#and i unnaturally twisted my feet

[eldritchmushroom]

no but the pure serotonin i get from seeing other gay ppl in public

[a-walking-fandom-reference]

walking on sand is my personal dyspraxia hell

[charliemwrites]

Woof woof grrrrrr

Content: Dub-Con, Dirty Talk, Oral Sex (reader giving)

The bar is exactly as busy as you’re hoping for when you get there. Quiet and intimate, low lights, a hum of conversation but not overwhelmingly loud. The bar is mostly full but not crowded. As luck would have it, you instantly spot a couple empty stools towards the back.

You glide across the establishment, head held high and shoulders back. Pick a seat and smooth your skirt under you to perch. The bartender comes to you instantly; you pick something sweet and fruity (delighted that it’ll match your outfit.)

It takes up until they slide it across to you — a tab opened with your card — that the insecurity starts to set in. What if no one is interested? What if Soap doesn’t show up?

You sip at your drink and pull out your phone, reading your latest book. If nothing else… at least you’re getting out? God.

“This isn’t your usual scene.”

Oh. Oh this is worse than being ignored all night and going home alone. So much worse. Just barely manage not to curse aloud as you turn to your ex.

“Justin…” you start, realize you don’t know where to go from there. “Hi.”

“It’s been a minute, huh?”

You look him up and down. Designer everything, of course, brands printed all over him. No taste, though, none of it is cohesive. You wouldn’t be caught dead at his side ever again.

“How’s your arm?”

His expression flickers, hand unconsciously going to the spot where Johnny tried to tear it off.

“Fine. Thanks.” He gives you a long look. Unfriendly. “You know people have had dogs put down for less.”

You run your tongue over your teeth, fear and anger twisting up in your stomach like hot lava. How dare he threaten your boy like that?! Wish Johnny was here now to take another chunk out of him.

“Not when people trespass on private property,” you reply coldly, eyes narrowing.

He puts his hands up, laughing awkwardly. “Well, now. I wouldn’t call it — let’s just say we’re even, yeah?”

“For that at least.”

You take another big sip of your drink. Find it empty. Make hopeful eye contact with the bartender and nod for another when they gesture questioningly. There’s a reason you love this bar.

“Right… listen, about that, luv…”

“There you are, bonnie!”

You perk up despite yourself. Says something that the creep who sexually harasses you in public is better company than your ex-fiancé. Something zings through you when you realize Soap is bigger than your Justin (hopefully in every aspect). Taller, wider, more muscular. Better jawline and prettier eyes, too.

“Tucked up back here like this,” Soap mock scolds, shouldering past Justin. You let out a little squeak as he scoops you off your barstool, hand just under your ass for a hold. “Almost didn’t see you, hen.”

“H-Hi,” you say, arms going around his neck automatically. He presses his nose to your collarbone and audibly inhales. You shiver.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he continues, voice dropping lower.

He sets you down on your stool again with a wink, then takes the stool next to yours.

“Oi, do you mind?” Justin snaps, bumped out of the way by Soap’s bulk.

“I do, actually.” The look Soap levels him is sharp, cold. Bloody killer. Instantly reminds you of all the alarm bells that normally play in your head when he’s around. “Don’t like puffed up knobs like you around my girl.”

You bite your tongue on a protest that you’re not his girl. Wouldn’t be particularly helpful right about now. You’ll correct him later.

“Your girl,” Justin scoffs. “She was mine before she was ever — hey!”

Soap’s got his fist in the front of Justin’s shirt, jerking him nearly off his feet. A few heads turn. You feel hot with embarrassment, skin prickling at so many eyes on your little trio of stupidity.

“Woah!” You yelp. “Soap!”

You grab his forearm (remind yourself not to get distracted by the muscles cording it) and lean into his line of sight. The near-murderous glint in his blue eyes softens, though there’s still an unnatural sheen to them. Something that makes the hair on the back of your head stand on end.

“Soap, let him go,” you say, quiet. “I like this bar, don’t get us kicked out… please?”

He hums, instantly drops Justin to cup his hand around the back of your neck, fingers edging into your hair. His palm feels so big and harm, a little rough with callouses. You try not to think about how easy it would be for him to manipulate your head however he wants…

“Like when you say ‘please,’ hen,” Soap purrs.

You swallow, feel your cheeks flushing as you say, “Then… you should sit down and have a drink with me. Please?”

He grins, crooked and a little mean. “Anythin’ fer you.”

He drops into his stool again like a king on his throne. You perch gingerly on your own, waving Justin away like an annoying fly. Don’t even look as he slinks off, too busy staring at Soap. Who’s… busy staring at you. As always.

“You never called,” he drawls after ordering. Whiskey, neat. The bartender sets your new drink in front of you; you start sipping to gather your thoughts and nerve. “Lucky I happened to stop in here, eh? Imagine if I’d walked past…”

You grimace a bit. A fantastic bit of luck, that. Thought you’re still not sure what type of luck.

Definitely not going to admit to him that you didn’t call on purpose, wanting plausible deniability if you did see him. As if trying to get him under your skirt by happenstance is better than calling him to do it.

“Why did you stop in here?” You ask, looking to change the subject.

“Could smell you,” he answers, eyes twinkling.

You wrinkle your nose, kick at his shin. Want to blame it on the alcohol, but you drink red wine most nights of the week. This is just… placebo and desperation.

“You’re so nasty, you know that?” You huff.

He arches his eyebrows, grins wolfishly. “Could show you how nasty I can be,” he offers.

You wrinkle your nose even as your cheeks burn. That’s exactly what you’re hoping for.

“You can’t keep talking to me like that,” you complain.

He snorts in amusement, hooking his fingers beneath your stool and tugging you closer. Until your knees are between both of his, jeans brushing against your thighs.

“Here’s the thing, darlin’,” he murmurs, low and private. “I think you like when I talk to you like that.”

You swallow audibly, hands dropping down to twist nervously in your lap.

“I think it makes your pretty pussy all wet and swollen when I get all mean like this,” he continues. You shake your head; his palm clamps down on your thigh beneath your skirt, thumb sweeping back and forth over the sensitive skin. “Think she’s fuckin’ aching fer me to make good on all my promises. And you can get all shy and sweet here, but I bet all your cunt wants is to be mounted and bred like a bitch in heat.”

And he’s right. Of course he’s fucking right. That goddamn bad guy fantasy and your shallow, needy pussy, and Soap’s stupid fucking everything.

You feel like you’re about to explode when the bartender sets his whiskey down, snapping the tension like a rubber band. Feel dizzy as you lean away, sipping desperately at your own drink in an attempt to cool off. He gives you all over maybe fifteen second before opening that sinful mouth again.

“So how about it, bonnie? Did I hit the mark?”

You feel frustrated tears pricking at your eyes. Blink and look away at your nervous hands.

“I-I don’t even know you,” you mutter. “You could be dangerous.”

“I am dangerous, baby,” he replies, “just not to you.”

You shake your head. “You’re awful.”

“Mm and you want me to do awful things to you.”

You sigh through your nose, that little logical voice blaring again. He’s going to hurt you. He’s going to use you.

(Would that be so bad, if you go in knowing it?)

A tug at your necklace startles you out of your thoughts, his finger hooked beneath the pendant. You lean in with a noise of protest, afraid he’s going to break it. Gasp as your lips brush his.

“Whatever’s goin’ on in that pretty head, let me fuck it out of you.”

You shudder, hand balanced on his thick, muscular thigh. Can feel a twitch near your thumb. Holy shit.

“I’ll be so good to you, princess,” he promises. “Let me be good to you.”

You suck in a breath. Now or never.

Well, if nothing else, maybe you’ll let Johnny eat him if he’s turns out to be a bastard.

“Prove it,” you breathe.

He guides your chin up, eyes blazing with hunger.

“Yeah?” He asks.

You blink, muster up your courage. “You heard me. Or are you back out?”

His expression goes deliciously dark. “Oh, I’ll prove it, lass. You just sit right here and I’ll get us sorted.”

His fingers slip just that last little bit up and start teasing at the lace of your panties. You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to sip at your cocktail while he flags down the bartender. His nails scrape lightly across the fabric over your clit as gets your card and throws down enough cash to cover all three drinks.

When he pulls his hand away, you have to bite back a whimper.

“If you don’t get up right now, I’m haulin’ you out of here over my shoulder,” he growls in your ear.

You’re up in an instant, smoothing down your skirt. His hand stays glued to your lower back as he ushers you out to the lot. Sits you down in the passenger seat of a black pickup, barely waits for you to buckle yourself in before peeling out of the lot.

You’re about to tell him your address when you hear the clink of a belt, a zipper. Eyes wide as they drop to his pants, to him fishing a huge, hard cock out of jeans.

“C’mere,” he near snarls.

“Soap, that’s not— mph!”

The head of his cock catches on your teeth, but that only seems to spur him on, hips twitching.

“Gonna ruin that pretty makeup, your pretty hair. Gettin’ all dolled up like that for any fucking wanker to see.”

He twists his fingers in your hair and presses you down, your cheek rubbing against the shaft. He feels huge and unnaturally hot. You press your thighs together as you imagine how it’s going to feel inside of you.

“This isn’t safe,” you complain, mouth open as you gasp against the flushed skin.

He curses, tugs you up so that your lips press against the head, already dripping. Your eyes widen in the darkness, shocked and flattered that you’ve already worked him up this much.

“Not gonnae let anything happen,” he promises, “but you need to convince me not to spank this pretty ass black and blue.”

You squeal as he releases you hair just to deliver a harsh smack to one ass cheek, the sting making you clench up.

“H-hey!”

“You want me to slap that pretty pussy too? Bet I could make you cum just tapping that little clit over and over again. That what you want, slag?”

“N-no!”

“Then show me.”

You seal your mouth around the head, sucking and licking at the precum beading at the tip. Try to brace yourself, nearly gag as he hits a pothole and shoves into your throat. It’s noisy and messy, eyes watering from how thick and deep he is already, not letting you up for more than brief gasps of air.

“Fuck, that’s it baby. Work your tongue just like that…” he groans.

You lose track of everything but trying not to gag, his threat lingering with each obscene slurp and twist of your tongue. He tastes better than you expected, and the scent of him surrounds you. Musk and pine, something familiar that niggles at your cock-drunk brain. Can’t be bothered to work it out though, not when he’s tugging your hair. Not when he comes to an abrupt stop and you deepthroat him.

He yanks you off with a near-animal growl. You whine, scrambling to brace yourself and panting. Your head feels foggy. Know your panties are soaked through; shocked you’re not dripping down your leg. If you were sitting properly, you’d probably leave a wet mark on the seat.

You moan as his mouth crashes into yours, tongue sweeping inside like he owns it. He licks the taste of himself off your tongue, hands fumbling your seatbelt off, dragging you over the center console to straddle his lap.

You gasp at the sight of his rock hard, angry cock next to your pretty dress, pressed up against your stomach. Show just how deep he’ll be inside your guts.

“Fuck, look’it that,” he groans rutting against your stomach. “Oh you were made to be mine.”

You scream as he scoops you up, stepping out of the truck with you over his shoulder.

“Soap!” You shout. “Soap, put me down, my dog—”

“I’m your fuckin’ dog,” he replies.

“No, seriously, he’s protective—”

He grabs the spare out of its hiding place and shoves the door open. You brace for angry barking and growls, but hear nothing. Soap doesn’t even pause. He just kicks the door shut and storms down the hall to your room, like he knows exactly where he’s going.

He drops you onto the bed, watches your breasts bounce as you settle on the mattress. He strips off int he blink of any eyes while you’re still catching your breath.

“W-wait, wait, my—”

He flips you onto your stomach, hikes your ass up high in the air. You squirm, try to crawl away, but he slaps your ass so hard you see stars. He places his palm flat between your shoulder blades to bin you still.

“S-Soap,” you whine as he shoves your skirt up over your ass, palms a cheek. Spreads you open just to let the flesh jiggle back into place.

“Fuck,” he growls. It sounds off. Sounds deeper, rougher now.

“Just-just slow down…!”

He yanks your panties aside, plunges two thick fingers into you. You squeal, legs kicking uselessly against the mattress.

“Oh, you’re plenty ready,” he says, dark, almost to himself. “All ready to be mated and bred. All mine.”

That finally starts to break the lust-drunk haze. Open your mouth to tell him absolutely not, it’s been way to long and your need to be stretched—

He forces his entire cock into you with one brutal thrust. You scream, cry, try to flatten yourself against the bed but he won’t even let you do that, muttering about “presenting” properly. It hurts but it feels good, know that’s it’s just too much.

“Soap,” you sob, “y-you can’t— you have to… I’m-I’m gonna break.”

“Shhhh, no you’re not,” he soothes, grinding a bit deeper. Your eyes roll back, keening through your teeth. “You were made for me. You’re all for me.”

You shake your head, but he just chuckles.

“Yes, baby, yes. You let me in, you kept me. Now we belong to each other.”

“Soap, w-what are you talking about…?” you manage, fists tight in the sheets. He draws back once and slams into you, hard, mean.

Leans down so he’s rumbling directly in your ear.“‘S Johnny, hen.”

