was actually very therapeutic to write but also, it's definitely not an easy piece to read or write. Please, don't read this if you're struggling in any way with self-harm or those kinds of thoughts.

This is my fill for @badthingshappenbingo for "Self-Harm"!

Taglist: @newbornwhumperfly @unicornscotty @itsleighlove @whump-scribbles @getyourwhumphere @skunkandgrenade @penny-for-your-whump @lektric-whump @just-a-whump-lover @thelazywitchphotographer @restrainthenmaime @angstyachesplus @lilbitwhumpy @leaderofthebeanarmy @aquard-skaii @whumprincess @thatgaysnail @finaldreams1106 @reveriedeludesme @kemonoinuzuka @circlingravens @whumpasaurus101 @spicy-wendigo @femmewithadhd @wafflestakethecake @lonesome--hunter @as-a-matter-of-whump @broadwaybabe18 @whumpinggoodtime @temporary-whump-sideblog @dumb-and-lesbian @myst-in-the-mirror @breathlessly-whumping let me know if you want to be added/removed!

CW: self-harm, head banging, hair pulling, scratching, just overall a really bad headspace, please please please DO NOT read if you're not in a good headspace!

Takes place: early Recovery Arc

Masterlist

---

Diamond didn’t know what, exactly, had set them off.

No, that’s a lie. They knew exactly what had happened. They just didn’t know why. Surely it had been long enough, they were far enough away, they were strong enough to resist.

But they weren’t.

The day had started off normal enough. Painful, but bearable. Lonely, but bearable. Horrible, but bearable.

They had woken up in the room that wasn’t theirs, in the bed that wasn’t theirs, in clothes that weren’t theirs. It had taken them several moments to remember where they were, why they weren’t in the room the bed the clothes that they had been in for over a decade.

Once everything became clear again—the “escape” as the others called it, or the “rescue” sometimes (Diamond still considered it a kidnapping, a theft, taking them away from the person who loved them, took care of them, owned them)—and they felt like they could handle leaving the relative safety of their room and downstairs into the lion’s den, they slid out from between the warm cotton sheets of their- no, the bed, it wasn’t theirs- once they slid out of their bed, they threw on an oversized cardigan that had been given to them by the strange woman who seemed to run this house, covering up the thin t-shirt and pajama pants they had slept in.

They quietly walked down the stairs, their sock-clad feet muffling any noise they made. Even before they were halfway down, they could smell breakfast cooking and hear conversations coming from the kitchen. Swallowing, they wrapped their arms around themself, pulling the sweater even tighter around themself before stepping forward to hide in the doorway.

They knew it was probably just their imagination, but almost as soon as they came into view, the liveliness of the kitchen seemed to dim and dull. Sapphire stiffened, a look of pure, unadulterated hatred flashing across his face before he gave an ugly scoff and turned away. Amethyst shot them a glare, almost imperceptibly moving in front of Ruby, before returning to her conversation.

Diamond stood there, fingers squeezing so hard on their arms they were sure to find bruises there later. They debated leaving, fleeing back up the stairs. Ignore their growling, empty stomach and just hide. They were mere seconds away from doing just that when the peculiar woman, J, who ran the house stepped towards them, a cautious smile on her face.

“Hey there, sweetie,” she said gently. “You hungry? Breakfast’s almost ready.” Even though she was easily a decade or so younger than them, Diamond couldn’t help but feel comforted at her warm demeanor. She had a certain presence about her, that made her seem wise beyond her years, almost like a mother, to all the broken Jewels around her.

They swallowed, ignoring the others and focusing only on her. They nodded, murmuring “Yes, please,” softly, barely cutting themself off before adding ‘Sir’ to the end.

She gave them another smile, and just like that, the kitchen resumed its normal organized chaos and Diamond was forgotten on the sidelines. They let out a slow breath, calming their rapidly beating heart.

They didn’t know how long they stood there, just that time felt irrelevant. They watched and listened and stayed silent and unmoving. Then-

They caught a snippet of a sentence, just a word really, but it was like a gong, loud and echoing inside their skull, over and over.

“Bad.”

Nobody said anything as they slipped out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and into the bathroom they shared with some of the others.

Diamond closed the door, barely more than a click, but still loud enough to make them flinch. Locking the door with shaky fingers, they stumbled back from it, roughly sliding down the far wall.

Over and over, repeating inside their head, was that word.

Bad.

Bad.

Bad bad bad.

They were bad; they knew they were. They had disobeyed and broken the rules and run away. It didn’t matter that they’d only disobeyed because it was impossible to obey when they were so far away. It didn’t matter that they’d only broken the rules because those were the rules here. It didn’t matter that they’d only run away slung over a shoulder, bound and gagged, screaming till their throat gave out to let them go.

They pulled their legs close to them, almost till their knees touched their chest. They ignored the cold bite of the tile floor beneath them. Their breathing was ragged and shallow.

Bad.

Bad.

Bad.

They banged their head back against the wall behind them, gently at first, then with as much strength as they had, which was, admittedly not a lot. But soon enough, their head was throbbing, eyesight dimming and blurring. But it wasn’t enough. They still couldn’t get that word out of their head.

Bad.

Bad.

Bad.

They pulled on their hair, once long and pale and neat, now tangled and torn and faintly stained red. Small chunks of their hair slowly fell to the floor of the bathroom, and still the pain wasn’t enough.

Bad.

Bad.

Bad.

They started digging their nails, normally so long and neat, now shorter and all scraggly and torn. They dug their nails into their wrists, scratching and pulling at the delicate, unscarred skin there till it was ripped, bleeding delicate lines of red red red-

Bad.

Bad.

They banged and they pulled and they ripped and they hurt. They hurt and they hurt and they hurt. They’re not quite sure when they started crying, only that tears, thick and salty, started pouring down their face and into the cuts on their wrists. They hissed, and it was that pain, that small, barely there pain of salt in a wound that dragged them from wherever that deep, dark, ugly hole that they had been trapped in.

They were shaking, they realized, and their wrists- their forearms, really, some of the scratches nearly reached their elbows- were crying fat droplets of blood, trailing off their arms and hitting the bathroom floor.

For a moment, they couldn't take their eyes off it. The sight of their impossibly red blood staining the white tiles. They stared and stared and stared.

Then, as if all at once, they realized that the bathroom was a mess. Blood was on them and on the floor, there was hair in a circle around them, and their head was throbbing so bad, it reminded them of the headaches they used to have, in the beginning.

They crawled away a few feet, then stood on trembling legs like a newborn foal. Carefully, they washed their arms, wrapping gauze around them even as they hissed through their teeth. Then they quickly cleaned up the bathroom, panting as the task sapped what little energy they had.

By the time they were done, their headache had caused their vision to double, then triple, causing everything to dim and spin around them. But the bathroom looked perfectly normal, and that was what mattered.

Who cared if they clutched their cardigan around them a little tighter, if their hair was a little thinner than before, if they seemed less steady on their feet?

By the time they got back downstairs, everyone had already gotten their breakfast and spread out to eat it. Diamond picked slowly through the small amount of food that remained. At least no one had noticed them leave.

#the jewelry box #bad things happen bingo #diamond darling #recovery arc #self harm #head banging #hair pulling #scratching #bad headspace

[impalaspixie]

Outrun the Past (Chapter 2)

Pairing: AU! Dean x Reader

Warnings for series: Swearing, mentions of self-harm, homelessness, past assault/abuse, depression, violence, angst, fluff, and soulmates (are they even classed as a warning?). Maybe more that I miss along the way?

Word Count: 1343 +

A/n: Quite a few of you enjoyed chapter one! I hope you enjoy this part too. If you'd like to be tagged, let me know 😊

Main masterlist

Series masterlist

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“Y/N, what did I tell you about disobeying me?” A deep voice spoke as it approached you, the snap of his belt in his hands making you flinch in fear. “Let’s make sure we can get you to remember.” His smirk only growing as he raised his fist.

You sat up quickly, eyes wide as tears slowly slipped down your face. Looking around, you were confused, how did you end up on a bed? A comfortable and soft bed mind you, but you didn’t remember going to a motel. The door opened and you were about to scream when you saw Dean, the bartender walk through. Just seeing him, you could feel yourself relax slightly but it was clear you were still tense and on edge.

“Hey, don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. You were in a bad way the last night.” Dean told you, walking over with a small bowl of mixed berries and some pain medication. He gently set it down on the nightstand and silently asked for permission to touch your face.

“What happened last night?” You asked, raising an eyebrow as he carefully pushed your hair to behind your ear to look at a small cut on your eyebrow where your eye was bruised.

“Found you under a park bench, two jackasses were hurting you. Don’t worry though, they won’t be coming anywhere near you any time soon. Your ribs are a little bruised and you have a small cut here, but you’ll live Miss girl with a dream.” He told you as he gently touched the cut before moving away. “I wasn’t sure what you like food wise so, I brought you some berries. My idiot brother thinks everyone likes fruit but honestly, it’s waffles or pancakes that people like the most.”

“Thank you, Dean.” You said softly as you slowly ate a few berries, taking the pain medication at the same time. “It’s Y/N by the way and waffles are better than anything else for breakfast.” You saw him raise an eyebrow, causing you to giggle slightly. The sound of your giggle obviously made him happy since a smile broke out on his face. “My name, it’s Y/N.”

“Well, Y/N, that’s a beautiful name for a very beautiful lady.” Dean told you with a wink. Standing up to walk over to pull out some clothes for you to wear. “Hope you don’t mind; I got a friend to pick up some clothes for you this morning. I don’t think you’d want to stay in those, they’re a bit muddy. Why were you out like that anyway?” He asked you, placing the clothes at the end of the bed.

You looked up at Dean, biting your lip nervously as you nodded, closing your eyes briefly whilst you ate, the fear slowly bubbling up in your chest again as to what was going to happen next. Unbeknownst to you, Dean could feel that fear as well. “R-right, thank you again. Like I said before, just heading for my dream.” You said simply, finishing off the fruit and placing the bowl on the nightstand.

“A girl with dreams usually makes sure they have enough money for a motel, you didn’t even have enough to cover the beer. Cut the crap and just tell me why you’re really here okay?” Dean said, eyeing you up. Even with his small outburst, he kept his tone even and as calm as possible, but you couldn’t help but let the tears fall.

“I… I was kicked out of my home. I don’t drive so I’ve been walking for a month, and I finally ran out of money.” You admitted quietly. It wasn’t really lying; you did run out of money but maybe it wasn’t the full truth.

“What about your parents? Friends? What about a soulmate, everyone has a soulmate?” Dean asked, concern filling his eyes as he watched your movements. The fact you’d been by yourself for over a month with no money concerned him greatly.

“Soulmate?” You asked, refusing to address about your parents. A weird was felt in your chest when you saw Dean grow even more concerned. It was as though you could feel the concern he felt.

