#and he stripped cause of the burning sensation he felt while dying..

[imflyinoveryou]

me my mom and brother lived in a trailer for a year and it would get so fucking cold in there, so we would all get in the big bed and snuggle and watch he-man on satellite tv and talk for hours before falling asleep. my brother would always ask hypotheticals like "what if a man came in here in the middle of the night" and my mom would say something like "id kill him dead" and i would just laugh and laugh

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

Danse Macabre

Astarion x M!Tav / Astarion x M!Dark Urge

TEASER - Can be read as a stand-alone

A03 Link: Danse Macabre

Warning: Vague explicit content

Dain gave a frustrated huff as he threw the strip of leather he was attempting to use as a hair tie into the dirt beside him. This had been his third and decidedly final attempt at tying his hair up; wanting to keep the mix-matched strands of snow and onyx out of his eyes while he fought. He ran bony, calloused fingers through his hair, freeing the now mostly tangled waves from each other. 

“What a mess.” Dain spun round at the sudden sound of another’s voice, dagger unsheathed from the hilt that always sat snugly on his lower back. He lowered it when he recognised Astarion’s bright white curls, the colour reflecting the moonlight like a dulled mirror. “What is it you’re even trying to do?”

Dain felt a frown twitch on his face in the slight embarrassment at being caught, ‘noble hero of the grove’ defeated by his own head of hair. “... I wanted to tie my hair up… it keeps getting in my eyes when I fight.” He always felt himself struggling to speak when it came to Astarion, with every word the vampire spoke his mental self was on his knees taking in each drop the other provided like he was a beast dying of thirst. 

He thought himself vile. Some sick, twisted part of him knew, without a doubt, that he would be dead in the other man’s hands if they had met in Baldur’s Gate during Astarion’s slavery to Cazador. Found wanding in the night-blanketed streets, it would only take a few honeyed words and Dain would follow him like a lost puppy, drunk on false love to the very clutches of the Vampire Master. He was a simple, easy-to-manipulate fool, his soul lost and his memories along with it.

Maybe he should be glad someone else had found him first.

“Why not cut it shorter then? Save the faffing about and getting all in a huff.” Dain looked at Astarion as if he had just punched him directly in the stomach, his face contorted in a look of obvious disapproval at the suggestion. “Alright, alright. No need to get your knickers in a twist.” Astarion gave a dramatic sigh and sat himself behind Dain, the other’s shins pressing firmly against his back, trying to get as close as he could to the other. 

Dain did not stiffen as he did with the others’ contact, Astarion’s touch never burned in the way others’ did - instead it felt like silk, the contact tingling but never in a way that was unpleasant. It was a sensation he had never felt before and he craved it and hated it in equal amounts. Dain’s mind, for reasons he himself did not know, found himself refusing the smallest touches of another, but with Astarion it was the exact opposite. He would never ask though, for that would show his weakness to a predator that was seeking the cracks in his “hero” facade.

“Brush,” It took a moment for his mind to come back to reality. He passed the wooden comb he had begrudgingly borrowed from Shadowheart a few hours prior. Astarion took it, cold, undead fingers brushing against his gloved ones. Granted, the gloves were quite possibly the reason he was struggling so much, but he had become accustomed to always wearing them that taking them off made him feel as if he were naked.

Astarion began with the ends of his hair that rested just past the middle of his back, where his waves became closer to loose curls, slowly working his way up. Dain allowed himself to get lost in the little tingles another brushing his hair caused at the base of his skull, a suppressed shiver travelled up his spine and he felt his shoulders begin to lower as he relaxed. Then there were gentle fingers at the back of his neck, pretending they needed to manipulate his hair in order to properly run the comb through. Then the comb was running slowly, languidly over his scalp and then all the way to the very ends before repeating the motion. Over and over. 

Dain felt himself start to lean back to the presence behind him - he stopped himself before he was fully laid in Astarion’s lap. It scared him a little; that he fell so easily into the roll of prey when it came to the vampire. Maybe it was his scent, a trick of his smile, something magical in his aura that anyone could fall victim to? No, the others weren’t falling so easily into his arms, the root of the problem began within Dain.

Was it a problem?

He gave it a little consideration, yet the only conclusion he came to was that he did not truly care. Dain would willingly, even happily let Astarion drain him utterly and completely whether he held him like a lover or like a boar he found sleeping in the alcoves of the forest they had set up camp in. It was shameful and exhilarating all at once.

Dain found himself tilting his head to the side as an offering, words of ‘Are you hungry?’ no longer needing to be spoken between them. Astarion let the comb fall through Dain’s hair one last time, the tangles being loosened many minutes ago. Both of them had been lost in their own minds it seems.

“You sure?” Astarion spoke just above a whisper, as if his words would disturb the surface of the lake that sat in front of them, its surface having acted as a mirror for Dain before Astarion had supposedly come to his rescue. Those same gentle fingers brushed away the few strands that had stubbornly laid themselves across the junctor of Dain’s neck.

“Only if you are.” 

Dain heard Astarion shift behind him as he uncrossed his legs to rest on either side of Dain’s. With another’s arms wrapped around his middle, he pushed himself backwards into Astarion’s body; he felt the other’s chest against his back, cold seeping through both their camp shirts, unsure who it belonged to. 

“You are always so cold, yet your blood runs warm.” Astarion spoke against his ear now and Dain had to suppress the shiver that threatened to pass over him, the other felt the way he tensed and a small, wolfish smile played on his lips. A hand moved from his waist and fingertips caressed up his throat in faux consideration before his whole hand wrapped around his neck and softly guided his head to the side. “I could only describe your taste as nectar, crafted by the gods themselves. Cruel gods no doubt… for to give in to my desires and have all of you would kill you… and I would forever be left without the very things that caused my addiction.”

Astarion placed a gentle kiss on Dain’s neck, a small apology for the pain that came next. 

This time Dain could not hold back his reaction. He heard the moan leave his lips before he even realised it was his, and felt his back arch from Astarion’s chest before he could hold himself still. Astarion let out a gentle hum as the taste of his blood wet his tongue, the hand that sat comfortably on Dain’s hip moved to rest low on his inner thigh, applying the smallest of pressures to where he knew Dain desired but would not ask nor seek it. Astarion wanted him to give in to this little dance they played, wanted him to fall complete victim in his arms. 

It took every peice of Dain’s will to hold his own hips in place. His breathing became airy as his mouth fell slightly open and the vampire’s venom began branching out like roots within the earth. He could feel its tendrils curling and twisting through his veins; up his neck, down his chest, gently burning as it moved. If his blood was not being slowly drained from him he would blush; the tips of his ears, cheeks and across his nose turning a soft lilac against greyish skin. A tender heat settled between his legs as the sensations begin to overwhelm him.

Astarion brushed his thumb over Dain’s heat, the pressure barely noticeable through the albeit thin leather of his trousers, but Dain keened, a long exhale parting from his lips. He took what was offered to him and savoured it. He would not ask for more.

Dain felt his body begin to go limp as he became bloodless; he barely had the energy to move his hand that had been gripping the dirt below them. He tapped Astarion’s lower thigh twice, a signal they had silently agreed on to mean ‘no more’. Another moment and the vampire pulled away, licking the twin little dots of blood that began to pool at the opening of Dain’s wound. 

Astarion was a little dazed with his stomach now full. He propped himself up with one arm behind his back, the other now removed from Dain’s thigh to hold him around his chest, hand over where his heart should beat, keeping him upright as the other leaned against him. Through his foggy mind, Dain felt another tender kiss placed on his neck, just above the bite the vampire spawn had given him.

“Full?” Dain asked, somewhat breathless himself.

“Sated,” Astarion whispered in response, slowly guiding Dain to sit upright, holding his shoulders in case he fell back again. 

“Now… back to your hair.” Dain gave a small chuckle, brain barely functioning with what little blood was left in him trying to keep his cogs turning. The gentle caresses against his scalp returned, but only briefly as Astarion began the plait his hair, gathering more hair as he went so it would follow the curve of his skull before running down his back, preventing it from possibly swinging and hitting Dain in the face if he were to quickly turn. Although, the idea was somewhat amusing. “I’ve never seen someone with hair like yours.”

“You’ve said better lines.”

“I’m not trying to flirt, darling.” He could feel Astarion’s eye roll as he spoke. Dain reached for the leather tie he had thrown to the floor earlier as Astarion reached the end of the braid, but when offered Astarion ignored him and pulled his own leather band from his wrist and wrapped it around the end of Dain’s hair. “I swear it's darker, especially after our little clash at the goblin camp.” Dain gave a simple shrug, mind still too drowsy to think clearly. After a long pause where he assumed Astarion was thinking, he finally spoke again, breaking the awkward quiet that had begun to settle. “My dear, you are a mystery to the fashion world.”

“Thank you… I think.” Dain stood as Asatrion did, swaying slightly on his feat like a common drunkard. “We should get back to the others before their minds start cooking up something nefarious.”

“No doubt they already have, everyone here has such simple minds.” Dain gave him a deadpan stare, crossing his arms to further his lack of amusement. “Apart from you, of course.” Astarion tucked one of the stubborn, pale strands that refused to be tied up behind Dain’s ear, a crooked grin plastered on his face. It was Dain’s turn to roll his eyes.

*****

Teaser 1

[wallgirl]

Poseidon x Fem!Reader - First Thing

Slightly rough, feel-good PWP. NSFW. 1400 words.

It’s been three weeks since your beloved husband left on business, and your hunger for him can’t wait to be sated now that he’s home...

For three long weeks he had been away, attending to business that demanded his attention as God of the Oceans.

Such a trip was nothing new, but you hated it every time he left. Despite what others might have deemed flaws and a cold exterior, you loved your husband passionately. He was the light of your life, the sparkle in your eye... And, after so long apart, the cure to the hunger in your core.

Despite what others might have suspected based on the outside, most nights in your marital suite passed in burning touches and passionate whispers. The bedroom was your escape as a couple, where no one else dared venture, and you could express your love to your heart's content. To you, everything about his heart and body was perfection... and every time you made love, you were reassured he felt the same way.

Now, at long last, your beloved Poseidon stood before you, all 6'4" of him, statuesque and well-built, ripe for the taking. For your taking. You wanted to haul him away immediately, but unfortunately, here in the entry hall of the palace with everyone else around, there were social conventions to observe first.

"My love, I'm so happy you're home. I've missed you so much," you greeted him properly. He acknowledged you with a simple nod. "I bet you're tired from your journey."

"Of course not." It was preposterous suggestion, but you already knew that. This was just a ploy.

"But perhaps you should rest a little, just to freshen up." You came to take hold of his muscular arm. "What do you say?"

He looked down at you questioningly, with your innocent eyes, and those sweet lips that mouthed silently to him:

Please.

Now there could be no doubting your intentions, although his face didn't give it away. "All right," he yielded. "Just for a little while."

You beamed, your heart already pounding. It was taking all of your restraint not to forcibly strip him where he stood, in view of the servants, and feel him up to your heart's content. "Come along, darling."

---

He entered you roughly from behind, using one hand on your back to force you to bend over the dresser. His other hand ripped down what remained of your panties, tossing them brusquely aside before using his fingertip to trace your entrance. You could feel your wetness sliding beneath his touch and shuddered weakly. "Poseidon, faster," you begged him, gripping the dresser's edge. "Faster, harder!"

"I come back from business, and this is the first thing you think of? The first thing you want from me?" His words mocked your neediness, but his movements obliged you. He took hold of your hip with his left hand and hoisted up your leg with his right, increasing the depth of his penetration. "So - needy."

Of course you were. It was all you could think about, being away from him for so long. You'd missed him so much. Your lips couldn't form the answer, but he probably wouldn't have registered it anyways. He settled into a steady rhythm as he lost focus on all else except delving deeper and deeper into you. You grit your teeth as his strong movement pushed you to your limits, eyes clenching shut as his tip reached your g-spot. "Ah! There! Please, harder!"

Of course, Poseidon could hardly use his full strength on you without causing you pain, but in some heated moments you didn't mind, and this was one of them. He ripped you away from the dresser and turned you to sit atop it instead, both legs over his shoulders. He leaned further in towards you, kissing and biting up your shoulder to your neck. You pulled him up to your lips by his hair, drinking in his kisses like a dying woman quenching her thirst. The inside of his mouth was just as soft as his lips, aside from his rather sharp teeth. You carefully traced the edges with your tongue, relishing the change in sensation, as he groaned into your mouth. "Don't tease me," he hissed. "I can only go so far."

"I've missed you so much, I want all of you now," you panted. "Every last ounce of your strength, every - ngh - everything!"

"Then take it!" The furniture below you began to groan and crack with under the pressure of his rutting, but the raw show of his strength only further aroused you. Your moans rose into high-pitched whines, sounding in time to the loud slaps of his thrusts. His skin felt so good against yours, even though you knew it would leave a mark afterwards. Your fluids were beginning to pool on the wood beneath your thighs, dripping onto the floor. At this mind-breaking pace, your high was bound to come at any second...

"Poseidon, cum in me!" You begged, completely out of your mind with want. Your hands grabbed at his hips in desperation, wanting him ever deeper inside of you. There was only him, could only ever be him. You wanted to be one with him in body and soul, completely. His cum within you was the highest prize you could seek, the epitome of physical intimacy. "My womb, fill it!"

Your pleading words pushed his arousal over the edge, and he groaned behind gritted teeth as he pressed into you as deep as your bodies allowed. That familiar heat burst within you, making you jerk as you reached your own orgasm in response. Your tightening insides clasped his shaft desperately as you broke through your high, coaxing every last drop from him before your body relaxed completely and you collapsed.

He remained above you for several moments, catching his breath and savoring your inner warmth one last time. You stared up at him unabashedly, with those sea-blue eyes and flushed cheeks, as if seeing him with fresh eyes. Every time you made love, the intimacy felt as new and tender as the first. He was so wonderful, so perfect, and all yours. Only you could make each other feel this way. He caught your starry-eyed stare and smiled softly before taking your hand and clasping it to his heart. "Satisfied, my queen?"

"Mmm... Not yet." You held up your arms weakly. "Lie with me." Now that your lust had been sated, you only wanted to rest in his strong embrace. He gently picked you up and carried you to the bed. You smiled in satisfaction, feeling the dew of sweat on his heaving chest. He curled you into the curve of his body, pulling the sheets loosely over your entwined figures. "Are you sore?" He asked.

"No." That could change in the morning, but for now, you were simply tired and sensitive. You shuddered lightly as his hand lovingly traced the shape of your body, from your shoulder and breast down to your thigh. You leaned up to kiss him tenderly, cupping his face in your hands. "You were perfect," you whispered softly. "Before we met, I never could've imagined this... nothing like it."

He pulled you closer and buried his face in your hair. "Nor I."

In this post love-making intimacy, you felt so vulnerable. You'd missed him so much during the time he'd be gone, and you needed to hear it reaffirmed that he felt the same way about you... That your overwhelming love for him was reciprocated. "Poseidon... I need to hear you say that you love me." You pressed your face to his firm chest. "Only me. Please?"

"I love you. Only you. Ever." His words were simple but earnest, and you felt reassured.

"Truly?"

"Without a doubt."

You entwined your arms and legs about him firmly, not wanting to ever part. With his warm arms surrounding you securely, and his essence still warm within you... This truly was the peak of intimacy, as tangible as his love could ever be. And when you woke in the morning, he would still be there. Your love, and yours alone.

Quiet solace wrapped itself around the two of you, as you fell asleep listening to each other’s heartbeat.

---

Author’s Note: So this is uhh this is my first posted smut. I hope you enjoyed it.

[rcksmith]

Dream a little of me — Kaz Brekker

Resume: One bed and two hearts.

Requests :”Hello, darling! Could I request sleeping with kaz? Imagine or general headcanons, as you like. No nsfw (no need of touching tho, do what you like with it!), just sleeping in the same bed - maybe for the first time. Also bonus points if one of them will have a nightmare👀Have a good night/day, hun!🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️✨✨✨💗💗💗”

“My heart asks for all the angst of touch starved reader falling for Kaz Brekker... 😭😭😭 - 🐕‍🦺”

Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Grisha Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, mention of post-traumatic stress, angst, fluff.

Word count: 3k.

A/N: Thank you💖 I hope you guys like.

Normal Rules.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake. Requests are open. Love you❤️

— — — — —

The rain was pouring down in torrents, in a fierce storm that roared into the shadowy forest like a hideous, unearthly animal. Platinum lightning’s streaked the midnight sky and thunder rumbled like as giants footsteps crashing into the ground and shaking the earth. Everything had been orchestrated to work. But nothing could have gone more wrong.

Unfortunately, not even Kaz Brekker's millions of tricks and plans could defeat the force of nature. And even you, an Infernal Entherealki, hadn't mastered the art of controlling fire or keeping warm while under a torrent of icy, biting cold water.

Your teeth started chattering, your lips turned purple, and you wondered if you could run another inch. Your muscles felt like stones and for someone who had lived with the heat of the flames his whole life, being under freezing water was extremely painful. But Kaz wouldn't let you stop. And you, as excruciating as the pain was, didn't want to stop either. The pain was strong but the desire not to let him down was more.

The two of you part of the plan that night was to go through the forest with the diamonds in pockets and find the rest of the Crows on the other side. You two would have to spend the night in that place. But all of Brekker's machinations were washed away by the treacherous and atrocious rain.

The only alternative was to run. Run to the direction where there was a small civilization and pray to find an inn or not die of hypothermia.

The angry drops of icy water were enough to steal Kaz's breath. Not because the cold was unbearable, but because his own demons, his past, were ghosts that gripped his ankles like monsters from horror stories. He didn't feel the rain, didn't feel the biting wind, Kaz just felt the sensation of the freezing, oppressive ocean drowning him. And for a second, when he looked at the small strip of fur on he wrist that wasn't hidden by his glove and coat, he swore he saw Jordie's dead skin in place of his.

He had to get out of there. But when the storm started, and Kaz run his eyes at you, your face wet from the rain, your skin constantly whipped by the cold droplets, and your cheeks extremely red from the cold, it made him gasp in a very different way. Blood pooled in your cheeks. Pulsing. Alive. He had to get you out of there.

Finding hiding places was one of his specialties, and he focused his mind entirely on it. When an inn came into view, a small relief rumbled in both of you. And Kaz looked in your direction to make sure you were okay. Alive.

As the receptionist gave the key from the last spare room to the two of you, Kaz couldn't help but feel that there was no longer any heat pulsing in your body. That made him feel miserable.

The night was cold. Unusually cool for the time of year.

"I don't think it's a good idea to carry out a robbery like that in these climatic temperatures." Inej said, walking down the stairs after Kaz "One of the Dregs caught a serious cold too while you were away."

Kaz had to be away for two days to sort out some matters of his own. Check some ship ports and finding out the weaknesses of some new merchants. And as much as he ordered his thoughts to focus solely on that purpose, he found himself daydreaming at certain times about…

"It got very serious after a few hours." Inej completed.

Kaz felt a trickle of worry trace his veins, tighten his throat But it wasn't for some bruteman of his Dregs. His source of concern was more serious, deeper, and for someone he didn't want to think about too much. Even though he told himself to keep every nerve in his body under control, in the end he was Kaz Brekker, he couldn't help but notice he picked up his pace to get faster to the live room that was strictly reserved for the Crows.

And when he walked in, following by Inej, the tree branches hit the windows, blown by the wind, tinkling. The cold was oppressive and biting, but not enough to stop Jesper from playing cards with Wylan, nor enough for Nina not to eat her candy and listen to Matthias tell of his people's legends. But the eyes of Kaz, that treacherous and treacherous organ, ran to you first. Magnetically, inevitably.

And he felt like he could breathe again.

The sight of you sitting on the black velvet sofa, with a book in your hands and your legs stretched out on the padded stool in front of you, calmed Kaz's heartbeat as nothing had ever done.

As much as he denies, in those two days his mind has swarmed over you more often than he thought wise. Brekker liked to justify that action with the fact that you were part of the gang. As close and important as Jesper or Inej. It was normal for him to be worried about the Dregs.

But why did he only see you? Why did the questions about your well-being and comfort stood out so much from any other concerns with others?

It was you. Always late at night, when Brekker was a sigh away from sleep. You were what someone he was thinking.

"Who is alive always appears." Nina announced he arrival and Kaz was pulled out of his reverie.

"Did you kill anyone these two days?" Jesper placed a letter on the table and Inej sat beside Nina.

Kaz left his hat on one of the dark marble tables. “Does it matter?"

There were other seats available in the room. A leather armchair next to the burning fireplace - Brekker were sure that you was controlling the temperature - an extra chair around the table where Jesper and Wylan were play, and a small divan beside Matthias. But Kaz sat beside you on the couch.

You marked the page with your finger, lowering the book gently. He didn't need to see the cover to know what it was. It was a romance clichéd eighteenth-century. He had given it to you before he left.

"Everything worked?" You smiled and Kaz had the feeling that he wanted to memorize that smile in a painting to always appreciate it.

"And doesn't always do?"

