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nico-di-genova · 6 months

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In My Mind, You are Safe

Chapter 3

Alternate link to read on A03 Chapter 1 Chapter 2

“He knows?” Lance manages to ask the night after he wakes up, motioning with his head to his dad who slept snoring deeply on a leather couch in the lounge. “About us?”

“I did a bad job of keeping it secret.”

Lance thinks he maybe had too, what with the ass grabbing played as camaraderie and the way he couldn’t stop staring at Fernando during debriefs. His father wasn’t a dumb man, but rather a very observant one. He’d known Lance was smoking pot at fifteen not because of the bloodshot eyes and the smell, though those would have been the obvious giveaways, but because his reaction time during training took a hit.

‘If you’re going to smoke weed, you better do a damn better job of hiding it,’ He’d demanded.

Lance never touched the stuff again, he knew he’d get caught.

But with Fernando he thought he had maybe been a little better. They had rules about it. No kissing in the paddock, the garage, not even their drivers rooms unless it was a special circumstance – the circumstance always ending up being Fernando was needy and Lance was bored. They didn’t go to each other’s hotel rooms until it was late enough that no sane fucker would be wondering the halls. Nothing obvious could be left above the neckline, because Lance had already gotten looks from his father after the weekend on Fernando’s ugly yacht where they spent half the time naked and the other half sipping champagne. All those rules seem to have been thrown out the window the moment Lance ended up in intensive care.

Intensive Care

The word makes him shudder.

Fernando sees the movement and presses a kiss to Lance’s knuckles, “Cold?”

“Kinda.”

It’s not really a lie, the AC is set on Ice Box and he’s got nothing but a thin sheet, a stiff blanket, and bare legs beneath a hospital gown to protect him.

“Here,” Fernando pulls the Aston Martin sweatshirt from the back of his chair and helps work it over Lance’s head. It takes an extreme amount of maneuvering, and gentle tugging, and he can’t put one arm through the sleeve because of the IV in his hand. It kind of sucks at providing any actual warmth, but it smells like Fernando so that’s a comfort all on its own.

“Thanks,” He rasps.

“Of course, Lancito.”

“I missed you,” Lance blurts out, which doesn’t really make sense because he was just with Fernando in the paddock. Just with him in his driver’s room. But Lance also thinks he maybe remembers the dark. The emptiness. The distant voices that sounded like they were right beside him and yet a world away all at once. He thinks he remembers being scared.

“I missed you too. Stop talking, you will irritate your throat.”

Lance wants to make a joke about Fernando not wanting to hear him speak, but that would take too many words and he already kind of feels like he’s breathing around fire. Instead, he accepts the water Fernando offers him and sips slowly through the straw to draw out the soothing effect. He has to be careful with how much he drinks, and he can’t have solid foods yet, which Lance chalks up to normal post coma recovery, but might also have something to do with the abdomen injury as well.

He knows it’s serious because when he’d asked the doctor how long until he could get back to racing she hadn’t given him an answer. And Fernando couldn’t look him in the eye. They don’t lie to each other, brutal honesty has always been their forte. That, or steadfast avoidance.

“Careful,” Fernando chides when Lance sips too quick and chokes on the liquid, some of it escaping his mouth to dribble in a cool line down his chin.

Lance rolls his eyes. Fernando should be used to the sounds of his choking by now, he’s certainly gagged himself on worse than a few drops of water.

“Brat.”

Lance smiles around the straw, all innocence and fluttering eyelashes.

“You are lucky you’re in a hospital bed.”

Which, he isn’t, far from it, but for the moment things feel almost normal so he ignores the remark.

--------

There is an argument about who Lance will go home with.

Lance’s Switzerland apartment is out of the question, his agency being robbed by the injuries his body is still trying to adjust itself to. His dad knows he can afford better around the clock care, people to help Lance with everything from changing his bandages to holding his dick while he pisses. Fernando knows Lance doesn’t want that, knows the humiliation of it would probably kill him faster than his car in the wall should have. They don’t ask for Lance’s opinion on the matter though as he sits silently in the bed between them. Watching them fight for custody of him, it’s familiar, reminds him of being small and wondering if he was going to have to have two bedrooms after his parent’s divorce.

“He needs help Fernando. Doctors, nurses, staff – not just you.”

“I have taken care of him before. I know what he needs.”

Healing from a head wound and a piece of carbon fiber tearing through his body isn’t really the same as a cold, but Lance appreciates Fernando’s commitment. He doesn’t say this of course, because neither one of them seem to really notice he’s there, just continues sipping slowly from the cup in his hands and picking at the starched blanket over his lap. His throat doesn’t hurt anymore, swallowing doesn’t take as much effort.

“You think you know better than me? I’m his father,” his dad states. As if it needs stating. As if Lance wasn’t born with Lawrence’s name over his head and a silver coated thumb in his mouth. As if there were any injury out there that would make him forget who he belongs to, down to the blood and marrow of him, the very making.

“I am his-” Fernando pauses. They never really put a name to it. There hadn’t been much discussion about what he and Lance were before he started bleeding out in Fernando’s arms. Not that he would remember that of course, doesn’t remember much about barreling into the wall at top speed. The doctors say that’s probably for the better.

“Boyfriend?” Lance supplies helpfully around the straw in his mouth. He’s continuing his bad habit of gnawing on the plastic, the taste reminiscent of the tube he had woken up choking on, but also of the bottle he would carry around during race weekends.

Fernando motions at him appreciatively, “Yes. This. I am this.”

His dad’s scowl deepens, “This isn’t a fever and some rest. It’s physical therapy, cognitive therapy. He will need someone 24/7.”