“Everyone is born with a soulmate. Then there’s lucky ones like my brother Sam. Sammy has two the lucky son of a bitch. He lost his first one though to a house fire. He was head over heels for Jess, but he’s now happily married with Ruby.” Dean explained with a smile.

“How do you know they’re your soulmate? Have you met yours?” You asked, mentally cursing your father for never teaching you about soulmates. You saw Dean look down as he shook his head.

“Never met mine, although I think I will very soon.” He started, his eyes lingering on you for a few moments. “Well, there’s usually three different signs. First, there’s the mark sign; both soulmates will have the same mark. Second, both will feel similar feelings, if I were hurting and I met my soulmate, she would also feel it but only after we meet for the first time. The final one is, you naturally feel safe around your soulmate.” He explained, you nodded along as you took it all in.

“I was just told my ‘mark’ was just a scar.” You told Dean, lifting your shirt up slightly to show him the star on your side. You flinched away slightly when you felt Dean’s fingers trace it gently.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have... Well, it’s definitely not a scar.” He told you with a soft smile. “I’m sure you’ll meet yours soon… Or maybe you’ve already met him.” He said with a smile as he stood up.

“Maybe, I’ll be out of your hair soon by the way, I-I’ll repay you for the clothes.” You told him as you stood up, a little shaky at first until Dean steadied you.

“In the condition you’re in, no way. If you’re comfortable with it, you can stay here. Or at my mum’s motel if that’ll make you feel better? Then when you’ve fully healed, you can make the decision to leave or not. I can take you wherever you want in my car. In the meantime, the bar needs an extra pair of hands, and you can earn some extra money. Win-win situation if you ask me and you might even meet your soulmate.”

“I mean, knowing about them now… I would like to meet him one day.” You admitted quietly, watching Dean’s smile grow.

“Great! You go get showered and I’ll meet you downstairs, then, I’ll show you around the town, introduce you to a few locals and friends of mine. You’ll love it here.” He told you with a bright smile, quickly heading out of the room, leaving you standing alone in the room.

You took a deep breath as you walked into the bathroom, getting undressed and stepping under the water falling. A million thoughts running through your mind as you cleaned off. ‘Everything Dean had told me about soulmates was how I felt about him, but he can’t be my soulmate right? Otherwise, he would have told me, surely he would have…’

Dean’s POV

“Hey Sammy… Yeah, no I’m fine. I think I finally found her though. I’m certain it’s her, we have the same mark. I’m worried about her though, she’s been hurt before, she barely trusts me. I can feel it. I haven’t told her just yet… Okay, see you later.” I told Sam over the phone before hanging up and placing my phone down.

I took a deep breath as I smiled a small bit. Now that I’ve found her, I can’t let her go. I won’t let her go; I just don’t want to scare her away and telling her too soon after everything could scare her away for good.

I can feel her loneliness in my chest, and it breaks my heart. “I’ll fix you sweetheart, I promise.” I mumbled to myself as I thought of the perfect plan.

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If you'd like to join the taglist for this series, just message me :)

TAGS: @vicmc624

#au!dean x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #spn fic #supernatural fic #supernatural x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural #spn #slow burn #fluff #angst #outrun the past #soulmates au #impalaspixie

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

⤷Wanderlust

⤷Pairing: Pro hero! Bakugo/ Reader

A/n: Listen, I yeeted to write this the second I brainstormed it, mostly because I has I see red on repeat, anyways have some plot less schmut. I hope you enjoy

❦All characters mentioned are over 18 years of age❦

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Minors Do not Interact

It's not the fist that collides with the wall so dangerously close to your head, it's not the sweet hum of a growl that vibrates against your chest, it's not even the gleamy, teeny tears that shine in vibrant ruby against your own (e/c) orbs.

If you come to think of it, what you think has you so riled up is the hand under your chin that's tugging dangerously on your skin, or maybe, maybe, it's the astoundingly hot knee that's pressed onto your barely clothed mound.

Whatever it is, Katsuki Bakugo invented it.

His apartment is empty, yet still meticulously cleaned and tidy, it almost feels like a shame to sit still against his grasp and observe the messy pile of clothes that's spread all over the hardwood of the tiles.

Almost.

Because when you take another glance at his broad, naked chest, you don't regret ripping his tank top over his head and throwing it anywhere it should have landed.

"Mhm" His forehead is on yours as he moans, lips brushing slightly against yours.

It's such a sweet serenade to you. Even after knowing him for years, you've never thought you'd hear him moan like this. More so, you've never thought he'd moan like this because of you.

"Fuck, fuck Katsuki!"

His lips are soft, trailing like the finest satin upon the lines of yours and yet, there's nothing mellow, nothing delicate about the way he's kissing you. It feels like a struggle to assert dominace, a battle in which he absolutely has to come out of yielding victory in his hand. And like a greek olympic, he wants to scream out of his lungs, that he did it, he had his way with his own desired so that the laurel on his locks would be well deserved.

His whole body is burning in temperatures that make you feel as though you're going to melt and crumble right on his knee, but you need to be able to ignore it, you need to give to him what he's giving to you.

Because if you don't, Katsuki will not rest easy.

In fact, he won't rest at all.

"Wrap your hands around my neck!" Bakugo orders.

With a gulp you nod against his lips, your chin coming to sit uncomfortably against his hand this time. As the sound if tour hands tousling closer to his neck though, he quickly adjusts his own hand, making his own space for it under your tank top.

Bulky fingers trail a hundred paths over your stomach and chest, skillfully roaming every single sensitive spot. Katsuki knows what he's doing, when touching the underside of your breast, when he aggressively thumbs just milimiters away from your nipple even when he's never quite touching it.

Your voice refuses to hitch in your throat this early on, but your teeth can't be controlled when Bakugo trails his hand just over your panties and gives a small flick to your swollen numb, they trap the inside of your cheeks in a tight chock hold.

It's only then that your voice finally begs to let out a yelp.

"Eager much?" Bakugo smirks against your neck, looking down to your shoulder blade.

"Shut up," You moan "and do something about it."

His teeth feel sharp when they dig into the soft skin of your neck, but it doesn't last for long, all he ever does is make you want to miss the feeling of his suckling on your sweet spots.

His knee is off of you in seconds just right when his hand comes to cup under your buttock. Bakugo carbs a handful of skin, tagging it harshly as he digs his fingers with bruising force, making sure to leave a firm, loud slap on the spot when he rips his hand away from you.

"Now tag on my hair." He grunts against your shoulder, then places a sloppy kiss on it. "You're going to need it."

With a diligent smug, you whine against his lips.

"I don't need to be told to tag on your hair Kacchan."

"Wanna test me, extra?"

His lips are attacking yours again. Each word spoken is pressed against your mouth, lost in the non existence space between the two of you. It's hard to focus on his words, hard to keep the smug attitude on when his kisses feel like that.

It's even hard to keep your composure against the wall. Soon, he'll have to physically hold you against it.

"That's what I thought."

Bakugo's hands travel to the hem of your shirt, tugging once, twice, hoping you're getting the hint to raise your hands over your head. It's an utter pity that you don't raise your hands in time but Bakugo doesn't care either way. With one hand now holding the entirety of your back, prompting your chest into protruding, his other works on lifting your shirt above your breasts.

"Fuck" He twitches.

He pushes your chest closer to him, bowing his head down slightly just to place a kiss to the middle of it. You struggle to keep your moans inside, in fact, you struggle staying still. Bakugo's way of holding you is causing you to twitch and move uncontrollably; you find it difficult to sit quiet in one place, and by the bastard's smug smile against your ribs, you know he's enjoying it.

Another kiss is placed below your right breast and you already feel spent. Bakugo's touch is hot, his kisses even hotter, even sloppier that the ones he left against your lips and bruising your skin anywhere they kiss.

"You're- you're, fucking- hot." You manage to yelp.

It's too late for praise, though; his thumb is already hooking under the side of your panties with just a ghost of a space between his finger and the skin of your hip. You can feel your self throbbing at the feeling. Still, you tenderly watch past the falling and rising of your chest, right into Katsuki's eyes as he lowers himself a little more against you.

Upon the parting of his hands on your warmed up skin, quick shivers are like whines in response.

"Listen here" Bakugo seemingly struggles, "extra" ah, that's why, coming up with a tender nickname proves to be difficult for him. Still, you refuse to give a flying pig on what he chooses to call you. It's definitely not your priority.

"We're only going to do this once, get it, once! Then I'll get you out of my fucking head"

The last part falls as a timid whisper against you, still your answer is expected to be delivered in any way. Bakugo's eyes are blinking in yours, longing for a single waver of confirmation.

You wonder if theres something hiding deeper into the scarlet of his orbs. Desperation maybe? Whatever it is, you dismiss that thought in its entirety. You're not about to push your luck. Not tonight.

Before you have the time to verbalise a well formed reply, you find that words turning on their tracks, ready to vanish after they reach their source. Your underwear is on the floor with a feathery thud. You focus your eyes onto Bakugo once again. The sight of him rubbing his head on to your thigh ferally, dragging your skin to his direction as he bites down on you is enough to make your tongue to probe out just to lick between your lips.

"Just once" Bakugo whispers, looking up at you

Your chest hitches with a hiccuped breath as Bakugo ghosts his mouth against you. Your skin is overwhelmed by a number, white like sensation, especially since Bakugo digs his fingers into your pelvis, eager more than ever to land you onto him.

And at long last, he takes a scouting lick against you.

"Katsuk-" You try to breathe, but you're cut off short

"It's fine. Throw your leg over my shoulder and relax"

The way that he shushes you with feral, ruby eyes is longing enough to have your stomach turn into a tight knot. You feel an avalanche of pleasure rush from that very knot and to your core as another lick is laid flat against you; this time, your grip onto his hair tightens and just only the low, pained grunt of his is enough to turn your leglegs into a mushy pudding.

One more twirl of his tongue and you're desperately tugging onto his hair. Biting your lip, you throw your head back. Your hips are shived onto his face with force and he doesn't miss the best he's given; his hand pulls you closer as he's holding you down onto him.

From the temperature you're feeling against your skin, you know you're going to be feeling this handprint for the rest of the week.

You're too embarrassed to admit, but the way you lock your eyes with Bakugo feels too natural, too alluring and you don't think you're going to want to stop what is going on right now, if you don't make yourself pull back I'm this very instance.

"Kacchan." You choke, shining at your own choice to push him back, even if he won't budge "Sex now, foreplay later?"

Bakugo cocks an eye brow to your direction and hums in response. His departure from your hips and thighs is accompanied by a grunt and a whine, but all you can focus on is the way he wiped his mouth with the back of his cubit and wrist.

"Wrap your fucking arms around me and don't tell me what to do baby"

Face inches against yours and chest pressed against chest, his hands cup your buttocks once again, giving you a tiny prompt as a sign to jump onto him. You secure your arms around his neck and eagerly take the leap, wrapping your legs around waist. Bakugo jubs his face into your neck, launching an attack of skin bruising kisses while slamming your back against the wall.