Even with the biting cold that wasn't stopped by the fireplace, Brekker could feel the heat from your body emanating, like a delicious temptation. You were always so hot. Bathed in the sun's rays. He didn't know if infernal grisha like you gave off so much heat too, because it was impossible for that to be human. Were so intense...delicious. Even with multiple layers of clothing, if Kaz approached you he could feel the warmth of a tropical pirate island.

Was that why he always unconsciously sat beside you? Why did you radiate so much causticity that it made Kaz forget about the ocean's cold? Why were you like a piece of life and Kaz felt dead for a long time?

Or was it because, heat or not, you were the only thing worth being around?

All the questions were too disturbing. And Kaz Brekker didn't want to know the answer.

Now, even climbing the stairs to the room beside you, Kaz couldn't feel anything radiating from you body. Just the cold. And he hated it with every force of his being.

You're not made to take the rain, felling deadly cold, or turn your lips a bluish hue.You were not made to be cold as a corpse, with muscles stiff and sore like a dead. You were not made to look like Jordie. You were meant to be alive. To look alive. Exhale the heat of the most ardent fire and heat a room just with your presence. You were meant to scare off Kaz's winter with your summer.

For a second, Kaz wanted to hug you to give you the warmth of his own body.

You felt exhausted. The remnants of what you once day were. Every inch of your body protested, aching and tearing at muscles. The cold, sharp water did you no good. You didn't know if it was were something of your species or a trait unique to you. But it didn't do any good to you. You hated looking so miserable in that appearance, especially in front of the one man you always wanted to look beautiful to. But at that moment you were in too much pain to worry so much about it.

As soon as Kaz had put the key in the doorknob, his gloved fingers stiff from the cold, what you expected to find was a cozy room, promising a heat shower and a good, well-deserved night's sleep. But that wasn't it. You stared at the wide double bed with white sheets, perplexed. Shock competed with your pain and put your brain to work, and all your breath lurked in throat as your realized the situation.

Oh my fucking God.

You didn't have to look at Kaz to feel his entire body be rigid, in a way far more potent than the effects the rain had caused. As if the prospect of sleeping next to you was more whorse than dying of hypothermia.

You closed your expression. Half because your mood was already bad and half because the rejection was brutal. You didn't expect your passionate feelings for Kaz to be returned, nor did you expect him to feel the same longing to be close to you as you felt for him. But no woman wanted to see that a man would rather die of hypothermia than share a bed with her. Even more if he was a man she was in love with.

You entered in room first, the pain in your body clouding your thoughts.

"Do you mind if I shower first?"

Your voice was weak, and you didn't have the heart to look at Kaz. He hissed a “no” that hung in the air, and that was the last thing you heard before closing yourself in the bathroom.

His heart was beating eerily fast in his chest. As loud as the thunder outside and as unsettling as the chill of rain. His breath began to burn heavily in his throat, and suddenly his entire body was fully aware of the situation.

One bed.

Even when he took the diamonds out of his pocket and placed them on a small table, even when you came out of the bathroom and he walked in, even as he basked in the hot water, his heart still pounded wildly. Like a generator.

Kaz Brekker liked puzzles, challenges. Of things he could unravel and understand. Piece by piece. He played to win and to cheat, and the world knelt at his feet before the insight of his mind. Still, he didn't know what to do. You were like a fascinating and maddening riddle. The one thing that, no matter how hard Kaz tried, could never unravel yours mysteries. Or maybe, just, what he would never be able to do was unravel what he felling whenever he was by your side.

His heartbeat grew stronger.

Brekker remembered every deck of cards, every card played. He could keep up with the distribution of up to five decks, unlock any lock, and devise the most insane plans. But he couldn't stop the way his soul trembled whenever he laid eyes on you.

In those moments, when you looked at Kaz like he was someone much better than he actually was, Kaz wanted to be good. He wanted to be born again to become a damn decent man. For you. He wished he didn't have his demons and erase his past. Because that way, when the sun's rays hit your face and you were close enough for your scent of happiness to flood his senses, Kaz wouldn't back down. He would lean down and seal his lips in yours with the promise of a glorious future.

His heart beat faster.

Why did he feel that his whole life was always suspended whenever he were away from you? And why did he have the feeling his life could change forever if he walked out that door?

Kaz turned off the shower. The heart running like a horse. He fished out the towel and wrapped it around his waist, finding a small hamper that held neat, folded pajamas for guests. He was surprised he didn't notice you in those pajamas. You made him lose focus.

As soon as he dressed and walked out of the bathroom, his eyes immediately went to your figure. Sitting on the bed, your legs under the covers, your hands clasped together in a cupped shape with a small, flare of fire burning in the center.

You looked up at Kaz. “I managed to do something to warm you up.”

The phrase was: No for warm me up. No for warm us up. For warm you up.

Kaz lost his breath and his soul trembled. The air felt different since he stepped out of the shower, not just from the recent gust of heat. But there was something else, something lyrical, pink and lush. Something...beautiful. He did not say anything. First because he didn't trust his own words and second because he didn't know what to say. He sat beside you, a considerable distance away, but this time his fear was that you would hear the loud, racing beat of his heart.

You turned gently towards him, reaching out your hands towards him, not noticing how his hands trembled as they stretched under the hot flame. Kaz swallowed hard.

He knew how weak and drained you were, but he also knew you were aware that he loathed cold. Hated icy water. You didn't know the depth of his traumas, but the fact that you cared to the point that you were willing to use your last shred of strength to end his torment was something that reverberated in his soul.

You two didn't say anything else after that. After Kaz removed his hands from the flame, you understood that as the end of your two interactions. You two shared a mutual answer that neither would sleep on the floor. You two were adults and in no condition to be lashed by any colder.

The night moon bathed the dark room with lights in distilled silver, almost flickering through the windswept tree branches. You were back-to-back, blankets pulled up to your shoulders, breathing gently quickened. As exhausted as you two were, neither of you could sleep.

Suddenly, the whole atmosphere in room seemed to change. Like a private, enchanted piece of the world. The wind howled softly, on a calm note. The rain was still falling in torrents, but now it seemed to be adopted in a passionate tone. As if it had fulfilled its purpose and now hovered in the world with a romantic veil of water. Stars shining bright above the bedroom window, glittering like hundreds of tiny diamonds, accompanied by moonlight. Although the light was dim, it seemed to capture the lyrical essence, seem to whisper “Dream a little dream of me.”

Everything felt different, like the two of you had entered a rift in the world. A part inhabited romance, pure magic, love.

Your soul shivered, and as much as you could never prove it, you felt that Kaz's soul shivered too. Your breath hitched, burning in lungs, your body seized by a caustic tingle that snaked through every inch.

You didn't know why, but your body shifted gently on the bed, turning slightly towards the ceiling. The racing pulse in your veins. A second felt like an eternity. Kaz's body moved too, and you knew, just knew, that he was looking at the ceiling too.

Two hearts beating in the same time. Synchronized. And, by some magic or deity, you two knew that your heartbeat would never again beat another way. Always connected.

Your body moved a little more, now on belly up. And Kaz's seemed to do the same move, even without seeing you or your movements. His chest rising and falling with intensity. The rain calmed outside, turning the symphony of droplets hitting the roof into mysterious, passionate music. As if the world were plotting a whispering favor for you two.

Kaz could feel your body heat radiating once more, grazing his skin with rays of sunlight. Everything in that bedroom became poignant and intense and lyrical, inflicting sensations on him that Kaz never thought existed before. Later, it would be a shock for him to see that he was at the mercy of his own passions. Overcome by sensations that robbed him of control of his body. Later he would think about it. Later.

His soul tingled, sending gusts of heat from the inside out. The feeling was that, after 28 years of deep sleep, he had awakened. Awake. Alive.

His body moved once more, now completely on belly up. Kaz didn't have to look at you to know that you too had placed yourself in the same position. It was as if he felt the movements of your soul. His pulse was racing now, hot and boiling in his blood. And Kaz wondered if all the money in the world would bring half the sensations he was feeling right now.

What was he so afraid all this time? That question echoed through all the corridors of his soul. And Brekker feared for the answer. What kept him from having everything he craved?

Money? Pekka? Jordie's ghost and the cold ocean? Kaz feared never touching you any more than he feared his demons? Was that why he always walked away from you? Why was wanting to slide his fingers into your hot skin and not being able to fell you, be worse than any sensation he'd ever felt? Because, maybe, admitting it can change everything?

His breath hitched.

Would it be worse to be alone for the rest of his life? Doomed and cursing to a fate of revenge, death and red hate? Or, even worse for his heart, finding a girl with lovely eyes, sunny smiles and the smell of happiness? A girl that made him laugh, come out of his hiding. You. What do he will do with that? What if you open up the door that he can't close it? And If when you hold he and his heart is set in motion?

Would that be so bad? No.

His body became very aware of the approximation it was on to your. Your heat radiating into his. For some reason, Kaz was sure you was in the same condition as he was. Sharing the same feelings. The same passion hidden for so long.

Kaz should have thought of his brother, of revenge against Pekka Rollins, of the cold of the ocean. He should have weighed of his own traumas. Instead, he thought: What if I get a little closer?

The result of this was his fingertips brushing yours. And he knew the exact moment your heart sped up even more. Because his followed the same beat. Maybe following yours for the rest of his life.

You brought your eyes to him, calmly, as if that moment might disintegrate. and the world seemed suspended in that moment. Kaz slid his eyes to you as well, sharing sensations and emotions that didn't need to be put into words. It was all there, in the gaze.

His fingers crept higher, going to your hand, and plunging his touch - and his soul - into that contact. All your heat was too strong. Too intense. Doing Kaz wouldn't be able to think or feel, for the first few minutes, about anything but light, heat, summer and…happiness.

That's when you gave him a shaky, emotional smile. I would do anything for you. That's what that smile said. And Kaz answered, his hand tight with yours before letting go. Me too.

- -

As the sun's rays, shy and buttery, flooded the bedroom in soft color, Kaz's eyelids fluttered. The sound of birds reached his ears, and the scent of flowers and happiness invaded his nose.

It was nothing like waking up in Ketterdam.

That thought back him to reality. A reality in which he had stolen many diamonds, taken the rain and had to share the calm. A reality where Kaz Brekker touched you.

You.

Kaz opened his eyes immediately, his heart racing again. He looked frantically around the room, past the simple furniture, the closed bathroom door, the window where the light came in, and then looked to his side on the bed. That's when he realized what position he was in.

His soul heated up.

You had your back to him, your hair spread out on the white pillow, your back showing by your pajama top, your shoulder rising and falling softly with your resonant breathing. You were close. Very close. And Kaz finds, perplexed, that he is facing you. One arm rests around your waist, over the thick blankets, in an intimate and…romantic gesture.

He lost his breath. His warm, hope-shining soul whispered to him: what if it was like this every day? What if he woke up with you by his side forever? What if in time he learned to be a decent man? Trying to be normal?

Would Kaz do this for you?

You shifted in bed, turning onto his side, front for him, snuggling deeper under his touch and moving closer, as if Kaz were your oasis in the desert. No skin was actually touching, your breath hit his warm chest, and if Kaz lowered his lips even further, he could feel your lips on his.

Yes. He would.

[softmothprince]

dragon’s claim

Zhongli's sweet darling needs a... gentle, reminder of what exactly they are to each other

this is a collab piece with one of my friends~ they are much better at writing fluff than i am and it hits me in the feels

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

She’s not pouting. Absolutely not. She’s also not glaring at the woman currently leaning on Zhongli’s arm, staring up at him with heart eyes as he rambles happily about the tea he was buying. Her arms are crossed and she leans heavily into the railing of the bridge, jaw clenched and teeth grinding.

No. She is not jealous of some… some… harlot! With a loud huff, she pushes off the railing and walks off the bridge, hearing her sandals click against the wood and then stone. Once she’s close enough, the tall geo archon looks up and gives that stupidly cute smile, cheerfully calling her name.

She refuses to acknowledge him and waits for him to finish his conversation. “Ready to go home dear?” he said with a sweet smile. She doesn’t respond and starts walking away back through the market as gently pulls her close to him. He sighs and leads her to a side alley, where she leans against a wall still not looking at him. He leans in close.

“Is my darling jealous?” He whispers, tucking her hair back behind her ear. His fingertips trace around her temple, then under her eye, before cupping her face. “You know I only hold affection for you, little one.”

He tenderly presses kisses over her cheeks and nose, placing a firm one on her lips. He pulls back enough to stare into her eyes, seeing the internal fight she is having. To submit to him or continue to pout and sulk. It makes him sigh and shut his eyes- as though a headache was creeping up on him.

“It seems I am going to have to… remind you, of that fact.” He decides, sliding his hands down to her wrists and brings her hands up to kiss them. His eyes peek open, glowing a warm amber in the dying light as he gives her a heated look. “I’m going to make love to you until your heart understands how much I love you.”

She pulls her face away and with a sad pout says, "Remind me of what Rex Lapis?"

He frowns, "That's not-"

"Remind me that only I get jealous and that the great Rex Lapis doesn't?!" she said with tears starting to fall down her face. "I'm the only one who gets possessive over you and you don't! It's like it doesn't bother you if someone else looks at me like that! Maybe next time Kaeya tries to-"

He slammed his hands into the wall, pinning her to it, "Kaeya did what?" he said with a low growl, his pupils having shifted into slits.

She shuddered for a moment. Seeing the amount of territorial possessive in his eyes made her heart stop and she struggled to find the words.

“Little one,” he said sternly, “I’m going to ask you again. What did Kaeya do?”

She took a deep breath. “The other day Kaeya came by the office and was trying to flirt as usual and he asked me if I wanted to go with him and have a real man for a master,” she answered nervously.

A fierce growl ripped from Zhongli’s throat, almost like a suppressed roar. She could see his struggle to stay composed as his fangs grew and scales started to appear on his neck.

“That damn bastard,” he said with another growl, “He has the audacity to try and take my precious mate from me?” She let out a small gasp. His horns were starting to poke through. “How dare he. If I see him again I’ll-”

He was cut off when he felt her hug him tightly. “I don't want anyone else!” she said before looking up at him. “The only master I want is you. My dragon, my Zhongli. So please don’t let anyone else try and take you from me either.” Her eyes on the verge of tears.

He sighed and kissed her forehead. “We’re going home. Now. I still have to teach you a lesson.” She nodded, “Yes Master.”

~*~

Her heart pounds in her chest, loud enough she wouldn’t be surprised if he heard it. Though, he’d had to be listening to that instead of the sounds coming from his hand playing with her cunt. After what had happened earlier, he had taken her home and immediately stripped them both of their clothes, pinning her down onto their bed.

It took him only a few seconds to pounce on her, his hand delving between her thighs to her pussy. It was wet and sticky, slick coating her thighs and his fingers. His narrowed gaze shifts from her pussy as he leans forward, latching onto her throat. His teeth scrape over her pulse, then travel down to the crook of her neck.

A deep scar laid on the soft flesh, marking her as his. His heart, his love, his mate. He eagerly kisses and nibbles around it, the scarred flesh much more sensitive and giving him the reactions he wanted. Her breath tickled his ear, every moan, sigh, and whisper of his name making him shiver.

He runs his other hand up her torso, cupping her breast and flicking his thumb gently over her nipple. She trembled more, waiting for him to snap and take her. She saw how fired up he had been earlier when just mentioning another man, she knows that flame is still burning fiercely in him.

And when he pulls away from her neck to look into her eyes, she can see it flickering in those piercing gems. A small bead of sweat drips down her neck and between her breasts, catching his attention. He doesn’t hesitate to follow it, kissing along the soft curve of her breasts, his tongue curling around her nipples when his mouth latches onto them.

Zhongli hums and pulls his hand away from between her legs, glancing at the mess he caused. She was far from cumming, but he had all night to… remind and teach her exactly what it meant to be his mate. Strong hands suddenly pull her across the bed until her legs dangle off the end, feeling a small burning from where the sheets rubbed.

He kneels between her thighs, nuzzling his cheek along the soft flesh and kissing the inside of her knee as he looks at her soaked pussy, a deep croon building in his chest. She shifts her still trembling legs, only to find them suddenly being grabbed and pinned to strong shoulders as a head of dark hair disappears between them.

She can hear him hum and whisper something, then say much louder in a teasing tone: “Itadakimasu~”

Something firm and hot swipes over her swollen clit, making her jolt with a loud yelp. Another swipe and she lets her head fall back onto the pillows, hands balling up into the sheets. Zhongli peers up at her through his lashes, taking in her reactions and growls when her thighs try to shut. He pushes them apart again, huffing against her cunt.

“Do not. Do that.” He scolds, then dives back in before she could speak, keeping his eyes on her face.

Loud slurps and wet smacks fill the room, blending in with his deep moans of pleasure. Her own suddenly reaches a higher pitch, her hips jumping when she feels his fingers slowly push inside and stroke the inside walls of her pussy. Her hand snaps down to tangle into his hair, tugging and causing more growls and moans to pour from his chest.

“I will never tire of this,” He purrs, pulling back slightly to look at how easily his fingers are sucked into her. “I will never tire of how beautiful you are when I pluck you like a lyre. The sounds you make are as sweet as birds' songs.” He dips down to suck on her clit, feeling her nails dig into his scalp.

“Your scent and taste are far better than the finest wines I’ve ever had. I will never tire of this.” He repeats, making sure that when he slowly stands up he catches her flustered gaze. “I will never tire of you.” He whispers, leaning over her body.

“Master-” She gasps and is cut off by him grabbing her knees, pushing them back against her chest.

She watches with wide eyes as his appearance smoothly changes, dark scales bleeding from his skin, fangs growing over his lips and horns poking through his hair. Zhongli rubs his fingers- no, they feel more like claws now -down her thigh and grabs his cock, lining up with her entrance.

His cock slides in easily, the walls of her cunt squeezing and sucking him in deeper. He bows his head, watching his dick thrust in and out, his breath picking up and sounds similar to growling building more and more. He returns his grip to her knees, leaning on them as his hips slap loudly against hers.

Sweat drips down his brow, his slitted pupil fluctuating as he looks at her face. Her cheeks are blushed a deep red, eyes rolling into the back of her head and mouth parted to let out moans and incoherent babbles.

“Master- Master ple-please, mo-more~” She sobs, nails scraping and digging into the skin of his arms and shoulders.

The small pinpricks of pain are lost in the throes of pleasure, his nerves burning with every thrust. He dips down to her ear, moaning and purring for a moment before managing to speak.

“Mate… you… breed… gonna fill you… so full… mine!…” He shudders, the familiar feeling of swelling at the lower part of his cock growing more and more. The knot kisses the outside of her cunt, dipping in ever so slightly before disappearing.

He grunts, one hand dropping her leg and going to grab her throat. He doesn’t squeeze to choke her, just presses enough to get her attention, growling her name when she only whimpers. Once those pretty eyes are on him, he lets his growing knot finally push in completely, feeling her entire body freeze as it registers the sudden sensation.

“Breathe, little one.” His voice is deeper. More rough than the usual smooth silk.

She finally lets out a sob, his knot pushing and rubbing her sweet spots deliciously. He manages a few more thrusts, until the knot is too swollen to pull out again. Does that stop him? Absolutely not. He humps and grinds like a man gone wild, slamming his mouth to hers to hide the animalistic sounds pouring out of him.

Her tongue flicks over his fangs, making him shudder and grip her tighter. He removes the hand from her throat and delves it between their bodies, finding her clit and- taking care of his claws -rubs it swiftly. A few more well placed thrusts, his teeth nipping her bottom lip, and she convulses around his cock while crying out his name.

The ravenette drops onto his arms over her, continuing to move as he himself cums thick and hot inside her. He presses his forehead against hers, sharing their breaths and staring into each other's eyes as they slowly come down from their high. Both of them are shaking, his darling more so.

Ever so slowly, he lets her leg go and brings his hand up to cup her face, stroking his thumb over her cheek and wiping away the tears of pleasure she let out. His other hand goes to hers, bringing it from his shoulder and to press against his chest- right above his racing heart. He can feel hers through their fingers.

He kisses her hand and then dips his forehead to meet hers while their breath slowly steadies and his knot recedes. Once he can move again he carefully begins to clean her up and wrapping her in one of the blankets before sitting next to her on the bed. His dragon features slowly fading.

He pulled her in close, wrapping his arms around her and planting soft kisses on her temple as she nuzzled into his neck. He smiled at his darling as she relaxed in his arms, letting out a small laugh remembering her pouty face from earlier which caused her to look up at him. He kissed her forehead. She was so unbelievably cute when she got jealous or pouted. Something about her moments of attitude made him love her so much more.

He then looked into her eyes with a warm smile. "My precious darling, don't you know that I will spoil you with whatever your heart desires? Whether it be riches and gifts or," he kisses her hand softly, "my time and affection. Whatever you ask of me is yours."

She blushes and tries to hide her face in his neck but he holds her by the chin,

"Don't forget. Dragons mate for life and you darling are my mate. Understand?"

She nods her head, while gazing into his eyes.

"With words my dear," he says leaning in to graze his fangs on her neck as a small reminder of what they had just done.