You blink, confused and overwhelmed. “W-what… n-no. No, Johnny is my….”

“Woof.”

[rewh0re]

SLEEPING ON THE COUCH AFTER AN ARGUMENT

Ft.: Kuroo Tetsurou, Akaashi Keiji

Angst but with fluff at the end. Just my boys kuroo and Akaashi and sleeping on the couch after an argument. Reblogs + interactions are highly appreciated!!

༊ KUROO

Kuroo cannot sleep. It's nearly 3 in the morning and he's twisting and turning on the bed for about an hour now, unable to fall asleep. The other side of his bed seems unnaturally cold and empty due to your lack of presence. You both had gotten into an argument about 2 hours prior. You had tried to convey your thoughts across to him about how worried you were that he was overworking himself and in his state of tiredness he was definitely not in the mood for your nagging. He took out his annoyance on you which resulted in some back and forth yelling before you decided to give him some space and sleep on the couch. But it had been hours and however much he denied it, Kuroo could not sleep without you. So, deciding to swallow his stupid pride he went out to the living room just to find your shivering self on the couch. You had a thin blanket on and it was a cold night.

"I know you're not sleeping," he whispered as he knelt by the couch to look at you.

What he saw broke him, there were dried tears on your face. He always fell apart when he saw you cry.

"Look I'm really sorry for what I said. Half of those things, I didn't mean them and neither should I have uttered them in the first place. It has happened now and as much as I wish I could change it, I can't. So, I'm asking you to forgive me y/n. I'm really really sorry. I love you so much ," he stroked your cheek and you could not pretend anymore. You slowly opened your eyes to look at him.

"You do?" You asked silently.

"More than you could ever know, love. You're the best thing that's happened to me. You're not nagging when you worry about me. I'm sorry for saying that. I was annoyed and irritated and tired and I took it out on you like a fool. I've said hurtful things and I feel terrible for it. Forgive me please," he looked at you with so much love and adoration as he asked for forgiveness that you broke again. You sniffled a little before cracking a small smile.

"I've said some hurtful things as well. Things I shouldn't have said. I'm sorry," you whispered to him.

"It's okay. Come back to bed now love. Tomorrow, I'm taking the day off and we'll do whatever you want to do. Sounds good?" He smiled at you, stretching his hand towards you for you to take it.

"Sounds perfect," you smiled as you took his hand in yours.

༊ AKAASHI

Arguments with Akaashi were rare. Most of the time, you both would talk things out and solve the problem rationally rather than lashing out. You both tried to be logical and tried to communicate no matter how tired or angry you both were. But sometimes however, that was just not the case. Sometimes, things got out of hand, anger overpowered your more rational sides and things got ugly. Tonight just happened to be one of those nights. Honestly, you don't even know how the argument started. You just knew that both of you were exhausted from work and on top of that things had been rough in your personal life lately. These reasons probably got to you and an argument took place. You both had verbally hurt each other to the extent that Akaashi decided to sleep on the couch, unable to fight anymore. He left you in the bedroom alone and fuming. But the moment he picked up a blanket and went to the couch, regret immediately filled you up. You ran after him to the living room where he laid on the couch. God, he didn't even have a pillow under his head, his neck would hurt like crazy in the morning.

"Keiji," you called out his name and as you expected, there was no answer from him.

"Keiji I'm sorry," you sat at the end of the couch where his feet were propped up on the hand rest.

"I let my anger and frustration take over me and said some pretty shitty things. I'm sorry I really did not mean them. I would never," at that, he looked up at you to see your eyes getting teary as a frown took over your face.

"Don't cry y/n," he sat up and brought himself closer to you.

"I don't know what took over me. I'm so sorry. I always try to be calmer and more thoughtful while speaking but today I don't know. Work has been stressful and I probably took that out on you. Something I shouldn't have done and something I highly regret," you took his hand as you looked at him.

"I said some pretty awful stuff to you too, you know. You're not entirely at fault here. I'm sorry. Next time, I'll try to be more thoughtful and I'll definitely not yell at you again," he gave you a small smile as he opened his arms for you to hug him. You gladly did.

"Me too. Come to bed now. You didn't even bring a pillow with you. Do you want your neck to hurt?" He laughed a little at that.

"Always thinking about me aren't you," he hugged you tighter.

"Mhm. Keiji?" You started as you broke the hug to look at him. "We're okay right?"

"We will be, love."

[ghcstao3]

Im currently watching brave and it’s given me brain worms hehe

It’s to do with the will o’ the wisp!

Either soaps been seeing them his whole life guiding him to the task force or after a rough mission, totally lost/injured and with no way to contact anyone they guide his way back to ghost :D

Thanks for everything you write it genuinely makes my day to read all your works!!

ooh i really like this. also- apparently will o' the wisps are actually Not good in folklore so i wrote a little twist to fix that ;)

-

Throughout his life, Soap's nan had always liked to tell him stories about the many malevolent creatures he should hope to never have the misfortune of encountering—kelpies, redcaps, sluaghs; just about everything that existed in his homeland's folklore.

A little cruel in retrospect, Soap thinks, but for a while he'd just understood it as his nan's way of ensuring her grandson was to behave. They were myths, old tales and explanations for the unexplainable, and he can appreciate the determination to share tradition.

But now, as Soap is stranded in thick woods after an operation gone awry, blood sticky on his temple and a bullet stuck in his leg, he's not so sure they were just stories. Not as he's currently staring down an unnatural wisp of light in the darkness, hovering just a few feet away from where he'd collapsed against the thick, gnarled trunk of a tree.

Will o' the wisp, his mind supplies. Omens of death, his nan had told him, like many other creatures and spirits. They appear to the weary and lost like himself, flickers of glowing blue light almost hopeful as they guide one along a seemingly nonsensical path—but instead of leading someone to safety, they lure people to their doom.

The wisp just floats, unmoving, as Soap sits frozen. He tries his radio to no avail, and realizes with a great dread that he only has two options: attempt to find his own way back to his team, to anyone, anywhere, with the great risk of only getting more lost—or follow the wisp in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, it may actually lead him somewhere useful, no matter how bad the destination. Soap could only hope that doom is something he can fend off with a gun.

His decision is made rather easily because... he supposes it doesn't really make a difference, does it?

So he pushes himself away from the tree and toward the light—it vanishes as soon as he steps toward it, but with another step forward, another wisp appears.

Soap limps along, following the wisps. They weave him through trees and take sharp, sudden turns, disappearing and reappearing endlessly as Soap pursues the trail they leave. His head is on a swivel with every sound that isn't the crunch of branches beneath his own boots, with every flash of movement in his periphery.

He feels like he’d been walking forever by the time the forest has grown less dense and the wisps fade away for good—and that's when Soap sees it.

The large, imposing silhouette. The hulking figure cloaked in black. The glimpse of a skull in the sliver of moonlight that had managed to break through the forest's canopy.

Soap swallows a laugh. The will o' the wisps must have led him to Ghost, not realizing doom would have only been certain for Soap had he been the enemy.

Funny.

Ghost spots him and raises his gun, pauses, then after a moment lowers the barrel.

"Johnny?" Ghost grunts. "Where the fuck've you been?"

Soap shrugs a shoulder, wincing as he steps closer. "Lost my way running from the facility. Comms were dead." He flashes a crooked grin. "Worked out though, aye?"

Ghost snorts. "Aye," he echoes. "C'mon, then. Exfil's waiting. Save your explanations 'til then."

Soap gladly follows, relief nearly exalting.

But as they walk shoulder-to-shoulder, Soap can’t help but cast one last glance back at the trees from where he had emerged.

He wonders if the wisps had really made a mistake. He wonders if maybe they hadn't been done leading him, but Ghost had gotten in the way.

Questions he'll likely never find the answers for.

But regardless, now in safe hands—Soap thinks he had better refresh himself on his nan's stories as soon as he gets the chance.

He doesn't know now, whenever they might come in handy.

[digital-domain]

Demon’s Lair

Pairing: Sukuna x Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Chapter: 1/?

Synopsis: You don’t know how you got here, and you don’t know who he is. A demon, perhaps. One who makes no secret of how much he would enjoy killing you. If you keep him entertained, he’ll hold off… we’ll see how long that lasts.

Content Tags: noncon/dubcon (fuck-or-die), kidnapping, death threats, True Form Sukuna (with two cocks because I Like It), one part with a kinda predator/prey dynamic, face slapping, face fucking, blood, tears, forced masturbation, fingering, bondage

Note: I am aware that I am not the first person to have had this general idea. I am also aware that I always want more of it, and I would imagine that I am not alone. So if you are depraved like me - enjoy!

Your eyes flutter open. The last you remembered, you were on a deserted trail, perhaps half a mile from your home. It was far too late, you were alone, it was so dark that you could barely see the path you were walking - but you’d been okay. At least, you were going be okay. You had food in your hands, a straight path ahead of you, the promise of sleep awaiting you.

But your hands are empty now, and the trail is gone. In its place is a cavern. Dark rock walls looming over you, stones scattered across the hard ground, water dripping somewhere in the distance, and a strange red glow permeating the entire massive space. Your clothing - simple trousers and a tunic - is torn in several places, your carefully braided hair hanging loose about your face.

A hazy voice from your childhood rises to the top of your mind. “ Don’t play outside too late, or a demon will come take you away!” The phrase had been enough to send you running inside when you were a child, but it’s been years since you stopped taking it seriously. Not that you didn’t believe in demons - you just figured it wasn’t so easy to catch one’s attention. But…something unnatural has certainly happened here. There’s a darkness haunting this space, sending a shiver down your spine.

As your vision clears, you see the full picture. It’s not just stones littering the floor. Stones aren’t bleached white. Stones don’t make you shudder when you gaze upon them. And they’re not shaped like that.

The ringing in your ears begins to fade. It’s not just dripping water, either. There’s a whole river flowing, somewhere, and the cave walls themselves seem to be echoing the heartbeat pounding through your veins. Under that - an echoing set of footsteps. And they’re coming closer.

You need to move - but you don’t. You can’t. You stay on the ground, half-sitting, hot blood rushing to your face, until the footsteps come to a stop behind you.

When you finally gain the will to move, it’s too late. A sharp-nailed hand closes over the back of your neck and yanks you to your feet. You can’t see its owner, and when you attempt to turn your head, it - he? - presses its fingers to your cheek, holding you in place. When you try to speak - all that comes out is a confused whimper.

He laughs. “You’re unlucky.” His voice seems to bubble up from all around you, unnaturally loud in the otherwise quiet space. “I got bored. And you got caught. It could have been anyone…” You feel another set of fingernails - too many of them - trickle over your thigh, sliding over a tear in the fabric that once covered you, digging sharply into the bare skin beneath. “But I can’t say I’m disappointed by what I dragged in.” He sighs. “Although I do wish you would say something. It’s no fun when you’re silent.” His grip tightens, nails pressing threateningly into your neck. “Speak.”

You say the only thing that comes to your mind. “Where… where am I?” Instinctively, you jerk forward, as if you’re trying to run away, but he easily yanks you backwards, pulling you into him, his body a hard wall against your back.

“Somewhere that no one leaves - without my permission, that is. And I seldom give it.”

“Who are you?” Your quick burst of motion has spurred you into action - you writhe and twist beneath his hand, pry at his fingers. He snakes his other arm around your waist, pinning you against him.

“That’s more like it.” He sounds amused. Terrifyingly casual. “It’s no fun if you don’t fight, either.”

He’s strong - as hard as you try, you can’t shift his grip an inch, and your attempts only make him laugh. You can feel panic welling up inside you, and you double your efforts, but it seems to make no difference. “Let me go.”

He clicks his tongue, leans over your shoulder. “I don’t think so. You’re far too entertaining.”

“Let me go.”

“Shh. I don’t like having to repeat myself.” He uncurls his arm from around your waist, and somehow - too fast for you to comprehend - grabs both your wrists in one hand, holding them high over your head. “You’re so weak. You’ve never had to fight for your life, have you?”

You try to wrench your arms away, tugging with all the strength you have, but it’s no use. His hold on you is unnaturally tight, his grip vise like on your wrists.

“No need to answer. I can feel the blood rushing under your skin. This is new to you…not as if it would make a difference either way.” Once again, you feel the impossible phantom sensation of more fingers brushing over your thigh. It doesn’t make sense - you hear another whimper escape your lips, and he releases your neck to muffle the sound, slapping his palm over your mouth. You try to scream, and throw your entire body forward, feet scrabbling against the rocky ground, but you go nowhere.

“I like that you’re trying. As pathetic as your attempts may be.”

You shake your head violently, and in response, he digs his nails into your cheek.

“It’s entertaining, if nothing else. And I’m not unreasonable.” All at once, he releases you and shoves you forward. You fall hard to the ground, face nearly shattering on the rocky surface. But you catch yourself - barely - absorbing the impact with your hands and knees, your entire body shaking from the shock. “I’ll give you a chance to escape.” He kneels down at your side, and strokes a gentle hand through your hair. “I’ll even give you a head start.”