He is sitting right here, and he doesn’t necessarily agree. Lance is needy in the same way a cat is, he craves attention only as long as it is wanted, too much and he will probably begin scratching at you. But there hasn’t been much in his control since he lost the wheel at Silverstone.

“Okay. I will do that.” There’s not a hint of hesitation in Fernando’s tone, when Lance knows there absolutely should be. Whatever unestablished thing is between them, it’s far from stable enough to rest Lance’s entire laundry list of medical issues on, or at least Lance thought it was.

“I can hire someone too, Lawrence,” Fernando pushes, “You are not the only man with money. Lance has not lived with you since he was a child, yes? He needs familiarity. Routine? That is not in your mansion. Let him come home.”

Home.

Is that what Fernando’s place is to him? Most of his memories there are the sort that speak less of a home and more of the flat you wake up in after a one-night stand. Strewn clothes and half-finished bottles of beer on the kitchen counter, The warm press of Fernando’s body along his bare back. Would he be healing on the same sheets they routinely fucked on? Propped up on the pillows that know the shape of his teeth?

Is home where you have a drawer and your PlayStation hooked up in the living room? Or is it the childhood space where you keep a collection of Pokémon cards and karting trophies to collect dust? Lance isn’t sure, mainly because he’s never stayed in one place long enough to really understand the feeling.

His dad throws the last card in his arsenal, the thing they all three have been wondering at.

“And what about the season? You’re done then?”

Fernando bites his lip, thinks on it.

“I go back when he does.”

No one wants to state the obvious, least of all his father. Fernando has played the winning hand, deploying the same dirty tactics he’s fond of utilizing when behind the wheel.

Lance stops chewing on the straw. He stops picking at the blanket. Instead, he just stares blankly at the fabric and tries to tune their bickering out. He’s getting a headache, the kind of stabbing pain that only comes when he tries to think too hard about a memory that has escaped him. It’s easier to blame the pain on the bright fluorescent’s, or the way Fernando’s voice is starting to rise, instead of the crack in his skull.

In the end, he goes with Fernando. He asks to go with Fernando, because as much as he loves his father, he cannot stand the thought of trying to make himself fit in a space that no longer knows the shape of him.

“We did get along, so you know,” Fernando says when Lance is buckled into his passenger seat, groggy from the meds they’d dosed him with. Supposedly, they’re supposed to help Lance with the nausea, manage it during the ride.

“When I was ‘sleep?” Lance slurs, still not calling his coma by its name. He’s got his head resting on the car window even though the nurses had warned him not to do that. He’s supposed to be focusing on stationary things within the car, like the warm weight of Fernando’s hand on his thigh, not watching the trees whip by outside while his skull rattles against the glass.

“Yes,” Fernando says, focused on the road with an intensity Lance has only ever seen him possess when behind the wheel, and therefore does not realize the implication of his answer. That he and Lance’s father could only get along as long as Lance was the unconscious white flag waving between them. He tries to backpedal. “No, that is not-.”

Lance shrugs, lethargic, “S’okay. Go back to sleep for you then.”

“Querido no, that is not what I meant,” Fernando actually sounds pained, the nickname rolling of his tongue with an ease Lance did not realize could be familiar to them. Lance just feels exhausted. Consciousness actually takes a conscious effort these days.

“Lance?”

“Hmm?”

“I did not mean that. You know I did not mean that, yes?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He’ll probably forget the conversation by the time he wakes up anyway, memories leak out of him now the same way his blood had.

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Surprisingly, Lance has more at Fernando’s UK home than he remembers. Or, unsurprisingly, depending on how much you take his brain injury into account.

He’s got half a bottle of shampoo in the shower, a razor and toothbrush at the sink, most of his hoodies and a good chunk of his sweatpants. Somehow, his favorite pair of socks has even ended up here, thrown in with Fernando’s dirty clothes and discovered by the cleaners. He takes to padding around the place in the loungewear, hood pulled over his head and keeping his hands tucked into the hoodie pocket – subconsciously splaying a palm along his stomach as he always has, but now pressing at his healing abdomen with newfound curiosity.

Fernando will catch him doing it sometimes, grab him by the arm and then the wrist until he can pull Lance’s probing fingers away from the tender skin and entwine them in his own.

“It won’t heal if you pick at it.”

“Feels weird. Itchy.”

It also sometimes hurts so much that Lance finds himself crying silently into the pillow while Fernando sleeps soundly beside him. The phantom pain of an injury he does not remember. When Fernando checks that the healing is coming along nicely, Lance deliberately does not watch. He hasn’t actually seen the incision since he accidentally looked while a nurse at the hospital was cleaning the wound, and nearly lost his light lunch of applesauce and pudding at the sight. It’s ugly, disgusting, and Fernando seems completely unphased by it.

Fernando squeezes his hand, raises it so he can press a kiss to Lance’s knuckles, a quickly forming new habit for him, “I’m sorry, cariño.”

Apologies flow from him easily now. He apologizes for splashing Lance with water when they’re washing dishes. Apologizes for grabbing Lance when he slips in the shower. Apologizes for the simple way the words seem to flow off his tongue now. It’s strange to Lance, stranger than waking up choking on a plastic tube with your dad on one side and your long-term fuck buddy/partner/boyfriend/mentor on the other. Stranger even that it’s coming from Fernando Alonso of all people, who notoriously does not apologize.

Lance is used to arguments between them ending in mutual silence on either end of the couch, not Fernando pressing a kiss to the furrow between his brow and asking for forgiveness.

“Stop doing that,” Lance grumbles, for what must be the hundredth time.

“Sorry.”

“Fernando.”