"Y-yes sir," she says blushing.

He smiles and pulls her in closer while caressing her cheek. "Good girl. Now let's rest shall we? Rest and get all the cuddles you want from your Dragon."

[sinfulsigh]

𝙿𝚁𝙰𝚈𝙴𝚁𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙴𝙿𝙷𝙾𝙽𝙴

summary : she came to this world undone

pairings : miya osamu x reader

caution warnings : smut, choking, exhibitionism, light food play, oral (female receiving), masturbation (male receiving)

word count : 1.5k

The Japanese Sago Palm, Weeping Fig Tree, Oyster plant, Monstera Deliciosa, Philodendron and Madagascar Dragon tree nestled in the corner of your balcony to feed from the nutrients of a tantalizing mid-afternoon sun. Basking in the heat of a new day as the leaves began to slowly unravel and vainly displayed their viridian leaves for all to admire. The bumble bees gliding across a tangerine atmosphere filled with glittering imprints of concupiscence—luxuriating on the oversized jade fingers of oblivescence as two mortals come together.

You were thankful that Osamu convinced you to rent this silver minka that resided on secluded river banks of the village you lingered eternities in. You were thankful for your abandoned home that gave you security from enticing glares at merlot evenings, because your flesh and impish decadence were only for him to witness. Only Osamu could strip you of the prodigality illusions that infected your apricot brain and bring you back into explicit, rose bronze realities with the flick of his tongue. And in these moments, he brought you down and watched you fall.

You stood bare center under an incalescent sun as deic rings laved over your skin to baptize you in resplendent refined. Pushed into the corner of domesticated forests, you were kept hidden from the neck down from your lucent greenery that coalesced together. Rebirthed leaves of halcyon exhaustion ghosted over your flesh, the sensation reminding you of amative fingers soaked in hypnotic lust piercing and probing against your skin and bones. Between salt stained palms, you cradled a ripe pomegranate that was split halfway down the middle in vertical slices (the smell of the verendus underworld falling in love as a lone goddess begins to blossom). Osamu sat prettily on his knees before you, his eyes coaxed in decadence as the tip of his cherry stain tongue brushed against his thin upper lip, phagomania a sin he couldn’t shed as there have been many a nights his molars scraped then devour your flesh.

Without warning, you tore the pomegranate apart, watching it’s sticky fluids coarse down your body like wine and blood. It seeped, soaked and stained as it dribbled slowly down your skin, the juice tickling your opalescent nerves as it carved cramoisy rivers into you. Osamu waited, his breath thick on your skin as he was a reverie of glossy, sempiternal raptures, his calloused hands secured at the back of your thigh (holding you a little too tight as his hand printed bruises of his obsession into you) while the tip of his tongue rested against your thigh to patiently wait.

You squeezed the pomegranate again, watching the seeds burst then die between your fingertips as it’s juices slipped down your frame. The crimson nectar dripping onto Osamu’s pale skin before falling into puddles beneath your feet; your beloved plants even splashed with diluted jam of a karmic fruit. You observed Osamu’s stares, watching face mold from pleads and desperations to euphoria as warm liquid collected on his tongue. His mauved pupils dilated in foils of pleasure as the hibiscus petals from the far corner of your balcony began to wither and tangle then adhere to the nectar that coaxed his skin. His tongue runs long laps against you, licking the ambrosia and salt from your skin in slow strides until his slime has pierced and embedded into you.

With the other pomegranate slice nestled into your heavenized palm, (the hardened skin of the fruit begins to patronize you, referring to you as a stranger ‘cause you’ll never be deific and archaic) you brushed it against your shoulder and squeezed hard. The juices gushing down like rapid rivers down your arm and blessing you with prelude eros. The warmth cascading down your arm and onto dainty fingertips, dribbling down like harsh rainfall before Osamu caught the nectar with his open mouth, his moans low and triumphant as it reverberated then quaked dramatically.

The rivulets of rich ambrosia hit the back of his throat, slowly drowning in crimson euphorias of a forbidden fruit. The taste seared his tongue with sour obscurities as the taste emitted silver salivas to pool in the caverns of his mouth. The tip of his tongue resting against your middle fingertip, collecting the juices of bruised fruit that endured your volatile violence. Taking your finger into his mouth, he lathed up the rivers of pomegranate nectar as his merlot stained hands met with his hardened cock. His hand rested at his base before tugging it upwards on his shaft, repeating again and again till he found the rhythm that felt of raptures beneath a midnight sun. Osamu moans as your finger pushes down his throat, slipping farther and farther till it rests in his esophagus.

Platinum peach blanketed over them, the addictive smell of rustic fruit and haze of euphoria was how icons evacuated from nude followers that tear on their hangnails to search for abysmal virgins to love. Quite literally, Osamu swayed you to create hell on earth with him because no other immoral nymph can make him feel subversive; no other nymph can split the soil like you could. You stood in the remnants of his deteriorating gleam, watched him scarred and felt his madness. He wouldn’t have it any other way, it was you, it had always been you.

You slipped your fingers out of his mouth as you weakly cusped dying pomegranates in your hands then squeezed the remaining juices. Your fingers dipping into the husk of the fruit that it’s seeds began to spill and adorn your body; some of them falling into the soil of your beloved plants and wondering if you’ll grow cataclysmic garden of Eden that could set the world in a disarray of achroous chemicals and apprehensive knowledge. Sharp inhales and hallowed chests, you steadied your balance with the heave of your heels as you grasped tighter onto the shell of the fruit—Osamu allowing his tongue to lick up your slick and elixirs from your love.

His tongue circled around your clit, tasting the tang that he craved on a diurnal paradise. Flicking the tip of his tongue around your bud, drowning in your soft moans before he plants the surface of his wet muscles against it to add more friction. You watched his jaw slack as he traced long laps across your love, carding your sticky fingers through his hair before gently caressing the contour of his cheekbones and resting against the sides of his face. Your thumbs swaying softly across the layer of skin beneath his eyes, encouraging him to drink you like fountains, as if he can seek immortality in your love. From the corner of your eyes, you could see the insects gnawing at the midnight wine seeds resting in the pots of your plants; followed by Osamu’s pacened hands around his hardened member.

In this moment, you were thankful for the house Osamu convinced you to rent with him as it provided sanctity and seclusion. You were thankful for it’s tall wooden columns that provided shelter, allowing the home to mold into the personal safe haven of floral pleasure that you two shared. You were thankful of how empty the riverbank was and how you can see only green from either side. You thanked your plants as you reached your climax, allowing them to hide your ecstasy as you melted against Osamu’s tongue.

His tongue gathered every juice flowing from you as you seized, your hips shaking in violent rhythms as your high lingered from your love and spread—down your thighs and traveling high into your spine. As you unraveled into rivulets of raptures, Osamu kept his tongue on your clit, swirling your raspberry jam bud in slow clockwise circles. You focused your breathing on the calm, feeling your lungs inflate with aether as you fought the aftershocks of instability and slight exhaustion. Osamu still kept his tongue on your clit even after your orgasm called down, hoping he would rebuild you up to seek another high. His tongue swirling to drink your elixirs whole as they dripped from your love love and bled into the crimson nectar of forbidden fruit.

You felt a burning heat coax your lower calf and ankles, making you sticky with a thick liquid that oozed down your leg slowly; followed by droplets hitting the top of your foot and toes. You peaked down at Osamu whose eyes were half lidded, flesh dusted in a wet peach blush that contrasted with his pale complexion. His eyes dilated from the ecstasy of his release as he stared at your naked frame, his tongue continuing to brush your clit as you grasped his face too tightly with shaken hands. The last thing he hears is your growing moans as they echo into the sky as the remaining nectar from your fingertips carve ancient rivers of wine down his face. Before he closes his eyes to seep further into this pleasure, he witnessed the husk of pomegranates laying lonely in the pots of your plants being devoured by insects.

[attollogame]

I decided to do a wrap up of The Idol to allow a perspective into why Sysba might be so guarded, so please enjoy!!!

Warnings for blood, violence, and death.

The temple is burning, and they are dancing through a field of corpses. Red stains their fingertips like Alta, and it drips onto the soil to sew itself within the earth. They walk, slow and leisurely like a predator, right up until the moment they smell smoke.

Their head snaps back from the foreign soldier with their lips smeared with gore that dribbles down their neck and they grimace, bearing their teeth to the blotted out sun. Their eyes are blacker than the night and they know that the sight of them alone, poised above the broken bodies of their fellow man, would drive any sane soldier to misery.

The look of terror that washes across their face may remedy that, though.

It takes all of a moment for them to bolt away from the body towards the pillar of smoke that plumes its way into the sky. They leap and they dance and they weave their way between man and animal alike, avoiding swords and hands. The public square is filled with people scrambling to get away from the blaze; Sysba’s throat burns as they inhale the ashes, the dying remedies of a world they once owned.

The people around them are not what is on their mind, though; it is the person who is absent that is.

Sysba has not taken a human form during the day in years, preferring to meet Malchus through dreams, or to watch him afar in the form of a simple songbird. The only time Sysba ever took on a human form was at night, when they crept into Malchus’ room and sought the comfort that only he could ever provide.

A woman gripping a child slams into Sysba’s shoulder, knocking them off guard, and a snarl rips from their lips. When the woman looks back and catches a glimpse of their face—as pale as a corpse and smeared with more gore than the ground they stand upon—she freezes in place and stares at them, trembling.

Sysba gazes at her for a moment, taking in her dark hair and wide brown eyes, before twisting around and continuing their pursuit. For the first time in 400 years since they came to this earth, fear thrums through their veins, pushing them to go faster than they ever have before. The world passes by them in a blur; burning houses, overturned carts, the Temple of Apollo stripped down to its core. Whereas once they would have drunk in the spoils of war, now it does nothing but sickens them.

When they reach the temple, it only gets worse.

---

Malchus had retired as a temple cleaner, but that does not mean he had retired from the temple itself. Despite what had happened, he had continued to go to the temple to recount stories to the children of the devotees and workers. Sysba could recall many nights where they murmured in his ear that he should cease his association with them. Malchus would turn, dark eyes unfocused in the shadows, and would extend a hand to brush it along Sysba’s cheek. His lips would curl into a smile—such a fond look to give them, a monster—and he would whisper, “only for a bit longer”.

He had aspirations to leave one day, to go to a place where Sysba would be able to tell him all of the stars in the sky until his dying breath. Sysba had, for the first time in their life, felt hope that such a paradise could become true.

As they stare up at the burning temple, they feel foolish for believing in such frivolous things.

The foreign soldiers, a fleet of 900, had secured themselves in the temple and ignited a flame that ate ravenously through the dying foundations. For many years, there had been promises to rebuild the temple from the decaying grounds it stood upon, but these were constantly shunted aside for greater ambitions. It seems now that the delay is acting as their downfall.

This is not their problem, though. They lunge forth, running up the steps two for two despite the yells from the soldiers below. Sysba almost hopes that one of them will throw a sword or a spear at their fleeing form, just so they have an excuse to tear the entire fleet apart with their bare hands once they are finished. No one does, though. They simply fall into silence as they watch Sysba vanish into the flames.

---

There is nothing left by the time they get through. The scent of burnt flesh fills their nostrils; it resembles the fragrance of pig fat burning on a pan, and it sizzles like it as well. This, combined with the sulfurous odor of burning hair, causes Sysba’s lips to curl as they shield their eyes from the brilliant flames. They move nimbly over the bodies, now blackened and shriveled in fetus-like positions, all while rushing through possible locations in their mind. Malchus could be in his former bedroom, or the High Priest’s room, or,

…

Sysba pauses, their hand dropping from their face as they come to a stop in the center of the hall. The crackle of burning wood fills their ears as embers dance through the air. They go out quickly when they touch their skin, leaving nothing but a soot mark on pale flesh. Sysba watches them only for a moment before veering right and darting towards the one place they know Malchus is—

The Worship Chamber.

----

The scent of incense and the warmth of the patron god’s presence is gone when Sysba finally kicks open the doors. The marble floors are cracking and charred by the fire, and the ceiling has a plume of smoke hanging around it, like a great smog cloud prepared to descend upon them. They look at it only briefly before their gaze goes towards the entrance.

Once, many years ago, they had guided Malchus down those very steps. His hand had gripped theirs and he had followed them like a loyal lamb, right into a slaughter. Although, rather than slaughter, the lamb had tamed the wolf to be his instead. The memories of his face—so full of trust and warmth as he had walked with them into the abyss—spurs Sysba to move further, and they enter into the cavern with determination in their blood.

The steps are easy; the sound of water rushing down the walls reassures them that the flames have not reached this part yet. The waters of the temple are alleged to have healing abilities, something Sysba knows to be true, and they hope—yet again—that Malchus has found a way to put them to use. Softly, they cup their hands around their mouth and call out into the darkness.

“Malchus, Malchus!” The name bounces off the ceiling as they move, dark eyes scanning from wall to floor, “My heart, please speak to me—please tell me that you are well!”

They do not keep the desperation from leaking into their last words. A myriad of new emotions are stirring in their mind right now; they felt no fear when they faced their creator or when they stood trial before the other gods. They felt no fear when they came to earth, or when they met humans on the same level for the first time.

But now, fear stirs in their gut like a volatile potion, creeping its way up their throat and onto their tongue and leaking out with each soft cry of “Malchus!” that spills into the night. They move further, and further until the halls expand into a chamber and they look up to see stars. Hundreds of small lights flickering on the ceiling above them; the last bits of their power that they had before their exile was completed.

So distracted by the stars are they, that they almost miss the form lying beneath them.

It takes all of a moment, when their gaze slides to that prone figure, for them to realize what it is, and by the time they do, they are already falling to their knees beside it.

“Malchus!” The name spills from their tongue as a cry as their hands come to rest on his shoulders, his chest, soon sliding their way up to cup his face. That beautiful face, which had graced many of their nights with its smile, now rested slack in their palms.

Malchus’ eyes are fixated on the stars above. Sysba knows, even before they realize it, that their unfocused gaze is not due to his blindness this time.

There are no burns on his body, nothing damages his skin, but when Sysba presses their lips against his in a desperate attempt to breathe life back into his still body, they taste smoke. It fills his entire mouth and seems to extend further, as though he inhaled great plumes of it before making his final descent. The cause of his death is clear; Sysba, however, refuses to accept it.

They do the one thing they know they can—they bite down on their thumb, drawing a line of their own black blood,—

And then they pray.

They dig deep into their body, deep into their being, drawing out every ounce of their remaining power that they can. They curl it into a ball so tight that one can hold it in a fist, and they offer it to those that are watching them in nothing but sheer desperation. The Old Ones never abandoned them when they were cast to earth; they continue to exist around them, present just out of sight and touch, and they know that their desperate, silent pleas are being heard.

Yet, nothing happens.

Their blood continues to slide down their wrist, mixing with that of men, and Malchus continues to stare unfocused at the stars above. An unfamiliar sensation trickles its way down Sysba’s cheeks, and when they reach up to brush it away, their hand comes back with black liquid on their palm.

The desperate sob that rips from their lips only punctuates what it is.

The Old One’s told them when they were exiled, that they would take it all away; their power, their form, the stars, the moon, the very things that made them. Never once did it cross Sysba’s mind that the Old One’s would be cruel enough to take away their heart, as well.

And yet, as they double over, as pleas spilled from their lips like gold and they grip Malchus’ shirt and they scream all of their raw pain and sorrow into the night against a backdrop of burning paradise,

It is entirely believable.

[midnight-hotel]

I was thinking of a Alastor x Reader , where the reader is a fallen angel, and was given up by god, so now that she is in Hell she doesn't know where to go. You can do whatever you want from this, impress me

//Well, I impressed myself so I hope I’ve impressed you too!

Everyone had heard of God’s new plan. It was the biggest thing to happen in Heaven since the day word spread about the ‘Happy Hotel’ down in Hell. A rehabilitation centre for sinners wasn’t such a bad idea thanks to the population issue down there but it was also a ridiculous notion because, well… souls were sent down there for a reason. Now, you had never been human, so you were no expert on whether or not demons deserved a second chance, but unlike the princess of hell, you’d been given the chance to observe the behaviour of human beings and had yet to form an opinion on the matter. Not a proper one at least. However, you did not see demon’s worth so much as to have God banish an angel down to hell for all eternity to see if they can make any impact. It would be one thing to just send an angel down there, but it had been made clear that they needed someone expendable. An angel they could afford to lose should they be killed down there in hell.

That hardly sit well in your stomach and when you saw the arch angel Michael fly into the city centre with news of who would be sent down to hell, you spread your wings and took off to get closer. Whose life were they about to ruin? Angels all around you murmured softly between each other, watching closely as Michael gazed around as if looking for the ‘chosen one’. Everyone waited with bated breath until a name was finally uttered from the Angel’s plump lips.

“Amethyst Hearth.”

The name almost seemed to echo despite the softness of his strong voice and within moments, the crowd parted to show the young angel, a woman who had hardly been in heaven three years. From what you had head, she had been a single, teen mother. A young girl who had been taken advantage of in her youth but did her best to make a decent life for herself and her child. Unfortunately, she died in an accident of some sort.

“N-No! No, please, I couldn’t possibly survive down there!” The woman practically cried, taking stumbled steps back, trying to put more distance between herself and Michael as if that would make any difference to her fate. No one dared speak up, for no one wanted to defy the will of God.

“You’ll be serving our father more than you ever could have here in heaven. Don’t you see, you’ve been chosen, out of millions of angels, god’s children, to do this deed. To make a difference,” Michael’s soft voice spoke, reaching all ears without much effort. Crystal like tears rolled down her flushed cheeks as the angel shook her head, spreading her wings to get ready to fly away, only for a couple angels to finally step in and grab her arms.

“No! Let go of me! I don’t want to! I’ll die!”

You could feel your pulse increasing and clenched your fists to refrain from speaking. This was wrong, beyond wrong, but who were you to defy God’s wishes? He knew all, did he not? Yet you found yourself doubting him more and more as Amethyst struggled to escape. At war with yourself, you caved, spreading your large white wings and giving a single, strong flap, taking you over everyone else before landing once more, between Michael and the young girl. How could you, an angel of over three hundred years, allow such a young angel to suffer.

“Arch Angel Michael, you can’t do this!” You declared firmly, hands trembling lightly but standing strong. “I don’t see why God can’t just send an angel, an exterminator perhaps, down into hell to do his work? Why take someone’s halo from them? Their grace? It’s insanity!” Murmurs started back up at your sudden defence, familiar faces backing further into the crowd so they didn’t have to watch someone they knew make a fool of themselves. “I love God, he is my beloved father, but I can not stand by and watch this young woman lose even more after only dying recently. She stands no chance down there.”

“Miss (L/N), I would hold my tongue if I were you. If you continue to defy god, I cannot be held accountable for what may come next,” Michael warned you, fingers twitching by his side, ready to summon his holy weapon if you were to lash out. Your own hand longed for the comfort of your own holy weapon but you refrained from summoning it out of fear for what Michael may do to you.

“I will not let God or anyone else strip this angel of her halo without good reason. Send an exterminator,” you insisted, narrowing your eyes at your superior, holding up your brave front as best as you could but you could not deny the absolute terror prompting your heart to beat fast enough to harm had you been a regular human being.

You held Michael’s gaze, unwavering until you saw his tense body relax as a sigh escaped his lungs.

“Very well, Father has accepted. We will send an exterminator. Enjoy your time in Hell (Y/N) (L/N).”

Your eyes widened as your lips parted in horror. What? Gasps were heard from all around before you no longer felt God’s comforting warmth around you and the sensation of falling filled your very being. Oh, you were falling. No matter how hard you fought to spread your wings and catch yourself, you still plummeted. It hurt, no, it burned and after what seemed like eternity, you crashed.

Your body collided with a tall standing building, dropping through floor after floor and continuing a few feet after you hit the ground. The building soon followed, crumbling to the ground around your fallen from, unable to move out of the way. Yet nothing landed on you. With your arms and wings spread out, you stared up at the red sky above, dark yet somehow bringing light… Up, way above, was a white dot, much like the sun as it shone down on the earth, only now it was taunting you, reminding you of where you no longer were.

“Why have you forsaken me Father? Was I not right for protecting my fellow angels?” you barely whispered, the taste of blood finally reaching your tongue. You would heal in due time… nothing to fear. No, what you had to fear were the demons slowly making their way around you, gazing into the crater you had created with your ungraceful fall. Guess that’s what happens when you have your grace ripped away from you.

“Is that an angel?”

“What’s an angel doing in hell?”

“They don’t look like an exterminator. Fuck it, let’s take their wings.”

“Heh, you can have the wings, I’m after their halo.”

Voices chimed from all around you and all you could do was watch in a panic as you willed your body to move. You may not have had your halo anymore but you sure as hell weren’t going to let these demons take your wings! Your fingers twitched as the demons pushed each other around to get to you first, pulling weapons on each other despite knowing they could hardly kill each other without a holy weapon. Speaking of… You managed to close your fist and summoned your exterminator’s spear. Having the familiar weapon in your hands gave a wave of comfort to your sore body and an even bigger wave of energy.