You look up, catching a glimpse of his face before he presses yours into the ground. It’s a shocking sight, so much so that you assume it’s a trick of the light. The intricate set of dark markings scattered across his skin could be easily explained. Same with the strange placard covering part of the right side of his face - it must be a mask of some sort, though you can’t see how it’s fastened. But his eyes are another matter. You swear you saw a second pair staring back at you, tucked beneath the first. And his real eyes…even those were terrifying. They were too bright, too intense, narrowed by the ferocious smile painted across his face.

The air is squeezed from your lungs as he shoves you onto your stomach, scraping your cheek against the ground. He presses down hard, barely giving you the space to breathe, let alone move.

“When I release you, you’ll have ten seconds to move freely,” he declares. “I’ll even close my eyes.”

Ten seconds isn’t much time - you need a plan. But you’re dazed, disoriented, confused…even before he moves, you know you don’t have a chance.

“Not yet…” He taps his fingers sharply against your waist. “Not yet…” He grabs the back of your dress and rises to his feet, hauling you up with him. “ Now.”

You manage not to fall as he lets go, and stumble forward in the direction you’re facing.

“ Nine, eight…”

You’re sprinting as fast as you can, but the ground is uneven, and littered with things you don’t care to look at.

“Seven, six…”

Your eyes dart wildly around the massive space. There’s no way out. Not one that you can see, anyways. And there’s no time to think. You just need to keep moving. Keep running, and hide when you run out of time.

“Five, four, three…”

Keep running. A dark, narrow stream of water appears in front of you, and you leap over it. The far bank is slick, and when you land, you stumble. There’s a crunch beneath your feet.

“Two.”

You don’t stop to look. There’s nothing big around you - there’s nowhere to hide.

“ One.”

Just keep moving. You’ve made space. Eventually, there will be an escape. There has to be. This can’t go on forever.

“Time’s up.”

His voice…it’s close. Far too close to account for the seconds you spent running away. He’s somewhere to your left. You turn - and from your right, a hand lashes out, ensnaring you and sending you tumbling to the ground once more. This time, it’s his foot that pins you in place, pressing down on your spine as you wriggle helplessly beneath.

“That was disappointing,” he sighs. “You’re making this far too easy for me.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

“It’s incredible how fragile your kind is. If I’m not careful, I might actually break you.” He digs his heel into you, cackling as you cry out in pain. “Unfortunately, I don’t like being careful. It’s another one of those things that bores me.” He brings his foot up, and slides it under your stomach, effortlessly kicking you onto your back.

Your eyes have been squeezed tight - when you open them, his face is hovering over you. Both pairs of eyes stare malevolently into your own.

“I see that you’re done fighting. Probably a wise choice.” His voice is calm, and he’s smiling. It sends a shudder through your body. “But if you’ve given that up, you only have one option left.” His grin broadens, and he straightens up, standing tall, looming over you. “Get yourself up on your knees. I don’t like you lying down in my presence.”

Without a thought, you comply, rolling over and pushing yourself onto your knees, your head bowed. Your mind is numb, but you still know that obeying is your only choice.

“Good.” He pauses, takes a step back. “Now, I’ll be clear about my intentions.” He sweeps his foot across the ground, kicking a stray rock aside. It bounces through the cavern, every impact echoing across the walls. “Right now, nothing would bring me more pleasure than killing you.”

Your entire body stiffens. Your vision is hazy, scattered with black patches. And you can’t run. You already tried to run - and it only got you here.

“I’ve been thinking about all the ways I could do it,” he continues. “If I were feeling charitable, I would strangle you. But I’m not. I want to see blood. There are a lot of ways I could satisfy that desire - and some take longer than others.”

You’re fighting your body, trying not to keel over, tears suddenly obscuring your vision. When your captor notices, his laughter ricochets through the cave, vibrating across every inch of your skin. You have to look up. You have to see his face. Maybe you’ll see some reason for hope if you do. You raise your head - but you find yourself unable to look into his eyes. Instead, you find your gaze trailing up the length of his form, taking in small details, finding a strange calm in fixating upon them. He’s wearing a simple pair of sandals. A robe flows over them. The fabric is white with black designs, There’s a tie at the waist. Wide, flowing sleeves.

And that’s as far as you get. Once your gaze reaches the end of those sleeves, your small moment of tranquility is shattered, because out from under them protrude not one, but two sets of arms.

He talks like a man, but he isn’t. Everything you’ve witnessed - the eyes, the arms - it’s all impossible. But it’s real. You have to trust yourself. You know what you’ve seen. “What are you?”

He - it? - revels in your realization, a grin spreading over his face. “That’s a better question than your last two. But I’m not interested in answering it.” There’s a pause - he calmly tilts his head, thinking something through. “You’re so much fun… I don’t think I want to kill you quickly. I’ll enjoy it much more if I draw it out.” He sighs blissfully - almost theatrically. “It could last hours if I do it right. I’ll get to hear you beg for death long before you go limp in my hands.”

Your body jolts of its own accord, a last-ditch effort at escape, but you can’t find the control to bring yourself to your feet. Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes out.

“Oh, go on,” he sighs. “Beg for your life. But try to make it interesting. You all say the exact same thing, and it’s beginning to wear on me.”

“I…” Your mind is blank with terror, the few words you can summon rushing out of your mouth. “I don’t know what’s happening.” Your tears flow down your face, build up in your throat, choke your words. “I don’t want to die. I want to go home. Please let me go home.” You tense at the swish of his robes - he’s stepping closer, cutting your time short.

“Boring.” He brings up his left hand (one of them) and strikes the side of your face. When you cry out, he repeats the action on the other side. Then, he takes your jaw in his hand, forcing you to look up at him, and brushes away a stray tear as it slides down your cheek. “Try again,” he commands. “I won’t give you a third chance.”

At the last possible moment, a strangely clear thought enters your head. There is no happy ending here. You can’t escape. All you can do is try to save yourself - by any means necessary. So, finally, you allow yourself to meet his gaze, resisting the urge to look away as he bares his teeth. “Do what you want with me. I’ll entertain you in any way you please.” He raises an eyebrow - you’ve managed to say something that interests him. But he wants more. “Let me…” You pause, and force yourself to breathe. In, out. It’s too late to do anything but this. You cannot go back. You have to finish. “Let me prove that I’m more valuable to you alive.”

A rumble of laughter echoes through the cavern, seemingly emerging from the walls themselves. “Fascinating.” He lashes out with one of his hands and wraps it tightly around your neck. “No one’s ever said that before.” You gasp for air, and he slaps another hand over your mouth. “You’re weak…but you have some resolve. I like that.”

You breathe shallowly through your nose, already light-headed, your pulse thudding against his palm.

“I think…” He pauses, staring you down. You don’t look away. “I think I’ll keep you.” The relief in your eyes must be obvious - and it doesn’t last long. “For as long as you can handle it.” Another hand springs out, twists its long fingers through your hair. “For as long as you’re alive…you’re mine. The moment you forget that - the moment you fail, or disobey - that’s when your life will end. Understood?”

You have no choice - you nod as best you can, a fresh wave of tears spilling over as he yanks at your hair.

“Good.” His voice softens, lowers to barely more than a whisper. “We’ll start with something simple.” He sounds almost kind, but you know it’s just part of the game. The fist still grasping at your throat is enough to remind you of that. “Undo the knot at my waist.”

Your hands shake as you bring them up, and you find yourself focusing on small details once again. The cuff of your sleeve is torn, and there’s a smudge of something dark on your left hand - residue from your fall. The knot you’ve been tasked with untying is simple. A single pull at one end unravels it. The fabric is smooth, soft, and there are layers to the robe. The last is made of fine silk, its shine reflecting the dark red glow of the cavern around you. It’s held in place by a silk band, tied with the same simple knot as the first…

When your eyes catch on the space below the knot, you feel a deep pit open up in your stomach. The silhouette before you - it’s wrong. Warped. Exaggerated beyond the point of making any sense at all.

“Haven’t you heard?” drawls the voice above you. “It’s not dignified to stare.” He presses his palm to the back of your neck, urging you closer. “Fortunately, I have no interest in preserving your dignity.”

This is not a man. You’ve seen how this looks on men. The shape he carves in front of you…it’s nothing you’ve ever seen before.

He inhales deeply, and brings up a third hand to trace the line of your jaw. “Go on. I know you’re curious.”

The words sting, because he’s right. You want him to disappear and never return, but for as long as he’s standing over you, you’re going to want to know. It makes you loathe yourself. Makes you want to bury your head in the dust beneath you.

“Don’t make me impatient.” He brings you closer by your hair, and the silk of his robe brushes the tip of your nose. “I have enough in store for you as it is.”

Your fingers flutter over the final knot, missing the end twice before you manage to grasp it. The fabric parts, and you see exactly what your imagination conjured, what you didn’t dare believe before witnessing it yourself. Two thick, vein-laden cocks, one directly above the other, half-hard and already bigger than any man’s should be. Each has two black bands under the tip, reminiscent of the markings on his face - you glance up, and see that his chest is littered with them too.

There’s a part of you that wants to look away. You hate the part of you that doesn’t, that keeps you staring.

He smirks, and plunges your face into him, dragging your cheek down one shaft, up the other. “Choose.” There’s a terrible hunger in his voice, and you can feel him stiffen against your face. “You weren’t made to take both... soon, you will, but today…” He exhales sharply, and runs a finger over your lips. “You get to pick your favorite.”

If he were to pry open your mouth and force himself inside, this wouldn’t be so humiliating. Instead, he drops his hands from your neck and your hair, and waits for you to move, both sets of eyes narrowed in silent mockery. Slowly, you expose your tongue, and - eyes screwed shut - brush it over the lower tip. You feel his hand pass above you, and the second presence seems to disappear. There’s no sigh, no shudder as your tongue drags up his length, no hand on the back of your head as you close your lips around him.

A subtle thrust - with his size, it’s enough to make you sputter. “Why are your eyes closed?” he muses. “Scared of what you’ve seen? Or scared that you’ll enjoy it?”

Your eyes snap open before you can help it, defiance glowing inside them for just a moment.

“Oh, don’t be offended. I don’t care either way. And if you’re struggling, I’m glad to help you along.”

You try to shake your head - too late. He knots his hand through your hair once again, gradually pushing you down until it’s too much and you can’t stop yourself from gagging, choking. You’re nowhere near the base, but it doesn’t matter. He’s too big for you, and he knows it, but he holds you where you are, unmoved as you instinctively try to pull back. You feel like you can’t breath - if it wasn’t suicide, you’d use your teeth to escape -

He pulls you up. You take a breath, and immediately have it pressed from your lungs as he tugs you forward again. Again, again - each time he seems to test you more, force more into your throat, and the more you struggle, the more violent it turns. A pair of fingernails slices your cheek, slashes through the tunic clinging raggedly to your shoulder, scratches at the skin beneath.

You can hear his heavy breaths, although you wonder whether he even needs to breathe, or only does it for effect. You need to breathe - there’s an odd taste in your mouth beneath the feel of his skin, the metallic tang of pushing yourself too far, but he gives you no time to ponder it.

He lets go of your hair. “Keep going. Prove yourself.”

You ignore the blood dripping down your cheek, ignore the pounding in your temples, and do as he says. No hesitation - you force yourself down again and again, as if you still have his hand at the back of your head, choking yourself on his cock.

“ That’s right.”

You’re crying - truly, fully crying - but you don’t stop to wipe the tears away, even when you feel them building up in your nose. Stopping is not an option. Failing…you can’t even think about what would happen then.

Two heavy hands fall upon your shoulders, knuckles tightening - you hold yourself still while he tenses, his cock wedged deep in your throat, stilling your breath completely. His grip is tight, controlled, until he’s emptied himself inside you, until you’ve swallowed every drop.

He recovers all too quickly, stepping back and hauling you to your feet.

“You have promise.” Without warning, he plunges his hand down your trousers, inside your undergarments, carefully stroking the pads of his fingers over the slit of your cunt. His eyes widen, and his lips curl. “And you’re wet …why is that?”

Your mouth opens and closes wordlessly. It doesn’t make sense to you, either.

“Embarrassed? Perhaps you should be. I was under the impression that this was a last resort for you. Not something you’d been craving…” He tugs at your trousers and the waistband beneath, leaving you bare to the knees, and drops you to the ground, presses you onto your back. “Touch yourself.”

“Now?” You hate how pathetic you sound, hate the way it amuses him.

“Yes.” He grabs your wrist, guides it between your legs. “Get yourself worked up for me. Looking at the state of you, I doubt it will take long.”

You’ve never done this with someone watching you. Your fingers are clumsy, slowly tracing over your body, your mind struggling to fall into the right place. When he clasps one hand over your eyes and another over your mouth, it gets easier - although you know better than to ever admit it.

“Look at you. Any sensible human would find this impossible. But you…you’re actually enjoying yourself right now.” You pause, and he slaps a third hand over your own. “Don’t stop. I want to see what this does to you.” He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, slides the hand to your inner thigh. “You’re terrified - those pretty tear-stains on your face are good enough proof of that. But there’s something in you that’s conflicted…” He replaces your slowly-moving hand with his own, pinching your clit between his fingers. “I don’t mind. It means I get to push you harder before you break.”