“Sor- okay,” and then he kisses Lance’s cheek with the gentleness of atonement anyway. Lance misses when Fernando would just slam him against a wall, crowd him against the marble of the kitchen counters, and talk Lance into sinking to his knees. Not that it ever really took much talking to begin with.

Fernando doesn’t fuck him anymore, which he thinks is maybe the biggest travesty to come out of all of this. Instead, he trails careful fingers down Lance’s side, presses kisses to his neck, his shoulder, his jaw with a tenderness that should be considered foreplay. Then he pulls away, leaves Lance half-hard in his sweatpants, and pretends he doesn’t notice the pout on Lance’s lips. Lance doesn’t beg, at least not before Fernando has gotten him undressed, and he’s not going to ask Fernando to suck his dick while the man is on his knees making sure Lance’s abdomen is still healing properly. So it becomes another thing they just don’t talk about. Lance is worried he’s picked up his father’s habit for avoidance.

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Nearly three months after his crash, Lance’s morbid curiosity gets the better of him. His therapy is going well, all three of them. The physical therapy for his legs, because they’d gotten fucked up too, though on a much smaller scale, and for his hands and for – well, for every part of him, is almost familiar. He’d done a few rounds of physio for his wrists after his bike accident, though those had been high intensity because Lance actually had a deadline. The cognitive therapy is more of a challenge, because his memory is still shot to shit, but he can remember Chloe’s birthday again so at least there’s that. The therapy therapy is kind of annoying, only because Lance has never really seen the value of shrinks picking apart his mental state to begin with, but it’s easy. Sometimes they play Jenga, sometimes they talk about how Lance is scared he’ll never be the same again, sometimes Lance excuses himself to the bathroom and screams until his voice is as hoarse as it had been once the intubation tube was removed. It’s all a process.

But he still doesn’t remember the crash.

He can see the reflection of it in Fernando’s eyes sometimes, the fear, the shame. The guilt is the worst, usually brought on when Lance jerks awake from a dream he cannot remember and finds Fernando watching him in the dark with eyes shining.

“You okay?” He will ask, propped up on an elbow and tracing a finger along Lance’s spine. The touch sends shivers through Lance, want and need all bundled up in the foggy confusion as his brain tries to reorient itself.

“Fine.”

“You are sure?”

“Definitely.”

Talking was never their strong suit. But Lance has always been able to read people, an ability fine-tuned after years of rejection. He likes to know when people are planning to turn on him before it happens, doesn’t want to be blindsided by a journalist asking him some probing question only to see if they can get a response. He can see Fernando’s guilt, and eventually he caves and searches for the why.

F1 TV, or his father, or maybe the FIA have made a herculean effort to scrub the full footage of the crash from the internet. But Lance has grown up in the age of the digital, so it doesn’t take him long to find it on YouTube, under a video titled “Canadian Buries it in Wall – ’24”. Inventive.

What he remembers is this, sitting beside Fernando in the pre-race briefing. Both of them trying to listen to Mike explain the stacked pit strategy again, but also occupying themselves with each other. Lance, dick still aching from being teased in his driver’s room, was feeling particularly vindictive. He’d been inching his foot slowly up Fernando’s pants leg, his hand up the inside of Fernando’s clothed thigh.

Fernando hadn’t responded. Sat ramrod straight in his seat and kept his eyes glued ahead. Until Lance just barely brushed his knuckles along the bulge in Fernando’s pants and received a sharp pinch to his own thigh in response.

“Ow!” Lance had yelped, loud enough that a few engineers turned to look at him.

Lance had blushed, “Hit my- hit my knee, sorry.”

And then he’d woken up in the hospital. The irritation to his thigh replaced by the throbbing pain that occupied his entire body.

He wants to remember, and so he hits play. He watches himself drive like he’s analyzing onboards for where he can maybe improve, with the same detached feeling. There’s Fernando behind him, and Russel ahead, and Lance in the middle of it all holding his ground. Fernando’s given the order to back-off, told not to fight because Lance’s tire management has been better, and he’s got the speed and clean air for now. Their fight is with Russel, except that Russel was six ahead and Fernando wanted to play sooner rather than later.

The commentators say Lance is driving surprisingly well, he tries not to grind his teeth.

And then Fernando pulls out of the slipstream, makes a charge to overtake in the straight, and Lance sees himself move. Just a twitch of the car, a fraction of movement in an effort to defend, before Fernando’s front right tire clips his back left and Lance spins. He can see himself try to overcorrect, but then the car goes sideways, the tires leave the track when he skitters across marbles, and he’s flipping until there’s only the wall to stop him.

The red flag is immediate, so is Fernando’s stop when he pulls into the gravel and doesn’t even hesitate to book it to Lance’s on fire car.

“Lance. Lance are you alright? Lance. Respond. Confirm you’re alright,” Andrew’s voice comes through the broadcast, but Lance’s own response does not. It’s eerily quiet, especially in the empty space of Fernando’s house when the man isn’t there to bring life to it.

They play a message from Esteban who drives by, the Frenchman’s voice laced with worry as he asked, pleaded, for Lance to be okay. Lance understands now why Esteban had looked so pale when they’d spoken last. When Lance had been curled up on Fernando’s couch, shrouded in shadow because the lights hurt his head, and Esteban had been sat in the chair across from him. He’d thought it was maybe because they were in Fernando’s house, thought the strangeness of the setting might have just had Esteban on edge. He hadn’t realized it was because his best friend had seen his on fire car and thought for a moment he might not get out.

It's suddenly a little hard to breathe. He blames the tightness in his chest on his ribs, even though those have healed by now.

“Lance?” Fernando’s voice in the doorway, quiet, worried.