While everyone was distracted with fighting each other off, you grunted, pushing yourself off the ground with the help of your spear to prevent you from going back over. It seemed everyone had noticed you stand up, shaking dirt and rubble out of your huge wings as an exterminator’s mask glitched over your face, crack running down the crossed-out eye as it struggled to stay activated. Perfect, a glitching mask. Just what you needed.

“Back off,” you growled, taking on a defensive stance, very aware of the fact that you were surrounded, and horribly wounded. The extent of your injuries could be figured out later, for now, you needed to get out of the open and find a place to hide out. You pulled your wings in tight against your back as all weapons were turned on you from those who hadn’t run off the moment your mask glitched into place. Good, a lot of them were smart enough not to mess with an exterminator. Well, ex-exterminator but they didn’t have to know that now did they?

Heart in your throat and pounding in your ears, you put up the fight of your life. So many demons usually feared exterminators, but many of these fools refused to back down, perhaps believing that they had a chance against a lone angel. You’d be ashamed to admit they were almost right, but luck seemed to be on your side, as you cut another demon down and dashed out of there, running down alleyways, running across empty streets and eventually finding yourself in an abandoned building, barely standing from ears of abuse. You recognised it, much to your own surprise, as a place you have been to before. You’d chased a demon here once. Killed them right in the corner you were sitting in, out of breath and body trembling from pain and fear. You hadn’t trembled so badly since your first extermination. Hell was a scary place, especially when you’ve never been there before. You’ve been here hundreds of times now, only this was your first time alone and with no clear way home.

Your heart didn’t slow all that much, your body too tense to possibly relax any time soon, but your breathing got better, much to the relief of your aching chest. Now calming down and somewhat safe, you uncurled and rid yourself of your mask, but kept your spear by your side. Just in case you needed to defend yourself again – but you weren’t so sure just how well you’d hold up in another fight so soon, so you could only pray that you were safe.

You stretched one of your wings out, curling it around yourself to inspect the damage, finding shards of glass stuck within the feathers and embedded in your wings, staining the once pure white feathers red. That was going to take a while to wash out… You heaved out a sigh and plucked out the shards of glass, causing your wounds to bleed some more but not dangerously. You did the same to the other wing and finally, felt yourself starting to relax when you realised that your wings weren’t broken, just damaged. They’d heal within time; you would be fine.

“Those are some nasty injuries you have there my dear! Why, I’d say you’ve had quite the fall,” a distorted voice suddenly spoke from one of the awfully dark corners of the room. Lifting your head quickly, you searched for the source of the voice, only to find two red, glowing orbs staring right back at you. How hadn’t you noticed them when you came inside?! No- they weren’t in here when you arrived, they had followed you. You quickly reached out for your spear, only for it to slap back down onto the hard ground as a dress shoe clad foot stepped down on it.

“Now, now, let’s not cause a scene, shall we? After the show you just put on, I doubt you’re in any shape to be taking anyone on any time soon,” he chided, kneeling down before you.

A tall man dressed in a red pin-striped suit, bright red and black hair and… hey would you look at that, he was a deer demon… and unfortunately, you recognised him. Exterminators typically knew a lot about those who roamed around in hell. For example, you could name a good number of the overlords, such as the man before you now, grin ever present on his face.

“Radio Demon…” you murmured, making his grin stretch wider as amusement shone in his eyes.

“My, the little angel knows who I am~” he hummed, grabbing your chin in a firm grip, turning your head this way and that as if to take a good look at you.

“You’re going to kill me then?” you questioned, your own (E/C) eyes staring intensely back into his. You were terrified, no doubt about that, but if you were going to die, then you would die fighting. The demon chuckled and shook his head.

“No, no, no, darling! Quite the opposite actually, I’m here to offer you a helping hand!” he declared, standing back up and making a microphone appear in his hand as he stepped off of your spear. Taking this as your chance, you picked it up and stood, holding your weapon defensively, pointed right at his chest.

“I hardly doubt you could help me demon. Now leave me alone before I end your sorry existence right here and now,” you warned him, hoping he’d just back down and maybe come back later. When you could actually stand a chance against him. He merely chuckled again, beginning to piss you off.

“Couldn’t I now? Not even if I offered you a 100% safe place to stay and assistance with your injuries?” he inquired with a raised brow.

You couldn’t afford to believe him. He was a demon, a liar, there was no way he wanted to help you out.

“How can I possibly trust you? Demon’s don’t do nice things for the sake of others, so what do you want?”

Alastor sighed but his smile never faded as he turned around and started to walk towards the exit of the building.

“I never said I was doing this from the good of my heart and what I want hardly matters either. It’s up to you if you trust me or not, but I’d remember where you are quickly. Not many here in hell are going to be so generous.”

So, what else was there to do but follow? After all, at this rate, you were going to die anyway. You never would have imagined that he would lead you to the very Hotel that started this ordeal in the first place.

[mulderist]

DEVIL AT MY DOORSTEP

Post-Orison Hurt/comfort || MSR, UST || Scully POV || Moderate violence || AO3 link

A/N: This fic was originally written way back in 2001 when I was in college. It was my first post-episode fic and I posted it to FF.net back in the day. I unearthed it 3 years ago and gave it some extremely heavy edits because it’s that ridiculous and dramatic (lol). I then nervously posted the revised version to AO3.

@today-in-fic

"If you want to pack some things we can get outta here," Mulder said as he walked into my bedroom. I pulled open a dresser drawer revealing my copy of the Holy Bible. I felt the strong weight of guilt in my hand as I lifted it out. Mulder noticed the book. "You can't judge yourself," he tried to reassure me. I walked over to my bed and carefully sat my beaten body down.

"Maybe I don't have to." I told him.

"The Bible allows for vengeance."

"But the law doesn't."

"The way I see it," Mulder began as he leaned toward me, "he didn't give you a choice. And my report will reflect that, in case you're worried. Donnie Pfaster would have surely killed again if given the chance."

"He was evil Mulder. I'm sure about that without a doubt. But there's one thing that I'm not sure of," I said softly.

"What's that?"

"Who was at work in me? Or what? What made me - what made me pull the trigger?"

"You mean if it was God?"

"I mean - what if it wasn't?" There was a beat of silence and I could sense that Mulder wanted to say something. Instead I felt his hand gently slide across my upper back. I looked up at him and could see the concern written on his face.

"I'll finish up out there," he said. Then he moved past me and back towards the bedroom door, pulling it behind him.

I slowly stood and went to my dresser to find some clothes. I tossed an outfit on the bed and stripped off my pajamas leaving them in a heap on the floor. As I absentmindedly packed an overnight bag I took a look around my bedroom. The bookcase I had pulled over on Pfaster to slow him down resulted in a disjointed cascade of books and broken trinkets. There were stains of crimson blood, more than likely my own, which dotted the once clean carpet. The thought that blood was shed in my bedroom made me swallow hard. I scanned over my bed to the wall where my mirror once hung. All that remained were jagged pieces of glass and the remnants of the frame. More pieces scattered the floor. I closed my eyes briefly attempting to block out the events that had occurred. Then a shudder shook me back into reality and I turned to leave my room.

The police had finally cleared out leaving an unsettling calm in the apartment. I was grateful Mulder took it upon himself to answer their questions. As I walked to the living room I could still smell a faint scent of lit matches combined with the dying fragrance of my candles, though they had been extinguished for some time now. I stopped after I crossed the thresh hold and looked down at the large burgundy stain on the rug. Very faint markings of a chalk outline could still be seen on the floor. I saw Mulder sitting on the end of my couch with his elbows on his knees, hands folded. He rose when he realized I was in the room. I said softly,

"Let's go."

Mulder nodded and followed me out the door, locking it behind us. Once we got outside he took my bag and popped the trunk to place it inside. I took my place in the passenger seat and winced slightly as I reached across to grab the seat belt. My eyelids felt like lead weights and I couldn't help but let them close as I leaned my head back against the headrest. I heard Mulder get in the car and start the engine. He tried to make conversation on the ride to his apartment but I think after a short while he realized I didn't want to talk just yet. He knew me well. The remainder of the drive was in silence. Even after Mulder parked the car we still said nothing. It wasn't until we had stepped inside his apartment that he uttered,

"I can put some coffee on." I glanced up at him and nodded with a heavy sigh.

"I think I want to take a shower."

"Sure," he replied, sounding slightly wounded, "It'll be ready once you're done."

Jesus, why are we doing this awkward small talk? He handed me my overnight bag and before I went down the hall I squeezed his hand. After I closed the bathroom door behind me I put my bag on the floor then turned on the water for the shower. As it warmed up I slowly shed my clothes and inspected myself to see if there were any injuries I might have missed. I turned slightly and saw the initial stages of bruising setting in on my upper back. My naked figure in the mirror was unsettling. I had never seen myself look so vulnerable. I turned away from the defeated reflection and pulled aside the shower curtain, stepping into the warm waterfall.

Steam began to swirl around in the tiny room, creating an eerie fog. The slight burn of the water began to relax me as it massaged my tired frame. I self-consciously crossed my arms over my breasts and placed my hands on my shoulders. I then ran a hand over my wet hair. "Ah, dammit," I hissed. My index finger found a remaining chip of glass hiding at the back of my head. A speck of blood oozed from where I was pricked. That's when I noticed my fingernails. There was a fine line of scarlet caked under them.

Blood.

Blood that was not mine. My hands showed traces of the struggle in my apartment. I flexed and tightened my right hand noticing how awkward and stiff the movement was. Sprain, edema, contusion, hematoma: bland clinical terms I knew all too well. I took the bar of soap off its dish and began working it into a lather. As the suds formed on my arms, I tried to wash away the gritty feeling, the sense of guilt, and the memory of Donnie Pfaster.

Pfaster. His cryptic face clawed its way to the surface though I tried desperately to suppress it. His was the face of pure evil, a vision of a demon that shook me to my core. When I took the case I tried to prove to myself that it didn't bother me. I had gone through the counseling sessions during and after Minneapolis. Bouts of anxiety would return every once and a while, flashes of terrible things usually triggered after a particularly difficult assignment. Subconsciously I knew I was kidding myself when I thought I had overcome what happened.

For a fleeting moment, time seemed to melt away as I stood there breathing in the heavy steam. Water pushed the soapy residue from my body and I saw a light red trail spiral down the drain. I closed my eyes for a moment but couldn't shake the chaos that happened in my apartment. Pfaster was in my home - the devil at my doorstep. I angrily grabbed a bottle of shampoo and squeezed some of it into my hand. As I massaged the gel into my hair the familiar scent wound around in the air and my mood softened. Then my thoughts turned to Mulder. He told me not to look any further and I followed his advice. I don't know how he ended up in my living room with his gun drawn, ready to do what I was shockingly more capable of doing. He always managed to find me – to save me. I was still in shock when he rushed over and held me close. I just stood there, motionless, letting my weapon slip from my fingers. Every time I ended up in his arms I had this overwhelming feeling that I'm safe and it's a sensation I never want to lose. As I rinsed my hair I did what I feared most.

I lost control.

The water felt tepid as it mixed with the scalding tears in my eyes. I brought my hands to my face as if to conceal the pain and anger from myself. Oh God I thought. Everything was rushing at me too fast; horrible sounds and smells returned shocking my senses. I lost the comforting warmth that had enveloped me. Stability failed and I placed my left hand against the cool tile wall. My knees softened and with a hand over my mouth, I tried to muffle my crying. My shoulders lurched as I sobbed and I moved my hip closer to the wall for support. Water raced down my bruised back. My arms slid across my stomach and I held on, trying to shield myself from the terrible thoughts flashing in my mind. I leaned a shoulder into the wall almost as if I expected it to open up and embrace me.

"Mulder…"

I didn't realize I had said it aloud. It's not the first time I've called out to him but it felt different as I stood in his shower. I needed to say his name. I needed to know he was on the other side of that door. I needed to allow myself this one fleeting moment of vulnerability and begin to accept the unacceptable. As my sobs slowed one was caught in my throat. I hated how I sounded when I was upset and more often than not tried desperately to express sorrow in silence. Over the roar of the water I exhaled deeply and wiped my eyes. My hands found their way to my shoulders once again and I breathed in the last few clouds of steam. Then I turned off the faucet, pushed aside the shower curtain and stepped out onto the waiting bathmat. I pulled a towel off the hook and gently dried off, finding comfort in that familiar scent once again.

I got dressed and combed my hair then walked out to Mulder's living room. There was a lone mug on the coffee table. I happened upon him lying down on the couch, eyes closed. I moved closer and noticed that his brow was furrowed. I touched his shoulder causing him to stir.

"Mmm, sorry I must have dozed off. Did the shower help? " he said while he sat upright and ran a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, I think so. I feel a little more human." I joined him in the space he had cleared. He stretched then reached for the mug and took a long swallow. I leaned back against the couch.

"I can pour you a cup if you'd like," I heard him say. My fingers began to fiddle with a tender spot on my left hand.

"No thanks." I know Mulder could tell I had been crying, puffiness under the eyes was not easy to conceal. I could feel my cheeks flush and I licked my lips as I searched for something to say.

"I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm still having difficulty finding the words right now and I can't stand this awkward small talk."

He shook his head after swallowing a sip of coffee. "You know I can see it on your face. And this awkward small talk wouldn't be so awkward if you would just let me in. It's like I told you earlier, I've never seen something give you this much of a head trip before."

"I have to be able to accept this on my own terms, Mulder." That tasted bitter. "I've been trying to forget for five years. I just can't do this right now." I got off the couch and started to head for his bedroom. After pushing the door slightly behind me, I turned down the sheets and slowly crawled into the large bed. I gingerly placed my head upon Mulder's pillow and felt the smoothness against my skin. Every muscle in my body struggled to unwind. Before I closed my eyes I noticed a shadow move in front of the door.

"I'll be fine." I muttered under my breath.

The last thing I heard was the click from the door being closed.

I awoke in the dark to a stinging sensation in the side of my head. My mouth was sore and I could taste blood. There was a taunt strip of cloth tied tightly around my head causing my cheeks to hurt. My hands were bound behind my back and my bare feet were tied together. I weakly struggled to shift positions, fighting the pain in my temple. Once my eyes focused I slowly maneuvered myself near the light source coming from the crack underneath the door. Where the hell am I? I couldn't see anything in the room aside from the hardwood floor. I attempted to sit back up and tried to figure out how I got here. Adrenaline had kicked in now and I started thinking of a way to escape. Then I saw a shadow sweep across the floor. Suddenly the door pulled open. I shot back against a nearby wall in a lame attempt to protect myself. I looked at the figure in the doorway and it didn't look human. The figure bent down, grabbed my ankles, and dragged me on the floor out of the closet into the empty room. I writhed and twisted in its grip. A dim light from somewhere else in the dilapidated house illuminated the figure just enough so I could distinguish human hands as they removed the tie from my ankles. The man reached over and forcefully pulled me up by my shoulders to my feet. Our eyes met for a split second as I stood and in that moment I felt malevolence swarm over my body. His pushed me in front of him and a smile snaked across his lips.

His hand roughly clung to my bare shoulder as he shoved me down a hallway. Everything in the sparsely lit house looked the same, bare and unremarkable. There was a warm glow coming from one of the rooms on the left and he led me in that direction. It was a master bedroom. Once inside I was shoved towards the bathroom. I saw an oversized bathtub nestled in the back under a window. There was a double sink to the right and the white porcelain toilet resided next to it with a towel bar hanging low over the tank. Candles covered just about every surface to provide mood lighting for whatever diabolical plans he had in mind. He moved me over to the sink and untied my hands for a moment, only to tie them to the towel bar. I saw the horrible smirk form on his face as he stepped back to look at his work.

"It'll all be over soon." And with that he left the bathroom. My mind yelled at me to escape. I pulled violently at the bar, foolishly hoping that I could pull it off the wall and run. Then I leaned my head down to meet my hands and try to loosen the gag. As I feverishly worked I heard a thud from the other room. I stopped for just a second and listened and to my horror I saw the man pull Mulder's body into the doorway and toss him on the floor.

No!

"Mulder! What have you done to him?!" I yelled against the gag. The man lunged at me and struck me across the face. Then he snatched my jaw and pressed the flat side of a knife against my cheek.

"Don't worry Girly-Girl. I have plans for him too." I fought the tears welling in my eyes. He moved away from me and went toward the bathtub, reaching for the faucet to turn on the water. I tried to free my hands from the towel bar while he was distracted. My fingers squeezed together and with a tug I was loose then I quickly removed the cloth from around my mouth. I looked out into the other room and saw Mulder stir but just as I did Pfaster noticed I had gotten one step closer to escape and took measures to slow me down. With a flash of metal his knife came quickly across my right hand. I tried to grab it; tried to disarm him for even a moment. He caught my arm and plunged the blade in-between my ribs. I screamed. He attacked me again, this time hitting my upper arm. I took all the strength I could muster and kicked Pfaster in the gut sending him back towards the bathtub. I cried out over the roar of the water and fell to the floor just missing the edge of the sink. I started to crawl in a prone position to the door and out into the bedroom, blood soaking rapidly through my tank top. I had to get to Mulder. He was lying face down on the floor and I could tell he was injured or God knows what else.

"S-Scully.." he muttered as he lifted his head revealing a gash on his cheek. My injured hand reached out for his, finding his fingertips and holding as tight as I could.

"Mulder, please…" I pleaded. "I need you to get up. I can't –" Pfaster was on his feet now. He turned around sharply and quickly ran out to seize my leg. I kicked him in the shin but he still managed to pull me in his direction. I cried out for Mulder as I was dragged back into the bathroom. Pfaster brought my arms above my head and held them together while straddling me. My right arm went numb from the stab wounds and blood started to seep into the bathmat as my body was pressed onto the tile. I winced as he tightened his hold on me, pulling my injured arm more than needed.

"You know," he began once he caught his breath, "I didn't think I'd finally catch the one that got away. That red hair never left my mind. I wasn't going to stop until I found you." My lips moved as I tried to form words, but no sound escaped. He stood and yanked me up off the floor. I could barely fight against him and that's what frightened me the most. I was running out of time. Still with a grip on my shoulders he turned off the water to the bathtub.

"Let her go, Pfaster," said Mulder from the doorway, his voice sounded dark. Pfaster pressed a hand over my mouth before I could put a voice to my suffering. The taste on my lips was nauseating.

"You're not going to take her from me. Not again," said Pfaster. Then he brought his face close to me and smelt my hair making my skin crawl. Then he dropped me in the tub, holding me under. I kicked and thrashed as hard as I could but I was growing weaker. I heard Mulder yell.

Two shots rang out.

The frigid cold water sent a shockwave through my body and stung my wounds. It hurt to move. It hurt to think. I could feel my body shutting down. All of my energy started to fade and I physically couldn't struggle anymore. I couldn't move. My breath slowed as I stared at the ceiling. The lights from the remaining candles flickered back and forth across the walls.

My life started to slip away.

Then I saw Mulder's face above me as he climbed into the tub. He reached in and quickly picked me up from under my arms then shifted my weight so he could slide his right arm under my knees. As he lifted my limp wounded body out of the bathtub I closed my eyes and heard him say "I'm sorry, Scully. God I'm so sorry." He carried me out of the bathroom, leaving the body of Donnie Pfaster behind.

Mulder knelt down with me on the floor of the barren bedroom, holding me tight in his arms. I coughed and sputtered, expelling the bathwater. He pulled out his cell phone and I knew he was calling for an ambulance. "Yes this Agent Mulder with the FBI, I have an agent down!" He gave some more information then tossed the phone aside. One hand pressed firmly on my side, adding compression to the oozing stab wound. "Help is on the way. Just hang on." My eyelids fluttered and I said his name.

"Scully, talk to me. Come on."

"What happened to you?" I asked weakly.

"That bastard cold-cocked me once I made it upstairs. He must have already had you tied-up in the bathroom. God, I should have shot him as soon as I saw him."

"I can't Mulder…" I said with a shiver.

"No. No. You have to stay with me, Scully" he said with a wavering voice.

"I can't feel …I don't…I'm sorry," My words were nonsensical as I tried to focus on him. My fingers grazed his shirt before I lost consciousness.

Mulder began CPR.

His lips felt so warm against mine as he forced air into my mouth. I felt the wetness of his cheek as he leaned in to deliver each breath. I was so numb I barely felt the chest compressions. His hands were soaked in my blood. Desperation crossed Mulder's face after he gave two more sets of compressions and saw no change.

"Dammit Scully, come on! You can't leave me!" I heard him say as he pressed on my chest. His composure was gone as he tried frantically to revive me. Mulder choked out a sob as he clutched me to his chest. He rocked back and forth then let out a primal, gut-wrenching scream.

A siren was heard howling down the street. Red lights flashed in through the window and danced along the ceiling as the ambulance pulled up. The paramedics flung open the door to the house and called in inside. It didn't take them long to find us. They rushed in and took me from Mulder so they could begin their work. He slid back a little and sat with his head in his hands. The EMTs readied the defibrillator to restart my heart. One of the medics cut open my shirt and stuck pads on my bare chest to prepare me before using the paddles. Then a paramedic called,

"Clear!"