You squirm uncontrollably. This is pleasure and pain in equal measures, and the fact that you don’t really want it to stop sends a fresh wave of shame rolling over you. You try to ignore it. You know you have no choice. It was this, or a much more permanent fate. If you manage to enjoy a small part of it, that’s not such a bad thing…

“I think that’s enough.” He stops, and your whimpers are muffled as he flips you onto your stomach and presses your face to the ground. “Maybe I’ll let you try again later. For now…” He pulls your hands behind your back, brings your feet up to meet them, secures yours ankles to your wrists with the discarded ties from his robes. “You’re going to be unsupervised for a while. I don’t want you getting into any trouble while I’m gone.”

You’re not sure where he goes - you can’t bring yourself to lift your face until long after his footsteps have faded away. When you do, you topple onto your side, and stare cross-eyed at the blurred walls around you. You wonder if he only left to savor the feeling of cutting your pleasure short, or to give you time to imagine what he might do to you upon his return. It’s effective. You know that this was only your first test, and with nothing to distract you, you can’t help but picture what might come next.

Only a few paces from you, there’s a chilling sight - a human skull lying crooked on the ground, a jagged hole visible on its brow. When you see it, you’re newly aware of the cuts on your cheek, the sting of blood drying on your skin. He was holding back. Being gentle, by his own standards.

You’ll give everything you have to keep him that way.

[avvail]

Hero is an alcoholic and the villain finds the hero on the sidewalk with a bottle of alcohol in his hand, and then the Hero starts to vent to the villain about his issues

“Hero.”

The villain hadn’t meant for such thickness to creep into their voice, but it had. Seeing the hero, such a prized little monument in their city, squeezed in an alleyway with an entire bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand, might do that to anyone.

They shouldn’t have thought anything of it.

Maybe it was a kick to keep him going through the night.

Maybe he would leap to his feet and engage the villain in another breath taking battle. But even in the dim light, they see the unnatural flush on his cheeks. They see the unfocused, glazed look in his eye.

It even takes him far too long to register that his name had been called.

The whiskey bottle clanks against the concrete as he sets it down, but doesn’t unfasten his fingers from the slim neck.

“Villain.”

His voice is shaking. They can sense a slurred drawl creeping effortlessly through each syllable. The villain steps closer. They can almost smell it.

“What are you doing, Hero?”

He languidly nudges the half empty whiskey, as if the answer was obvious.

“Drinking,” he slurs. The villain’s brow pinches.

“Why?”

The hero gulps down another swig. They almost see it hit him, his eyes popping open wearily, before his head lolls lazily so his chin is almost touching his chest. He sucks in a wet breath.

“Why does anyone do anything?” He grumpily groans, struggling to twist his tongue around his own words. He looks as though he barely knows what he’s saying. “Jus’...leave me alone.”

The villain grimaces. They stop in front of them with a pinched brow etched onto their face, and they reach down to pry the bottle from their hands. Surprisingly, he has enough to strength to rip it away. Some liquid sloshes onto the pavement with a wet smack.

“Oi,” he loudly snaps. “That’s mine. Hands off.”

“I think you’ve had enough,” the villain sternly tells him. They can feel this resonating anger consuming their very being. They don’t know why seeing the hero in this state is getting them hot under the collar. Maybe it’s because the hero is doing it to himself.

The only person who should be bringing him pain and misery, was them. Not a bottle of Jameson.

“I’ve only had three bottles,” he huffs, barely stuttering out the words. The villain’s eyebrows raise.

“Three?”

“I like Irish whiskey,” the hero hums.

The villain resists the urge to curse under their breath. They hadn’t ever once thought of the hero as an idiot until now. They yank the bottle from his slipping grip with more force this time, and it pops right out of his hand. They already have an arm lay over his collarbone to prevent him from moving when he attempts to lurch forward in a hasty effort to take it back.

“Hey!” He snaps, barely fighting him off. “S’mine.”

“Why are you drinking yourself to death?”

They don’t ask because they care. The villain hasn’t ever cared; they just don’t want the hero to be easy pickings while he’s out here in this state. He puts up a valiant fight for a drunkard.

“Why do you care?” He hisses, and the villain can smell the warm wood and nutty undertones radiating from the bottle. They make a point of tipping it all out onto the pavement.

The hero fights harder this time, a ragged groan tearing from their throat.

“Fuck you,” he growls, clumsy fingers trying to latch onto their shirt. “Jus’...fuckin’, ruining everything—”

The villain can see tears in his glassy eyes. They wonder whether it’s because he just poured an expensive bottle of Jameson on the floor, but they find their voice softening regardless. Not because they care.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” they ask.

The hero grits his teeth, a soft little huff choking in his throat. It takes mere seconds before the tears begin to roll down their cheeks.

“Twenty two people died on that bridge,” he forces out, sucking in a sharp breath. “It was my fucking fault. Mine.”

They look at them gently.

“Hero, that was months ago,” they whisper. “You know that wasn’t your fault.”

The villain can feel him visibly shaking from under their arm, and they decide to slowly remove it from his collarbone. The hero sways, and he’s clearly fighting off a huge wave of drunken dizziness that slams into him.

“I’m a fucking joke,” he sobs. “I need it.”

“You don’t need to do this,” the villain murmurs. They try to ignore the returning thickness in their throat. “You’re not a joke.”

“Leave me alone,” he groans, head falling limply onto their shoulder. They stiffen. “Please.”

They don’t like the way the hero begs. It isn’t nearly as fun as they had imagined; none of this, seeing the hero broken and miserable, was as fun as they had imagined. They gently cradle him into their side, and slowly heft him off the ground. It takes him a while to even find his feet.

“Come on, Hero,” the villain hums, voice strained. “I’m taking you home.”

He quietly sobs to himself as they do, and the villain realises how much he must have been struggling for months by himself. They take him back home, but it isn’t because they care. Even when they put him in some clean clothes, and make him sip at some water, making sure he lies on his side so he doesn’t throw up.

When the hero is asleep, they stay. But not because they care.

[aceandersonn]

All for you, Sweetheart-Oneshot

Main Masterlist

(Anakin Skywalker x fem!reader OneShot)

3rd person(POV)

Word Count: 799

Warning(s): some curse words, very angst-y, mentions of Order 66, non-canon details, fluffy ending

***

The hallways of the Jedi Temple were dead silent, which was unusual for a Saturday morning. Usually, many people hustle around at this time to get to the cafeteria where they can get a weekly serving of pancakes. Which of course, confused Y/N a lot when she arrived back at the temple, to empty halls.

She had just arrived back from a week-long mission; one of her firsts, actually without her Master. 

She left the hangar bay and began to tread down the hallways of the temple to get to the main area of the building.

That’s when she saw it-bodies.

Everywhere.

“What the fuck?” She gasped at the sight. 

Younglings, Padawans, the children of the temple, were spread out everywhere along the floors of the enormous room. Near them, their Masters, died attempting to protect them, only to fail.

“Oh my gosh, Master!” She choked on her air when she spotted a familiar lightsaber laying on the ground near her feet. She ran over to her Master and sat down next to them, and laid their head on her lap. Her eyes became glassy and tears started to fall slowly down her face.

“Oh, Master. Who did this to you?” She whispered. Tears began to fall more frequently. Her sorrow began to black out all other senses around her; she didn’t feel him.

“I did it.” 

She turned around and met his gaze. The eyes of her best friend. Her secret lover. Him. Anakin Skywalker. His eyes looked conflicted and had some unnatural colours swirling around in his once sapphire blue eyes. His hair was matted and stuck to his face. Never once had she seen him so vulnerable–so weakened and troubled.

“A-Ani?” She gasped. She stood up from the ground and began to take small steps back.

“Hello, Sweetheart.” He whispered gently. He reached out to her but she moved away.

“What do you mean by ‘I did it?’ Did you kill everyone? All the Padawans-the children?!” Her voice cracked at the end and more tears fell down her cheeks. Anakin’s words were caught in his throat at the sight. Never has he ever seen her so depressed in his entire life knowing her.

“I-” he hesitated between his words. He looked up to meet her gaze and swallowed visibly. Tears also began to fall down his cheeks and she gazed at him with her mouth agape.

“I have no excuse for the things I did. I was used when I was the weakest–he promised me, but it still ended up twisted in the end.” 

“Who? Who used you, Ani?” She asked, stepping closer to place a hand on his cheek. Tears fell from both of their eyes, and she used her thumb to swipe them away from his cheek.

“I-I can’t, and I know what I’m about to tell you will make you hate me for the rest of your life.” The words fell from his lips, struggling to tell the words clearly.

Her lip began to quiver- could she ever forgive him? Yes, she could. It may take a long time but he will make up for it.

“Anakin Skywalker, I know that you’re not the type of person to suddenly go around in a building and kill everyone in sight without something forcing you to it.” She placed her other hand on his cheek. “Please, tell me. I want to help you.” She whispered.

Anakin sighed heavily and moved her hands from his face.

“Palpatine. He promised me that if I did his bidding he’d protect everyone I love and care for.” He breathed in heavily and his dreary eyes met her glassy ones. 

“I was part of his plan.” He continued shakily.“He manipulated me and used the things I cared for the most against me. It isn’t fair. Now I must face the consequences of my actions. I deserve to die.”

“No, Anakin. No one deserves to die. Especially not you.” She stopped him. Her hands found his hands and she squeezed them lightly.

“Y/N, I did something unforgettable, how can you say that?” He choked as more tears began to escape his eyes.

“Because, Anakin.” She placed her forehead against his. “I know you did it all for me. To protect me. And I will never be mad at someone for protecting their loved ones. It’ll take time, but I know you will make up for it one day.” 

He inhaled deeply before he closed his eyes and slowly exhaled. His eyes fluttered open and met her gaze.

Love, sympathy, and understanding filled them.

“Yes, I did it all for you, Sweetheart."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unsolicited 31

Warnings: bad self-thought/talk, bullying, insults, low self-esteem, money problems, oral/noncon, coercion, cum, some untagged sexual and dark elements.

Wouldn’t mind some feedback! Lloyd was driving me nuts so I had to do it. Thank you in advance 💜

Masterlist

You thrash as Lloyd pins your wrists to the bed. You snarl and snap at him as he keeps out of your mouth's snare. The fury swells and adds to the bleary chaos of your being.

"Let me go!" You bark, "you fucking bastard!" You curl your fingers and push against him as hard as you can, "god, you always have to RUIN everything."

"Baby girl, let's calm down–"

"Don't tell me to fucking calm down," you sneer, "you calm down."

He sighs as he presses his lips tight and his blue eyes bore into you. You kick your feet, lurching your body as you try to break free. He stands, still holding you down, and lifts a knee onto the bed. He straddles you beneath him as you writhe helplessly.

"Baby, you don’t gotta be so mad. We were having fun–"

"I wasn't," you snip, "I hate you."

He snorts and his eyes flick away with a tint of amusement, "you don't hate what I do to you."

"Shut the fuck up."

"Let's tone it down," he squeezes your wrists as his gaze returns to you, "take a breath, sweetheart."

You narrow your eyes at him and growl. You inhale through your nose deeply and hold it in your chest. You let it out slow and nod, every inch of you easing back limply. You swallow and flutter your lashes up at him. It's not the first time you've dealt with a jackass.

"Fine," you say, "I'm calm."

"Take a few more."

You roll your eyes and do as he says, blowing out, breathing in, keeping a steady, even flow. He relents as he releases your arms and you don't move. He stays sat atop you as he reaches to rub his shoulder where you bit him.

"You're a fiesty little–"

You punch him in the ribs and shove him back as you pop up. The air is knocked out of him with the sharp jab as you wriggle free of his trap. You crawl across the bed as he groans but don't make it far as he catches you by the ankle.

"Sneaky," he yanks you so your leg falls straight and you fight to drag yourself away from him, "you really are a handful."

He rips you away from the edge of the bed and snakes his hand around your neck. He bends over you as he grips your skill between his large hands, curving your spine unnaturally.

"I kinda like you like this, honey. I don't think I've ever been harder in my life."

"You're disgusting," you spit and pick at his thick fingers, trying to peel them away from your jaw.

"You love it. Admit it."

"Never."

"The way I had you laid out like a buffet, you should be begging me for more."

"I'm begging you to fuck off," you throw and elbow back and glance off his side.

He grunts and brings his knee up to your back to push you to your stomach. He keeps you under his leg as he huffs and lets go of your head. He clucks, as if confounded.

"What do I do with you, then?"

"I don't care," you stretch your arms towards the end of the bed, struggling to get away, "get offffffff!"

He tuts and his weight shifts. A soft clink followed by a smooth friction before he grabs your hands and twists them behind you. You bounce beneath his knee and bristle hotly.

"Get the fuck off me– what are you doing?"

He winds the leather around your wrists tightly as you try to pull your arms apart. He's too strong and the alcohol has you uncoordinated and shaky. He secures the belt around you and exhales.

"You're a bitch," you turn your cheek against the red duvet, "you bitch boy."

He backs off of you and you roll over with a dizzy effort.

"Bitch boy," you taunt as you kick out at him again.