"Katsuki, I'm dripping, come on."

"Don't have to tell me twice baby."

You yelp as you feel your back being lifted off of the wall but Bakugo is quick to occupy your mouth with his, pushing his tongue into your crevice with malice and string determination to swallow all of your moans. His hands squeeze onto your ass.

"Bedroom or couch?" He pulls back before attacking you again. "Speak up baby"

"Fuck, bed, no, couch."

"Couch?"

"Yes, yes!"

You've been to his apartment countless times ever since he got it, whether it was on fun night in with him and your friends, to movie nights, to parties and meals. You've always praised him for his choice in having a sole bedroom, you've always complimented that it was far down the hall just so it was bayhed in light throughout the day. But now, now the distance between his bedroom and his living room seemed huge, and in the midst of your inferno, it wasn't quite physically possible to choose into prolonging your torture.

Thus, walking the distance to his couch only takes some loathed long seconds. And once the hardest part is exceeded, you find your self being plopped onto Bakugo, straddling his hips, with a buck and a nerve to your movement.

Your fingers run to the hem of his boxers, soaking along the little pool of precum that's splashed all over them.

"Are you wet Kacchan?" You tease.

And you know, you are in no place to be teasing, with the way you're practically throbbing from above of him.

Yanking your top off and tossing it to the ground, you pulled him straight onto your chest and he launched his attack before be even stopped to think about it.

Sucking the area between your chest into his mouth, his lips make loud pops as he parts and moves to a new spot every time he thinks he assault on the previous is finished.

In response you run your fingers through his platinum locks and place a multitude of kisses all over his head.

Bakugo bucks his hips against yours once more, his low grunts creating vibrations against your whole body. His lifts his butt, pushing you too in the process; the urge to snarl his boxers off is too tempting for you to not give in, it's even s miracle that you've tried so very hard not to, just yet.

With a hiccup for a breath, you yank them off and moan dangerously as Bakugo growls into the action. Now with his boxers on his thighs, he makes a note to try and wiggle the underwear off of his legs.

Your hand is over his and you're lost in the way his skin feels so hot against you, maybe it's his sweat, or perhaps it's the fact that you're literally drooling over him so much that hm even the slightest touch is breaking your feisty will.

"Touch me"

Your sirene please elicits another groan from him and the reaction is immediate; his fingers wiggle from your grasp and swiftly they are on you, feeling you up and down to make sure you're dripping just like before.

You screech when he screws his pointer fight her in you, only for you to realise it was all for nothing as he takes it away immediately and throws you a smirk.

"Fucking hell don't tease me."

"Don't tell me what to do" He says between kisses. "Fuck! I have to wear a condom."

"Wait, no! Dont, you'll pull out, and if not, I'm on the pill."

As he nods in response, Bakugo's heart is speeding up, rasping and rutting inside his chest as you looked down at him, his lip pleading to be released from under his teeth. He swallows hard as he feels you taking a grasp of his member, swirling your hand over just the tip or the base in your effort to edge him close to you.

Finally after what seems like ages his tip finds your entrance, only due to your guidance and the probing is enough to have Bakugo bucking his hips uncontrollably against you.

"Put it in baby, come on. Fuck yourself out of my head, do it."

And you do, you croutch down into him, hissing at the process whilst in synch with him, placing your knees around his hips and using your force to bounce slowly up and down on him.

"Don't tell me what to do" You smirk against his lips.

Taking a hold of his jaw you swing his head upwards and slightly to the side, your thumb and pointer finger pushing into his cheeks as you brought your mouth to his. He lowly grunts, digging his hands into your hips, lowering you into him with force.

He wants to stay put, he wants to sit with his hands leisurely over your hips and watch as you bounce onto him, but he is physically unable to. Soon he finds himself thrusting and rutting, moving, guiding you up and down into him as he buck with animalistic force.

"Fucking hell, fuck!" He yelps.

"Shit I know, keep going"

You can feel him throbbing inside you as he thrusts from underneath you and you hiss everytime he accidentally slips off of you just to slip right in again. His thumb is rubbing slow circles against you, giving you flicks and occasional pinches, his mouth is everywhere, eh there it's biting your nipples or sucking cruises on your neck.

He's close, and you're close, but that won't take from the process. Bakugo will give you everything he has.

"Fuck that's it, I'm coming" He grunts, his thumb setting off on a fire like pace against you.

Balugo jerks and yelps rather loudly, digging his hands on to your flesh and he grounds his hips on you once more. Shrieks are coming off of his mouth as he comes into you, roped of white spilling every where into you and down his member.

You yelp too and you clench around him, giving off a little scream as you feel the knot in your stomach burst into hot red.

"Shit, fuck" He grunts.

"I know, I know, that was..."

Your foreheads heads clash, sweat dripping frm your skin as you place a chaste kiss onto the tip of his nose. You can barely batch your own breath, your chest feels heavy and your lungs are burning and pleading for air. Before you have time to process it though, Bakugo's arms wrap around your form suddenly, bringing you closer to him.

"Kiss me again"

"What?"

"I'm not content with this only happening once, now kiss me again before I blast you into my bedroom."

#bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki #bakugo x you #bnha #mha

[wallwriterstuff]

Obsession ||Yandere!Alec Volturi x Female Reader|| Part 1

Warnings: Yandere!Alec, obsessive behaviour, unhealthy relationships and implied non-con later on. This is possibly one of the darkest fics I have ever written so please be aware if controlling behaviour, gaslighting etc. If this is triggering to you, do not read this fic. This and posts like this one will be tagged under dark themes so please feel free to block that tag if you do not want to see content like this in the future. 

The following link will take you to a Citizen’s Advice Page that have resources regarding Domestic abuse and violence. They detail various organisations offering support, refuge and advice for both women and men in abusive situations, however these only apply to the UK. 

https://www.citizensadvice.org.uk/family/gender-violence/domestic-violence-and-abuse-getting-help/ 

I am from the UK and therefore am not sure about what resources may be available internationally, however I know many of you are from places outwith the UK. If you have any resources you know of that would be useful or helpful to add here then please do! You can reblog this post with link in or message me a link to have me edit it into the original. I will post this link and any that get added in all three parts of this fic that I post. 

Words: 3116

Summary: A request for @tiger-khans-blog Savings your sister’s boyfriend was an act of kindness, something you had done out of the goodness of your heart, but hadn’t they always said the road to hell is paved with good intentions?  Alec is aged up to 16 in this fic.

Part 2: When You’re Lost I’ll Leave My Gaslight On 

Part 3: These Violent Delights 

It had been near constant since you’d entered the room.

His eyes were the most piercing ruby red – until they weren’t. The onyx colour had followed you ever since you’d set foot in the throne room, a sharp inhale being the extent of his communication with you. If he wasn’t so damn creepy he might have been handsome, with his shock of dark hair framing a pale face with all the sharp, angular cheekbones and jawline of a model. He was taller to, definitely taller than you by at least half a head, but his stare was piercing and completely at odds with his otherwise apathetic expression. He showed no emotion at all yet the way he looked at you…it was like the whole world revolved around you and only you. There was hunger and excitement and need and envy and a whole host of other emotions in his eyes. It had made you so uncomfortable you’d gravitated towards Alice as best you could, but the whole plan had gone out of the window when the hulking mass of muscle they called Felix started towards your sister.

Isabella Swan was two years older than yourself, but for most of your life she had been the one taking care of you. Renée hadn’t planned on having a second child but like so many other things in her life, you were a complete accident. As loving as your mother was, she wasn’t necessarily fit to take care of one child, never mind two. Bella was the one who had helped with homework, who had crawled into your bed with you when you had nightmares or were sick. To see Felix coming straight for her was like something straight out of a nightmare and you’d moved without thinking. One minute you were facing the taunting smirk of a mountain man and the next the room had blurred, and your vision was filled with the furious stare of the boy who had been watching you all day.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed. His grip on the tops of your arms tight enough to bruise. You winced, wide eyes filling with tears, and in the next second the boy had released your arms and moved to tenderly cup your face. “Shhh, shhhh sh sh, it’ll all be over soon.” He promised, thumbs stroking your cheeks while you tried to squirm out of his grip. His eyes hardened, clearly unhappy with you trying to escape him. You could only see him, his face the only thing in your vision, but you could hear what sounded like rocks colliding, granite smashing. Your body trembled, anxiety filling you up. It wasn’t clear if the boy was more upset with your trying to get out of his grip than your interference with Bella’s execution, but those coal black eyes never lost their laser focus on you.

“Alec?” the petite blonde beside him sounded thoroughly confused while you fought off a shudder. You hated how his name sounded so appealing. Everything about him was enticing, even his scent, but he terrified you beyond belief with the way he was acting.

“Is it the noise? Would you prefer not to see? To hear?” he asked. In the next second it was all gone, like the world had fallen away around you. You couldn’t see, couldn’t hear; you were left screaming in your own head with absolutely no idea if you were still in that awful, awful room or if your soul had mercifully fled your body before you could feel any pain. There was simultaneously nothing and everything, an endless abyss of silence and the imprecise, ever-shifting image of what you thought you remembered the Volturi’s throne room to look like wavering in your head.

Being left alone with your imagination was somehow worse than seeing the actual thing. In your mind Bella was torn in half, one hand stretched towards you while the other remained in Felix’s grip. Alice was trapped by Demetri, Felix holding Edward by the throat. Then the scene would shift and Bella was limp in his arms with Felix’s mouth attached to her neck, both Cullen’s dead and Alec descending on you with that insane stare of his. There were too many ways to envision what mutilation might have occurred and you were beginning to drive yourself insane with them when suddenly the darkness faded.

You blinked rapidly, unsure if what you were seeing was real since it was so blurred. A gentle hand dabbed rough wool beneath your eye and you realised the world looked so watery because you had been crying. Alec used the sleeves of his jacket to dry your tears. Bella was watching you with horror filled eyes, your trembling body almost giving way as you fought the urge to run – you were sure Alec would just drag you back. You could feel his breath on the side of your face. He clearly didn’t understand the concept of personal space.

“Mesmerising, to see what you have seen before it has happened.” Aro murmured, stroking Alice’s hand before she pulled it back with a clearly forced smile.

“But what will.” She reminded him. He clapped his hands, looking so joyful you were left utterly paralysed with confusion. Did he not understand how terrifying this all was? Had he not seen the sheer crazy that was waiting to burst forth out of the boy holding you back? His behaviour was erratic, completely at odds with the rest of the refined and well disciplined Guard. How could Aro not see?

“Yes, yes it’s quite certain, you are free to leave.” Aro informed them. Your breath escaped you in a rush and you immediately tried to dash for your sister. Bella had opened her arms straight to you and the safe haven was so close, yet so far. Alec didn’t let you take a step, hauling you back against his chest and burying his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.