I cried out and woke with a start; my hands pushed me into an awkward upright position on the bed. Disoriented at first and head spinning, I started to piece together where I was. The layout of the room became more familiar as my senses came into focus with the morning light. My weight shifted to my left elbow and as I rubbed my eyes I heard the bedroom door open, Mulder said my name as he entered. I sat up and he joined me on the bed. The wave of tension broke and quickly I leaned forward to wrap my arms tightly around his neck.

"I had a bad dream," I said softly, feeling my lip start to tremble as I pulled him closer. I felt like a child that needed to be consoled.

"Tell me," he whispered.

"I was in a house, like when I was taken before." My throat felt dry causing my voice to falter. "Pfaster dragged me into a room lined with candles and was intent on finishing what he started. You were there too but you couldn't - There was so much blood, Mulder," I pulled away from him and drew in a breath to try and regain some sense of composure. "It all just felt so real. " I shook my head and ran a hand over my hair leaving it to rest behind my neck. We sat there for a moment, no words between us. At one point he tenderly kissed the top of my head. Finally he said,

"I was hesitant to tell you, but I heard that song as I was getting ready for bed last night."

"Really?" I asked.

"Yeah," he looked down and motioned to take my hand, "I tried to call you but you didn't pick up. I guess you could call it divine intervention."

"That was playing in my apartment. He was playing that damn song…" Mulder leaned in and embraced me.

This time I buried my head in his chest and unwillingly started to hear the opening notes of the song fade in once again. My eyes closed and my hands pressed harder against Mulder's back, pulling him closer.

With those phantom tones I was replaying what had happened mere hours ago. The panic of knowing Pfaster was in my home, the anger that drove each blow I threw at him, the fear when he had me pinned down and screaming out for help.

Don't let go.

The tempo sent me reeling back to Minneapolis. That house. That closet. The feel of the rope around my wrists. Falling down those stairs and feeling paralyzed by fear. What was going to happen to me? Would I ever see Mulder again?

Hold on to me.

The rhythm began to fade and I felt the mist in my eyes. I pushed back for a brief moment and looked at Mulder as he brushed away tear that found its way to my cheek.

"Stay with me," I whispered. He nodded and I moved over, allowing him to slip into bed alongside me.

"It's alright. I'm here." He kissed the nape of my neck knowing there wasn't much else he could do but hold me. And that's all I really wanted him to do. At that point I didn't care that I had broken down. I had never wanted him closer to me than in that moment.

I was so tired. My body ached and eventually my sobs began to subside. The air was no longer caught in my throat. I began to listen to the cadence of Mulder's breath and I wasn't sure if he was still awake. My inhale met with his. Once he noticed my breathing began to slow he slid his hand from under mine. Fingertips found a strand of hair and placed it behind my ear. I could feel the sunlight coming through the bedroom window.

"Thank you," I uttered, my voice raspy and heavy with exhaustion.

"Rest. I'm not going anywhere." I struggled to shift positions and turned over to face him. My hand found his cheek and I moved closer, sharing his breath. The hint of smile tugged at his mouth. Ever so slightly my lips parted and I felt warmth as his lips met mine. Soft and tender.

At last I was able to begin to forget.

[alexandenigtscreations]

Chapters: 1 of 2 Summary:

Takes place in the aftermath of Mag 92. Recently cleared of murder, Head Archivist, Jonathan Sims, takes a moment to decompress in the archives after a hellish week.

[CHAPTER 2 HERE]

It throbed

Ached

Burned

The events of the past few days came crashing down on Jon as soon as he left Elias’s office.  Lord, he hurt.  

Vagley, he wondered at the events that had led to working in a place where “not dying” was considered an accomplishment.  Yet alone one where a sociopathic boss allowed him to take the wrap for a murder Jon did not commit, and spend the preceding week being stalked by the circus, having unpleasant interviews with the lightless flame, being cast into the vast and hunted down by Detective Tonner.

A sense of being watched sent a jolt of fear through Jon.  He cast about for signs of Daisy.  Was she gone?  Was he safe?  He didn’t think he could deal with her now, not after-

Stop it.  

Jon sagged against the wall of the decidedly deserted corridor, the world shifting in swirling bursts.  Alone, at last and again; he was alone.  His good hand constricted around his wrist in a vain hope the pressure would alleviate the pain.  It didn’t.

A distraction, that’s what he needed.  

Perhaps he could get some work done.  It might be enough to take his mind off of things-  He recalled several articles on ADHD outlining how quickly they picked up on the presence of pain stimuli, especially when it was the most interesting thing happening at the moment.  There were a few other journals that indicated ADHD people had a higher pain tolerance than their peers.  Jon snorted.  He was still on his feet so there must be some truth to it.  

Good lord.  If he was supposed to have a high pain threshold, what must something like this be for a normal person?  Then again-he wasn’t exactly a person anymore, was he.  The way Daisy had- Stop it, now.  

The last thing he needed was to dwell on Detective Tonner and the events of the Past several hours. 

Jon all but collapsed into his chair, allowing the exhaustion leading his bones to pull him down.  He held his burned hand close.  Too close as the heat radiating off his body set his hand burning anew.  He hissed, forcing it as far away as physically allowed.  Practically prostrating himself across the marred surface of the desk.  Causing a small avalanche of paperwork and statements to slide to the floor.  

He cursed under his breath.  Why did he always have to make such a mess of things?  Why couldn’t he do anything right?  He’d driven Tim and Martin away, put Georgie in danger, couldn’t keep Melony or Basira from getting ensnared and...Sasha-  Jon swallowed past the lump in his throat, disgusted with himself.  He could barely think straight yet alone work.  His breath hitched sending a sharp jab of pain from his throbbing ribs.  Detective Tonner’s baton hadn’t...agreed with him.  Acrid saliva pooled in his mouth, for a moment Jon feared he was going to be sick.  

Jon forced himself to still and breathe.  It passed.  The insistent burning sliding back to the surface.  He did the only thing he could do, and turned attention to that all consuming pain.  Attempting to capture the feeling with objective detachment.  It was a technique perfected after the Jane Prentiss incident.  Cataloging the sensations as though they were happening to someone else, another statement for the archives.  That academic veneer had given him some modicum of control, of understanding.  

He desperately wanted that now-

Then again, that was the reason he was in this mess, wasn’t he?  Always having to know?  He sighed, sliding back into memory.

Once, while living with his grandmother, he had scalded his hand ladling out soup.  It had ached for a week and flared up if he touched anything so much as tepid.  This was so much worse.  

Unbidden, Elias’s words came floating back ‘The Archivist observes and experiences’.  Jon groaned.  Right, and what good would that do?  Distastefully, he eyed the improvised bandage of t-shirt strips.  He should change it, he knew but his stomach soured at the thought.  Recalling kneeling on the hard earth, frantically prying off the molten wax.  In his hast he hadn’t registered the blistering skin tearing away with it, leaving his palm raw and exposed.  Part of him didn’t want to face the grotesquery behind the bandage- to see what monstrous form it had taken.

It burned.

He knew it burned.  He knew it needed looking after and he begged his brain to stop sending the signals.  After all:

Message received.

End the bloody statement.

Burns were nothing at all like cuts.  Cuts were well behaved.  Delicately, Jon probed the ragged edges of the gash at his neck.  Cuts were predictable.  Pressing down till he felt the sickening twinge slice through.  For a moment there was this known experience, this expected outcome.  He forgot about the burn, replaced only by the sharp sting in his neck.  Then it all went sideways.  

Jon was looking back into the cold eyes of Detective Tonner as she pressed the blad to his throat.  She had wanted to cut him, to hurt him, to kill him.  She killed monsters, and she’d made it clear where he stood.  His pulse jumped and his chest started to restrict as he saw once more Michael Crew, prone on the forest floor.  The muzzle flash burned itself once more into his retina and Crew was dead.  Daisy had done that.  Daisy had done that right in front of him and Daisy had meant to do that to him and the fear threatening to spill over.  It was too much, just too much!

“Will you stop it!” he shouted out loud, pinching the burn with all his might, abruptly returning to the physical experience of pain in the here and now; the nausea coming back with vengeance.  He whimpered, pressing his face into the cool of his desk.  Breathe.  Just, breathe.  What good was it to be a monster if it hurt so badly?  

Once more he wraped fingers about a slim wrist, attempting to cut off the circulation.  Anything to dull that burning.  He longed to submerge it in ice.  If he couldn’t stop the pain, maybe he could numb it, a little at any rate.  

With heavy eyes, he calculated the distance between himself and the door.  Funny, it never seemed like it was that far away before.  Jon wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and rest for a few moments, but his body simply protested too much. 

Ice, right, ice would help.  

He pushed himself upright on elbows and forearms.  Jon’s legs felt heavy, as though he were borrowing someone else's.  It was hard to move, much harder than it had moments ago- he glanced at the clock, jared to see hours had slipped by.  How had that happened?  

He couldn’t understand why his body was having such a hard time moving when he’d been fine this morning.  He couldn’t understand why the world wouldn’t stop spinning.  The door to his office was closed, meaning he’d have to let go of the burn to open it.  For an insane moment, he considered surrendering and curling up under his desk.  But Jonathan Sims never knew how to give up, did he?  

Martin had had a bit of a day.  

Why wouldn’t he of?  It wasn’t every day that you find out your very life is tied to your place of employment, your coworker had been killed over a year ago replaced by a supernatural imposter and that your “double boss”, to use Tim’s turn of phrase, was a cold blooded killer.  

And Jon-

The man knew how to make an entrance, stumbling into the archives, covered in grime, flanked by Detective Tonner and Basira.  And core, he looked bad.  

After the, Martin had been whisked away by Basira and Daisy to...answer a few questions.  It had felt more like an interrogation than anything else.  He wondered why it had been so difficult for them to accept that he had been as much in the dark as the rest of them.  Tim hadn't helped matters by continuing to make a string of dark comments and Melony had started to genuinely unnerve him.  Which was saying something considering he literally worked among Eldritch horrors.  

After everything, he needed a moment to himself.  Away from angry coworkers and murderous bosses and prosecutorial police detectives.  He retreated back to the old cot in document storage, mulling things over late into the day.  For once he didn’t worry about wasting institute time.  If Elias was to be believed, Martin could no more be fired than he could quit.  Always, his thoughts returned back to Jon.  He hoped the man had good enough sense to go home and rest up.  

“I need a cup of tea-” he said to no one in particular, scrubbing a wery hand down his face.  As far as he could tell, the others had left hours ago.  Just as well, he didn’t feel up to peacekeeping at the moment.  

Martin froze at the door of the employee lounge.  Jon was there!  Standing with his forehead pressed against the fridge.  Looking for all the world like he was about to fold at any second.  Even from his vantage point across the room, Martin could tell he was trembling.  

“Jon?” he regretted speaking at once.  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Jon lept like a spooked cat.  

“M-Martin-'' his voice was faint, frayed at the edges with exhaustion.  Concern gripped Martin’s chest as he took the man in properly.  

Even covered in ruddy mud; the bruises under his eyes were stark, stretching his gaunt features in agonized lines.  He had a death grip on a thin wrist of a badly bandaged hand.  It reminded Martin of the aftermath of Jane Prentiss and having to chase him away from the tunnels to ensure Jon had time to heal.  

Only this was worse, somehow.  Then, Jon had been angry, driven by the single minded purpose of finding out who had it in for the archivist position.  But now- the fight was gone, leaving him small, vulnerable and lord, he looked defeated.  

“Can I help you?” 

Jon made a complicated spazam of a movement Martin couldn’t make heads or tails of.  Muttering something about getting some ice as he listed to the side.

[CHAPTER 2 LINK]

[amazingdriverfics]

if your requests are still open, can i ask for Pale with the smutty “you aren’t taking me to bed….ever.” ‘who said it had to be a bed?’ i think it’d be ... FUN🗣

A/N: Sure thing, sweetie. I hope you like these, I love writing requests and I love Pale very very much too :)

warnings: smut and cheating

Request?  My masterlist

It is an important event, woman and men spin together in the dance floor, while others , like yourself, watch. Your husband was too busy talking business with some stupid CEO’s to notice you, because of that you are sitting in a chair all alone, slowly sipping the bubbly champagne filling your crystal glass. What a waste of time you think to yourself, you are dressed in your most beautiful dress - a shiny silver dress which hugs all your curves perfectly, the right amount of sexy and elegant -, your hair is in your favorite style and your makeup highlights your wonderful face and yet you are alone wishing you had never gotten out of the house. 

Your marriage was dying quickly, you were pretty sure Jack had an affair with someone at his office and you could barely force yourself to talk to him without wanting to puke, but nights like these were all about appearances, tonight you and Jack are the perfect couple, you are beautiful and smart and he is a businessman. God, you hated patriarchy. 

The sound of the heavy chair next to you moving takes you out of your head, without thinking you put a smile on your face ready to face the husband you swore to love, but as you turn to look, your smile dies. The man sitting in the chair isn’t Jack, you had never seen him in your life, he had a shoulder length black hair, dark eyes, red full lips, a constellation of freckles and moles in his face and for the first time in forever you felt desire.

“I hope this sit isn’t taken”  his deep voice seem to echo in your head, increasing the fire starting to burn in your stomach, but you were a married woman and there was no way you could give into it. 

“It is” you reply dryly, keeping your face in an annoyed expression.

“Too bad I don’t give a fuck” the unknown man states, eyes shining with amusement as his hands wonder in his black suit reappearing holding a pack of cigarettes. 

“I’m sorry, do I even know you?” as the question leaves your lips, you spin your head around trying to find Jack, but, unsurprisingly, you aren’t able to locate your useless husband. 

“No, I’m Pale, nice to meet you” he mumbles, cigarette in between his teeth as he ignites it on fire with a beautiful gold lighter which you notice matches with a chain around his strong neck. You don’t reply keeping a straight face, behaving as you were expected to. 

“I was fucking tired of those snobs and this hellhole of a party, dance whatever the fuck this is and as soon as my eyes landed on you I started to believe in destiny, or whatever those hippies call it, because you might just be the one thing to make this whole shit worthy of my time”  Pale continues unbothered by your lack of interaction. 

“Look, I have a husband” the clarification makes him laugh, smoke leaving his nostrils as a hoarse laughter spreads the fire in your stomach to your intimate parts, it had been a long time since anyone but yourself touched there.

“Well, let’s add it to the list of things I don’t give a fuck about. It’s not like I’m looking for romance” he purrs, eyes filled with malice as they stare yours. 

“Let me rephrase it so you get what I mean. You aren’t taking me to bed...ever” as the words escape your mouth you can’t help but wish it wasn’t true. 

“Who said it had to be a bed?” he talks back with a smirk in his perfect face “Look, y/n ” Pale takes you by surprise and you instantly open your mouth ready to ask from where does he know you. “Stop acting like a brat, let me finish” he interrupts you “Your jackass of a husband is cheating on you with his secretary and, since you’re not fucking dumb, I’m guessing you already know it and I’m also guessing he hasn’t pleased you ever, because he doesn’t know how to take care of a woman” he leans into you before finishing, placing his mouth right next to your ear “Now, I know how to take care of one, so lemme take care of you, I’ll make you cum so fucking hard that you’ll be ruined for anyone else”. 

All the rules you were supposed to follow and your will to remain faithful do Jack suddenly leave your mind, as wetness starts to gather on your underwear. The man by your side made you feel desired after being treated like shit by the husband you had come to hate for months. 

“I’m taking your silence as a good thing, follow me” he says before standing and as you take a look at his body, which seemed about to tear the white shirt he was wearing under the suit, your thoughts become all about how tall and hot the mysterious Pale is.

Pale doesn’t wait for a reply - which wouldn’t leave your mouth anyway from how amazed you are - before passing through the crowd of people dancing and entering a corridor you had never been to before, and you? You follow quickly, not enough for anyone to become suspicious, dying to enjoy whatever he was planning to do with you. 

He stops in front of a mahogany door and his dark eyes filled with lust take a quick look at you before his hands open it, revealing a library filled with thousands of books, a beautiful indian carpet on the floor under a fluffy crimson couch. You watch as his figure enters the room and sits on the couch, legs spreaded and his trained eyes on you once again. 

“Come in, close this door and strip” he demands without stuttering causing you to obey. Slowly, you enter closing the door behind you. As soon as your body is in the middle of the room, your hands find your zipper bringing it down, as the dress falls to the carpet, your nipples - hardening from his gaze and the sudden change of temperature - and underwear are exposed to his hungry eyes. 

“Now come, sit in here” he taps roughly to his thighs before taking the top part of his suit off. Once again, you do as your told, giving into your needs letting your worries outside the library. Your bare thighs meet his covered ones as your nipples are pressed against his shirt lightly making you squirm with anticipation, your arms rest by your side since you are not sure you are allowed to touch him. 

“You’re such a whore, aren’t you? You’re husband is outside that door and you’re here showing these pretty fucking tits to me” Pale states as his hands travel on your sides, passing your hips, waist, ribs, before landing on your breasts where they stop, roughly, he squeezes them, causing you to close your eyes as a breath leaves your mouth. “I bet you’re fucking loving it, bet you’re all wet for me” he continues. 

And it was true, you couldn’t even remember the last time you had been this wet, you feel like a horny teenager all over again, Pale had barely touched you, however you are already ready for him. 

Too distracted by the sensation of his hands on your tits as his fingers provoke your nipples, pulling your nubs before massaging it, you don’t feel as he gets closer, only noticing it when his lips meet yours. Surprised, you open your mouth and Pale takes the opportunity, his tongue entering in it and dominating yours in a demanding and rough kiss. Out of instinct, your arms wrap around his neck, nails lightly scratching his covered back.

Against your covered hole you can feel his erection, from need and desire you start to gently move your hips back and forth, trying to create a relieving friction to your ache. “Eager, are we?” he mocks, disattaching his lips from yours and making you nod anxious for his touch. “Get up” Pale orders taking his hands off your niples and slapping your ass, the ‘smack’ noise echoing through the walls.

As you stand on your feet, you feel like you’re going to fall any minute, your legs are weak and a little bit shaky and the way he is looking at you doesn’t help at all. However, before they failed you, he gets off the couch towering you before quickly sitting you on it, forcing your legs to stay in a similar position his had been moments ago, exposing your wet underwear to his eyes. 

Still standing, Pale starts to get rid of his layers, not intentionally making a show out of it, but watching it, you have to fight the urge to run your fingers in between your folds imagining it wouldn’t please him at all.

As soon as his cock springs free, its red head slapping against his belly and the veiny extension proudly standing, your mouth waters and you can’t wait to feel it filling you up, you had never seen one as big as his. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll fuck your tight cheating pussy with it in no time, but first, let’s get you ready for it or I’ll break it and we don’t want your husband to know someone is actually taking good care of you, do we?”

“No” you test you voice and it comes out hoarse and submissive, in this moment you are sure that you would do whatever he commanded you to. He rubs your cheek with his fingers before pressing his thumb against your lips and you don’t think twice before allowing it in and sucking on it, seductively pressing your tongue on it.

“Get it nice and wet for me, slut” he spits and you do as your told, covering his thumb with spit happily lapping your tongue on his finger over and over again. “That’s enough” Pale’s deep voice says and with a sad moan you let his finger go. 

“Hey, don’t you complain, whore. You’re going to take what I give to you and you are going to like it, are we fucking clear?” he asks and you nod, not trusting your voice to satisfy him with an answer. 

“Good” he purrs as his fingers starts to make its way down, his figure bending a bit so he could access your dripping cunt. Pushing your panties aside, Pale press his wet thumb against your swollen clit, instantly making a groan escape your mouth as your hands fly to his arms, hyper aware of his touch. 

Slowly, he starts to rub it, a smirk on his face as his eyes watch your face, seeing how his simple touch is already making you melt under him. When his middle finger starts to ease into you, your walls clench already eager for more of it, getting the message, he inserts one more, curling them on your inside and hitting your sweet spot. 

“R-right there” you stutter, pleasure ripping through your veins. And without answering, Pale continues to hit it every time he curls his fingers before taking them off your hole as his thumb continues the lazy pace on your clit, the pressure not enough to make you cum, but enough to make you wetter as you feel you juices coating his fingers more and more, until he is finally capable of inserting one more of his thick fingers - which were about one and a half of yours each - in your greedy cunt. The only sound despite your moans and whimpers filling the room is the sloopy sound of your pussy being filled and then emptied. 

When Pale thinks you’re ready, he takes his fingers away placing them in his mouth and eroticly cleaning them up until there is no trace of your juices on it. “You’re taste just as good as you fucking smell” he says causing you to clench on nothing, aroused by his praise. 

He walks to you and adjust your figure on the couch, making you stay on all fours as his weight push the top of it down just behind you. Keeping one hand in your waist, Pale guides his thick cock to your folds, running it up and down coating it with your juices before placing its tip against your hole. 