He stands and lingers just beside the bed, shedding his jacket as he watches you. His mouth is slanted between irritation and delight. As he unbuttons his shirt he gets closer, your toes grazy the front of his pants.

"I just needa tire you out, huh?"

"Try it, slut bag."

"I kinda admire the creativity right now," he smirks as he tosses his shirt away. His chest bulges as he flexes, rolling his shoulders as he flicks open his fly, "how long you been holding all this in?"

"I'm gonna–"

"Kill me? Yeah, I've heard that from more than you," he scoffs as he shoves his pants down his hips, "that's your problem," he says as he bends to untangle his feet, "you can just never admit defeat."

"Whatever," you strain and manage to sit up, "fucker."

"It's true," he slowly trails his fingers along his bobbing erection and tickles up to his stomach, "you get this look," he puts a knee on the bed and swipes away your leg before you can kick him. He quickly frames your jaw, squeezing as he comes close, "and you can see it all boiling just under the surface. The day we met, you had it."

"Fuck off," you drawl, "don't fucking touch me–"

"I don't think I've ever known anyone as stubborn as you," he pulls you forward as he sits back in his heels, "and that's saying something."

"Hate you," you scowl as he grabs your hip and shifts down onto his ass.

"Yeah, well I find that good fuel for fucking," he snickers as he leads you into his lap, guiding one legs around him then the other.

He feels below you, rubbing his tip against your cunt and sinking into you. He sighs and urges you down as he grabs your hip, his hand still firmly around your chin. He forces you to his base and you shudder.

He rocks you slowly, purring under his breath as he holds your head steady, leaning closer and closer until his breath grazes your skin. You snarl as he crushes his mouth to yours. His tongue pokes out and you bite down, just missing it as he pulls back.

"Ah, don't get nasty."

"Fuck you."

"Oh, I'm waiting on that."

His gaze falls between your bodies as he continues to move you, slow but deliberate. You groan as your walls clench around him and the fullness echoes through you. He reaches around and unclasps the buckle of the belt, unleashing you from your restraint. You slap his chest, pushing on him as you buck your hips suddenly.

"You talk a lot," you sneer.

He laughs and you shove him again. This time he falls onto his back, hands on your waist as you keep your palms flush to his chest. You moan and roll your hips. He grunts and you do it again, delighting in how it thrums within you. You arch your back and carry the motion, the friction of his pelvis clusters in your sensitive clit, spurring you on.

His thumbs poke you painfully as he groans and pushes his chin out. He drones deeply as you ride him, chasing the mounting flurry stirring in your core. His throat tightens visibly and he reaches blindly for your hands, sliding it off his chest towards his neck. You squeeze without hesitation, shaking the bed beneath him as you speed up.

Maybe it's the tequila, or the pent up anger, or sheer escapism. You don't care. You've never felt more powerful in your life. Not because of him but despite him.

You let the surge take over you. You snarl and throw your head back, keeping your grip on his neck as you ground your cunt against him, a sudden explosion pulses from your cunt and twitches in your walls. He lets out raspy moans as he kneads your thighs, urging you on as he lays prone to your whims.

You crest your orgasm and slow, body shaky and weak as the adrenaline dissipates. Lloyd slaps your ass with both hands, keeping you in motion. You let him, following his rhythm as your hand falls away from his neck.

You lean over him and press your palm to his cheek. You lift yourself on your knees and grit your teeth as he thrusts from below. You pull your hand back and smack him, the stinging strike rippling in the air. He growls and sticks out his tongue, gulping in the humid air between you.

"Do it again," he pants, "come on, peaches, it's all you."

You slap him again, this time sliding your hand up to his hand and tugging harshly. You feel another climax rising as he pounds into you. You moan as you clasp onto the burst of pleasure and let it wash over you.

"Fuck, baby, use me," Lloyd rasps, "fucking drain me."

He slams into you and shakes, thrusts disjointed and desperate. You gurgles as he cums, nails digging into your skin as he succumbs to his release.

Paralysed and panting, he lays prone as you sit up. You pinch his nipple meanly and he cries out.

"I'm not fucking done," you snarl.

[strangerstilinski]

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

coming soon

summary; after a sacrifice gone wrong, demonic powers are sealed within the body of a human. with little to no memory of the events and a hunger that begs to be sated, you happen upon none other than steve harrington. his history with the unnatural in Hawkins has him willing to help — perhaps a bit too quickly. (a story inspired in part by jennifer's body)

Watch out, don't look. She's your nightmare of a dream. Go home, run fast… Blood's her favorite shade of red. Say your prayers and go to bed.

You take in one last breath with your mouth against that pulsing vein where his scent is the strongest, pulling it in slow and deep and relishing in the way that the burn makes your throat ache, makes your stomach twist. But then you're leaning back to get a good look at his face. His pointed nose brushes the tip of your own as he tells you his name, his pleas thereafter falling breathlessly against your own lips in such close proximity.

“Are you scared, Steve?” You interrupt his rambling to ask sweetly, the hand on his shoulder coming up until you can swipe a bead of sweat away from his temple with the pad of your thumb. Your touch leaves a streak of red shining starkly against his tanned skin.

The boy, Steve, nods slowly.

“I know,” You whisper, your eyes studying the way that dawn's golden sunlight catches the hues of brown swirling in his irises, “Do you know how I know that, Steve?”

“Uh..” He swallows audibly again, fidgeting on his feet as much as he can in his current position between you and the wall behind him, “'s'it because.. 'Cause my hands are shaking?”

You move your head slowly side-to-side and the movement has your noses brushing again. Steve watches as the empty darkness in your eyes wavers with something that looks almost like it might be excitement.

“I can smell it,” You murmur, your mouth so, so close to his own, “I can taste it on my tongue.”

➔ read the full story here !

[raayllum]

‘don’t leave’ for rayllum?

for a less angsty version of the same prompt/pairing Send me a number with a ship and i’ll write it (accepted ships are tdp canon ships + rarepairs (claudiez, sorpeli, corvus/terry, sorvus)

"Wait, no!" Rayla ran after him, skidding down a pebbled beach, the crumbling husk of Elarion on the horizon. Callum stood unnaturally hunched a few feet away, the starlight flickering in his eyes when she grabbed his shoulders.

Fighting it, but barely.

"No, no!" She cupped his cheeks in her hands, her eyes burning as he struggled to meet her gaze, face twisted up in pain. "No, Callum—stay with me. I know you can fight him off. You're stronger than this!"

One eye was wholly white now, pinkish blue crowding the corners. The other was still flickering. Her panicked breaths turned to dry sobs, nearly matching his own. He was just as scared as she was, but she couldn't fall to pieces. She had to be here for him. She had to keep him safe.

All she could do was beg.

"Please stay—please, don't—don't leave."

Tears spilled down her cheeks as he looked at her, unseeing and eyes filled up with starlight. Aaravos' voice came out of his mouth.

"Oh, my poor Moonshadow elf: you taught him how."

[sabo-has-my-heart]

Haloo yellow helllloooooo

Is it alright if I ask for like Trafalgar Law x reader? It's up to you if you wanna make them male or female, I'm thinking of having a reader that can summon wings but with a price. Like the wings would literally rip out of their back, leaving a big scar and lots and lots of blood. It's not bad enough? The feathers are made of light steel but has sharp edges at the bottom. Making it more than painful... And I think it should be a curse so that you wouldn't have to think of a devil fruit? It's alr if you did, tho.

omg, this almost made my cry while I was writing it! As a note, Noroi means curse. I will also likely be creating the devil fruit I used in this as well as one based on her transformation (it sounds interesting to me). I made it more than just the wings, but there's reasoning for that... I'm gonna go cry now! (not really, but holy shit, this fic!)

Warnings: graphic depictions of injuries, blood, curses, angst, pain, hurt/comfort, GN!Reader

Word Count: 1675

     The first time he saw the scars, he was horrified. Two long, vertical lines down your back about where your shoulder blades were. Starting just above the shoulder blade and running down to your mid back. He wasn’t sure if the scars looked more like tears or cuts. You hadn’t answered him when he asked what they were from, you’d refused to tell him. After asking again and again, he began to assume that something horrific had happened to you, something you were afraid to talk about. Had you been captured and tortured? Had someone betrayed you? Had it been an accident of some sort? Did you even remember what had happened? Maybe it was so traumatic that your mind blocked it out, perhaps it was painful to remember. So he stopped asking, if it was traumatic, he didn’t want to risk an outburst or break down. 

     You remembered how it had happened, how you’d gotten this curse. A devil fruit, yet it wasn’t you who’d eaten it. The Noroi Noroi no mi. It allowed the user to bestow curses upon other people. Some minor, some… some like yours. Large metal wings, sharp blades that cut through your skin as they tore out of your back. Light weight yet strong, capable of propelling you hundreds, sometimes even thousands of feet in the air. The pain was like nothing you’d ever imagined before, the first time they’d sheared through your skin, you’d screamed in pain, falling to the ground. You’d lost consciousness, the pain too much for your mind to handle. You didn’t pass out from the pain anymore, but it still made you cry out in pain, it was still a blinding pain that left you shaking. With your wings fresh from your back, you looked like an angel of war, metal wings glinting in the sunlight as fresh blood dripped from the sharp tips of the ‘feathers’. Yet the curse didn’t stop there. With each activation, the curse progressed, as if to make your life an endless hell, maybe to ensure that you’d never just learn to deal with the pain. Metal that ripped out of your hair line, forming a beautiful silver circlet, yet dripped with blood, the red liquid running is streams down your face. A burning in your eyes, like acid, as they changed into an unnaturally bright blue, the whites turning a a lustrous ivory, like pearls. With each activation of your curse, you looked more and more like some sort of twisted, bloodstained angel of war. All you could think was it was only a matter of time before armor sprouted from your limbs, a cuirass of steel protecting your chest, until your body dripped with blood and you became a ‘true angel’ of blood and steel. Your worse nightmare. Horrific pain as the metal ripped through every part of your body, dripping with blood as people looked on in fear. What would the others think? What would Law think? Would they push you away? Or perhaps they might comfort you? Would they look at you in horror? Or would their looks turn to ones of sympathy? You couldn’t take that chance. You couldn’t risk losing those you loved most. 

     Now, however, you risked losing them anyway. Should you transform, you risked losing them as they pushed you away; but if you did nothing, you risked them dying and losing them for good, risked knowing that they died when you could have saved them. So with a pained cry, you allowed the metal to tear from your skin. Once more dripping with blood, you faced your enemies. Everyone’s eyes were on you, the scream, the transformation, drawing their attention. Pauldrons of metal covered your shoulders, your blood covered circlet dripping with blood, your wings glinting in the sunlight as the red liquid dripped from the tips to the ground. Unnaturally blue eyes glared at your enemies as the hilt of a blade formed at your waist. You could feel the metal springing from your skin in the same horrific fashion, yet this time, you didn’t care. This time, you took hold of the metal willingly, this time, you pulled it from your body as if the pain didn’t matter, as if what you had become was trivial. It left a gash in your hip, the hilt burned like red hot fire against your hand as you charged forward. An angel of war? No. A demon of blood, steel, and fury as you cut your enemies down. A metal blade, sharper than any man made sword, sharper than even Law’s scalpels or feather blades. Piercing and slashing through your enemies and suddenly, you were covered in blood once more, yet this blood was not your own. Chest heaving, you dropped the blade at your feet. All around you, bodies littered the ground, blood watering the earth and pooling at your feet. You closed your eyes as tears burned behind your eye lids. It was time to face the others, time to face their horrified stares and terrified faces. But you refused to do so as you were now, refused to face them as the demonic creature you’d become. The wings retracted, the blade on the ground seemed to gain a mind of its own as it turned into liquid metal and shot into your calf. Pauldrons pulled back into your skin, and circlet slipped back into your head. But more had formed during your battle. Blood stained vambraces folded back into your forearms and a gold trimmed tasset slipped into your waist. Your clothes had been shredded by the metal that had sprouted from your body and was covered in your blood. The wounds caused by the curse quickly healed, leaving more scarring. It was a bitter sweet ability of the curse. It allowed you to heal quickly, making wounding you difficult. Because if you bled out, the curse could no longer take hold of you. The palm of your hand now had burn scars and your eyes still felt like they were covered in acid. Still, still you turned to them. Their looks were ones of horror and sympathy, they cradled their own wounds, yet they stood up, hurrying over to you. Bepo was the first to reach you, pulling you close and wrapping his large arms around you, sobbing as he tried to say something that was lost in the sounds of his crying. Penguin and Shachi were soon wrapped around you as well, muttering apologies and words of comfort. Soon the entire crew minus Law was holding you in a group hug, words of comfort surrounding you. Tears ran down your cheeks, yet these were not tears of pain. They were tears of relief. They didn’t hate you, they weren’t turning you away. They were pulling you closer. You lost track of how long they held you before you all returned to the Polar Tang, the crew offering to cook, help you clean up, let you rest, whatever you wanted. It was shortly after you’d entered your room, before you got a chance to shower that Law appeared in your room. The two of you simply stood there in silence. He was the one you were most afraid of right now. Would he leave you? Would he hate you? Would he be angry at you for keeping it a secret? Law walked over to you in silence, gently taking your arm and examining the new scars.