“No you don’t, I’ve waited too long.” He grumbled. You struggled frantically, the tears springing to your eyes again as Caius tried to protest his brother’s decision. You had drawn the attention of most of the Guard and the man you knew to be Marcus by now though, the brunette king looking somewhat sympathetic towards you. For a man with no respect for human life to look at you like that could most certainly not be a good thing.  

“What are you doing brother? Let the foolish thing go.” Jane said, reaching for his arm. His head snapped up, a growl rumbling through his chest into your spine. If looks could kill, you had no doubt the petite blonde would have burst into flame then and there, bursting into a thousand pieces with the intensity of the danger in his glare.

“Bella!” you whimpered. His hold was like having an iron beam wrapped around your torso, two strong arms refusing to let you move so much as an inch from his chest. It didn’t make sense, none of it did, why was he so obsessed with keeping you near? Did he want you dead? He couldn’t, he’d had plenty of chance to do so by now and hadn’t taken a single opportunity to hurt you on purpose. So what was his problem with you?  

“Alec, dear one, is something the matter?” Aro asked, eyes glistening.

“Aro.” His brother held a hand out to him and the black haired leader flashed towards him while you continued to struggle, your frustration mounting.

“Let me go!” you cried, You stomped on his foot – nothing. You threw your elbow back into his ribs – nothing except a sore elbow for you. You tried to pry his arms away from your body – nothing.

“No.” he hissed. You squeezed your eyes shut.

“Let me go! Please! Let me go!” you begged.

“I said, no.” he repeated, his voice ice cold. Your heart rabbited in your chest, the nausea in your throat rising until you were sure you were on the verge of throwing up. You could barely breathe and it wasn’t just his tight grip that was the problem. There was a panic attack looming on the horizon for you if he kept this up.

“Please, let her go, she’s done nothing wrong. Aro said we were free to go.” Bella tried. She took a step towards you and with one swift jerk he had turned his back on her. You screamed, your limbs fatigued and losing strength with every hit.

“I’m afraid young Y/N will not be going home with you,” Aro’s voice was soft, “To separate them would clearly only cause harm. Alec cannot leave his mate.” You froze in his grip, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as you lip trembled. Mate? Mate? What the hell did that even mean? Animals mated, not humans! Was that what he was implying? The boy was so horny for you he wouldn’t let you leave? The fear that gripped you was utterly paralysing as you thought of a thousand different scenarios that made you want to be utterly sick with the horror of them; your choices taken from you, your voice inconsequential as he did things to you you never consented to.

“She’s my sister! Please, I’ve looked after her since she was born, you can’t just-“

“And from this day forth she’ll be looked after by me. She is mine.” Alec snarled quietly. He didn’t seem to notice you’d gone completely rigid in his grip.

“Alec her father will be devastated, she hasn’t even finished school, if you keep her here you’ll just make her unhappy.” Edward tried to reason with him, but he merely tightened his grip on you. You cried out, a sharp pain ripping through your midriff as he almost choked the life from you. The blonde-haired Guard appeared in your line of sight then, his expression somewhat concerned as you struggled to force air into your lungs. If Alec could hear you rasping for air he didn’t show it.

“Alec, old friend look at her,” he coaxed. Alec had done plenty of looking at you, you didn’t want him to look anymore. You shied away from his gaze, head ducking and hair falling between you. Shuddering gasps escaped you as your heart began to roar in your ears, a sure sign there wasn’t enough oxygen getting into your lungs. One arm moved from around your waist but you were too scared to move away from him now, his freezing cold fingers gently brushing your hair back. You flinched.

“She’s mine, Demetri.” He insisted, frowning like a petulant child who was being threatened with their favourite toy being taken from them. Demetri nodded his head.

“She is, and yet she flinches from you. You are scaring her Alec, and she will most definitely bruise if you keep holding her so tight, that’s I she doesn’t suffocate first. Do you want that for your mate? Do you wish to hurt her? To make her fear you?” he questioned. Alec gave a soft wince, immediately loosening his grip.

“I’ve hurt you?” he asked, looking a lot like a wounded puppy now. You swallowed past the lump in your throat, not trusting your voice to remain steady and simply nodding in response. His eyes were still wide with conflicting emotion, but Demetri seemed to be getting through to him at least. You were grateful, and pleaded with your eyes for the man to keep going.

“You cannot simply claim her Alec, she is so young still, would you not prefer her to live a full life and come to you willingly?” Demetri wondered. You felt your stomach drop as Alec’s expression hardened.

“You’re trying to take her from me to.” he growled.

“Alec you are-“

“She, is, not, leaving!” he snarled, a sea of black exploding around him. Your eyes widened, a cool mist swirling about your legs as you finally managed to stumble away from him. Only Bella was still standing, the others having crumpled to the floor until only he, you and Bella remained conscious.

“Y/N!” she cried out. He didn’t stop you running to her this time. You stumbled into her arms, sobbing and shaking. She held you tight to her, her fingers pressing harshly into her skin. It felt like butterfly wings caressing your flesh compared to Alec’s vice like grip. “It’s okay, we’ll figure this out, it’ll be okay, you just have to-“

“Make this quick, say goodbye to your sister. That’s what you want isn’t it? A proper goodbye?” Alec asked, mist still pouring from his hands as his black eyes followed your every move. You shook your head frantically.

“I don’t want to say goodbye, I want to go home! Let me go home!” you begged. Alec hissed.

“What don’t you understand? You are my mate! I’ve waited a thousand years for you, you are mine and you cannot walk away from me!” he snapped. Bella tried to hush you, stroking your hair gently as you collapsed into her.

“Please don’t let him keep me here.” You cried. Bella remained silent, horribly, startlingly silent. Her hands shook as she held you close. Alec approached you, the mist seemingly absorbing back into his body as he walked. The room was in an uproar as soon as everyone was on their feet again, Felix and Demetri forcing him to his knees with furious expressions. He still never took his eyes off of you, his expression devoid of any and all emotion suddenly.

“Are you insane Alec? Using your gift on us? We’re trying to help you!”

“How could you brother? You broke our promise and for a human no less!”

“What insolence is this? Need we remind you of your place boy!”

Alec didn’t respond to any of the accusations, his neck straining so he could keep his eyes on you. Aro only had to touch his hand to know his intentions for you, but you didn’t dare look anymore, choosing instead to bury your face in your sister’s neck as you struggled to calm your breathing and sobbing.

“I would advise you leave now.” Felix huffed.

“We can’t,” Edward’s voice was quiet, apologetic, “Y/N, if we take you, he’ll destroy us all.” Your chest constricted, you felt like you could barely breathe as a lead weight settled in your gut. Destroy them? Alec was a killer, if the red eyes hadn’t told you so then his actions just now had. It wasn’t difficult at all to believe he’d go so far as to kill anyone who stood between you both, but what hurt even more was that you didn’t trust him to be good to you if you stayed either. Why did it have to be you? You’d come to Volterra to do something good, to save someone’s life! So why were you losing yours?

“You ought think on your actions Alec, your mate will be here waiting for you, but for now you need some time to reflect on your position. I think two weeks in the dungeons ought to suffice.” Aro’s voice was ice cold, his fury obvious. Clearly, he had never thought one of his own guard would dare use his powers against him.

“You monster! You fucking monster! Edward I can’t leave her here, she’s my baby sister!” Bella protested. You tightened your grip on her shirt, eyes itchy red and cheeks wet as the terrible weight of hopelessness sank down on your chest. There was no way out. Even if they had tricked Alec and let you leave what then? Did you run from him for the rest of your life? Did you just wait for him to find you? Maybe the dungeon might mellow him out some? It was a bit of a relief really, when the stress just shut your brain and body down, even if the moment of relief was as brief as blinking.

You could almost pretend nothing had ever happened, that perhaps you were at home, as your consciousness dripped back into you. You were on soft sheets, your pillow cradling your head, and you wanted to just burrow away in them. The only thing was, you could feel sunlight warming your skin, and that addictive, woodsy smell was not the lavender your laundry usually came out smelling like. You felt awfully nauseous for a moment when you opened your eyes, your body readjusting to having your brain in control once more, but the red eyes that met yours were far kinder this time than Alec’s aggressively territorial stare. The chestnut brown hair and angular face was familiar to you, and you warily sat up to lean back against the headboard. Demetri let you put the distance between you with an aura of calm that tempted you to relax to. He was alone, no Felix or Jane by his side, but that didn’t mean he was any less dangerous.

“Where’s Bella?” you whispered. She had to be somewhere nearby. Maybe she was in the bathroom? Or had gone to find food and drink? How long had you even been out? Whose room was this?

“She and the Cullen’s departed for their return flight to America not an hour ago.” Demetri informed you. Your stomach dropped, your nausea rising and face paling.

“No…no she – she didn’t leave me here, she didn’t….you’re lying!” Knees curling to your chest, you gripped tightly at your jeans until your knuckles turned as white as your face.

“Not without protest,” he assured you, his voice softer now with sympathy, “But it seems Alec has become unpredictable. His reaction to the mate pull unnerved us all, you are not alone in your fear, though perhaps we fear different things.” His voice was soothing in a way not much else to you was right now. Thoughts swirled in your mind, the bitterness at your abandonment only outweighed by terror at being left behind.

“What is he going to do to me?” you asked, your voice barely more audible than a whisper. Demetri’s head tilted.

“And that is why I am afraid…I truly cannot tell you.” He murmured. He didn’t exactly comfort you when the tears came again, your eyes beyond irritated with all the crying you’d done today, but he didn’t stop you from letting your emotions run away from you instead. He remained close enough to remind you you weren’t alone, but Demetri didn’t hold you as Bella would, or stroke your hair or do anything remotely soothing. His greatest gift to you in that moment was to simply let you be human.

You didn’t know how long that would last.

#twilight #twilight fanfiction #yandere alec #alec volturi #alec volturi x female reader #demetri volturi #felix volturi #jane volturi #request #volturi #dark themes

[kienava]

several folks requested beacon era bees for a fic giveaway and i miss them so enjoy <3 

_________

Dancing - Blake can’t remember the last time she enjoyed it.

She remembers going to functions with her parents when she was little and frolicking to her heart’s content before self-consciousness hardened into an opaque shell around her.

With the White Fang, there were plenty of other teenagers who were just as awkward and nervous as she was, but nights spent with them around bonfires always felt stolen and forbidden. Having fun meant wasting time that could be spent on the mission.

Seeing so many hunters-in-training taking the time to relax and forget their own insecurities reassures Blake now. She’s somewhere safe, relatively speaking, and she’s allowed to take a night off from trying to fix the world. She’s allowed to enjoy wearing a dress, and she’s allowed to enjoy yelling the wrong lyrics to songs along with her friends.

Yang was right to encourage this, she thinks. And the fog machine is actually pretty cool.