Lance jumps, winces when he pulls at something sore, and slams the laptop shut with enough force that he’s a little scared to open it again. His eyes dart to Fernando’s and-

Oh. The guilt. He’s drowning in it.

“Fer, I’m sorry, I- fuck. I just…I didn’t- I’m sorry,” and now he’s the one gushing apologies, wanting so badly to tear his gaze away from the tears building in Fernando’s eyes. He shouldn’t have looked. It was easier when he didn’t know the shape of his body in the wreckage, when he didn’t know it had been Fernando who ran to him, who crashed into him. Pandora’s box and all of its contents are spilling across the mattress.

“I’m sorry,” Lance says again, because Fernando still has not moved from the doorway and he’s not sure what else he could do. He can’t walk to him, his leg is still aching from physio, hence the whole curled up in bed watching his own life-threatening crash while Fernando was supposed to be out picking him up a ridiculously overpriced smoothie from his favorite place down the road.

“No,” Fernando chokes, “No. Lance. No. I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I-“ Fernando chokes again and then he’s sobbing. Lance’s spirulina, coconut, gold flaked smoothie still clutched in one hand and his free one wrapping around himself as he doubles over in the doorway.

Lance does go to move then, sore muscles be damned.

But when he grabs Fernando, the man only sobs harder. He doesn’t pull away though, he needs Fernando for the support now. His thigh is killing him.

“Fer, Nano, baby, please. It’s okay. I’m okay.” He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, because Fernando doesn’t cry. He bottles everything up, ghosts Lance for a week, and then comes back as if nothing was ever wrong in the first place. Lance doesn’t know how to comfort him, and he doesn’t think that’s something to be blamed on the memory loss, he’s almost certain this is entirely new to them.

Fernando collapses against his chest, Lance stumbles under the weight of them both. His body protests the sudden movement, something sharp and hot spiking it’s way through him, starting in his leg and moving to the incision scar on his stomach.

He gasps, tries to breathe through the pain. It’s kind of like how his wrists were after a race, before he plunged them into a bowl of ice, he can manage.

“I’m okay,” he says, and hopes it doesn’t sound too tense. There’s sweat breaking out along his brow. He kind of wants his smoothie. “I’m okay, Fer. I promise.”

Fernando’s tears are soaking the fabric of his hoodie. Lance cradles the back of his head, and ignores the damp feel of them against his chest, ignores the warm heat of Fernando’s breath as he tries to find air.

“An accident,” he wails, “I swear, Lance, I swear.”

“I know.”

He saw, just now, could clearly see himself moving and see Fernando slamming the brake to try to stop it. He sees Fernando running. Running to him. People who hurt Lance intentionally are hardly ever concerned enough to check on him afterward, some of them think he deserves the knife twisted inside him simply because he can afford the medical bill. He knows Fernando would never try to hurt him, but he also knows nothing he says could absolve the guilt.

“I know, dude. And I love you, but could we maybe move this to the bed? My leg is killing me.” Fernando, thankfully, lets himself be maneuvered until Lance is sitting on the edge of the bed and Fernando resting solidly in his lap, knees bracketed on either side of his thighs. It’s the most contact they’ve had since Lance woke up, it’s making him a little heady.

Fernando rests his cheek against Lance’s shoulder, cries into the crook of his neck, and Lance tries to soothe him as he takes intermittent sips from his smoothie that he’d pulled from Fernando’s grip before it ended up spilled across the sheets. He rubs a hand along Fernando’s back, a pantomime of how his dad used to calm him down when he had a rough race and had to blow off steam in his driver’s room. It’s not working very well. Lance is maybe bad at this.

“I shouldn’t have watched the stupid video,” he grumbles. Knowing the how has not brought him any peace, only made him realize the true severity of his injuries. His therapist might have been right in saying to stop pressing at the wound, Fernando too for pulling his hand away.

“I could have killed you,” Fernando cries, “I almost killed you. You- you were-“

“I know, Nando, I know. Please, just- just stop. Please.”

It’s too much too fast. Fernando’s guilt, his own brain trying to process it all, the headache forming at his temples and the exhaustion crashing down on him. He’s tired all of the time now. And not in the lazy way he once was, like a big cat stretching in a patch of sunlight, more like someone who’s been crumpled in their car and extracted without all of the pieces smoothed back out.

He wants to sleep. He maybe wants to cry himself.

“Thought I would lose you,” Fernando mumbles, miserable and quiet, his stubble rough against the soft skin of Lance’s neck when he speaks.

“You didn’t. I’m safe. I’m right here.”

Lance hadn’t realized he was Fernando’s to lose, didn’t really put the pieces together until now that he maybe belonged to someone other than his family. He didn’t think anyone would ever actually want him. It’s a weird feeling, makes something beneath the scarring and the healing wound in his gut twist.

“You have me. I’m right here. I’m safe. I’m here.”

I’m okay, he thinks, and he starts to believe that it will be true.