     “Now I know why you didn’t tell me… are you… are you still in pain?” he asked, eyes looking at you in concern. 

     “They’re… tender. They will be for a few days.” you admitted, looking away from him. Law gently wiped some blood away from your arm with his sleeve before pressing a soft kiss to the new scar that ran up your entire forearm.

     “From now on, I’ll take care of you, You’ll never have to use this ability again. I… I won’t let you. As your captain, I forbid you from using it again, no matter the situation.” he said sternly, yet you could tell that his words were simply out of worry for your well-being. You could only nod as you stared into his eyes. While they were filled with sympathy and concern, they also shone with love. He loved you too much to let this happen to you again.

     “Let me help you.” he said softly, gently pulling the remains of your blood soaked clothes from your body before gently carrying you to the shower. He was more gentle with you than ever as he carefully washed the blood from your body, almost as if he was afraid his touch would tear your skin open again. Once you were clean and in fresh clothes, he ‘shambles’ed you to the dining room, the crew already having made your favorite. While they wanted to be there for you, they’d all agreed to leave you be, not wanting to make you feel like a freak by standing there and staring at you or asking you questions. They had questions, they wanted to care for you, but they knew it would be best if they treated you like normal, as if nothing had happened. To treat you like always so that you knew that nothing had changed, you hadn’t changed in their eyes. In a way, it was true, you hadn’t changed in their eyes. You were still you, still the same person who cared about them, still the same person they’d always cared for, who was part of their little family. They’d let you rest more often, they’d treat you with more care, they’d protect you more, but you were still you, even with your curse. Law would be the same. He’d treat you like he always had, yet at the same time, he’d be more careful with you, be softer with you. But you knew it was only because they didn’t want you to have to suffer that pain again. Only because they loved you. They still loved you. 

[janghoefett]

You get a stupid injury during seggz with the Mandalorian. I just think mundane domestic mishaps can be seggzy ok…

18+, no minors, f!reader.

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

It feels like he weighs two tons on top of you.

Din was a good sized man on his own, but with his beskar on you could swear he was doubled in weight. Your frazzled legs have nowhere to go as his hips repeatedly bring their weight down into yours, and you can only keep them open as they involuntarily jerk, oscillating between wrapping around him, to splaying out, to using your feet to find some sort of anchor around you in the sleeping compartment. Your head is empty and numb yet filled with such animalistic delight and desire all the same, as the Mandalorian inches you closer and closer…

Your bare foot comes in contact with the steel wall of the cramped space, and you arch your foot to gain purchase with your toes. The ball of your foot presses hard into the wall until Din starts digging into that perfect spot inside of you that makes you snap your legs shut. The Mandalorian is relentless, still working out the frustrations of his last hunt on you, and you find your legs are moving once more on their own accord until your foot catches on the same spot of wall.

You cry his name when your foot slips against the smooth surface, bending unnaturally inwards at your ankle, and with a strangled groan, the Mandalorian had finished. You’re torn between pleasure and a throbbing pain as you allow him to come down from his much-needed high, stroking the unruly curls at the back of his hot neck as he catches his breath.

“Din, I think I fucked up my ankle just now,” you breathe.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, his head snapping up.

“No, I just… I think I twisted it.”

“This one?” he mumbles, placing his hand on your leg and sitting up, glancing down for your confirmation.

Din supports your leg by the calf to bring your ankle closer to his gaze, a tender reminder of his waining vision in recent years. “Easy, sweet girl, I just need to take a look...” he mumbles. Your leg jerks at his touch when he cups your ankle to steady you, gentle as he could have been, but still enough to irritate the injured muscles. “Dank ferrik, you’re swelling fast, the Mandalorian grumbles. “I’m sorry.”

Din always felt so responsible for your care, often times overcorrecting his brute strength and refining his gruff nature - two of the very things that drew you to him - and the sight of the quiet man’s furrowed brow makes your heart ache. “Don’t be sorry. You were fucking me so good, I didn’t know what to do with my legs, that’s all,” you laugh, placing your hand over his. “Sex is the most common cause of injury, you know.”

“Really?”

“No,” you admit with a soft smile. “I don’t know. I think that’s kind of a thing, though, people get hurt during sex in stupid ways all the time. Surprised this is the first time it’s happened to us.”

Din chuckles softly, rubbing your leg in mindless affection. “Suppose we couldn’t fight those odds much longer.”

“No, we couldn’t,” you agree. You usher him back down close to you and Din take your lips in his own, his fingertips cupping your head and massaging gently into your scalp. “I’m okay, really, just get me the bacta when you get up, please,” you whisper.

When your eyes meet through your shared smile, the pain in your ankle had almost been forgotten, and you know that tonight you had each found a reminder of the gentle love you were fortunate enough to take refuge in.

 “I’ll get it for you, sweetheart.”

[thesistersarcheron]

Pairing: Elriel Rating: E Word Count: ~3k Tags: PWP, Smut, Fluff, Choking Kink, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Post-ACOSF Summary: Azriel and Elain do the dishes together after a family dinner. Read this fic on AO3 and find more on my masterlist!

Elain was elbow-deep in dishwater when she felt him. 

He must have crept in on slow, silent feet—she didn’t realize she wasn’t alone until the back of her neck prickled and the shadows on the counter warped, stretching unnaturally in the bright kitchen. 

A split-second glance over her shoulder was all she managed as that mass of shadow coalesced at her side, devouring the golden faelight, before the darkness engulfed her.

Lips and then teeth dragged up her throat; a large hand stroked her hip. Another covered her mouth, its mottled, scarred surface muffling the involuntary whimper that each new touch coaxed out of her.

The window over the sink reflected her own wide eyes back at her, the starless night outside transforming its glassy surface into a mirror. She and the darkness were framed by the shadowed outline of her garden outside, her roses and jasmine limned by pale light of a new moon. 

In the corner of the window, she could see the double doors that led out of the kitchen over her shoulder.

And beyond those doors, the low murmur of voices was still audible in the sitting room just down the hall.

The shadows withdrew, the hand over her mouth following the trail of a loose curl to her shoulder.

Elain let out a ragged breath, tipping her head back to rest it against a firm shoulder. “What are you doing here? I thought we couldn’t—”

She cut herself off with a mortifying squeak as the fingers in her hair tugged, and the sensation shot straight to her core.

“You’re such a godsdamn tease,” came the low rasp in her ear a second later. 

Elain tried to turn, tried to face him, but his strong, steady hands snapped to her waist, holding her in place. “Azriel?”

Azriel said nothing, but a wisp of shadow carrying the heady scent of cedar and arousal stroked the ribbon around Elain’s neck—a thin strip of sky blue velvet tied in a pretty bow at the back. A sapphire no bigger than the nail on her smallest finger hung from the bow, a suggestive, secretive token that had been hidden beneath her hair for most of the night.

“Elain.” His voice was laden with dark, dangerous amusement, drawing out the two syllables of her name until she wasn’t sure where it started and the heartbeat pounding in her ears began. The dark mass of him pressed forward until she was pinned against the counter. Until she was trapped in the cage of his arms.

Through the endless layers of leather and tulle between them, she could feel the firm, ready length of his cock against her ass.

She swallowed, removing her hands from the dishwater, and braced them on the lip of the sink instead. Already, heat bloomed between her legs. Already, her legs felt weak, incapable of holding her weight.

“Don’t stop,” Azriel ordered. A shadow pulled a serving bowl out of the small stack of dishes on the counter beside the sink and pressed it into both of hers. 

Blindly, Elain dipped it into the water and started scrubbing. 

Azriel’s hands found her hips and dragged her back, grinding his against her. “Now, tell me why you decided to show up to a family dinner acting like such a dirty little cocktease.”

She had to blink hard to clear the haze of lust from her eyes.

“I’m not sure what you mean.” The lie was sticky on her tongue, reluctant. It was shaky at best, and she knew, just from the way Azriel’s shadows coiled and twisted like the tail of some great, amused jungle cat playing with its dinner, that he knew she was lying.

“You know exactly what I mean.” The words were slow, syrupy, like a teacher trying to coax an answer from a particularly reticent student, and Elain’s cheeks grew warm. The shadow twitched over the ribbon. “You couldn’t keep your hands off this fucking thing. Every time I looked at you, you were fidgeting with it.”

Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, and she had to press her thighs together as the first hint of wetness tickled the inside of them. His filthy language always heated her blood, and from the way his eyes glowed golden in the dark, he knew that, too.

And truth be told, she hadn’t been able to keep her hands off of the makeshift choker. She hadn’t even tried. She’d tied around her neck on a whim just moments before joining their family at the dinner table, imagining what Azriel might think when she shifted her hair onto one of her shoulders just as he passed, allowing a brief glimpse of the gem dangling from it…

He was obsessed with her throat. That much she knew. 

And he had been since that first, ill-fated rendezvous the night of Solstice—since that first, tentative graze of his fingertips against her skin. He had been just as fascinated when he returned to her a week later to beg her forgiveness and confess what Rhys had ordered of him, cupping her by the nape of the neck so he could tilt her head up just so before finally, finally kissing her. And during every stolen moment since—

Well, Elain was glad she listened when Feyre waxed poetic about color theory, because she needed every bit of that information to figure out how to cover up the marks Azriel left on her throat week after week.

The little shadow flickered again, its coolness tickling her throat.

Elain lifted her chin, meeting his eyes in the glass.

“It’s itchy,” she said pertly. The bowl dropped to the bottom of the sink with a thud. “Perhaps you’re the one with the problem, since it seems you couldn’t keep your eyes off this fucking thing.”

Azriel sucked in a breath through his teeth, but if he was shocked, he didn’t show it. He didn’t even take the bait. “If it’s uncomfortable, then why are you still wearing it?”

“What business is it of yours?” She held his gaze in the mirrored window. “I wear what I want to wear.”

Azriel’s shadows stilled. His silence was as pointed as the talons that shone in the dark—it was the exact silence that made lesser souls quake and beg for their lives. But the hands holding her were gentle, their soft, expert touch slow and contemplative as he stared at her.

Elain felt every second of it like a brand held against her pounding heart.

And then the shadows seemed to shrug, shifting backward and away from Elain, and the hands fell away from her waist. “That’s true. It is no business of mine. I won’t bother you any longer.”

“No.” The word was a gasp, and Elain grabbed at a dark wrist as it retreated into a pocket of shadow, drawing it back to her waist. The shadowsinger paused, and although he said nothing, the quiet, patient tilt of his head asked enough. Her other hand rose to her throat, and she fingered the ribbon. “I was thinking of you. When I touched it, I mean. I was wondering how you liked it.” 

Those glowing eyes seared into her. Elain knew what others thought of him—that most emotion from him was an icy, frosted-over, brittle thing—but the heat in that stare kept her all too aware of the length of ribbon around her neck.

“Fuck.”  

Elain shuddered at the low curse and watched a second scarred hand part the darkness by her shoulder. He dragged the tail of the ribbon through his fingers and, with painstaking gentleness, pulled the bow free. 

“It’s the wrong color.”

The gem clattered somewhere on the floor at their feet, and Azriel held the ribbon out in front of her. He turned it this way and that, as if he were truly holding it up to the light to assess its color. When Elain opened her mouth, he made a low shushing noise and twisted his wrist, letting her watch the cobalt Siphon on the back of his hand blaze from within with cold, calculated fire.

Her ribbon was several shades lighter than the brightest glimmer in that gemstone.

And Azriel seemed to agree, because the blue light of his power consumed the ribbon, burning it away until it was nothing but dust falling into the soapy water below.

“Az!”

“Shh, precious,” he murmured, his cool breath sending a shiver down her spine. Then that hand was back on her throat, so large it covered her from the hollow of her throat to her jaw. His Siphon glittered in their reflection, and Elain watched her own eyes go dark, clouded with lust. He pressed the rough pad of his thumb against her jaw, coaxing her head to the side, and murmured in her ear, “We wouldn’t want Rhys to hear us now, would we?”

His breath carried with it the heady scent of whiskey and smoke, and Elain made a low, wanton sound.

“Nesta bought me that ribbon,” was all she could think whisper back.

“I’ll buy you ten more.” Azriel’s head dipped, inky hair falling over his forehead, and sharp teeth sank into her throat where the ribbon had been.

Her eyes fluttered shut. “Azriel.” 

He removed himself from her neck with a wet smack. “Be quiet and I’ll fuck you right here.”

Elain jolted, the slow burn between her legs flaring.

But his mouth was already back on her throat, marking her a second time. In the window, his eyes were locked on her face.

She nodded. 

She could be quiet. 

She could be so quiet.

Azriel let go of her neck, and his teeth were a slash of white in their dark reflection. The approval she saw shining in those dark eyes made her swallow a whine. 

But he must have felt the vibration of it beneath his palm, because his own eyes lit with mirth. “Be good, and I might even let you come.”

The hand at her waist fell, palming her ass before dragging up her skirts. He moved slowly, so, so slowly, letting the rough tulle scratch against the backs of her thighs. When the hem scraped against her ass, she swallowed, and the fingers curled around her neck squeezed gently—a twisted perversion of a fond touch that drew more wetness from between Elain’s legs. 