As he eases into you, impossibly stretching and filling you, you start to be unsure if he’ll really fit, it seems like his dick will rearrange all your insides, but his moans and loud breaths encourage you to relax. “Fuckfuck, your pussy is so tight, I bet no one touched in a while” he gritts through his teeth, and you nod, aware it was true. 

When his erection is finally completely inside of you, he stays still for awhile giving you the necessary time to adjust to his size, but you eagerness doesn’t comply with his action and before you can stop yourself, you squeeze his cock with your pussywalls a sign for him to start moving. Your action makes a groan fill you ears as his hands close harder on your skin and as he starts to slowly push back, keeping only his tip inside of you, before slamming it hard back inside. Just this one action makes you aware that it was true what he had said, Pale was going to ruin you for any other man. 

He sets a merciless pace, filling you up completely and hitting your cervix again and again, as his balls hit your clit and his stomach hits your ass roughly making it red and reducing you to a mess of cries for more and moans.

And even though it seemed impossible he gives it to you, the slap slap of his skin becoming louder as his cock gets in and out in an inhuman pace, his sweat falling on your back as yours accumulated on your hairline, the effort of standing on your hands and knees as he pounded into you becoming too much by the second, as your orgasm starts to get closer. 

When it finally hits, your mouth drops open as your eyes close, and your walls clench milking his cock and making him cum. The time seems to stand still as you are completely aware of every inch inside of you, of the way his hot big load mix with your own release, of how tight his hands are gripping you - which will probably bruise - and just how satisfied you are. 

“See slut? I made you cum, bet you’re snob husband never did and now you will need me all the fucking time to fill you up this good, aren’t you?” his hoarse voice from the orgasm declares and you whisper a ‘yes’ knowing he was fucking right. 

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

The event is ending and you are once again with your husband, his arm around your waist bringing Pale’s grip on it to your mind, but nothing in your appearance gives what you did away and since Jack was too busy talking business or whatever, he hadn’t noticed your disappearance.

“Before we go, love, I want you to meet the new manager of our franchise” Jack’s annoying voice gets you out of your head and you politely nod, faking a smile as he guides you to one of the hundreds of people you had met tonight. 

“Pale, this is my wife y/n” your husband says and although your face remains neutral, the air stops in your throat as you realise how Pale knew so much about you and Jack. 

The tall man turns around, face unbothered as usual as he looks at you like he had never seen you before. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you” he says taking your hand in his before giving it a quick kiss, which sets you on fire all over again. 

“The pleasure is all mine. Since you are the new manager guess we’ll be seeing each other a lot from now on” you reply, a chast smile on your face as you mind wanders through all the possibilities.

[highfunctioningflailgirl]

Whumptober No.26

Athos had always been a good rider, but now he realized how much of that ability was based on seeing. As his horse, tied to d’Artagnan’s, trotted along at what should be a comfortable pace, he had difficulties staying in the saddle. With his eyes bandaged, he had no inkling in which direction they were heading, what kind of ground they were navigating, if they were approaching an ascent or descent, and he was at the complete mercy of his animal’s whims. A few minutes into the ride, he’d given up on holding the reins and had been clinging to the pommel instead, his legs soon hurting from clenching them around the horse’s sides. 

They’d discussed letting him ride together with one of them, but Athos had insisted on using his own mount. His dignity was taking enough of a hit already, and he hated being a burden. At least he had d’Artagnan as his navigator. The best rider of all of them and gifted with horses, he was doing what he could to help Athos, guiding the black Friesian with a calm hand and warning Athos about changes in territory or speed.

Nevertheless, when they reached the garrison, Athos was drenched in sweat and sore all over. Under the bandage, his eyes were sticky and stung incessantly, and he could tell they were swelling shut. The cuts on his face were burning and he felt a little seasick. Although he couldn’t see anything, he could hear the noises of the garrison dying down as they rode into the courtyard. Sparring matches ended abruptly, conversations stopped, and Athos felt curious and concerned eyes on him.

“Come on, slide off that saddle.” Porthos clapped him on the thigh. “I’ll give you a hand.”

Awkwardly, groping for his brother’s arms and shoulders, Athos dismounted and heard d’Artagnan and Aramis ward off fellow-soldiers who’d approached to find out what had happened.

“He’s injured, and we’re taking care of him,” Aramis’ voice rang out. “He’s not in any danger. Go back to your posts and give him some space.”

A background of disconcerted murmurs followed Athos as Porthos led him across the yard, and Athos couldn’t remember ever feeling this exposed and helpless. Porthos had hooked him under, and yet he almost tripped on a protruding cobblestone. Jaw clenched, he forced himself not to stick his arm out to feel for obstacles. He didn’t want to look like a fool.

Inside the infirmary, Porthos deposited him on a chair and, with a squeeze of his arm, left to report to Treville. Athos was grateful for the cool quiet of the room and for the lack of an audience. He’d always hated the infirmary, but today it felt like a sanctuary. Exhausted, he let his head sink, fingering the bandage around his smarting eyes. His face hurt. His head hurt. Everything hurt.

“Here, drink this.” 

Aramis pressed a cup into his hand, and the familiar scent of Sister Marie’s calming draught rose into his nose. Gratefully, Athos drank it up in a few large gulps.

“D’Artagnan is fetching Doctor Lemay. Until he arrives, let’s make you a little more comfortable, shall we?”

Athos nodded in surrender. The mixture of herbs and alcohol was quickly taking effect, numbing pain and fear and embarrassment to something he could deal with. It made him quietly compliant, and he let Aramis unbuckle his weapons belt, strip him of his jacket and, very carefully, peel the makeshift bandage from his eyes. But he tensed when he heard Aramis suck in a breath.

“That bad?” 

“No, it’s just…” Athos felt Aramis’ breath cool on his face when the medic inspected his injuries. “It’s very swollen, but that was to be expected. It will look a lot less dramatic once the swelling goes down. Sit back and try to relax.”

Aramis’ stool screeched across the floorboards when he got up and moved away. Athos heard him bustle about the room, pouring water, mixing medicines, gathering supplies, and he allowed himself to feel comforted by the familiar noises and smells. He’d witnessed Aramis work miracles within the walls of this room. Maybe there was one left for him.

D’Artagnan returned with Lemay surprisingly quickly. The physician was clearly out of breath when he leaned over Athos to examine him - the impetuous Gascon must have hustled him along at a merciless pace. Even before the doctor addressed Athos, he had identified the man by his clean, mildly perfumed smell and the jingling of the instruments in his medical bag.

“I’m going to be as gentle as I can, Lieutenant,” Lemay said in his schooled, caring voice. “But I’m afraid it’s going to be uncomfortable.” 

Athos nodded but felt himself breaking into a sweat.

Once more, his eyelids were forced apart. Once more, pain stabbed into his eyes and tears welled, unstoppable. Once more, he couldn’t suppress a gasp and wanted nothing but to bat at the fingers that were causing him such torment. And, once more, firm, brotherly hands held him through the procedure.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of the ordeal. 

Lemay ordered a treatment that found Athos squirming on his back on a table, Porthos pressing his shoulders down and Aramis’ palms firmly cupping his cheeks while an infusion of eyebright was poured into his eyes, streamed down his face and pooled at his neck, all of it, all of it, becoming so unbearable that he pleaded with them to stop until they did.

By the time they had him in a bed, his eyes thickly bandaged, he had to fight through a haze of exhaustion and disorientation to focus on the voices in the darkness.

“...Euphrasia twice a day. Summon me at once at any sign of inflammation.” 

“We will. Thank you, doctor.”

Athos heard light footsteps retreat and a door being shut. To his right and left, leather creaked and weapons jangled on belts, and he felt the presence of a brother on either side. 

“Aramis?” he asked into the swath of stinging black.

“What is it?”

“I didn’t... catch what Lemay said,” Athos admitted, swallowing. “About my eyes. Did he say if…?” He stopped, letting the silence finish the question for him.

“He said he cannot say if there will be any lasting damage.” Aramis’ voice was gentle and accompanied by a warm hand settling on Athos’ arm. “We will have to wait until you’ve healed. For now, it’s important that we ward off infection. We’ll know more in a few days.”

Porthos grunted. “You’ll be fine. I know you will.”

D’Artagnan, who, judging by the nervous pacing, had to be on his left, didn’t say anything, but Athos could physically feel the anxiety emanating from the Gascon.

“For now,” Aramis continued, “try to get some rest. Porthos and d’Artagnan have to report for duty, but I’ll be here.” The hand remained on his arm, an anchor in the dark. “Just rest.”

***

Athos had survived a lot of injuries in his life, but few of them had been as debilitating as this one. Although Aramis had assured him that all remaining glass had been washed out of his eyes, he could have sworn he was wrong: the constant scraping sensation drove him crazy and rendered sleep impossible. Rinsing them with Lemay’s prescribed infusion of eyebright- as harrowing as the procedure itself was - brought a few minutes of treacherous relief until the sandy feeling returned with a vengeance. And distraction was difficult. The darkness encasing Athos highlighted every sensation and made him feel helpless and claustrophobic. 

To make matters worse, the day after their return, his eyes had swollen entirely shut and started to weep sickly fluid. An urgently summoned Lemay had diagnosed infection. He’d added a solution of milk, honey and cooked onion to Athos’ treatment that Aramis applied with determination and diligence, accompanied by upbeat remarks. Porthos and d’Artagnan did their best to cheer him up with banter and reports from their day at the garrison, but their kind voices and helping hands did little to dispel Athos’ mounting fear and frustration. 

The nights were the worst. Although one of them - usually Aramis - slept on a cot right next to him in case he needed assistance, the silence that befell the garrison became oppressive. Once Aramis’ deep, even breaths announced that he’d fallen asleep, the pitch black behind Athos’ eyelids became an abyss, and he tumbled into it, blind. 

Blind.

What if the infection took his eyesight? And even if not - what if he was left with his vision compromised? Whenever Armis cleaned and re-bandaged his eyes, everything still looked blurry, Aramis a mere blotch in front of him. What if things didn’t improve? He needed keen eyesight to remain a musketeer. If he could no longer see well enough to shoot, to fight, to read, he would have to surrender his commission. What would become of him then? 

While he had no doubt that his brothers would stick by him, even take care of him, the thought was unbearable. Useless, helpless, dependent - it would be the opposite of who he was and not a life worth living. Not for him. 

“Athos?”

A hand found him in the darkness. 

“What’s wrong, Athos? Can’t sleep?” Aramis’ palm felt rough as he touched Athos in his by now familiar sequence - forehead, neck, wrist - checking for fever or pain. 

“How did you know I was awake?” Athos asked back. He’d been perfectly still.

“I could hear you thinking.”

“That is ridiculous.” Athos huffed, no longer bothering to turn his head in his friend’s direction. He’d given up on that useless habit two days ago.

“Not when your thoughts are this loud,” Aramis said, and Athos could hear the medic’s soft smirk in his voice. 

“If that is the case,” Athos replied, “I will make an effort to think quieter thoughts. I wouldn’t want to disrupt your beauty sleep any further.”

Aramis chuckled, and his cot squeaked as he settled back down. 

“That is very gracious of you.”

More squeaking ensued and the flutter of a blanket being rearranged as Aramis made himself comfortable a mere arm’s length from Athos. Silence descended once more, and Athos waited for Aramis’ breaths to even out and confirm that he’d gone back to sleep. 

Instead, softly, the marksman’s voice penetrated the darkness again.

“You’re allowed to be afraid, you know?”

Athos’ heart skipped a beat. His throat suddenly tightened. 

Damn you, Aramis. 

He was their best marksman for a reason, always hitting the bull’s eye. 

Athos swallowed but couldn’t answer. He felt tears rise and, for the first time, he was glad about the bandage covering his eyes. 

“You’re not alone, brother,” Aramis added, and the certainty in his voice almost broke Athos. “And whatever happens, you never will be.”

Fighting for control, Athos didn’t move, didn’t say anything for a few dozen more aching heartbeats. He just lay there, breathing raggedly and infinitely grateful that Aramis had the presence of mind not to touch him now. Eventually, he released a shaky exhale and nodded. 

“I know.” 

Dear god, he sounded like glass.

“Now get some sleep,” Aramis said, putting sternness behind his words. ”I’ll be here if there’s anything you need.”

And with that pledge, they both fell silent again, and, after a while, even Athos went to sleep.

***

There wasn’t a grand moment of truth. Not a momentous unwrapping of his eyes to find his sight suddenly and miraculously restored. Like any severe injury, this one took its time to heal, in stages, and at every stage there was no telling if further improvement would show itself. They were all relieved when the infection faded. The swelling went down, the leakage stopped, the stinging lessened. Every time Aramis changed his bandages, his vision improved just a little. Aramis went from a shapeless blur to a silhouette, to a body and a face whose details slowly, slowly swam a bit more into focus. The light didn’t hurt as much. Blinking was no longer agony. Finally, the bandages stayed off, and Athos moved back into his own quarters, one hand still on a brother’s shoulder to guide him through a blotchy, unreliable world, but grateful for his regained freedom.

Every day, he returned to the infirmary for treatment. Every day, Aramis played down the nervousness in his ever-same question: “Any improvement?” And every day, Athos looked around the room, seeing sharper edges, more nuances and, looking back at Aramis, familiar details reappeared: the scars and the stubble, the fine lines around his eyes and the well-tended tips of his moustache. 

“Yes,” Athos said, and nodded while Aramis’ trepidation merged into joy.

There were milestones that he took. Losing the bandages was the first. Recognizing friends when someone called his name and he turned around, seeing them approach, was another. No longer feeling for the holes in his weapons belt, but actually seeing what he was doing as he dressed, tied strings, closed clasps and buckles was a step as little and as big as the memorable day when, hands trembling, he opened a book and the blurry scrawl morphed back into letters that he could read.

The damage did not heal completely in the end. When he looked at the bright sky, he saw tiny specks swimming across his vision that hadn’t been there before - scars, Aramis explained - but he got used to them, and they didn’t bother him in his daily life. Reading was more difficult by candlelight now, and Aramis predicted he’d need spectacles at some point in the future, but his long-distance vision had returned as sharp as ever.

Treville put it to a test. He had to. When rumours spread - fueled by the Red Guard - that one of the finest soldiers in the regiment was no longer fit for duty, the captain had set up a series of challenges for Athos to prove them wrong. Athos mastered an obstacle course on horseback without difficulty, demonstrated his swordsmanship in a duel that was over in a few dizzying strikes and - the trickiest test of them all -  had to shoot at and hit targets from an increasing distance. While his marksmanship had never been as perfect as Aramis’, it was good enough: His friends whooped as another tin cup became airborne when the ball fired from Athos’ pistol sent it flying.

Afterwards, his fellow musketeers welcomed him back with friendly slaps to his pauldron and words of camaraderie, and Treville stepped in front of Athos with a proud smile to quickly pull him in for an embrace.

When he stayed behind to clean up with the other three, collecting bullet-riddled targets, sweeping up hay that had been strewn about and polishing weapons, Athos let his gaze roam over the garrison grounds, taking in every detail, every pebble and chip of wood, every glint of steel and dust moat floating in the slanting light of the evening sun. Then, he looked at his brothers. He saw d’Artagnan laugh and throw a handful of straw at Porthos, accompanied by some teasing joke. Porthos shook himself, grunting, and cast the young Gascon a sinister scowl before giving him a shove that was never meant seriously. Sitting at the table, an arquebus in his lap, fingers blackened by gun oil, Aramis rolled his eyes at the two but did not suppress a grin. 

Athos saw grown men acting like boys, shedding the worry and seriousness of the last few weeks like dead weight. He saw their hands that had guided him, helped him dress, helped him orientate himself in a suddenly blackened world, now slapping each other across the back, cracking silly jokes. He saw their eyes that had been his eyes when he couldn’t see, now shining with joy, three different shades of brown, three different souls looking out of them at the world, Aramis’ gentle ones now settling on him.

“Is everything all right, Athos?”

Seeing worry return to his friend’s gaze, Athos nodded quickly and decided that it was his turn to smile. 

“Yes,” he said, and sat down next to Aramis to clean his own pistol. “Yes. Everything is all right indeed.”

(Read all of my Whumptober fics on AO3, here.)

[smol-and-trashy]

Botched Rescue (BnHA vore fic) 3/5

A/N: Oh lookie here, another chapter. I know it sounds dire and all but it’s safe, just everyone in the story doesn’t seem to realize that. What can I say? I crave angsty Hawks vore. I kinda forgot how gross this chapter was, so... sorry in advance. Warnings for fearplay, digestion mentions (nobody dies or gets severely burned), multiple prey, and of course, vore. 

______________________

As Izuku’s head entered the tight throat, he came to somewhat of an epiphany. Never had he felt so powerless. Even as a quirkless child, there was still a small beacon of hope; he still had All Might to look up to. Even when he was about to die in the hands of numerous villains, he always found hope. So this is what a true loss of hope feels like. He went limp, every urge to fight for his life had fizzled. Maybe it was the breach of trust or the thought of dying in such a gruesome manner. Izuku didn’t know.