#there may be a chapter 4 actually #I wanted to write more but I didn't want the chapter to be stupid long #strollonso #strollonso fic #my fic #lance stroll #fernando alonso

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sentoooo · 8 months

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[anon: could you do a nsfw alphabet for raiden??!!] i am also so sad about the lack of raiden stuff in general, like im mk1 he's just the sweetest!?!?! like he's so bbg. and in like every other game he's so fuckin hot, dont sleep on him cmoooon. i also apologize for this taking so long to post, ive been getting so distracted lately its kinda hard to focus fully on. anything. BUT IM MAKING UP FOR IT I SWEAR!!!!

cw: amab, nsfw, pretty vanilla tbh, proofread. MINORS DNI

ʀᴀɪᴅᴇɴ || ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴀʟᴘʜᴀʙᴇᴛ

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Raiden's aftercare routine is second to Tomas'. He loves you, and he refuses to skip aftercare. Doesn't matter how he is, or how tired you are. He's going to run a bath with all sorts of dried herbs and some Himalayan salt, he'll even hop in if you so wish. From there, he'll be hands on, or hands off. Whichever one you like. If you want some space, he's more than happy to give you some. He'll change the sheets, and get you some clean clothes. He'll also make a full on meal for you. But if you'd like him to stay near, he'll sit at the edge of the bath and just talk with you. About the sex, about you, about him, about anything, really. And after all that, he'll carry you to bed,- he refuses to let you walk- and lay down with you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite also has to be his hands. He's very proud of his training, especially after becoming Earthrealm's champion. They're strong, and he also loves how they look on your body. He's gentle, always. He's also particularly proud of how soft they are, especially since he was a farmer and now fighting for Earthrealm's protection.

On you, his favorite body part is your chest. He likes how it displays your strength. Not to mention, he's simply drawn to your chest during intimacy. As much as he's Earthrealm's protector, he likes know that you can defend yourself and that you have your own strengths as well. He also enjoys your back, how defined it as, and the little noises you make when he runs his fingers down your spine.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Raiden prefers to cum outside, specifically on your lower back. He simply likes how it looks. He refuses to cum inside, he feels like it's almost undignified. Don't try to convince him to.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wants to be ridden by you until he sees stars. He's so sure you wouldn't mind it, but you are his first and he's rather apprehensive about sharing. It's the first thing he thinks of when he masturbates even, watching your body grind against him, in a desperate search of pleasure.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

You are his first. He had saved his body for someone he had felt comfortable and a real connection with. He enjoys learning about sex with you, especially when you take the lead. Of course, he gains more experience the more you two fuck, and he gets quite good at it. His focus is all on your pleasure, and always will be.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

With his aforementioned secret, he loves cowboy. As much as he loves cumming on your back, he needs eye contact. It is very important to him. He likes to know he's treating you well, watching your face twist in pleasure. It also makes it easy to tell how well he's doing, since he makes sex all about you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Raiden is serious. Granted, he's shy, but he's fully serious about sex. It is something he had saved himself for, and he prefers if you are serious about it.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He's got a little body hair everywhere. Some arm hair, some chest hair, a delicious happy trail, and some pubic hair. He keeps himself trimmed, however.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Raiden is by far the most romantic. Like I said, he focuses on you during sex, and your pleasure. He does everything to keep the moment intimate, and he makes sure you feel beyond loved. He cherishes you, and as such, he makes you feel like the only boy in the world. You're his one and only love, you're his. He's going to make sure you know how much he loves you.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He prefers not to masturbate when he has you. Even if you two haven't been able to enjoy each other for a while. Now, if he's absolutely yearning for you and you aren't available, he'll jack off then.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

His only kink is praise, really. He loves seeing your reaction when he calls you a 'good boy', listening to your soft moans as he throws all sorts of sweet words & praises your way. He also responds quite fondly to being praised, he likes to know how he's doing. Whenever you praise him, you can always feel a shiver of electricity run from his body to yours.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

He always prefers his room. It's comfortable, private, and quiet. He's hesitant with sex, so he enjoys the environment of his own place. It's almost a sanctuary for both of you. He rests easy knowing no one is peering or listening in.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Initiative. Raiden is rather timid, so knowing your yearning and knowing you are okay with taking the initiative really sets the mood and gets him going. He particularly enjoys it when you trace his arms or his hands, and give him that sly smile.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything rough, he hates the thought of harming you, even for your pleasure. He cannot, physically, mentally, or emotionally. If you ask, it is an immediate no. He wants to make you feel good, not make your hurt.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He actually prefers receiving, he just finds it hard to ask. But he'll go down on you if you ask. Anything for you. He's actually really good at giving head, even more so as he continues to learn about all your body's tells and quirks. But if you go down on him, he'll be the loudest, most appreciative man.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Raiden's default is slow & sensual, and he'll only pick up the pace slightly. He takes his time with you, he likes the mood to be right and proper. Doesn't mean he can't make the time worth it though, he makes you cum like no other. As said beforehand, he catches on quickly to your body language. He knows every single sensitive spot on your body, where to touch to make you moan just right. He loves having you give in to his touch and lay against him.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

It doesn't matter how long you two have been apart, he refuses to do quickies. He wants the moment to be perfect, to be right. He wants you to feel his love, and he cannot find a proper way to appreciate your body with quickies.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

There is only one thing he wont mind trying, and that's using his powers. He's thought about it, more than once. But he is afraid of hurting you. Of course, he'd only use them on a smaller scale, shocking you just a little here and there. But anything else, he really can't do. If you ask him about using his powers in the bedroom, prepare for a full conversation about it. It is only until he has proper consent that he will try it.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

His stamina only increases as he spends more time with you. But he can only last for about 3 rounds, however, he puts his all into every. single. round.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Raiden doesn't see the appeal, to be honest. Perhaps if you ask nicely, he'll use any sort of stimulation toy on you. But why do that when he can use his powers? Creativity is a naughty thing, my friend.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He can't bring himself to tease you, not now, not ever. He hates it when you beg, actually. His whole goal is to satisfy you, and if he has you begging, then that means he's not doing his job right.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Raiden is loud. He's sensitive, he's comfortable, and you just make him feel so damn good. Sometimes it's hard for him to form words properly, that all you can hear is the very start of his praises melting into sweet, sweet moans and sounds of appreciation.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He really enjoys coming up with little names for you. And he always loves your reaction bed when he uses them. It's always something sweet, 'My light' is the most common one he'll use. Regrettably, he picked up 'Sweetheart' from Johnny, but the way he says it sounds so perfect. He does prefer using your name, especially during sex, because it just feels intimate.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Raiden's more of a shower, and he's around the average size. He's 5.7" in length when hard, and 1.7" across. He leans slightly towards the left & is slightly veiny.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive depends on you, really. He'll fuck you whenever you wish, as long as time permits it.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Raiden's mind is an active one, so it takes him a while to fall asleep after you do. He isn't worried about his performance, no. He's just got a lot on his mind, and sometimes your naked body lingers in it for a bit too long.