Considering how difficult it is to look anywhere else when Yang is in the room, Blake’s seen surprisingly little of her. Yang greeted her when she came in and then ran off, and Blake hasn’t spotted her since. It feels a little silly to want to thank someone for inviting her to a school-wide event, but she certainly isn’t going to thank Sun for stepping on her foot three separate times. Blake feels compelled to find her partner and say it anyway, and she’s confident the buzzing in her stomach won’t stop until she does.

Sun is trying to figure out how to re-knot his tie properly after tying it around his head and subsequently loosening it beyond salvation. Neptune is about as helpful as Blake would have guessed, and when Jaune gets involved, the whole thing is a lost cause.

Blake searches the room. It’s challenging enough to look anywhere else when Yang is in a room - but despite that, she’s surprisingly difficult to find.

It’s only when a giggling, stumbling couple clears out of the balcony that Blake sees her. She’s watching from one story up, her elbows propped on the railing and her chin resting on tight fists. There’s a wistful look on her face, and Blake might not have recognized it if she hadn’t seen it before.

She remembers watching Yang drag a piece of chalk across a blackboard, that same expression following as she looks at the floor. Sometimes Yang is loudest when she says nothing at all. When a teacher asks if her semblance causes her pain and she doesn’t say no. When someone mentions their mother at lunch and Yang doesn’t have a quip ready in reply. When someone asks if she’s interested in anyone and she says nothing at all.

Blake thinks she’s started to understand what those silences mean. Right now, Yang is unmistakably lonely.

It’s written in that cloudy, content smile. A quiet yearning with no particular velocity, like a single firefly hovering still over a field in the middle of the night. Look directly at it and it disappears.

Most people are born alone, but nobody is born lonely. That kind of thing has to be learned, practiced, perpetuated. Eventually, when solitude is a choice, it’s a comfort. Blake understands, though it’s not something she ever thought she’d have in common with the most extraverted girl in the whole school.

Maybe it’s foolish to hope that Yang will feel Blake’s eyes on her and turn her head, but Blake hopes anyway. She doesn’t remember when she started wishing so recklessly. The thrill it brings is something she’s only ever mined from the pages of her favorite novels, usually in the moments before an almost-kiss or a bracing confession. So she wishes, and she hopes, and she watches.

Yang keeps her eyes on the crowd, scanning with a soft focus that says she isn’t searching for anything. She glances toward the corner where the fog machine is. Weiss has made plenty of vague threats about the machine breaking under mysterious and unprovable circumstances, so it’s probably smart to keep an eye on it. But that can’t be the sole reason Yang has sequestered herself on the balcony.

Blake drifts off, leaving Sun, Neptune, and Jaune to their contained chaos. Pyrrha will probably intervene before anything gets broken.

At the bottom of the stairs, Blake bumps into the couple from the balcony, but they’re too wrapped up in each other to notice. As they whirl towards the dance floor, already laughing and twirling in each other’s arms, Blake looks over her shoulder, and she suspects her expression matches the one she just saw Yang wearing.

A few other people are up on the balcony, including Ruby, who’s so sick of her shoes that she’s put her bare feet up on a table. Blake passes by and raises an eyebrow at Weiss, who’s in the middle of an impermeable tirade about how revolting and utterly inappropriate it is to take off one’s shoes in public. Ruby simply leans back in a chair precariously, hands behind her head, eyes closed. Sooner or later she’ll lose her balance and fall over, but Weiss is right there to catch her, bare feet and all. That’s what good partners do, isn’t it? Catch each other, no matter what. 

Yang finally looks away from the dance floor when Blake is just passing Ruby’s table.

“Blake!” she calls. Her distant, foggy smile has brightened into a wide grin, and Blake feels like she’s just reached the bottom of a page.

“It's pretty exciting up here,” Blake replies. “I think I just heard Weiss mention foot sweat.”

“Gross,” Yang laughs.

Blake slides up next to her and grips the railing. “I think it hurt her to say it more than it hurt me to hear it.”

“Definitely.”

Yang looks back down at the party, and Blake hears the beat of silence that follows.

Blake pokes Yang’s shoulder. “So, are you having fun up here all by yourself?”

“I’m not by myself. Ruby and Weiss are--”

“Arguing about foot sweat.”

“And I’m having a great time watching.”

“Uh-huh.”

Yang turns to face her fully, and Blake is struck once again by how beautiful she is. The dress is cute, but it’s the attitude, the smirk, the pop of her hip.

“You got something to say, Miss Belladonna?” Yang teases.

“I came up here to say thank you, actually.” Blake rocks away from the railing, hiding her hands behind her back. “But I’m a little confused. You went on and on how much fun this dance was going to be, but you’ve barely done any dancing yourself.”

Yang mirrors her but leans one elbow on the railing. “Sounds like you’ve been keeping tabs on me.”

It’s like their own little unconventional waltz. One leads, the other follows, alternate, repeat. Is it too soon for Blake to know that she would follow her partner anywhere? Is it wishful thinking for her to believe Yang would do the same?

Blake could say something, or she could let her sly silence do the talking.

Yang holds her gaze for a moment, then another, before looking over the railing.

When Yang looks back again, her lip curls shyly, and Blake’s pretty sure she’s not thinking about the fog machine anymore.

“I’m glad you came,” Yang says.

Blake wants to kiss her again, pick up where the left off in their dorm room. First kisses are supposed to be messy, and Blake wouldn’t trade it for anything, but she feels the need to thank Yang for this night in as many ways as possible, with and without words. After all, Yang hears her no matter what. 

But they’re in public, and Blake isn’t sure if Yang would be comfortable with that. For all the attention she commands, Yang doesn’t make a point of sharing personal details with... anyone, really, now that Blake thinks about it. Not on purpose.

Blake remembers when she accidentally saw Yang’s bullet-bruised skin after a heavy fight, and she knows that the rest of their team doesn’t know about it.

When one of their friends needs to talk, Yang is happy to listen. Yet she never brings up anything more serious than a bad homework grade herself. She overwrites her own silences with easy jokes and disguised deflections. If Weiss and Ruby are around, she’s wary. Maybe she doesn’t want her sister to worry.

Blake knows what it’s like to keep the truth from people and think that you’re protecting them.

“Yang?” she asks.

“Hm?”

“You are having fun, right?”

Yang shifts. “Of course. Aren’t you?”

“Mostly.”

That catches Yang’s attention, and suddenly this is a very serious matter to her. “What’s wrong? Did someone spike the punch?”

“You wish.”

“Did someone not spike the punch enough?”

“No...”

“Because I can fix that.”

“Nothing needs fixing,” Blake says. She reaches for Yang’s hand and squeezes, hoping it’s convincing. “Tonight is pretty much perfect.”

Yang frowns. “Pretty much?”

“Well, I’ve barely seen the person who asked me to come to this thing in the first place.” Blake steps closer, and she sees Yang’s breath catch in her chest.

Yang covers it with a light and fleeting laugh. “Yeah, I could have guessed Sun wouldn’t be the most attentive date on the planet.”

Blake almost rolls her eyes because that one is way too easy to see through, but she’d rather watch the blush flare under Yang’s freckles. “I wasn’t talking about Sun.”

“Oh.”

Yang doesn’t move, and she doesn’t say anything more, and Blake isn’t sure what to do. Whatever Yang’s silence is trying to say is drowned out by Blake’s deafening need to kiss her, and it certainly isn’t helping that Yang is still holding her hand.

“Blake...” Yang says the name like she’s starting something, and it’s infinitely more exciting than turning a page.

In invitation, Blake nods her head towards the stairs and tugs just slightly on Yang’s hand. “You promised me a dance.”

“I guess I did,” Yang laughs.

She looks down at their hands like she’s double-checking a lock, and Blake hopes she never gets better at hiding it when she’s nervous.

Maybe she’ll get to kiss Yang later, when they’re walking back to their dorm at midnight after staying late to help clean up. Blake’s legs will be pleasantly exhausted from jumping around all night, and Yang will pull her jacket out of nowhere and drape it around Blake’s shoulders. Blake will pause to shiver and pull the coat tighter, and momentum will carry Yang half a step in front. She’ll turn around to see why Blake stopped following, look up at the shattered moon, and then find Blake’s eyes watching her, waiting. It will take a moment, perhaps two, for Yang to gather her courage, and then Blake won’t feel the cold at all.

It’s a scene right out of one of Blake’s books - but it doesn’t even compare to the way Yang looks at her when they reach the bottom of the stairs, all light and admiration. Blake can’t help but think of the couple she ran into earlier, and she allows herself to make one wish.

She hopes they stay like this always, side by side, braced to spin and fall and catch each other.

Blake certainly isn’t going anywhere.

***

[cross-posted on AO3]

#bumbleby #bumbleby fic #no association with bumbleby week i am simply out here

[mego42]

please enjoy this snippet from the upcoming ch 12

--

Three weeks earlier

It’s not a nightmare that wakes her. Not exactly. 

After two relentless months, Beth’s become something of a connoisseur in the finer points of that particular psychological phenomenon and this definitely isn’t that, though it’s kin to it. 

It’s a rattling echo in the cavern of her lungs, hollow and aching where they’ve been scorched by fire and smoke. It’s the acidic memory of Annie and Ruby’s faces, tears streaking through ash smeared across their cheeks, the screeching violin of their ragged, terrified gasps clawing at her ears. 

It’s a caustic, venomous hatred boiling in her veins that rouses her.

She surfaces, caught off guard by the unfamiliar sheen of the deep, velvet darkness. The angle of the bare hint of ambient light is subtly...not wrong, but strange in a way she can’t place immediately.

Her burnt hand throbs like a beating heart held in her tightly swaddled palm.

It’s the pain that drives her the rest of the way from sleep, and as she crashes all the way into full consciousness, she thinks Rio. 

The darkness is strange because she’s in his bed, not hers. The light comes from downtown high rises, not suburban street lights. She's in his loft, not her house. 

She’d almost died two nights ago, and he’d brought her home. 

Blinking, she turns slowly. He’s stretched out next to her, close enough that she can feel the heat radiating off of his body, warming her side. 

He’s asleep; she can tell from the slow rise and fall of his chest, from the soft sound of his breathing, steady and even.

Her own breath hitches, a cough bubbling up, and she buries her face in the pillow, trying to smother it. She shudders once, twice, swallowing hard to try and quell the jagged, broken glass feeling in the back of her throat. She breathes deep, letting the spicy cedar scent permeating the fabric overwhelm her, steady her and wash away the bitter taste in her mouth.

Rolling back on her side, she studies Rio. Still sleeping. 

Beth rolls again, onto her back this time, moving slow in an attempt not to wake him. Now that her eyes are adjusting, the dark isn’t quite so complete, and she can see the faint lines of the exposed ductwork snaking across the ceiling. The difference between city and suburbs—when she’s at home, her bedroom is pitch dark on nights with no moon. 