Each ring of swallows sunk Izuku further down in his depressive state. He could hear the rushing of the man’s lungs, coupled with a rapid heartbeat, he paid no mind to it. The crushing tube of the esophagus was enough to make Izuku wish he was just crushed along with it, maybe he wouldn’t have to endure the suffocation and burning of his destination or finding himself face-to-face with Todoroki’s corpse. He didn’t notice as he was suddenly free-falling into a much open area, the sudden change in humidity and the lack of being squished woke him up like ice thrown in his face. Below his falling body was only rank darkness and liquid splashing in the chamber. Izuku’s eyes widened, his flight-or-fight response mode finally activated. He let in a sharp inhale, the air already burning his lungs and screamed as he was dropped into the acids. The liquid… wasn’t as deep as Izuku thought it to be. He paddled in chest-deep acid, every thought in his mind had been cut off, the only thing he could think about was survival. Izuku swam through the dark acids, trying to find a dry spot to get the stuff off him. After swimming for what felt like hours, he finally meagerly floated above the juices, resisting the urge to vomit at the pungent sourness of milk coffee and the gastric acids in the air around him. Surprisingly, despite the thin air and slight burning of his lungs and skin, he didn’t feel any of the expected excruciating pain. Still, who knows when it could be activated. Or maybe it’s merely slow working. I need to find Todoroki. His heart sank, or at least what’s left of him. “Midoriya, is that you?” A voice called out in the darkness, and Izuku felt hope surge back within. “Todoroki? You, you’re alive??” he responded blindly. It was too dark to see much of anything. “I guess I am,” from the tone of his voice, he seemed as surprised as Izuku, “Do you feel the stinging as well?” “Yes! I’ve been looking for a dry spot, so I can slow down the process, but it’s too dark to see anything… w-where are you?” The liquid splashed a bit with what he could only guess were Todoroki’s movements, and a hand blindly touched his shoulder. Izuku jumped a bit before realizing it was just Todoroki. “Midoriya?” the boy called out a bit too loudly, testing if the green-haired teen was really there. “Todoroki?” Izuku replied, grabbing onto the boy’s wrist a touch too tight, just glad that he wasn’t alone in this hellish pit. “I-I thought you were gone! We need to figure out how to make him vomit,” green eyes glinted with determination, staring up into the thick darkness at what he thought was the esophageal sphincter. “Hopefully, before he gets to Kacchan.” “Yes, let’s do it.” the duo haired teen coolly stated before following Izuku’s lead and landing a painful sounding blow on the nearest stomach wall. The chamber lurched and gurgled, acid level slowly beginning to rise; Izuku’s eyes widened, and a nervous grin made its way to his lips, they must be causing some indigestion! “I think it’s working, harder!” he called out to his friend, proceeding to land a full cowl without his quirk driving the power. It was less effective, but Izuku was desperate to try anything to escape death. The students kicked and clawed at the rubbery walls, though they were stripped of their quirks, they still had the stamina from long hours of training on their side. “LET. US. GO!” Izuku yelled, praying it would reach the man’s ears. There was no response from the winged pro hero, only digestive squelches that made Izuku’s skin crawl. He could hear Todoroki’s irritated breaths by his side, his frustration getting more and more evident with each punch he inflicted on the man’s internal walls. Izuku withdrew, staring into the inky darkness to Todoroki. “Maybe we need to try harder, there’s no way he can’t feel this. He doesn’t have organs of steel.” The acid was beginning to reach his forearms, bubbling and slushing with irritation, yet still refused to release them. Though he couldn’t see a thing, the way his clothes clung to his skin, he could tell his hero uniform was going to be absolutely stained from the acids. Izuku flinched, feeling his skin burning up and itch. After inflicting another force driven punch on the tender walls, he flicked the extra slime from his hands and continued. He had to make it out alive and warn everyone about the League’s surprising new addition. As the belly grumbled and pulsated, the strong wrinkly walls shifted, and Izuku yelped, getting outright bathed in bile. Before he could fathom the sheer grossness he just endured, a torrent of watery acid and the creamy sweetness of canned coffee washed over them. The two students struggled to stay above the sludge. Izuku clung onto Todoroki as if his life depended on it, but the instability of the chamber and amount of bile made it difficult for Izuku to get a solid grip on the boy. It was useless, they were barely floating above the acids, and the stomach continued to threaten to drown them. Another wave of constrictions and Izuku found himself thoroughly submerged in the muck. Acids flooded his eyes, mouth, ears, every open crevice of his body. Everything spun around, and with the constant shifting of the chamber, up and down were near indistinguishable. Izuku felt his head lighten while the burning sensation got stronger, hotter. He made the mistake of inhaling in desperation, his throat opened up and the hot juices spilled in; mind reeling, his lungs felt like they were on fire. H-help! He thought, too afraid to open his mouth again. The darkness, combined with copious amounts of liquid made it difficult to gauge if Todoroki was okay or in the same predicament as himself. No…I need to get out, I need to focus on getting out. Don’t drown, and then focus on Todoroki. Don’t drown…Todoroki. Need to find up, just any up. Izuku thought frantically, his thoughts began to meld together. With a final burst of energy, Izuku blindly propelled himself upward, having no idea if this was actually up or just his perception. He didn’t care, thrashing in the juices before finally popping his head above the liquid, Izuku felt as if he had escaped the brink of death. Feeling tears drip down his cheeks, or maybe it was saliva, it didn’t matter. For once, he was thankful for the stale air. Izuku greedily inhaled and began to sputter, throat still burning from the sour juices. Despite this, Izuku continued breathing in the fermented air, trying to recover from his multiple brushes with death. The stomach lurched, and Izuku found himself thrown halfway across the chamber. It took everything in his power to stay afloat against the powerful belly’s currents, Izuku’s own stomach twisted, he felt like a ragdoll, limply tossed to and fro without any say or control. “TODOROKI!” He found himself shouting against the noisy gurgles and groans of their prison. Holding the wall just for a steady footing and inevitably stumbling back into the juices, he knew it was a fruitless attempt. However, survival and stability were still etched on the forefront of his mind, despite the faulty rationale. No response at first, he called again. There was still no response from Todoroki, and Izuku feared the worst. There was no way he would be able to find the boy with the amount of liquid that filled the chamber, even though it had gone back down to his waist, the constant shifting would make it near impossible to find his friend. Finally, he heard dry heaving from his far-right, and Izuku’s eyes shot wider. Todoroki! He swam as fast as he could through the sludge, his eyes adjusted a bit more to the darkness, so he prayed he could identify a Todoroki shaped blur. Trudging deeper, he found a shape that appeared differently to the rushing sea of chyme and grabbed it. “Todoroki?” he called to it, it had to be him. It felt like a body… unless. No, Izuku refused to go there. “Midoriya?” The freckled teen’s mind was swept with relief, the boy’s usually cool toned voice was scratchy and weighed heavily with fatigue. Izuku didn’t blame him, it was a constant uphill battle to compete with the motions of their living prison, and the lack of fresh air didn’t help. Todoroki coughed, “I’m sorry, Midoriya. I was trying to find you, but with the darkness and all the acids—-.” “That’s fine!” Izuku cut him off, “What’s important is that we’re both okay. Let’s try to make him throw us up again!” Todoroki looked at him quizzically, as if he wanted to say more. Instead, he remained quiet, only nodding. The two students reassumed their assault on the larger man’s organs, but similar to before, they only seemed to cause the chamber to grow noisier and more difficult to gain footing; nothing that benefited the boys. The heat rose, and the liquid reached their chests, Izuku winced as the acids splashed and bit at his neck. His attacks were growing weak, and from what he could gather, Todoroki was in the same boat. Still, he refused to succumb to defeat. “We have to do this, we can’t let him win!” Izuku let out another flimsy punch, tears blurring his vision. He didn’t want to admit it, but his energy was already depleted. “I don’t think this is going to work, Midoriya. We can’t make him sick.” Just as Izuku was about to answer, more labored swallows came from above, and something splashed into the chamber. It can't be. Yet, he knew what, or rather who, that had to be. More gulps followed suit, and Izuku braced himself for the worst. He gasped in surprise at the rainfall of chilling liquid, coming down in gallons. Izuku shivered, finding himself thoroughly soaked to the bone with the icy liquid. There was a reverberating, airy “Ah!” from above, but Izuku shoved his anxiety deep down, teeth still chattering, and waded to whatever had dropped into their prison. From the sound of it, the object must have been a decent size. He nervously chewed on his lip, he… already got to Kacchan. It has to be him. —— As he felt Bakugou trickle into his belly, Hawks couldn’t help but gag at the spiciness of the boy. He downed the rest of the water, trying to ease the burning in the back of his throat. Sheesh, it’s like he coated himself in peppers. The kid remained unconscious, which from seeing his sass back when he “stole their kill,” he was immensely grateful Bakugou wasn’t conscious during the whole swallowing bit like the two students before him. Rubbing at his slightly bloated abdomen, Hawks winced. Those two had really left a number on his organs; however, he had to keep moving forward. He exhaled, grateful that the ordeal was finally over. Putting back on his visor in an attempt to get ready to leave, Hawks found himself staring at the empty glass jar, golden eyes widening; he had no idea what to do next. Of course, he was going to let them out, but it was a matter of how to go about it and quick. He could go to U.A. and show one of the teachers or Endeavor what happened, but that would lead to an explanation as to why exactly he was at a villain’s hideout and directly put the students’ lives in danger…And just repeating that in his head was a valid reason why he should rush to his hometown to release them instead. Yup, back to Fukuoka it is! —— Izuku sneezed, his body was taking forever to reacclimate to the mugginess of the belly. Despite his current situation, he just wanted to be warm again, and the sudden shift in temperature due to the freezing water did not adhere to his wishes. Additionally, trying to find Bakugou in a relentlessly moving acid pit proved to be more difficult than he initially thought. Izuku needed to find him soon, with the levels rising again, he didn't want to think about what would happen if he wasn't able to find him. Todoroki was grasping in the liquid as well, trying to feel for something solid and human-like. Finally, Izuku's hands landed on a heavy object, floating helplessly in the juices, and he grinned. As his arms closed around the heavy body, Izuku pushed himself from his knees and found himself carrying Bakugou bridal style. An amused chuckle arose from his throat, and Izuku quickly disguised it as a cough. No doubt would Bakugou have his head if he suddenly woke up and found himself in Izuku’s arms. Todoroki was stumbled towards Izuku and Bakugou, still finding himself grimace at the squickiness of the chamber and the way the acid covered floor almost caved in on his shoes, like a slimy, living variant of sand. He could feel his face turn green with nausea again, but instead, he grabbed onto Bakugou’s side and planted his feet firmly on the ground, providing some support. The stomach lurched once again, and Izuku’s head hit one of the walls, luckily not hard enough to render him unconscious but still enough to force him to drop Bakugou accidentally. “N-No! Kacchan!” he gasped, he couldn’t let the unconscious boy drown. “I’ve got him,” Todoroki shouted back, fishing his classmate from the juices. “Ah! Thank yo—.” Izuku blinked, taking in the muggy pink chamber accompanied by a wary Todoroki trying to lift Bakugou from the liquid. He could see! His eyes had finally adjusted to his unusual predicament. The leftmost wall rippled while sticky saliva continuously dripped down on them, he looked down, seeing the juices foam a bit around him. This time he could actually see the brassy yellowness of the acrid acids, and it sickened him. Izuku swallowed heavily, he really rather would have rather stayed in the dark, literally, if it meant avoiding visually seeing just how real this situation was. “Todoroki, can you, um, see?” he felt a little awkward once saying it aloud, in any other situation, there would have been an obvious answer. “I can see hints of red outlines but not more than that,” Todoroki blinked a bit, peering down at his hand and watched it clench and unclench to test his vision, he looked back up at Izuku. “I’m able to look straight at you, but you’re more of a red Midoriya shaped silhouette if anything.” “That’s odd, I wonder why I can see more clearly when you’ve been here longer.” Todoroki shrugged, not having an answer in response. How could he? He knew just as much as Midoriya. Liquid sloshed about and further soaked the students. Izuku stared with disgust at his slime laden gloves, there were patches of cloth that had been eaten away by the acids and now he could really see the angry redness of his skin. His heart thumped miles a minute against his chest, he was so focused on trying not to drown and helping his friends that he didn't even notice the direct impact the acids would have on him. N-no. A booming, muffled voice from above sent shivers down Izuku’s spine despite the muggy heat.   “Woah, I can feel them.” his voice was a caked with shock and awe as Izuku felt something foreign press on the frontmost wall. He was taunting his occupants. Hawks was so loud, so omnipresent, Izuku wanted to cry. They had already been trapped in here for who knows how long and Izuku could feel his skin redden with first degree burns. The traitor was just going to digest the students as if they were nothing. If the coffee was any indication, it was clear Hawks wasn’t used to eating much before a mission. A wall contracted and pushed Izuku back into the sludge, frustrated tears formed back in his eyes as he tried to complete the seemingly impossible task of maintaining his balance. Judging by the chorus of groans and gurgles of the chamber, the man was hungry, and they were the only solid food source. Fear rang into Izuku’s ears, they were going to be digested into a soupy mess in no time. Another ring of contractions separated Izuku and Todoroki, threatening to nearly drown them in the acids once again. Izuku bobbed up from the liquid, absolutely drenched in the stuff. Coughing and sputtering up the bitter juices, he gasped for breath as more heads popped up from the acids. Todoroki resurfaced, gasping for air while shifting his arms up to maintain his hot-tempered friend’s weight. He waded over the foul liquid, still keeping hold of Bakugou over his shoulders. Izuku swam up to him, helping support Bakugou’s left side. “We’re going to get out of this,” Izuku assured, though he was beginning to doubt himself. He had to stay optimistic for everyone else. “You think so?” came an aloof reply from the heterochromatic. Izuku looked up, Todoroki was completely unreadable. He was a peculiar mix of dissociation and fury. Izuku had seen him as one or the other, but never both. Unbeknownst to them, the blond on Izuku’s back began to stir and cracked an eye open. Wherever he was, it was pitch black; Bakugou wrinkled his nose, and stunk like vomit. He could hear the medley of gurgles and groans accompanied by other organic sounds. Eyes slowing adjusting to the initially impermeable darkness, he could see almost a sort of redness coming from all around him. The strange walls of this prison were rippled and moved erratically, making him think he was inside some kind of bag on the move. Ordinarily, he would have acted first and asked questions later, but he had no idea what type of situation or trap he was in. It didn’t seem like he was restrained, though. Could I blow this shit-hole up? A trigger-happy piece of his brain nagged. Digging his nails into a lumpy platform, the platform had tensed… it felt almost as if someone was carrying him. Sandy blond brows furrowed in both indignation and perturbation, he stewed quietly, trying to grasp the situation before a drop of something sticky hit him square in the nose. His face violently reddened, and quickly averting his attention from what or who he was on, he shook his head, trying to get whatever had fallen on him off. The sticky stuff seemed to only spread and began to prickle while his nose started to burn. Crimson eyes narrowed before he started struggling on whatever was holding him back, finally yelling, “WHAT THE HELL?”

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

And How You Gripped My Hips So Mean 

Pairing: Ironfrost (Loki/Tony Stark) Rating: Mature (M) Notes: I blame this entire on @goindownshipping! We talked about Tony saying « is that a knife in your pocket, or you’re finally happy to see me- oh dear. that’s a knife. » to Loki and it just sort of went from there.  Warnings: this is 3k of shameless smut. there’s some bondage in there, too. NSFW things, y’all.  Summary: 

I took “There’s no version of this where you come out on top” and mixed it up with some d/s undertones. 

Tony jiggled the glass of whiskey in his hand while trying to keep his composure in front of Loki. He felt tired down to his very core, and completely wrecked mentally – but, he never backed down from a challenge. The ease in which they launched words back and forth shouldn’t have been so exhilarating – it shouldn’t have taken his focus and broke it to pieces over a knee. 

“There is no version of this where you come out on top,” Tony stopped when a rabid look crossed Loki’s face. Anything else he was going to say stopped at the tip of his tongue. All of a sudden, there wasn’t any air in the room – it felt like it’d been sucked out through a tube, leaving nothing but the two of them panting in an attempt to catch their breath. 

Loki’s next move was straight for him, the scepter in his hands tapping on the arc reactor attached to Tony’s chest. He felt a jolt run through his entire body – the effect immediate. Tony sucked in a harsh breath in an attempt to calm his pulse, but that was quickly cut off when Loki’s hand gripped his neck. “Seems like you might be wrong, Mr. Stark,” Loki said, the mirth in his voice causing his hand to clench slightly. 

Thinking quickly, Tony kicked out and knocked the scepter from Loki’s hands, the movement away from the arc reactor letting him catch his breath. He swung a knee up and got Loki right in the groin, Tony wincing at the sound of pain that left pale lips. Sucking in a deep breath, Tony coughed a few times, his lungs attempting to get rid of the blockage to his airway, despite the fact that the hand wasn’t there anymore. 

With the villain distracted, Tony picked up the scepter, running with it until he was close enough to chuck it at the window, the point of it shattering the glass. Loki looked helplessly at his prize rushing out the window, a projection of himself doing its best to grab it before it flew out the window. Tony tried to laugh, the sound coming out as a choked cough – but enough to pull Loki’s attention back to him. 

“The sacrifices you make for the greater good get you nowhere, and yet, you still make them. What will they say when they find you dead in your own tower?” Loki questioned, his voice rough, the depth of it a combination of the pain he was still feeling, and a rough spike of anger Tony could see from where he was standing. He thought about putting an arm out and calling his armor – it’d be easier to protect himself. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to make a move – Loki looked like murder, but he hadn’t made a move in his direction yet. 

“I believe that’s the expectation – a prince in his tower. I don’t plan on dying anytime soon, though. You’ve been a lot of talk, Loki – why don’t you put your money where your mouth is.” Tony knew it was dangerous egging a maniac on – he couldn’t help the way the words slipped from his mouth, however; the darkness in Loki’s eye did something to him. 

Loki seemed to sense the change in the challenging words, the darkness in his eye shifting from psychotic to aroused in a millisecond flat. The squeak of leather accompanied his long strides in Tony’s direction, loud steps were magnified by the silence of an otherwise empty tower. Strong fingers buried themselves into Tony’s shirt and yanked at him, the move just barely on the right side of threatening, his grip sending a shiver running down his spine. Tony held on to Loki’s hands, his knuckles white.

“Funny,” Loki started, his upper body quickly invading Tony’s space. “It looks like there are other places you might like me to place my mouth.” He gave Tony a roguish grin before he surged forward and harshly pressed their lips together. Tony immediately felt the copper tinge of blood on his tongue, Loki’s teeth digging into the plumpness of his bottom lip. It should’ve repulsed him, the blood – the kiss itself; but it didn’t, he felt himself stiffen almost instantly. 

Tony used his last remaining brain cells to move his hands and grip Loki’s cheeks, his fingers digging in ever so slightly. The move must have shocked the magician – Loki sucked in a breath and created just enough space for Tony to tilt his head and bite down hard on Loki’s lip. He tugged until Loki was pushing him away, the other man’s lip split and dripping blood. A satisfied look settled on Tony’s face – served him right. 

He watched Loki suck in a couple of breaths, then fill the space between them again, his hands working quickly to pull Tony in and turn him – the cool leather of the coverlet Loki wore pressing against his arms adding to the sensation and making his cock absolutely ache. “Fuck,” Tony grunted out, his ass pressing back in attempts to create a little friction. 

“Yes – that’s what I had in mind, too,” Loki whispered, against Tony’s ear, his sneaky hands first on Tony’s chest, then suddenly cupping the erection pushing against his jeans. Tony let out a chocked off groan and tossed his head back, Loki tall enough that he pressed into the hardness of his chest instead of a bony shoulder. 

Reaching up, Tony took advantage of Loki’s distraction and used his leverage to flip him over his shoulder – his long legs spreading as his back hit the ground. Tony took advantage and settled himself between them, the weight of his body pressing Loki even harder against the hard tile floor. It took a quick adjustment of his hips and a lift of Loki’s chest to bring their cocks together, a groan slipping from Tony’s mouth against his will. 

He stuck his hand between them and started to grapple with the long leather coverlet that kept Tony from getting a step closer to naked flesh. It went past his hips and seemed to have no end. Frustration had him reaching lower, his fingers brushing over a hardness. Looking up, he caught deep blue eyes with his own – the fire in them catching him along the edges, burning him alive. 

“Is that a knife in your pocket, or are you finally happy to see me?” Tony asked, the sarcastic remarked earning him a thrust up, Loki’s hard cock shoving against his own. Grappling in the pocket, his fingers wrapped around the hilt of a small dagger, his eyes widening. “Oh shit, that’s a knife.” Before he could do or say anything else, Loki was flipping them over, long legs straddling Tony’s hips – his weight more than enough to keep Tony pinned tightly to the floor. 

Big hands collected both his wrists and pulled them above his head, his torso stretching out. The next second he felt a burning sensation on his wrists, Loki looking at him heatedly when he pulled back, his hands free but Tony’s wrists still stuck together. Tony pulled at the restraints, his eyes bulging when he realized Loki magicked something to keep his hands bound. “Good god,” Tony babbled, his feet moving restlessly against the tile below him. 

Loki leaned forward, his hands settling at the bottom of Tony’s shirt. “I don’t think I like the sound of that. Say my name, Tony Stark.” Loki’s fingers slipped under the faded blue t-shirt covering his stomach, the chill of his hands a ridiculous contrast to the heat Tony was putting off. He pulled his lip between his teeth and worked at the bite there in hopes of coming back around a little – but there was no relief, his brain was completely taken over by the burning thump of arousal. 

“Loki – fuck. Loki. Please – “ Tony shouted the words, his hips thrusting up. The leather of Loki’s coverlet was unforgiving and creating too much space between them. “Take that fucking thing off. Makes you look like an asshole.” A challenge resided in his words and had the exact effect he wanted them to. Loki took care of Tony’s shirt first, ripping it to shreds right up the middle. It still caught around his arms; his warm chest the only thing completely exposed to the cool air of the room around him. He closed his eyes against the shutter that rocked through him, his cock throbbing desperately against the seam in his jeans. 

It took a quick snap for Loki’s leathers to come off, his chest bare and pale under the bright lights. Tony wanted to run his fingers over it, feel the softness and ruin the clarity of it with red fingernail marks and purple hickies. The tightness of whatever was keeping his hands held together reminded him that he wouldn’t be able to do anything from here on out. Loki’s crazy look made his muscles clench, his cock harder than ever before. 

Tony let his eyes roam further down Loki’s long torso, only stopping when he reached the beginning of low-slung leather pants. They were held together by a couple of ties – the little strips of leather doing nothing to contain the cock that pressed against them. His mouth watered and he groaned again, the sound making Loki’s cock throb against the confines of his pants. 

Without any warning Loki shifted his weight and turned Tony over. His hands were quick to grip Tony’s hips and pull him back against the impressive bulge – Loki finally letting a few noises slip from his lips. “I’m going to ruin you, Stark – take you apart any way that I want because you’re all tied up and can do nothing about it. I don’t even have to touch you to know how hard you are – how crazy just the thought of my hands on you can make you.” He enunciated his words with a couple of rough thrusts. 

There weren’t any words to say to that – his brain was a pile of useless mush in his head. The only thing he could think about was the tightness of his pants and how much he wanted to get them off – or at least down far enough to relieve some of the tension pressing his cock uncomfortably against the denim. “Do it – please.” He brought his still joint hands towards his chest so he could get up on his forearms, the leverage pushing him back against the delicious heat pressed against him. 

Fast hands were around Tony’s hips palming his erection in the blink of an eye. Nimble fingers worked the button and zipper down – his eyes closing in bliss when finally, he could breathe a little; the overwhelming need to bust out of the fabric wasn’t there anymore. A quick squeeze of his cock left him thrusting into the contact, but the hand was gone again. Loki made quick worked of his jeans and boxer-briefs – his was only patient enough to get them down around Tony’s knees.

Loki didn’t hesitate to take both of Tony’s ass cheeks between his hands and spread them, his eager tongue infiltrating the crease with abandon. Tony bit down on the raw cut on his lip to try and calm himself down – his neediness hitting a whole new level when the wetness of Loki’s tongue and mouth started to drip down his balls. There wasn’t any finesse to it, Loki pressed his tongue recklessly against the rim of Tony’s hole – a couple of his wide fingers joining it after a while. 

Tony heard Loki spit into his hand, then felt the blunt press of his hardness against his somewhat relaxed entrance. He laced his fingers together and did his best to push back as Loki pressed forward – he didn’t stop until his pelvis was pressed against Tony’s ass. There were a couple of moments where Tony felt the slightest bit of tenderness slip into Loki’s touch – he ran his hands down Tony’s bare chest and teasingly across his untouched hardness. Fingers tangled in the back of Tony’s shirt, using the leverage to pull him onto his cock even further. 