#⁺◟sentooo #mk1 x reader #mk x reader #mortal kombat 1 x reader #mortal kombat x reader #mk1 x male reader #mortal kombat 1 x male reader #mortal kombat x male reader #raiden x reader #raiden x male reader

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eternalera · 4 months

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gonna be honest... this one has been spinning in my head for a while! so imma do an analysis of touya/dabi (I might switch between the two but its whatever) and just how much his arc makes sense for him and plays into his character. also his trauma and how it affected him. SO! with that being said this will kinda be ramblely and not very coherent but fuck it we ball.

also i have NOT read the manga so uh.... yeah-

(p.s this is REALLY LONG-)

so basically I'm gonna be going over about why it makes sense that touya is a villain and why he chose this path specifically over the one that most people would do, especially after his incident which would be go back to your family and talk it out or whatever. (which he didnt do because hes a totally EDGELORD- excuse me-).

One thing that's been essential about touya's character, from the very beginning (talking childhood) is that he always wanted his father's attention. From a young age touya was raised as practically an only child because lets be honest with him inheriting fire and with endeavors whole 'i want an ice quirk so i dont overheat stuff' he likely payed a lot more attention to touya rather than fuyumi.

touya took in this affection from a young age and seeing how apparently endeavor only got worse as the years went by the view that touya had of his father was likely in somewhat of a good light, glad to be receiving attention from someone in his life that he clearly looked up to at the time. although this did have side effects like his disrespect for his mother (which he also probably gained from being around his father so often).

remember that touya most likely gained a lot of attention from his father, that and his standards from a young age with no one to tell him 'hey this is wrong that hes doing this' as he didn't really care for his mother and her opinion because of guess who? his father. (this is where shoto and him differ as shoto clearly looked up to his mother, who was probably a lot more in his life than she was in touya's).

so the moment when its revealed that 'hey your quirk hurts you, dont use it' is the moment where everything shatters, not just for endeavor but for touya. imagine being told your whole life that you were gonna do something to make someone you looked up to so proud only to find out that you couldn't because of your bodies limits, something thats out of your control.

not only this, but touya likely would've been fine if endeavor had still shown some interest in him. but that wasn't the case. he moved on. touya already had these expectations built in his head that he's going to surpass All Might like his father wanted, so why isn't his father paying attention to him anymore? he probably figured out 'its because my quirk hurts me' so his response was 'its fine i'll push through the hurt and make him proud and show him that i can still do what he wants. so he'll have to pay attention to me again'

touya was so obviously raised on endeavors attention so when its ripped away all that remains in his is 'oh ive done something wrong, how can i fix it?' so once again he keeps training his quirk and hurting himself. not to mention that once again its clear how he looked up to his father

not to mention that he knew what endeavor wanted. he wanted an ice and fire quirk, so when endeavor kept having more and more children it was probably only worsening his dread and anxiety. 'what if this one had the quirk?' 'would dad still love me?' 'would he still look at me?'

he sees this as his father trying to get rid of him, as his father not having enough time for him in a way, which given how much attention he was raised on by his father, is absolutely devastating. SO- lets get to the main course shall we?

TOUYA'S BREAK DOWN!! PART ONE-

at this moment i cant remember the exactly what happened but its where basically endeavors like 'STOP WITH YOUR QUIRK DAMMIT' and touya cant understand that. because if he stops then endeavor will stop looking at him. to touya he has to disobey endeavor, thats the only way all of his attention doesnt go to shoto who clearly has the right quirk his father wants with his split hair because quirks or whatever-

(also fuyumi's face is hilarious in the second picture but moving on-)

in this scene he out right says 'look at me endeavor'. the kid who has been so basically pumped full of attention and praise has had enough of his father trying to constantly trying to seemingly get rid of him and throw him to the side. he wants his father's attention more than anything now, whether its endeavor yelling at him or praising him he just wants to be noticed by someone he's looked up to all of his life.

so he attacks shoto, no quite honestly i don't think that he was trying to kill shoto in this scene, as much as he was trying to scare endeavor/harm him. but thats just a personal opinion. so back to everything else i guess-

NOW- BREAK DOWN PART TWO!!!

in this he very excitedly tells endeavor to come to sekoto peak. endeavor wonders why and checks under the boys shirt only to find burns. and tried to tell him off but touya doesn't listen. he instead says that its really cool and that he might be able to get to shoto's level not only that but its also evident that what his father told him from a young age is still present in his mind as below he claims that he doesn't think that he'd lose to All Might, meaning even after when Endeavor's long thrown touya's training away forgetting about the boy ever being able to surpass All Might touya did not. most likely thinking about how this is his chance to impress his father.

now with these next few lines it reveals a few things, touya doesnt think that endeavors happy with him. he thinks that hes not glad that his own son exists and reasonable it makes him sad as he starts tearing up. but keep in mind, he looks up to endeavor at this point and if the person he looks up to isn't happy with his existence at this point than what the hell is he doing. now this is totally different from before as he just wanted attention, good or bad as he yknow... tried to hurt/kill his younger brother- this is him actively wanting attention. and likely... this is the most healthy he's been mentally for a while.