Her hand’s still throbbing, more insistent now, and her throat aches; she feels itchy, restless. That roiling, burning mass of feeling that woke her up sits heavy on her chest.

She looks back over at Rio. The sheets are pushed down, draped over his waist. He shifts slightly, and she can see a pale hint of ridged skin on his shoulder, just below his collarbone.

Suddenly it’s so much harder to breathe than it was a moment ago.

Beth pushes up, sliding out of the bed as quietly as she can, shivering a little as her bare feet hit the wood floor. She gropes around until her fingers hit fabric, and she snatches up the t-shirt. It’s Rio’s, she realizes as she tugs it over her head, cast off from when she’d peeled it off of him earlier. Hers is around here somewhere. She feels around again, searching the floor until her toes find the briefs she’s borrowed from him, flushing as she pulls those on too, making a mental note to go back to her house for some pajamas and underwear, if nothing else, sooner rather than later.

There’s a three-quarter wall shielding the bed from the open loft, and the night’s brighter when Beth grabs her phone and steps around it, heading down the stairs to the main floor, marveling at the sparkling city lights visible through those giant windows. 

She pours herself some water then wanders over to one, leaning her forehead against the cool glass and looking down at the sprawling nightlife below her. The loft isn’t in the center of downtown, but it’s close enough that even now, in the middle of the night, there’s sporadic traffic. She isn’t so high up that the cars look like toys or anything, but she still feels on top of the world. Removed from it, really.

It’s lonely at the top. 

Setting her water down on the window ledge, Beth thumbs open her phone and taps out an Are you awake? text to Ruby.

She hasn’t even locked her screen before Ruby’s picture lights it up.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Ruby’s voice is quiet. “What are you doing up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Ruby makes a soft, understanding noise but doesn’t say anything, just waits.

Beth props the phone between her ear and her shoulder, dragging a finger down the window, squinting an eye as she presses the tip against the glass so it blocks out one of the streetlights down below. 

Beth wonders where Ruby is. If she’s in bed with Stan or down in the kitchen. Hopefully not in bed, Stan doesn’t need any more reasons to hate her. She pictures Ruby perched at her island, her bible open in front of her. Or maybe cooking. Making a batch of lasagna to ward off the stress. Both thoughts sit uneasily in her stomach. 

“I almost died,” Beth says, finally. 

“You did.”

“So did you.” Her voice wobbles a little on the last word, and there’s something metallic and bitter in her mouth.

“Yeah,” Ruby says, and there’s a funny weight to it that has Beth closing her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she says, forcing the words out through the thick, aching mass in her throat.

Ruby’s response is immediate and sure. “It’s not your fault.”

“I mean—”

“We were all in it,” Ruby interrupts. “This isn’t just on you.”

“I made it life and death, though,” Beth says, hearing the echo of the shotgun booming in her ears, seeing Bruno stagger back, feeling the warm spray against her face as his chest—

Beth’s eyes snap back open, staring out the window at nothing.

“I don’t want to take away from whatever you’re working through here,” Ruby says after a moment. “But it kind of already was for me, Beth. I got into this because otherwise, my kid was going to die.” 

Beth’s breath gusts out, a new layer of guilt settling over her shoulders, adding to the weight already draped across them. Of course she’d known that, known that of all of them, Ruby had the least choice. But in the rush of everything else, she’d—not forgotten, but pushed it to the back, and from the faint censure in Ruby’s tone, Ruby knew it too.

“I’m sorry,” she says again.

Ruby sighs. “That’s not your fault, either.”

There’s another long, silent beat. Beth rolls her head against the glass, finding the dark stretch of river a few blocks away, a lightless void peeking between the buildings. 

“What am I supposed to do now?” 

Beth says it so quietly that she can barely hear it herself. Isn’t sure her question carried over the phone until Ruby sighs again, longer and heavier this time. 

“I don’t know,” Ruby says, and Beth hears the thump of a book closing. She smiles faintly. The bible, then. “Mia, she’s...she’s not going to stop, is she? Not as long as…”

She trails off, but Beth can fill in the rest of her sentence. Not as long as Beth’s alive. She drops her hand from the window to the ledge, running it along the rough concrete, remembering the feel of the loose gravel from the parking lot behind the store under her nails. Remembering the way Annie had clung to her, sobbing into her bruised and battered chest. Remembering the way she’d screamed Beth’s name in that wobbly, grainy video.

Mia won’t stop. Not as long as Beth’s here. With him. 

“I know,” she whispers.

They both fall silent at that, absorbing the options that truth leaves on the table.

“Thanks for picking up,” Beth says eventually.

“Thanks for texting,” Ruby responds, and Beth can hear the smile in it as she hangs up.

Beth gulps down the rest of her water and sets the glass in the sink before padding back upstairs. It’s not until she’s slipped back into bed, tugging up the bunched sheet, that Beth realizes Rio’s awake and watching her. 

“Hi.”

“‘Ey.”

His voice is a soft, sleepy rumble, and Beth feels it roll down her spine like he’s caressing every vertebra. 

“I’m sorry I woke you,” she whispers, settling in on her side, tucking her hands under her cheek and facing him. 

“Didn’t.”

What did, Beth wonders. 

#i am like a smol child on christmas but also the parent like HOLD TF ON IM STILL WRAPPING #beth x rio #nbc good girls #brio fic #wip wednesday #my fic #a song inside the halls of the dark #shut up meg

[thorniest-rose]

reddie halloween prompt #6 pumpkin

Eddie had lived in denial for a long time. It was a denial that had clung to him since he’d been a little boy. Never letting himself get dirty. Being scared of falling ill. Not letting his eyes linger too much on the handsome men he saw in the pharmacy or at the grocery store. And never letting himself enjoy food. Because food meant gluttony. It meant allergies and intolerances. It meant turning out like his mother, who he watched grow bigger and rounder every year.  

He spent years like that, not letting himself enjoy anything. Convincing himself he was so frail that all he could eat were egg whites and leafy greens or the leanest chicken with a plate of boiled vegetables. No gluten. No sugar. Hardly any fats or carbs. For more than 20 years he was as austere as a Puritan. And he told himself it was for the best. 

Until Richie, that was. Until they had finally defeated the clown. 

Things started to change then. Slowly at first but surely. Eddie left his sham of a marriage; he came out of the closet; he admitted to Richie one night, as the two of them shared a bowl of ice cream by Richie's swimming pool, that he was in love with him. And then, after he let himself try a slice of challah one day at a coffee shop downtown, toasted gently and spread with honey, Eddie let himself fall. 

First, Eddie made banana bread using some old, overripe bananas on their kitchen table. Then he baked chewy oatmeal cookies one morning after he’d served up their overnight oats. Before Eddie knew it, he was cooking up a storm: he ordered cookbooks, watched videos, bookmarked blogs. And he started to love the act of cooking. Looked forward to planning out their meals and going grocery shopping. There were fluffy ricotta pancakes in the morning; a cheese and spinach quiche with salad in the afternoon, chicken thighs baked in white wine, olive oil and parmigiano reggiano in the evening. And then, teasingly, a silky mousse or sliver of cheesecake.  

Richie, who had the biggest appetite out of anyone Eddie had ever known, scarfed down everything Eddie made as quickly as a dog. He'd been happy to see Eddie enjoy food more and actively encouraged his cooking.

What Eddie hadn't expected was how sexy Richie had found it. How he watched Eddie cook with his blue eyes lit up with some kind of mischief. Sometimes coming up behind him so he could trail his hands over Eddie’s hips as he cooked, snaking a hand around his chest to tweak a nipple through his t-shirt, or to press the flat of his palm to Eddie’s lower stomach in a vaguely territorial touch that had Eddie half-panting as he stirred. 

Eddie always kicked Richie out eventually, swatting him away with a wooden spoon or elbowing him in the stomach. But it didn't stop Eddie from growing ruby-cheeked or getting hard in his pants. Something Richie definitely noticed as he chuckled and said, "You feeling okay there, baby?"

Which is probably why he should have seen this coming. Not that he thought it would happen that morning, as he prepared a homemade pumpkin pie for the first time. That he’d end up pushed up against the counter in their spacious, airy kitchen with Richie's jeans shoved down his thighs and his cock balls deep inside Eddie's ass. 

The pie looks good. Eddie had completed the crust, and he’s busy with the filling: mixing eggs, spices and fresh pumpkin purée in a bowl. Or at least he was trying to. Because Richie’s cock was nudging his prostate, and every time Eddie tried to focus on what he was doing, Richie would tilt his hips slightly and brush up against his sweet spot.

Richie had spent the whole time cooing into his ear, telling him what a good boy he was, as he stroked Eddie's hips like he was a skittish, easily frightened domestic pet.

The whisk clatters to the counter as Eddie lets out a high-pitched moan. 

“I can’t do it,” he says, his head hanging down between his shoulders. 

Richie leans in and swipes his tongue against the bare skin at his feverish nape.

“I think you can,” he says. “Come on, baby, you’re doing so well.”

Richie hadn’t fucked him that morning like he usually did, making the excuse that he had an important Zoom meeting. That he had to get ready for some presentation with the big suits about the future of his show. Eddie had said okay, that made sense, but he couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed as Richie kissed him on the cheek and disappeared out the room. 

But it turns out this was why. Richie had been saving it for this. 

Eddie tries not to moan at how deep Richie is inside him. There’s nothing between them, not even a layer of latex, and it’s almost too much. Richie’s cock is stretching him wide - with a shiver, he can imagine how obscene his hole must look around Richie’s cock - and on each small thrust into him, Eddie can feel Richie’s balls brush against his thighs. 

“I hate you,” he mutters as his arms tremble, hands clenched so hard around the edge of the counter that they're porcelain white.

Richie tsks against his neck. “That’s not a very nice thing to say to your finance, is it? When he takes such good care of you.”

Eddie laughs, and it sounds manic. “Is this what you think taking care of me looks like?”

He expects a joke, or a witty retort. Instead what he gets is Richie’s fingers tightening to a bone-bruising grip on his hips. Eddie would cry out, goes to, except Richie shoots out a hand and shoves three thick fingers into Eddie’s mouth, stifling the sound. 

With an edge of steel Richie says, “Why don’t you stop talking back and do as you’re told?”

Eddie starts to say “okay”, only he can’t, not with Richie’s fingers in his mouth, how they press down his tongue. So he nods his head as much as he can to get the point across. He’ll make the pie. He’ll be good. 

“That's better,” Richie says.

He pushes his fingers deeper into Eddie’s mouth, getting them wet to the knuckle, the force of it making Eddie gag. It feels like a warning. That Eddie better be good because he's not in the mood to play. Then he pulls them out as fast as he’d pushed them in, bringing them back to Eddie's hip.

"Go on then," he says, but this time there's the hint of a laugh in his voice. Like he finds humiliating Eddie like this funny.