Finally, when he finally had her clothes to his liking, a cloud of tulle around her waist, Azriel pressed his hand to the small of her back,  bending her over the sink. The curling steam teased her cheeks and the swell of her breasts, plastering her hair to her nape, and another caress of the hand at her throat reminded Elain to breathe.

She was up to her elbows in the water before her mind caught up to her; she lifted them out of the sink, scrubbing them dry on her skirts, and braced them against the far edge. A pair of shadows followed, curling around her wrists as if they meant to keep her in place.

She dared another glance at the window. Azriel’s eyes were locked on hers.

“You’re not wearing anything under this dress.”

He spoke plainly, as if he were commenting on nothing more pressing than the dark sky beyond the window or the ice floating in the Sidra beyond the garden. 

“No,” she said, licking a bead of sweat off of the bow of her lips. “I’m not.”

Finally, he let her see the intrigue on his face, see something more than simple intensity as he traced a finger up the dripping seam of her pussy. The touch was too light to do anything but tease, and she wiggled her hips, chasing the sensation. 

He cocked his head. “Were you hoping for this?”

Well, that or she was woefully underdressed for a family dinner.

Elain couldn’t help herself. She grinned. She had been a cocktease—and the flush on her cheeks deepened as she thought the word—but she didn’t dare to think he would follow her into the kitchen when she excused herself to get some air under the guise of offering to do the dishes. 

“You’ve been gone all week. I missed you.”

Azriel cursed under his breath. “Hold on tight.” 

The shadows around her wrists curled into the spaces between her fingers, and she heard him ripping at the fastenings of his trousers, and then the thick tip of his cock slid through her folds. 

“Keep your legs—” Elain pressed her thighs together, and he groaned. “Just like that. Good girl.”

Chills erupted at his praise, and Elain was still savoring the pleasant warmth it stoked low in her core when he sank into her in one stroke. Unprepared, the thick length of his cock felt larger than ever as it stretched her, her innermost walls burning deliciously as they adjusted to him. 

She gasped as pleasure bled into pain, the blended sensation so vital, so essential, and so perfectly, mind-numbingly necessary in that moment. Azriel crowded her against the counter, his chest pressed to her back, and the flare of his wings as he adjusted his balance kicked up a cooling breeze so at odds with the steaming water below her that Elain moaned. 

The hand on her throat flexed, and she clenched around his cock on instinct.

Azriel hissed wickedly in her ear. 

She was shivering by the time he withdrew, moving at an agonizing pace and pausing when only the head of his cock remained inside of her. When Elain tried to follow, tried to fill the hollow ache inside of her by pushing her hips back, his grip on the sides of her neck tightened. 

It only took a few seconds for the welcome dizziness to set in, and Azriel stilled completely, waiting until every inch of her body turned pliant, moldable, in the wake of that choking grasp.

“I told you to be good,” he warned her. Elain couldn’t do anything but nod, her head swimming deliciously, all the weight disappearing from her limbs.

I’ll be good. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. 

Again and again, Azriel moved in her, squeezing her throat in time with his thrusts. And even though he never once gripped her tight enough to truly restrict her breathing, Elain was still rendered breathless, desperate, lungs burning as every gasp seemed to yield less air than the last.

His own breathing was harsh, each sawing exhale against the sweat-damp nape of her neck sending a new shiver down her back. His thumb stroked her pulse slowly, so gentle and so at odds with the hard push of his cock against the tenderest spot inside of her.

“You take me so well…” Azriel rasped against her cheek. Every word had the pleasure between her legs ratcheting higher, winding tighter, until Elain could have sobbed with it. Still, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough, and he knew it. “My good, precious girl.”

“Az, I need— I need—” Elain cut herself off with another fruitless gasp. Her chest was burning, her own voice strangled by the low din of distant chit-chat seeping into the kitchen. Her pleasure outweighed the fear of getting caught; the certainty that Azriel would have them hidden in shadow long before they were spotted dulling the serrated edge of her fear.

“I know you do.” The hand on her hip shoved aside her skirts, some falling without care into the dishwater, going low until—

“Oh!” 

His fingers spread her, dipping into the place where his cock split her, drawing that wetness up to her clit. Two of them circled, slow and taunting, in time with his thrusts. Higher up her body, his hand tightened again, slowing her racing pulse until she lost all sense of time. 

She surrendered to that maddening touch, drifting in its blissful currents, following where Azriel led. He kept her on the precipice, his fingers slow and precise, until she felt his movements quicken, growing erratic and rough as he neared his own climax.

A low growl drew her out of the haze. “I want to feel you come on my cock, Elain.”

And as if that were her cue, pleasure tipped into euphoria as her legs shook, her muscles going taut. She clutched the sink, raising her head just enough to catch the feral, ravenous look in Azriel’s eyes in the window as he bowed over her, teeth bared as he came with her, and her mouth fell open in a silent scream. 

She wasn’t sure how long they stayed there, shaking and catching their breath. Eventually, Azriel pulled away, sliding from her with a low noise, and lifted her away from the sink with gentle hands. He kept her upright, adjusting her skirts, and Elain blushed as he bent, scooping up the sapphire from the tile at their feet and tucking it into the front of her dress with a conspiratorial wink.

Their shared release dripped down her thighs then, heavy dishwater dragging down her skirts, and she scrunched her nose at the wet, sticky feeling.

A smile so bright it hurt to look at bloomed on Azriel’s lips, and her heart stuttered at the sight.

“Go upstairs and clean up.” He swooped down, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. Elain wrinkled it at him again, aiming for another, but he simply shook his head, the fondness in that gesture making her chest ache. His hands lingered on her waist for another moment, as if testing the steadiness of her legs, before pushing her gently in the direction of the narrow service staircase. “Be careful not to get caught on the way up, love. They’ll scent me on you.”

Somehow, he didn’t look too upset at the idea.

Elain rolled her eyes—males—and took a few shaky steps toward the stairs. Halfway there, she turned, suddenly shy. “Come with me?”

His sleeves were already rolled up, a plate bearing Amren’s half-eaten dinner in his hands.

“I’ll be up in a moment.” Azriel met her halfway and ducked his head, brushing another sweet kiss over her mouth. “As soon as I can. Leave your door unlocked.”

Elain beamed. “Always.”

Have y’all heard Need, the leaked Taylor Swift song that was cut from Lover?

And Happy Easter! 🐣💐 I know I have a million WIPS, but I hope you all enjoyed this little Elriel interlude. Also, always remember learn more and practice safe erotic asphyxiation, if this ends up being something you’re into, my friends!

[wild-magic-oops]

[Act 3 Bhaal Spoiler] I always found the reaction of Gale kinda lacking when you romance him after you denied Bhaal, how about an alternate reaction to it before Withers appears and after he appears? Dunno, I cannot see him being so damn chill about seeing you literally die and revive, maybe that as prompt? :D

I find the reaction extremely lacking as well. It was disappointing to play through that for sure so I'm happy to try my hand at inserting more emotion into these two scenes!

===

Death

In hindsight, Lucas should've predicted that his father would dispose of him in his temple. And perhaps deep down he knew, but hope had blinded him. Ultimately, it was foolish of him to think he could escape Bhaal's leash unscathed, let alone alive.

As his body bent unnaturally, spine cracking, and every muscle screaming in agony, he forced his eyes to open one last time. The world was upside down but he had no trouble identifying the man running towards him, almost tripping on his new robe. Eyes wide in shock and horror, the weave at his fingertips, ready to cast a spell. But there was no spell that could save Lucas now.

Gale was shouting, or at least Lucas assumed he was. The world was fading fast, and sound had all but gone. It would've been better to come here alone, to die alone, than to subject Gale to watching his lover die in front of his very eyes, unable to do a single thing about it. But despite that, the selfish side of Lucas was happy that the last thing he saw was Gale. If only his face wasn't twisted by the downing realization of Lucas's impending death.

===

Resurrection

A sharp pain twisted his body and Lucas woke up with a start. Everything felt on fire for a moment before blissful relief washed over and took away most of the pain, leaving him an exhausted panting heap on the hard cold ground.

A warm trembling hand was caressing his cheek as if in reverence, and Lucas opened his eyes with some effort. Gale was looking down at him, beautiful brown eyes swimming with tears. He blinked, and a droplet fell on Lucas's cheek, hot on his cool skin.

An almost unhinged laughter tore from Gale's throat, only to die moments later with a loud wet sob. Then he bent down to touch his forehead to Lucas's, hands cradling his lover's face.

"I thought I lost you," he whispered, voice rougher than usual, "No, I did lose you. You cannot-", a sharp intake of breath, more tears falling on Lucas's face, "please, do not leave me again, I cannot bear it."

A soft kiss on his lips and he was being pulled gently to his unsteady feet.

[kaihuntrr]

one-year anniversary!

HI. oh my goodness can you believe its been a WHOLE YEAR (and a day, im posting this a day later OOPS-) since i started working on this au? i dont think i started working on the chapters until... the -ber months? but the general brainstorming started now and oh my GOD the amount of changes that has happened while working on this au is insane! im absolutely floored with how much people enjoy this au, and while im too busy to be posting art (im doing some personal work!) i have all the time in the world to talk about how much this means to me.

i've written things in the past, but i havent for the LIFE of me worked on such a long project such as this (we're only halfway through act one of FIVE!) and learning and growing with such wonderful betas and partner (ehehe @mewhoismyself hello there) is just so wonderful <3

SO! in order to make this anniversary special, i've decided to post a little cut/practice scene from act two! this couldnt make the cut with what the plot has in mind, but i figured itd be best to have some nice moments with scott and martyn, eh?

OH! and before i go, the next chapter will be posted a day earlier! <3 im going abroad the day after the original chapter posting date, so i need to rest. i think this back half of the fic is gonna be really something <3

anyway, i wont keep you here for longer. i hope you have a fun time reading this, just as much as my partner and i had fun writing this so many months ago <33

Martyn tried to listen as Scott rambled on about what he’d been up to, how nice it had been to see his friends again. He even tried to let the small twist of jealousy at Scott being so happy over seeing someone else wrench his attention back into the moment, but it didn’t work. The face of Pearl kept flashing in the forefront of his mind, her eyes and jagged scar glowing unnaturally under the moonlight. 

“Oh, and…,” Scott continued to ramble on, but Martyn still couldn’t focus. It seemed that Scott had noticed as his voice trailed off and he looked at the blonde with a tilted head. “Martyn…?”

Martyn gave a grumbled response. His mind blocked out the world around him as he pictured brief flashes of the island, the hollow and desolate stares of the people, the wicked laugh coming from Pearl….

Scott sighed. “Martyn….”

Martyn could still feel a slight buzz in his head from where he was hit. How much blood did he lose back there? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he was glad to be alive. Glad that he was here, still breathing, like everyone else. Glad that he was–

“Martyn!”

Martyn jerked as Scott’s face was suddenly inches from his own. Scott’s lips were twisted into a pout and his eyebrows were drawn into a scowl. “Huh- sorry, what?”

Scott sighed, letting his head fall forward, “So you weren’t listening to me….”

“No!” Martyn said quickly, throwing his hands up. Panic leapt in his chest, making his heart beat faster. He didn’t want Scott to think he was ignoring him…! “No, I- I’m… I’m sorry…,” he hung his head. “I’m trying to listen- I’m not meaning to ignore you, I just….” Martyn looked down at the sand beneath him. Guilt welled up in his throat. He’d been so eager to see Scott while he was away, and before he’d gotten back, and now that he was actually here… Martyn was ignoring him. He was making Scott feel ignored.

Martyn shook his head, forcing a huge smile onto his face. “So, you said you saw your friends, right? Did you have fun-? Oh, what am I saying, you just said you had fun- haha…,” Martyn scrubbed the back of his head, then straightened up, rolling to his feet. “Hey, do you wanna go see if we can find your bird friend? I bet it’s missed you too!” He pointed towards a path leading up to the forest, “Bet he lives in there somewhere…!”

“Um- Martyn…,” Scott trailed off looking after him.

Martyn took a few steps backwards, away from Scott, and spread his arms, hoping he’d follow. “Or we can go down to the beach! It’s a nice day, it’ll feel great to splash in the water a little.”

“Martyn.”

“Or- oh, we can go see the decorations they’re setting up for the festival down in the center of town. You said you were excited right, so we can-!”

“Martyn!” Scott snapped. 

Martyn stopped.

Scott took the few steps to close the distance between them, laying his hand on Martyn’s arm, then sliding it down to take his hand. He tilted his head, giving Martyn big sad eyes. “Martyn, talk to me…. What’s wrong?”

It was hard for Martyn to not crack under Scott’s gaze. “It’s just…,” he trailed off, trying to put his thoughts into words. He was just engrossed in them a second ago, but now, trying to tell Scott, he couldn’t think of what to say. “I… uh….”

“You’re alright, Martyn,” Scott rubbed his thumb over Martyn’s hand in a small, circular motion. “Take your time.”