he went from. this person who i look up to expects something from me, to uh oh i upset them what am i doing wrong? to why arent they paying attention anymore? if theyre not then im gonna harm someone to make them look at me for once. But now his mindset is more 'okay well maybe im not trying hard enough, if i try harder than he'll like me more'

once again... probably his healthiest mindset, that and we see the excitement on his face about this new move or power or whatever. he's genuinely excited over this and the fact that his father just blows it off is gonna take a toll on him. as what did he do wrong again? well we know he did nothing but he doesn't know that. after all the person he looked up to must have a reason right?

he starts crying and with that everything burns. he can't control it and he ends up hurting himself in the process. covering his body in burns as he turns into basically what we see today.

but why didn't he go back? it would make sense right? well probably because of a few reasons.

how could he go back? what would they say? endeavor would be mad at him and plus he wanted to prove himself to his father on that peak. yet it seemed he only did the opposite

why didn't endeavor come? thats all he wanted, all he ever wanted so why didnt he? he no longer holds endeavor up to his high standard anymore, he's angry at him. and rightfully so

would they want him back? maybe natsuo would be there for him but what about the others? would they care for him?

of course the last one might be pushing it but you get the point. the second one probably affected him the most though and is why he became dabi, training his quirk so that he may surpass his father as a petty victory, trying to say 'i was right all along i can surpass you and all might and shoto'. its his last attempt at making his father look his way and he wants to do it right.

he wanted it to be something that his father couldnt just shove off hence the video and him taping it. one last time he wanted his father to look at him and be reminded of everything that had happened with him. and it worked, the todoroki's do go over what happened with touya and saw went went wrong, that being that they neglected him after building him up so high only to say that he was useless after all (its all endeavors doing but... whatever-).

so yeah those are basically my thoughts on it- might be slightly inaccurate but yknow what... this is getting long and i dont wanna type anymore :D

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notsosmug87 · 4 months

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Ive had this Au idea in my head for a lil while and after doing some work on it i have decided to share it with you guys.

I proudly present:

The fractured Jay Au

(Huge shoutout to the very talented @sketchalicious. not only was this drawing based off one of their own but they were also one of the biggest inspirations for this Au. Go check em out they make awesome stuff) After the ninja Recuse Jay, his entire mental state collapses from the stress of flashbacks and visions after which, he goes into a comatose state. The ninja must now enter his mind to help him wake up. There, They find not only Jay, but six different versions of him. all of which represent their own guilts and traumas as well as Jays own too. The Ninja (now separated) must fight the one that represents them most and try to get every Jay to accept themselves.

The ninja also find out about the events of skybound through this whole ordeal; In Nyas case, having to relive it while also seeing what Jay went through on the Misfortunes keep.

The idea is that, Out of every ninja Jay holds the most baggage but does not show it, instead keeping it hidden very deep in his brain and I’m tired of people pretending like he doesn’t 😔

I will now Explain them in detail. Starting with:

The chosen one "Guilt ridden"

Fun fact: According to an old blooper reel, Jay was originally gonna be the green ninja; But the writers changed it to lloyd for a better surprise. Doesn’t take away from the fact that Jay looks good in green however.

This Jay is supposed to be a Representation of Lloyd, more specifically The weight lloyd has on his shoulders. Having to be the savior of ninjago (now the merged realms) can take a toll on a person; Lloyd is also now a sensei in training which has not helped his mental state at all; eventually bound to snap one way or another. And at one point there will be a battle he cannot win no matter how hard he tries.

From jays side, TCO is supposed to be a representation of His thoughts about how he has failed Lloyd and the others on several occasions (Releasing aspherra, Prime empire, letting Nya die twice, etc.) and how he solely Blames himself for it. All his self doubts telling him he’ll never be good enough, Among other things, in the forms of Twisted/Tainted visions of the other ninja and his parents. Making him go insane and he eventually snaps, succumbing to the delusion that in order to ever be good enough for Anyone he has to take over being the green ninja. But deep down he knows that the others will always care about him no matter what.

Worst case Scenario (CC for short) “The Sacrifice"

This one’s design wasn’t based off anything too important, I just think that Kai would be the second Ninja to become Undead.

CC represents Kai’s inability to let others sacrifice for him. While Kai is a hero through and through and will do anything for his family, he’s also selfish in the way that he doesn’t want the others to do the same for him Always insisting that it should have been him instead. CC looks like someone who has sacrificed too much without letting others help them. (Bit of a stretch i know)

In terms of Jay, CC is supposed to represent Denial. His skeletal remains are the Result Of what happens to someone who thinks “it should have been me” over every situation, Someone more... Expendable. A repeating memory of Nya dying in his arms keeps playing in his head. Losing flesh and organs after sacrificing himself to Defeat the Overlord; His skeleton Gains a fraction of his power that keeps him alive. But in the end it does not matter because he couldn’t save the one person most important to him, Nya. Jay knows no matter how many “What if” Scenarios happen in his head, the past is in the past and he must look on to the future, but can’t bring himself to after the many losses he’s Endured.

Agent walker "left to rot"

Design of course was based off our very own amnesiac Jason Walker, The current Manager of the administrations realm of reassignment.

Agent Walker is Everything Zane Dreads about himself; Becoming Cold and mechanical with no emotion. Agent Walker is Essentially a repeat of the Ice emperor. A once heroic individual Who forgot themselves and Changed because of Evil influence. Zane dreaded being the ice emperor and does not want any of his family to go through what he went through. Unfortunately, Jay is already halfway there. while we do not know if Agent Walker is truly corrupt due to the administration, Jay is Very much morally Gray, As out of every Ninja his moral compass is the weakest.