Eddie feels winded, the corners of his mouth feel bruised, but he picks up the whisk again and starts swirling the filling. It’s not as fast as he’d usually do it, but it’s the best he can do. Behind him, Richie starts to pick up the pace a little, pulling out and pushing his cock deeper into Eddie’s needy, clenching hole. He hits his prostate again, making him arch back against the tall line of Richie’s body. 

“R-Richie, I can’t,” he says, on the verge of dropping the whisk again. Of abandoning the pie and begging Richie to fuck him. 

But he knows that won't do.

From behind him Richie says, “Why don’t you shut the fuck up? I thought you could be good? Do you want me to pull out?”

Eddie shakes his head. He doesn't. Even though it was maddening: the torturous, slow push of Richie’s cock inside him, the feeling of his zipper rubbing up against his ass, the drip of precome at the end of Eddie’s dick where he’d grown flushed and hard against the counter. But the thought of Richie pulling out and leaving him there while he went to the bedroom to jerk off was even worse. He has a thought of Richie coming all over their bedsheets, of wasting his come instead of depositing it deep inside Eddie where it belonged, and he almost whines.

“No Richie, I want it so bad, please. Please don’t pull out,” he begs, in a voice he doesn’t even recognise. Something high and wanton. A voice he didn’t even know he could make until Richie laid him down on his bed one night all those months ago and pushed inside him for the first time. 

“Beautiful boy,” Richie says sweetly. “Finish it, come on,” he murmurs.

So Eddie does. As Richie continues his slow, tormenting pace, Eddie finishes whisking the filling and lifts the bowl with shaky fingers so he can pour it into the pastry shell. He almost drops it, but manages to right the bowl at the last second. Afterwards he stares at it: the beautiful, flaky, butter pastry crust with its autumnal filling, and that floaty feeling of satisfaction comes over him. He’d done good. He did exactly as Richie told him.

“I’ve done it, Richie,” he sighs, his voice sounding faraway. “I’ve finished the pie.”

He melts when Richie kisses him on the side of his neck, scraping his teeth over his pulse point where it jumps rapidly.

“I knew you could do it, Eddie, I knew you could make me happy.”

And Richie rewards him for it. With one hand he pulls Eddie’s hips back and with the other he pushes Eddie’s cheek down against the counter until Eddie's bent at an obscene angle. At a fuckable angle, Eddie thinks with a shiver. But that’s the last coherent thought he has for a long time because a moment later Richie’s pulling out until just the tip of his dick is spearing Eddie open, and then he does what Eddie’s wanted all this time. He shoves back inside, the squelch of the lube pornographically loud in their quiet kitchen, and he rails him hard, letting that hidden, ferocious side come out.

It’s the hardest fuck Eddie’s had in days, and fuck it feels so good, his ass bouncing off Richie’s sharp hips on every thrust, Richie's cock punching his tiny hole open, and the low-pitched growl coming from Richie’s throat making his dick drool at the tip.

It's something he can't believe he's denied himself for so long.

"I kind of want to eat this pumpkin pie out of you," Richie suddenly says. "Would you let me do that? Just finger it inside of your dumb cunt and then eat it out of you?"

And it shouldn't sound hot. It should sound ridiculous. But it doesn't stop Eddie from crying out or his balls drawing up.

"I'm going to-"

He cuts off on a high whine as Richie reaches around and grabs him in warning.

"You better not. Not until I say."

Eddie nods, and Richie starts fucking him again, hammering his prostate on every push inside him, muttering so filthy it makes Eddie flush all the way down to his chest.

And when Richie finally tells him to come he does, clenching around him until he shoots sticky white all over the counter. 

“Good boy,” Richie says as he pulls his cock out to smear the sticky head against the sore skin at his hole, making Eddie quiver. “Now let's go for that money shot. How much do you think you can make Daddy come?"

And Eddie, with gusto, shows him.

#halloween reddie #reddie #reddie drabbles #minors dni #d/s #dom/sub #tw food #tw eating #tw daddy kink #tw food kink #dom richie #sub eddie #tw feminization

[fandom-puff]

If you wouldn't mind, could I have an Alfie Solomons one-shot? Can it be that the reader is a Shelby and she is married to Alfie, and they are going to have dinner with the Shelby clan. But during dinner, Alfie starts touching her under the table. Also could you use number 41 and 30 from your smut prompt?

Oh I do love a bit of Alfie smut <3 hope you enjoy this ;p

The Dinner Party

warnings: under-table antics, smut, swearing and a really naff title :)

“Right, for the last time, behave yourselves, boys,” Polly warned as Alfie’s car pulled up outside. “We’ll not have a repeat of New Years’ Day, John,” she hissed. 

John raised his hands in surrender. “Anything to avoid YN breaking my nose again,” he mumbled. 

A knock sounded through the house and soon Frances brought you and your husband into the drawing-room. “Tommy! Arthur! Shalom, shalom! John... Ada, I know you. Ms Gray, a pleasure as always, and of course, young Finn,”  

You smiled softly as you hugged your brothers, Arthur mumbling “Yeah, sha-shalom? Shalom and all that, yeah,” 

You wrapped your arms around your oldest brother and he murmured into your ear “He treating you good, YN?” 

“Yes, Arthur... he’s the most loving husband I could ask for, don’t you worry,” you pulled away and he smiled softly, corners of his eyes crinkling slightly at the sight of you so happy. You hugged Tommy and John tight around the neck. “Finn been behaving himself? Been playing in the snow much? Checking his whores?” you asked, making your younger brother blush slightly and shift his feet. “Gotten anyone pregnant, yet, Finny?” you teased. 

“No, he hasn’t, thank god. Told him I’d sever his balls,” Pol grinned and you hugged your auntie. She gave you one of her infamous looks as you greeted your sister. Polly’s eyes flickered between you, your stomach, and Tommy, arching her brows.

“Where’s Karl?” you asked her. “Is he taller than me yet?” 

she smirked. “Playing with Charles and Ruby. and nearly I reckon,” she giggled, pulling you in for a hug. You had always looked up to your sister, her being the only other girl in your family, and the glamourous big sister to boot. 

 You returned to Alfie’s side, and he was chatting business with Tommy. You waited for them to finish, pouring yourself a drink, before saying “Thanks for letting us stay, Tom,”

“YN, love, you’re always welcome here. I suppose he is as well, so long as you behave yourself, eh, Alf,” 

You wrapped your arm around Alfie’s waist, leaning your head against his arm (you couldn’t quite reach his shoulder) and smiled as he laughed heartily. 

Soon, the Shelby clan- plus Alfie- gathered around the long table and ate merrily. You were chatting across the table, teasing John for letting his kids and dog run rings around him when you felt a firm hand pressed to your thigh. You hid your gulp by drinking some wine as Alfie trailed his hand further up, hitching your skirt up over your knee and up your thigh.

 You were glad Tommy was able to afford ridiculously long table cloths. 

You let out a shaky breath, focusing on your meal as your husband teased the inside of your thighs. he leaned down to murmur in your ear. To Finn, who was opposite you, it was an innocent enough gesture, especially when Alfie pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek. The Shelby’s were used to your open affection. 

“Alfie... There are people here...” you whispered, stroking his beard gently. 

he smirked and tapped your nose. “If you behave yourself, I think I’ll skip dessert and have you instead,” he muttered and you nodded in agreement. As the dinner wore on, you covered up a lot of moans by swallowing plenty of wine. Arthur teased you about working your way through two and a half glasses throughout dinner but you simply complemented Tommy on his choice of red. 

An agonising hour later you quickly stood up, excusing yourself from the table. “Thank you so much for a lovely dinner Tom,” you said quickly. “But we left London early this morning... and... and I’m... tired...” you said. “Goodnight, everyone,” you hurried away, scurrying to the guest room that the maids had put your stuff in. Alfie left it another few minutes before excusing himself too. 

“They’ve gone to fuck, haven’t they?” Tommy said, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. 

“Oh, most definitely,” Ada said slyly. 

***

“What the fuck took you so long?” you hissed as Alfie shut the door. 

“Didn’t wanna make it obvious, love, did I? and your brother’s house is fucking massive, I got lost three times and-” you shut him up, pressing your lips tight to his,  and pulling him over to the bed. 

“Alfie, please don’t tease, not now, please,” you whined. “Look- feel how wet you made me at the table,” you tugged his hand to feel beneath your dress and he grinned lopsidedly at your arousal seeping through your underwear. 

“If you, right, didn’t like my teasing,” he smirked. “Why were you moaning, eh?” 

You blushed. “Because... because... oh shut up Alfie, and fuck me, please?” you pleaded, licking your lips. 

“tell you what, love,” he smirked, setting his hat and stick aside. “why don’t you strip me down and show me just how much you want my cock, yeah? And then i just might fuck you silly, eh?” 

Extremely happy with this compromise you began undoing his buttons, frantically removing his overcoat, waistcoat, hair shirt and vest, tossing them to the side as he chuckled at your eagerness. you dropped his trousers and he kicked them off his ankles. “Lie on the bed, Alf,” you said gently. 

“forgetting something, love?” he gestured to his underwear. 

“Lie on the bed, Alfie,” you repeated, a little firmer. He smirked and did as he was told, laying back and relaxing into the pillows, arms up and hands behind his head. you hummed softly, pressing your hand over his underwear, feeling his hot length twitch beneath your small hand. He hissed at the friction, licking his lips as you slowly lowered his underwear down over his cock. You moaned lowly, leaning down to flick your tongue over the sensitive, red tip, wrapping your lips around it and suckling like a lollipop, pressing your tongue against the slit. He growled low in his throat and bucked his hips up. 

“Fuckin’ ‘ell love,” he grunted, grasping a fistful of your hair. “Sit up before I come down your throat,” he demanded. “And take that pretty dress off as well,” 

You groaned, lapping up the salt of his precum. you shimmied out of your dress as quickly as was humanly possible and took the liberty of getting rid of your underwear too, leaving you naked in front of him. he licked his lips. “Eager, aren’t you?” he smirked, and you nodded. 

“Come ‘ere, darlin’“ he hummed. “come and sit yourself on my cock, eh?” you whimpered at his words and nodded, eagerly straddling him. You licked your lips, slowly settling yourself down on him, whining out loudly at the stretch and at the gravity pulling you down more. Shuddering, you clenched your knees around his broad hips as you started gyrating your hips in a figure-of-8. 