A small pause fell over him. Martyn could hear the slow ebbs of the waves before he managed to speak. “I can’t get her out of my mind,” his voice spat with venom. Pearl’s sadistic glee, her manic grin, her ever-looming presence burned in his head. Martyn’s grip unknowingly tightened around Scott until he looked the other in the eye. His grip on Scott lessened as he looked away. “What good can I be to protect you, when I can’t defend myself from one person?”

“Who said I needed protecting?” Scott raised an eyebrow, his tone still soft but with a hint of skepticism as he leaned to the side to catch Martyn’s gaze again. He let out a weak chuckle and moved his other hand to rest on Martyn’s cheek. “Besides, you can’t protect me from everything.”

Martyn leaned into the touch, not caring how warm his cheeks felt as Scott’s delicate hand pressed into his skin, lightly grazing over the scar Pearl caused. He closed his eyes as he let out a sigh and drooped his shoulders. “But I want to…,” he muttered. He looked at Scott, his face scrunched with worry. “I don’t want you getting hurt at all, Scott.”

“There’s going to be times where I get hurt, Martyn,” Scott narrowed his eyes and withdrew his hand from Martyn’s cheek. Martyn was wide-eyed, only for Scott to hold the hunter’s other hand. “When that happens, all I’d ask is for you to help me get back on my feet.”

Martyn could feel his nerves freeze up at Scott’s warm hold. His gentle stare and concern on his face nearly caused Martyn’s heart to explode. A million things swirled in his mind as the breeze wafted over. “I can’t help it,” he lowered his head, biting his lip. “You should be protected, with all the chaos going around–”

“What chaos?” Scott cracked a smile and shook his head. He shrugged, letting go of one of Martyn’s hands as he gestured around. “All there is to see is you, me, and the beach. Nothing to worry about, right?”

Nothing to worry about for now, but so many things could happen in the blink of an eye. Martyn could practically hear the sound of the sea princes’ ringing in his ears, the one from his dreams laughing as its mouth opened wide to swallow Scott as he screamed-.... 

No. Martyn needed to be prepared for anything, so nothing bad could ever happen to the people he cared for. Nothing. Never again. 

“I still want to fight for you,” his voice was barely a whisper in the wind, cracking a bit from the emotions that crawled up the back of his throat. But seeing Scott’s attentive look, with the slight tilt of his head, Martyn knew he could hear him. “Can I at least do that?” he pleaded. He needed to-. He needed to. 

“You may,” Scott nodded, giving him a small smile. Then his eyes narrowed as a smirk crept onto his lips. “So- I’d like to see how you fight.”

Martyn opened his mouth to respond- just in time for a woosh of breath to leave him as his back hit the ground. Martyn gasped, blinking for several seconds as he tried to figure out he’d gotten laid flat out on his back… with a certain ginger pinning his shoulders to the sand.

“Yikes…,” Scott teased, his eyebrows rising, complimenting the wide grin on his face.

Martyn sputtered, his face immediately flushing beat red. “I wasn’t ready! Sneak- sneak attack…!”

Scott laid one arm across his chest, propping his other elbow on top of it and laying his cheek in his hand. “Most things will take an opportunity for a sneak attack, when presented with one.” He kicked his feet in the air, as if he was lounging on a couch reading a book. 

Martyn flushed all the way to his ears. “Redo!”

Scott leaned his head down, smiling at Martyn in a way that was almost sickeningly sweet. “Are you waiting for a written invitation?” 

Martyn grabbed Scott by the shoulders and surged upwards, knocking the ginger off of him. Scott laughed as he slipped his grip, ducking under one of Martyn’s arms to wrap his arms around Martyn’s torso. 

Before Martyn’s brain could fully process that, Scott had rolled Martyn over top of him and planted him flat on his back again. 

Working on instinct more than pre-thought, Martyn wrapped his arms around Scott’s shoulders and kicked off the sand. He knocked his thigh against Scott’s hip, bumping him off balance just enough to send them rolling over again.

But Scott didn’t end up on his back underneath Martyn. 

Somehow, mid flip, he’d slithered around Martyn’s torso, ducking his arm again and getting outside of his hold. Martyn ended up with his face in the sand and a knee pressed between his shoulders, shoving him down further.

Martyn was about to push himself up with his arms, using his strength advantage to throw Scott off of him, but Martyn froze when he felt something sharp curl around his throat. 

He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even swallow. He could barely even breathe. 

Suddenly the sharp points of crescent bladed scythes were touched against his neck so delicately. Suddenly the sharp claws of a hungry beast wrapped around his throat, pricking the skin above his jugular. One wrong move and she’d slid his throat. One wrong breath and the beast would tear him to ribbons.

A figure above him bent down to whisper in his ear. 

“I win!” Scott chirped brightly. He laughed as he withdrew his fingernails from where he’d curled them around Martyn’s throat. “You really do need more practice. Though I’d be happy to oblige…,” his voice turned sing-songy as he plopped back on the sand, his arms holding him up.

Martyn slowly pushed himself upwards, staring down at the sand where his face had been in utter bafflement. Why had that felt-? Why was he-? Why was his heart beating so fast? Why… did he feel like he’d just been hunted…?

“That- that uh…,” Martyn stammered, not really sure what he wanted to say. “You’re a lot better fighter than I thought you’d be.” He turned his head to look at Scott, pushing himself up so he was sitting on his knees.

“I know,” Scott smiled widely, tipping his head back and forth, “Do I impress you, Martyn?” He smiled and hummed teasingly, his eyes narrowed in a joyful satisfaction. 

“Always,” he breathed, a lot more genuine and heartfelt than he’d meant to. Scott’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Martyn felt his face flush and he looked down at the sand. Well, he was in this far. “I think you’re amazing.” 

“Thank you…,” Scott said with a shy little smile. A light hint of red dusted his cheeks. He looked… really nice like that.

Martyn shook his head, roughly clearing his throat. “Well um, as- as fun as this was… I was actually referring to- to my gun combat more than my hand-to-hand.”

“Uh huh,” Scott answered with a small smirk, not sounding like he believed him. “Well, maybe I could help you with that as well.” 

“You know how to use a gun?” Martyn asked, more than a little shocked. How… how much did he really know about Scott?

Scott opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked to the side, then looked back at Martyn. “Noooo…?” he admitted, grinning sheepishly. He sighed, rolling his eyes a bit, “To be honest I thought you were still flirting, not that that was a serious question. And now, well… I’m just embarrassed.”

“Oh.” Martyn tried to hide his sigh of relief. It was one thing to just not know that Scott was a capable fighter -he was a tavern keeper who dealt with rowdy drunks all the time, Martyn honestly should have expected it- but it was another thing to not know that Scott was a trained gunman. For some reason they felt different. Martyn felt a grin split his face. “Would-... would you like me to teach you…?”

“Teach me what?” Scott’s eyebrows pinched together for a brief moment, then shot up towards his hairline, “How to use a gun?”

“Yeah,” Martyn grinned, “It’ll be like the time I was taught!”

“When were you taught?” Scott tilted his head.

“I think I was… seven? My parents knew I wanted to be a hunter, so they taught me,” Martyn hummed, looking out at the beach. He could remember the eagerness in his voice when he asked his parents to teach him. He only knew of the dangers through them and the people he lived around, but he knew his heart was calling out to the sea more than anything else.  “I needed practice, like everyone else, but I’m a natural. A crack shot, they’d told me!” He laughed. Shooting a target from far away was much easier than fighting with swords or his bare hands. 

Scott blinked, processing Martyn’s words. He slowly turned his head to Martyn, eyes widening in shock as all sense of his playfulness dropped. “You were a child when you learned how to use those?”

“Yeah…? I wanted to be a hunter, Scott, so I learned early.” Martyn looked at Scott and shrugged, feeling the ginger’s gaze on his skin felt… different. Martyn learned how to use guns to be a hunter, not to– oh. Was Scott thinking Martyn would…? Martyn shook his head and raised his hands up. “But I can’t shoot a person. A sea monster is easy because they’re big and stupid, but a person…?”

Scott had a judgemental look on his face as it scrunched up. He pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, resting his head on it as he sighed. “Ending a person’s life is hard, and I’m happy you haven’t shot anyone, but…,” he trailed off. Martyn leaned closer to Scott as he raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think it’s a little concerning?”

“What’s concerning?”

“You learned how to shoot things, how to kill things, as a kid,” Scott looked away, gripping his arms tighter as he watched the waves flow in and out. “Every life has a purpose; from you, to me, and even the beasts in the ocean.”

Martyn narrowed his eyes. Exactly what purpose could those monsters serve? Being ocean terrors? An effective way to kill humans and destroy ships? To bring fear in the hearts of children? To kill Ren- Jimmy? Why were there monsters in the ocean? Why should there be? 

“They’re monsters, Scott.” Martyn hissed, anger rising in his voice.

“They’re animals,” Scott hissed back, his face pinching into an expression that was almost pained. “They’re just animals….” 

“They’re heartless, cruel, and always starving.” Martyn huffed, pulling out his gun to examine it under the sunlight. Horrible beasts. Disgusting monsters. Murderers. “They’re such horrible, unnatural beasts that every mechanic in the world works to develop better guns and weapons to kill them all.” 

He didn’t fully notice the way Scott shied away from the gun in his hand. “You’re lucky you don’t need to leave the kingdom to see those ugly things,” Martyn spat.

“Ugly…,” Scott grumbled, turning his head away, like he was offended by the notion. “Well, I’m sure most of them would think the same about you.”

Martyn blinked, giving Scott a double take. Ugly…? 

Scott let out a sigh as he stretched and uncurled his legs and arms to stretch out in front of him. He picked up a small handful of sand and watched it fall through his fingers. “Every life is precious, every life is running on limited time. I’m not an idiot. I know things die. But there’s no reason to cut it shorter than it needs to be. ” He smiled wistfully, tossing the rest of the sand forward. “The sea is… scary, but maybe if you had an open mind, you’d see there’s more to it than monsters.”

Martyn followed Scott’s gaze and stared. Was there anything more to them? Surely not. The fondness in Scott’s voice was hard to believe- but the man has never even seen any beast to Martyn’s knowledge. The fond tone that Scott spoke about those- those monsters with… it honestly made Martyn angry. Those monsters took away the people he cared about. The people he loved. People he cherished. Jimmy, Ren… and so many other innocent people lost their lives to the sea, Lizzie’s parents…. The ocean took all of them, and there was nothing to blame but the monsters that infested it.

“They’re monsters, nothing more than that,” he spat, emotions in his chest wrenching into a tight knot that made it hard to breathe. He swung his arm out to the side, bringing his gun up in front of his chest as he rose to his knees, almost looming over Scott. “I know what they are, Scott, and I know I’m doing all that I can to protect you and the rest of the kingdom from the beasts that would just as quickly swallow you whole as they would crush you into pieces!”

“There’s no need for you to be so hostile about it,” Scott snapped at Martyn, his eyes narrowing into a cold glare that felt like icy daggers stabbing into Martyn’s face. Scott stood up and brushed all the sand from his clothes with a sigh. “I understand.” He walked closer to the water, just enough for the waves to lap against his shoes and tightened his fist, as if preventing to lash out.

Martyn blinked. “Was I-?” he muttered to himself. 

He looked out at Scott standing in the surf. He looked… sad. The guilty feeling in his chest built up once more. 

All of a sudden, Martyn remembered just how happy Scott looked with his birds fluttering around him, with the canary nuzzling his palm. Oh-. Scott was an animal lover…. No wonder he-.

Martyn was messing everything up. First he’d ignored him, and he was pushing Scott away by getting angry. Martyn quickly stood up and ran across the beach towards Scott, “Oh, Scott, I’m sorry–”

Scott turned to look at him, a flat expression on his face.

Martyn felt his heart twist, “I- I’m sorry. I- I didn’t mean to make you feel….”

“Upset?” Scott supplied.

“Yeah…,” Martyn bowed his head. His hand twitched out, reaching for Scott’s but giving up and retreating before he could take it. Martyn turned his head away and bit his lip. “I-... I made you-....”

Scott stepped closer and held out his hand. “No need for that, silly hunter,” he smiled sweetly. Martyn took it almost immediately, surprising them both. Scott let out a chuckle and bumped his shoulder next to Martyn’s. “I’m not mad,” Scott said softly. Martyn believed him. He looked… sad instead. 

“I don’t want you to–”

“You’re just fine.” Scott assured him with a smirk. “It takes a lot more than a simple disagreement to make me actually upset. We’re okay, right?” 

Martyn bashfully nodded, resulting in a wide smile from Scott. Was he… really okay? Or was he just hiding how he felt? For Martyn’s sake? Martyn hoped it was the former. 

Scott put a hand on his chest, giving Martyn’s hand a small squeeze. “Just… try to keep an open mind, alright? The world can be… stranger than you might think.” He smiled a little bashfully, “I might have- a surprise or two… to share, eventually.”

“Like how you can kick my butt in hand to hand?”

Scott’s face split into a wide grin, his eyes lighting up with laughter. “Just like that.”

Martyn felt himself smiling, a laugh escaping him as he squeezed Scott’s hand. Yeah, they were okay.