Feeling completely stuffed and going madder by the second, Tony started to babble. “Please – just fuck me. I want it – want you.” His fingers were squeezing together tightly, the need to reach down and stroke himself driving him absolutely insane. Looking back, Tony felt another surge of heat rush through him when he noticed Loki hadn’t taken his pants off – in fact, the leather of them was sticking to the bare parts of Tony’s legs with every thrust. A bead of precum rolled down the tip of his cock and started to trickle slowly to the floor. 

The hitch in Loki’s breath when a considerably hard thrust had him grazing Tony’s prostate was almost enough to pull him over the edge. It’d been a long time since someone made him feel so desperate that coming without being touched was actually a reality. Loki fisted his shirt and kept his thrusts long and deep, the man obviously desperate to keep the noises running out of Tony’s mouth, the praise swirling in the air around them. 

It didn’t take but a few more thrusts for Loki to flatten his chest against Tony’s back and desperately reach for his face – the press of their lips hot and needy, the right stimulus to break up the intensity of his prostate getting hit with every single stroke, his leaking cock wobbling in need with each passing second. Tony sucked on Loki’s tongue, his bound hands reaching up to rest on one of Loki’s hands on his cheek. It was just enough to keep him tethered. 

With a wave of his hand, Loki undid whatever was holding his hands together. Tony used his now free hands to break the kiss and reach behind them, his hands digging into Loki’s leather covered ass. It did something to him, the thought of something so perfect and regal slick against his skin, sticking from the moisture. 

“What would the rest of your team think, Stark – seeing you like this. On your knees, seconds away from begging. I’d like to think they’d be envious, but a part of me thinks you’ll keep this to yourself. The dirty secret you cling to when there’s no one there to fill you up like this,” Loki’s lips were right against his ear, his thrusts moving manically – the slap that echoed around the place absolutely obscene.

Tony wondered, for just a second, how they hadn’t been found – but quickly forgot anything but the pleasure boiling over in the center of his core; his orgasm hit him without warning, the blow like being thrown back by a bus. “Oh, fuck. Loki – “ Tony groaned, his hand sliding down his own stomach to curl around his cock and milk out the last few spasms of cum, the warm liquid on his hands causing another round of shivers across his skin. 

Loki wasn’t gentle when he slammed his hips forward and buried his cock deep inside him one last time. Tony felt every splash of cum coating his insides – his worn-out cock trying to jump back in the game with a couple of excited twitches. His hips were already covered in bruises and if he clenched too tightly, he felt the burn of little prep and very aggressive sex – yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to be upset with the situation; no matter what happened next, he knew one of Loki’s weaknesses. 

Tony pulled his pants up when Loki pulled out, the wet mess there a good souvenir for him to think about later, when they fixed whatever the admittedly sexy piece of shit looking smugly at him tried to do to finish this. He was surprised to be pulled into Loki’s arms – the man’s long dark hair clinging to his forehead and cheek, the sweat from their exertions apparent. “For all your troubles,” Loki mumbled, his lips finding Tony’s, one of his hands slipping the knife from his pocket into Tony’s grip. “To remember me by.” 

Whatever illusion they were both under ended a moment later – Tony pressed one last kiss on Loki’s lips before jumping out the window and calling his suit. He settled into the flight right before he smashed into the ground. It took him a minute to get his shit together and forget about the feeling of Loki’s hands on him before he joined the rest of the team. They were in possession of the scepter, so Tony took to the sky and did what he could to close the wormhole and save the city. 

As Thor led Loki away the next day, Tony leaned against his vintage car, playing with the small knife he’d had in his pocket since leaving Loki the day before. He kept the pommel in his hand, his fingers gripping it tightly. His chest burnt with a sort of conflicting fire that made him want to shout at Thor to bring him back and see him crumble under the pressure of whatever punishment awaited him.

He shifted against the car when Loki looked back over his shoulder a couple of seconds before they were picked up by the Bifrost. He threw Tony a wink, his look playful. His eyes locked on the knife in Tony’s hand, his cheeks pulling up despite the muzzle that covered his mouth. Tony’s breath caught, his heart hammering. 

Even though he watched them disappear, Tony knew it wouldn’t be the last time he saw Loki. Something told him nothing was going to hold Loki back from whatever crazy shit he wanted to accomplish. Reaching down, Tony gripped his hips, a smile slipping across his cheeks when he pressed against the bruises – a jolt of pleasure-pain rushing through him. He pledged to save the Earth – that much was true. Yet, he didn’t think the world would mind if he took a little something for himself while he did it. 

He knew that wouldn’t be the last time he saw Loki – and he couldn’t wait. 

[eugenesmorphine]

Oh Captain, My Captain // Ronald Speirs Imagine

AN: I love the thought of Speirs being sweet to is significant other. I know it might not seem too realistic. But I can totally seeing Speirs being that way.

@alienoresimagines

I watched in horror as I watched Ronald Sprint across Foy. What the hell was he doing?! If Dike wasn’t being such a bitch and actually led this company and wouldn’t be so scared we wouldn't be stuck in this mess! Now Ronald was sprinting across Foy to link up with I company. Running straight through German infantry and artillery. They didn't shoot at him at first. Probably because they couldn't believe what the Lieutenant was actually doing. I clutched my rifle tightly, pressing myself against the wall of a half destroyed building. I looked to the side, peering over the corner, nearly getting my face blown in by a sniper in a building across from me. I felt a warm feeling on my cheek, along with the feeling of a thick liquid running down my cheek. Great, the bullet sliced my face, like this day could get worse. Many casualties caused by our shitty officer in charge Dike, now my boyfriend is putting his god damn life on the line just for a shot of Adrenaline! You gotta be kidding me!

I quickly shot at the sniper a few times,  hoping one of the shots would hit. But, to no avail, no bullets hit. I sighed heavily and now I was getting mad. This mission in Foy was turning into a giant cluster fuck, and now with Dike acting like this, my friends were either dying, or close to it. And now the love of my life was risking his life, I was not having it. I looked across to behind a short wall. And there he still was. Dike sitting there, like a little baby, tail between his legs as everything was unfolding around him. I shook my head and just carried on with my duties. I needed to keep advancing and killing as many Krauts needed. I clutched my rifle, ready to run to the next set of cover. 

I took a deep breath, swallowing hard. I stood up and began sprinting. I had to make it to a building about a hundred feet diagonal from me. From there it will be easier to advance and it’ll give me and the rest of Easy Company the upper hand after Ronald got I Company. The difficult part was sprinting a  hundred feet under heavy enemy fire and artillery blasts unharmed and or alive. Though, in the moment, the only focus was getting the mission done. No matter what. So when I began running full speed across Foy, I wasn’t too worried about the fire of the German Infantryman that I was receiving. That was until I felt a sharp pain rock through my shoulder. Once again, followed with the feeling of warm blood soaking the fabric of  my blouse. Just great. Absolutely wonderful.

“God damn it!” I cursed, stumbling slightly. I glanced at my shoulder quickly while continuously running. It looked like it went straight through. But who the hell knows what that little piece of metal hit on the way. I winced, now running with my rifle in one hand. God it hurt. But, mission comes first. I noticed that I was close to the advancement point. I pressed my lips together and with a lot of pain, I grabbed my weapon with both hands and felt the adrenaline course through my veins. I ran faster than I ever had in that moment. I dove behind a small piece of cover, my shoulder now throbbing with pain. As one of the higher ranks, a Gunnery Sergeant to be exact, I was supposed to go and advance first. And what good does it do if I was wounded?

I held that position for a while, shooting down a few Germans. Shooting with a hole in my shoulder was harder than I thought. And definitely more painful. Though, soon enough, my Ronald ran back from linking with I and H Company successfully. And it was decently smooth sailing from there. I mean, sort of. Shifty shot down the sniper, basically saving Lipton’s ass. Soon enough, we killed enough German’s and advanced enough that the last of the Krauts surrendered. Thank god. We had already been running low on supplies, and men. And after this horror show, I wonder how bad it was now. 

I used my gun to help support myself as I stood up. Pain shot through my  shoulder, causing me to wince. Though, my mind immediately traveled to something, more like someone else. I watched from afar as the cowardly Lieutenant Dike stood up from his cover. He had not moved an inch from when the battle had started. I watched as he stared at the numerous dead bodies, mentally counting the casualties. I angrily pressed my lips together, if cartoons were real, I would have steam shooting out of my ears. Ignoring my pain in my shoulder, and a strange pain in my ankle which I had probably sprained, I marched my way angrily to Dike. Rage filled my eyes, my friends tried to keep me back but in no way, shape, or form was I going to stop. This cowardly and shameful excuse of a man has caused too many problems and at this point, screw rank. My men are being killed. I walked straight up to him and pushed him hard in the chest.

“How many deaths?” I yelled. I got closer into his face. He looked at me in shock. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words left his mouth. He just looked everywhere but me. “How many casualties Lieutenant?! Since you’re counting already!” I yelled once more. I shoved him in his chest again. Now a small crowd gathering. I could see officers approaching, but this is war, who even cares anymore? “Watch it Gunny. Don’t you even forget rank!” he replied, his voice sounded weak. I chuckled in sarcasm.  “Rank? You are trying to pull rank to hide the shitty job you have done? To ignore the deaths you have caused?! I have lost my closest friends due to your lack of leadership! Go ahead write me up for insubordination! See if I care!” I screamed angrily, I took my helmet off angrily. I turned to finish my rant towards the Lieutenant. Though, seeing his face of sorrow, anger, and some traces of tears in his eyes, I just huffed angrily and ran a hand through my hair. I turned and just stormed off, cursing to myself. 

I sat on a rock, pondering to myself. Why was I here? I could be on base somewhere, making plans to attack, safe and sound away from here. Why was I out risking my lives for people that were mostly ungrateful? I sighed heavily, placing my helmet down beside my feet. Maybe I shouldn’t have yelled at Dike like that. Hell, he is just as scared as everyone else. Just less good at hiding it I guess. I rested my elbows on my knees. How did the world end up getting so messed up?

My thoughts were interrupted from the crunching of snow underneath a set of boots. I looked in the direction of which the sound was coming from. My eyes met with the eyes of a familiar captain. My lover Ronald Speirs. He seemed untouched, except for a little more dirt on him. Which was nothing facing toward the fact that he ran straight through enemy lines, then ran back. He was seemingly untouched.

“Ronald!” I gasped, standing up, once again ignoring the pain in my shoulder. I ran to him, grasping at his arms, checking his body for any injuries. I looked up at him, a small smile on his face. Then I remembered how much he scared me when he ran through ENEMY LINES the RAN BACK! My face went hard and I hit his chest, not too hard, but hard enough to prove my point. “Do you understand how stupid that way Ronald?! You could’ve died and those Krauts would’ve stripped you dry! What would I do without you?! Huh?!” I was on fire with hopping in everyone’s shit today. I watched as he let out a dry chuckle. Was he thinking I was joking right now?

“Sweets I had to, what else were we to do?” he asked, his voice trying to be soothing. I just huffed. He wasn’t understanding how much I was to lose if he got killed. I felt the burning sensation of tears filling in my eyes. It was all getting too much.  I looked back up at him. I gulped. “Please Ronald, don’t do something like that again. I don’t know what I would do without you, especially in this war,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. His expression changed almost immediately from joking and hard to a softer and worried look. Something very few or special people, like myself, has seen from Captain Ronald Speirs. He didn’t say anything right  away, but instead, he dropped his weapon and wrapped his arms tightly around my torso. Lifting me up slightly as he leaned his head in the crook of my neck. He usually wasn’t like this, unless we were definitely alone, but he must’ve felt somewhat bad. He then pulled away, confusing me more. Before he cupped my face and kissed me hard but gently at the same time. I wrapped my arms around his neck, cherishing the moment. 

“I promise I want to do something like that, no way in hell Gunny,” he said, pulling away and giving me a small smile.  He grabbed my hand, giving it a squeeze, sitting down on a log. I sat next to him. “That’s good Captain,” I chuckled. I smiled. He looked at me, “You really showed Dike didn’t you?” he asked, chuckling softly. I shook my head, scoffing. “Yeah I guess I did. I kind of feel bad, but what can I do now?” I shrugged looking at him. He chuckled at my words. Sometimes the strong minded and seemingly cold captain forgets that I am just as tough as he is. I’m just selective with it. I rolled my eyes at his actions.

He looked at me, scoffing jokingly. “Oh don’t start Y/N, you know you love me,” he said, pulling out a pack of smokes, handing me one. He knows me so well. I gladly took it, placing it between my lips. I took out my lighter, lighting his cigarette and then lit mine. I took a puff and blew the smoke out. A small smile spreading across my lips. I looked at my boots, and with that I responded to my lover’s words with:

“That I do Captain. That I do

[retroandreal]

Trust Issues (Antonio x MC)

She’s back, baby!! Usual kinda fluffy, angsty fic in Antonio’s POV. This was inspired by the song ‘Trust Issues’ by Drake and I have been keeping the song on repeat for the longest time now cause... Drake’s voice is just honey butter. Also, I’m half Colombian so I saw this as a perfect opportunity to include some Spanish in it (just basic words and phrases, nothing too complex). I hope you all enjoy and I love every single one of you. Especially you; @official-alex-cyprin

Summary: Little snippets from Antonio’s route from Havenfall is for Lovers in his point of view; before meeting our sarcastic MC, revealing he is a vampire and the moment Eva was turned on the private beach

Warnings - mentions of blood and medical procedures

“I promise you, mi hermana. I am close to finding a cure for you”

MC; Havenfall. Not too far from the Indiana branch of DSD Corp. Tomorrow night, I go and seek this girl who holds the special blood to potentially save my precious Evita. For many life spans, I have worked tirelessly to find the miracle to save you and I have a feeling that I am very close with this woman in Havenfall. I have done everything to save you; my life, this company and many late nights all for you and I would do it again in a heartbeat and nothing with stop me from finding that cure for you… even if I have to kill for it.

All I care about is money and the city that I’m from

You never deserved any of this. If I had to give up my own life to save you, I would have done it many years ago. If I had to give up my sworn hermano and his own life, I would do so with no remorse. Every day, you’re slowly getting weaker and weaker and cannot bare to watch you frail away while I did nothing all those years ago. Diego, cabron, you are a doctor, yet you shy away from what was once the most important thing in your life all those years ago. Diego, I am coming for your city, and I will stop at nothing to get the blood of that girl to save Evita. If you were in my position, I know you would have done the same.

“Mierda… when did I get so hungry”

The mini fridge (or personal blood bank) was just restocked a few hours ago. One of the perks of working within the medical industry is the seemingly ethical sources of blood that I need. Regardless, I have been rationing the blood and volunteering them for Evita’s emergency source. It’s doing the job of keeping her vitals alive and breathing but I know that mortal, human blood is slowly poisoning her. There was a time where I would feed unforgivingly on other humans, back then. Not because I was insatiably hungry, but I was frustrated. Frustrated and angry at the world and I wanted to see the life slowly get sucked from it, just as Evita’s life is slowly sucked from her own.

I’mma sip until I feel it, I’mma smoke it till it’s done

I was young back then and full of rage. It was a temporary fixation and I don’t really give a fuck and my excuse was that I was young. I grew up, older and wiser… eventually. I started to look for a more permanent solution for Evita’s sickness hence why I and now CEO of DSD Corp.

“Grace… scholarship acceptee to the University of Indiana. Family; MC”

Grace, huh? Looks like I found my connection to Evita’s cure quicker than I anticipated.

“Well. My dear ‘Grace’, how do you fancy studying abroad in Spain?”

~~~~~

“Somebody should have told you, MC”

She’s trembling. A mixture of shock, awe and fear. She had just found out, through me, that her hometown and closest friends have been immortal monsters, and no one told her anything. What is this feeling? It’s not mine. Are these her projections of her anguish and feelings that I can feel as well? No, there has to be an explanation for this. I haven’t felt this sensation since Diego, Evita and I were altogether on the streets of Spain over a hundred years ago.

She turns to me. Now, I feel the anger radiating off of her body

“Is that why you paid for Grace to go to Spain on scholarship? Just so you could get to me. Fine, just kill me dammit! Tear me to pieces! I don’t know what your kind do!”

What is this feeling? She’s the one I am supposed to drain the life out of in order to save Evita. But I cannot simply bring myself to do so. Clueless is what she is. She knows nothing about this life or the vampire society. I offer her a middle ground;

“Say, MC. It appears that you are very mistaken of my needs and my vendettas. I am not here in Havenfall to kill you. Your friends, however, would be the one to tear ME to pieces if they ever found out I even harmed a single hair on you especially that djinn friend of yours.” She ponders over that thought and slowly agrees.

“Well, I guess you have a point there… Th-That doesn’t mean that I should trust you right away you know!” Tears well up in her eyes. Her icy blue orbs becoming glassy and she fails to keep her sobs at bay while she talks. “Grace is my only family… Antonio. Do you know what it feels like to have your only family taken away from you and you just feel helpless? Like you can’t do anything more, that they deserve even more than what you are capable of giving them?”

I do. I really do. I know she does not possess the same abilities as I do but I try to convey the most empathetic of feelings as I can.

“Her name is Evita, Eva if you would prefer. She’s dying, MC. The blood that I have been able to source for her has only been able to keep her vitals stable, but it’s not permanent. You’re special, MC. I need some of your blood to save her. Please?”

You’re the only one, I don’t trust these others

She shifts uncomfortably on the bar stool

“Ok, fancy me this. I can teach you all you need to know about the vampire society; the good and the bad in order to gain your trust for this. I will not keep secrets only if you ask me to, trato?”

Her beautiful blue eyes roll to the back of her head

You’ll know what I’m sippin’, I’ll teach you how to mix it

“You gotta stop with the Spanish spiels okay? I can barely speak English fluently and my kneejerk reactions usually consists of mono-syllable sounds. But, fine. I will help Eva for you. NOT because I am doing it for you. But because I have a sister too, and I would do anything for her. So, I guess I kinda know what your go is here. Like, we’re not that different you and I when it comes down to it.”

She looks down towards the tips of her bowling sneakers and plays with the frayed hem of her uniform

“You really love her… don’t you, Antonio?”

Now you’re understanding where I’m coming from, mi Salvador, so it will not take you long to realise that you will need to keep your promises for my livelihood, and Evita’s life… and your life too.

~~~~~

“Lillian, do it”

The powerful coven leader sinks her teeth into Evita’s flesh as she starts the controlled ritual of turning her, into one of us. No longer bonded by the blood of a third party, who was also draining the life of someone that used to trust me until they would breathe their last breath. She chose to be present for the turning of Evita, slightly overdressed for the beach location but nonetheless, she’s still here. Despite us not being connected by our bond, not together… I still love her and everything that she stands for. If it was not for her bravery, Evita would not have even been able to gain consciousness to even consent to her turning into someone like me. I was very against it at first, but I can never disregard the wishes of my baby sister. Despite us being ‘broken up’ and she put it, she still helped Evita, she knew it was slowly draining the life out of her; as far as her passing out from the amount of blood that had been sucked from her in order to keep Evita alive. But she never backed down or ran away. But she ran away from me. Because I am the monster that was selfish enough to strip her of her own freewill in order to keep her by my side.

“A-Antonio?”

“Evita! Mi hermana” I run to her side as she opens her eyes; coloured like the blood moon, just like me. I check over every inch of her body to make sure she isn’t bleeding from anywhere else besides the two puncture wounds in her neck. She is safe. Here. Alive. One of the most important women in my life is now safe. The long hours and billions of dollars funneled, hanging onto a thin string of hope that I can bring her back from her unconscious state.

I catch her in the corner of my eye, slowly sinking her body into the ocean. I let her be… until I feel a throbbing and burning sensation within my lungs. I can still feel her. No, I can once again feel her. Another localized pain radiates through me. Within my heart; a dull but hurting ache. She is hurting as much as I am. Being away from her. She agreed to stay friends for the sake of Evita but nothing more. I was the one that pushed her away in the first place, for her protection. But I acted like nothing more than a selfish bastard towards her and didn’t care about her own health.

You acting like somebody you don’t know

The burning ache in my lungs grows stronger; she’s losing oxygen!

I run towards the water, discarding my shoes on the way there and hastily sink my whole body into the warm water of the private beach. She slowly closes her eyes, engulfing her sight into a pit of darkness. I grab her wrist and cup her face with both my hands as we stay suspended in the warm water. She opens her eyes and looks right into mine. She’s hurting; because of me. I wanted to stay away to keep her safe, but I can see and feel that she is hurting. Was being friends not enough?

Tell me, how we supposed to stay friends when you got a bunch of feelings that you don’t show

No, I cannot simply “stay friends”

I feel that ache within my heart as well

You were the only one that opened their heart for me when I was desperate

Certain people don’t like me no more

I have never felt a touch as gentle as yours

I push everyone away, but you still managed to keep me hooked

You can look me in the eye and see that I ain’t myself

But you drive me crazy

You’re insatiable, but I want to keep pleasing you. Appeasing you

That’s the shit that drives me crazy

Because I have Trust Issues, I have never let anyone get as close to me as you have

But if you will allow me.

Let me keep you, and you for me.

Mi cielo.

Mi reina.