Alfie growled primally, grasping your hips, surely leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on your flesh. You moaned out, starting to bounce yourself, pushing your breasts out. Seizing his opportunity, Alfie captured a nipple in his mouth, sucking and flicking his tongue over the pebbled peak the way he knew you adored, his groans rumbling around your breast and through to your heart as you fucked yourself on his cock. you grasped his hair in your fists, tugging desperately, pulling him up so his magical mouth could envelop yours in a bruising, knee-weakening kiss. You whined into his mouth as you rutted your hips, desperately wanting to reach your completion mounted atop his thick, pulsing cock. “Please, Alf! Please make me come!” he grunted in response and pinched your nipple roughly, tugging it away from your body and twisting teasingly. you gasped, a spasm of delicious, painful pleasure soaring down to your core, the pressure coiling tight in your belly as you reached climax. “Fuck! Fuck! Alfie!” you practically sobbed, falling forwards into his chest, hips still bouncing desperately. With a sloppy thrust upwards, he filled you with his come, groaning a mixture of your name and a hell of a lot of praise in a delightful combination of Yiddish and English. 

Breathless, you slid off his cock, leaning down to kiss him tenderly. “I love you, Alf,” you whispered gently tugging the bedsheets around you both as he turned on his side and pulled you tight to his chest, allowing a blissful sleep to overtake you both. 

Neither of you was aware of your family downstairs snickering and cringing at the sound of sweet YN Shelby making loud and passionate love to a Solomons, in Tommy Shelby’s house. 

#peaky blinders #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons x reader smut #alfie solomons smut #smut #fanfiction #ao3 #request #prompt

[catfe-overlord]

“Cold”

Part 3

Read part 1 here

Read part 2 here

::In which Kirishima is the best boyfriend ever, and Bakugou can’t say the words he desperately needs to get out before the end::

•••••••••••••••

“Katsuki! Please, please, Katsuki. Wake up!”

Bakugou blinked. His mouth was so dry. His head hurt. Scratch that—everything hurt. What the hell?

“Kats! Oh, thank god. Hey, can you hear me?”

His vision was swimming but his hearing was back to normal, despite a faint ringing. He managed a nod.

“Okay, good. I need you to move for me. Can you do that?”

His voice sounded strained. Bakugou squinted, trying so hard to focus on him. There was light coming from somewhere, dull but nonetheless helpful. The flashlight, he realized, beaming from somewhere just out of reach.

“Katsuki, please. Just trust me. Please, babe, move.”

Kirishima was begging him. Shit. He had to move now, but could he? His arms were fucking broken, and he couldn’t pull himself away with them. He tried at his legs, sliding himself across the hard ground coated in sharp, jagged rocks that cut into his skin through his shredded coat.

“Good! Keep going! You’re almost there, love.”

He managed to get out from beneath Kirishima after seriously strenuous effort. His body felt so entirely broken, his muscles were screaming after so little movement, and the pure cold that bit into his skin on top of everything else was infuriating. He’d never felt so weak, completely unable to help as his boyfriend held up the massive amount of rocks and debris to protect him.

Kirishima let out a relieved sigh, but it cut off into a choked sob. “Okay,” he said, panting. “I’m going to try to roll out of the way now, so all these rocks above us are going to come down. Can you get any farther back?”

No. That was the simple answer. His body was shutting down. When he tried to tell Kirishima it was hopeless, all he could do was splutter. What the hell was wrong with him now? His tongue felt huge and his mouth tasted like… blood? Shit. Oh shit! He was struggling to breathe!

“Katsuki! Oh god, I’m coming! Just hold on.”

The rocks shifted above them, and a second later Kirishima was diving at him. He grabbed Bakugou by the waist and heaved him away from the crashing boulders.

Bakugou screamed, pain spiking in his spine as he was ungraciously tossed back. As soon as he rolled to a stop, he curled in on himself.

Kirishima was there, his hands all over Bakugou and trying to feel around for the worst injuries. He was crying—no, sobbing. Kirishima’s crocodile tears dripped onto Bakugou’s face, mixing with his own tears he could barely feel on his cold cheeks.

“They’ll—be here—soon!” Kirishima was saying through his sobs. “We’re gonna be—okay, Katsuki! I—I promise!”

Bakugou hacked up blood and spat it onto the ground. Son of a bitch, he must’ve punctured a lung and surely broken a few ribs. Coughing up blood was always a bad sign. They had a time limit now, and if the heroes didn’t reach them quick enough, Bakugou wasn’t getting out alive.

Kirishima knew this. It’s why he was sobbing helplessly. There was nothing he could do but wait it out and pray his boyfriend made it through.

Kirishima kissed him on the forehead for a long moment before he too laid down beside Bakugou, pulling the blond to his chest where it was the slightest bit warmer.

Bakugou tilted his head up, wanting to see Kirishima’s ruby eyes one more time, but it was too dark. He could hardly make out his face at all.

He curled into Kirishima, taking in his scent. It was so earthly, so manly. He loved Kirishima, to the fullest meaning of the word. He needed him more than he needed to be the number one hero. His life had been all about being the best for so long, when really he’s had the best in front of him this whole time. He’d been blind for so long.

If he made it out of here, he wasn’t going to let Kirishima down. He would let him know how much he fucking meant to Bakugou. He wanted to tell him now, but his mouth wouldn’t form the words. He wanted to say how beautiful he was, how strong, manly, and completely idiotically brave. He wanted to tell him he was fucking perfect, and that he would be okay if Bakugou didn’t make it. He needed to tell him to keep going, to become a great hero and find love with someone else. There’s an infinite world of possibilities out there, and Kirishima’s journey was only beginning. Keep moving forward, Red Riot. This is not the end.

They cried together, holding each other close. Bakugou wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but he welcomed the numbness that crept into his body, stealing the pain away. He blissfully allowed sleep to swallow him whole, believing in his promise wholeheartedly that Kirishima would be okay.

Bakugou remembered seeing colors after that. Maybe faces. He couldn’t make them out. Everything was bleary and distorted.

He definitely heard Midoriya’s voice. Aizawa. Uraraka? He would later remember seeing her float rocks off of them. Someone else draped them in a blanket. Soon after, hands grabbed at them and pulled them apart, but they were too weak to fight them.

“—fat!” said a voice he didn’t recognize. “It will help get them warm!”

And suddenly all he could see was yellow, but it was so warm. He embraced it, trusting Kirishima was nearby and hopefully getting the same treatment.

Sleep pulled him down into its depths once more.

This time he awoke to white. Definitely a hospital room. Holy shit, he survived?!

He blinked the last bit of sleep out of his eyes, then whipped his head around in search of a certain red-haired idiot who was always there to greet him when he regained consciousness in the hospital.

His welcome party came in the form of pink, yellow and black. The three morons who proclaimed themselves as the official “Bakusquad” all stood once they realized he was awake.

“Blasty!” Ashido cheered, leaping onto his bedside and grabbing his hand. He tried to yank it out of her grasp, but he was still too weak. “You scared the shit out of us!”

“Dude, you’ve been asleep for four days!” Kaminari fumed. “You’ve had us so freaked out. I haven’t gotten any beauty sleep because of you!”

“Yeah, man,” Sero said simply, but he had a big smile on his face. “Not cool.”

Bakugou lifted his head to survey himself. Both his arms were wrapped in casts from shoulder to wrist, and he had a bunch of tubes and an IV attached to the backs of his hands. His chest was wrapped heavily in gauze, but he found it much easier to breathe than before. He realized there was an oxygen mask strapped to his face.

The three dorks were still talking to him, but he barely picked up on their words. They were explaining how they managed to find the boys, and all the Pros that came to assist in the search. The Pussycats and Thirteen and Fat Gum… Apparently Fat Gum probably saved their lives when he carried them to safety in his fat to help keep them warm. Bakugou was thankful, but he was glad he couldn’t remember it very clearly. He would’ve been crazy embarrassed if the whole class saw him like that.

His eyes flickered over to Ashido then, figuring she would be the most helpful. “Where’s Ei?”

She smiled sadly down at him. She nodded her head to the only other bed in the room. Bakugou could make out the form of a body beneath a layer of covers, but there was a curtain that blocked him from seeing his boyfriend’s face.

“He woke up for the first time a few hours ago,” she explained. “He was asking about you too. Fell asleep again right after he found out you were alive. He’s crazy about you, you know that? Well, I’m sure you do. We all know you are too.”

Bakugou felt the tears welling up in his eyes, but he was too tired and stressed and fucking emotional to give a shit. He was just so happy, he couldn’t help it. They still had a future together, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

“You broke him!” Sero yelled at Ashido. “Oh god, Bakugou doesn’t cry. What do we do?”

“CODE RED! CODE RED!” Kaminari wailed.

“Chill out, guys! I’m sure he’s just… feeling a lot?” Ashido said in the form of a question.

Bakugou lifted a casted arm to cover his face, but he nodded at her. He was feeling so much all at once, and it was just so foreign.

“Katsuki?”

Bakugou caught his breath. He turned to look at Kirishima, but the curtain was still in his way. Kaminari realized this right away and jumped up to help alleviate the issue. He drew the curtain back all the way, revealing a bandaged, bruised, and utterly beautiful Kirishima Eijirou.

The idiot smiled, revealing his glistening shark teeth. He was pale and his head was wrapped up, but he looked otherwise okay. “Katsuki!” he beamed. “You’re okay!”

For some stupid reason he didn’t understand, this only made Bakugou cry harder. He twisted onto his side and curled in on himself, his chest suddenly so tight. He wanted Kirishima to wrap him up again like last time.

“Oh, Kats, no! Please don’t cry!”

“What do we do?” Sero asked, lost as ever.

“I know!” Ashido announced, jumping to her feet. She started moving machines and IV drips out of the way before making her way to the other side of Bakugou’s bed. “Sero, go push Kirishima this way and Kami can help me push Baku!”

The boys obliged and the three brought Kirishima and Bakugou’s beds together. Bakugou would have thanked them if he wasn’t still biting down on his lip to keep from crying more.

“We’ll just leave you two alone,” Ashido said with a wink before shoving the other two boys out of the room, giving the couple some much needed privacy.

Kirishima placed a hand under Bakugou’s chin, forcing his head up so they could meet each other’s eyes.

And there they were—those ruby eyes he’d begged to see one last time. Alive and well and looking back at him with fondness.

“I love you, Eijirou,” Bakugou said suddenly, pouring his heart into the simple phrase.

It caught Kirishima off guard, but his smile never faltered. “I love you too, Katsuki.”

His firm hands yanked Bakugou closer, and Bakugou fumbled with his casted arms to get the oxygen mask off of his face. After a moment of struggle and readjustment, the boys brought their lips to meet each other’s. Bakugou sank into the kiss, embracing the feeling of how warm Kirishima’s mouth was against his.

He promised himself he would never let Kirishima go. He needed him like he needed oxygen. It was obvious he couldn’t live without him.

+++++++++

Aaaaaand there we have it! Another complete KiriBaku fic. Hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did writing it! It might be a little sappy and out of character, but I’ll keep working on it! I have another fic just about ready to be posted... I can promise it’ll be up in the next few days for sure ! Thanks again ~

9/15/2020

#bnha #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #fluff #whump #angst #kiribaku #bakushima #fanfic #avalanche #trapped #bakugou x kirishima #freezing to death