Having severe abandonment issues, Agent Walker Represents Jays Fear of being Forgotten about by his family, Essentially becoming a memory. that fear is realized once he spends a long time in the administration and no one has found him yet. Hence the Tagline, “Left to rot”. Having everyone Move on without him (especially Nya) Hurts So Badly that He Forces himself to forgot about the others and hoping the pain will eventually go away. Jay of course knows that His family and Yang could never forget about him, But doubts plague his mind telling him otherwise.

The Infiltrator “No Destiny"

Based off the (now very official) Evil Jay Figure which was recently leaked. The shirt was too hard to get right for me, so I decided to use my own design for it.

The infiltrator, A Strange Figure Who wields lightning powers. Hired by lord Ras; The same person who Went for Coles second family. This adds insult to injury in terms of their friendship.

This Jay pulls the same type of act that Cole does in DotD; By Doing something as drastic as Teaming up with a person who he knows has bad intentions just to be recognized outside of his feats at the administration and to be able to freely use his powers.

Representing Coles guilt, This Jay Has cemented himself as an enemy to the ninja and no longer an ally Forcing The battle to be painful for the Ninja. Especially Cole. However this Jay is not tethered to his relationships with them and will not hold back against those who oppose his leader

(Note: Not much is known about Jays motives or really anything about his evil character in part 2. This part might be rewritten later once we get a more clear view of his character.)

The infiltrator Is a manifestation of Jays fears about him going rouge/ Evil, So far almost all of the ninja Have Gone through their Evil “phase” and eventually, Jay must walk down that path. He feels hopeless however as without his memories he feels trapped; fettered to always serving a higher power Having No destiny To achieve thus Staying evil indefinitely.

Jay of the storm "Shameful woes"

This Jays design was inspired by some of the Seabound Aus I’ve seen and read. Much like Nyas design, He has Semi-lightning shaped hair and Lightning related body marks all over. he looks like a painting to show his coping mechanism When Nya was gone; Which was painting Portraits of her and him to ease his pain.

This one’s quite simple, Even after Becoming human again, Nya still harbors guilt for what she caused her family to go through And how much her sacrifice meant to everybody in ninjago. This Jay is supposed to represent her feelings about the whole situation and showing her a different perspective; one where Jay sacrificed himself instead of her. Of course in this made up timeline, Jay thinks of his sacrifice as Meaningless compared to Nyas. Thinking that the team moves on very quickly from what happened (Yes even Nya) and it eventually gets swept under the rug.

Further from the truth, Nya tries to convince Jay that this would never be the case. her words fall on deaf ears however, as Jay continues to lament in his own self pity.

Jay of the storm Is the personification of his shame and worry about him being a bad partner and an even worse teammate; Thinking of himself as worthless and nothing more than a deadweight To his family and his Yang. He thinks this way due to his biggest mistakes and how they led to so many bad things happening. (Especially Nyas deaths.) “I wish I could sacrifice to you as much as you have for me.” Nya has done so much for him and he thinks that he has done nothing in return. So maybe sacrificing himself could make him seem all noble and heroic once and for all. But he knows that he has done incredible feats and cannot blame himself for everything bad that has happened in their lives.

Nya will always love him And He’ll always love her, no matter how much the universe wants to seperate them they'll find each other eventually.

??? “Fractured beyond repair”

This design was based off The common trope of an alternate version of someone being their own shadow.

The real Jay (or At least a part of him), hidden deep inside his own Brain. living in denial of himself and being incomplete as his Whole Soul and memory was split into 5 different pieces representing his Repressed Thoughts.

Black as ink with a texture of tar, This Jay Is barely humanlike. Shutting himself out from anyone or anything trying to interact with him preferring to Wish it all away instead of Trying to fix all the issues he has caused. They say that when the Other 5 Make amends and come to terms with themselves, he will be let out of his cage like a wild animal. for better or for worse? Well there’s no clear answer for that. (Codeword for if I plan to expand this and write an actual fan fic)

Thank you for reading my hyperfixiation. while i do think this Au could never work in canon, Its very fun to think about it as jay probably has the most repressed trauma of all the ninja. plus its an Au for a reason.

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minnieposting · 5 months

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i want to talk about robins trailer again!

following up from this post + a cool thread i saw earlier compiling lots of details i didn't notice in the trailer! (and the morse code post)

mostly really interested in the fact that this whole thing is filmed and directed by sunday

(sc from twt thread)

i said earlier that robin must feel like she doesn't want to let down both sunday and the family, both as his sister and the "pride of the family". but this clearly shows that he's the one pulling the strings, or at least one of them.

(as i type this out, i realize the usage of "pulling the strings" could relate back to the imagery of puppets we've been seeing. they are present in robin's trailer and also seen in the 2.2 penacony trailer)

(and of course, another puppet on strings...)

not sure where i'm going with this because tbh i got side tracked because i had the realization while writing. just some cool consistent puppet imagery, obviously symbolic, just don't feel like thinking about this rn lol

ANYWAY, my original train of thought was going towards sunday being a huge pressure on her, whether intentionally or not, he's clearly got his own shit going on... but i also feel like this gives new meaning to something else i pointed out a bit ago (post)

sunday is always right behind robin! she's always in the spotlight while he looms in the shadows. another thing tho, the same person who posted that twt thread i linked to pointed out that our bird friend is seen in the corner watching robin perform (x)

in the upper right corner!

(though, ive seen speculation that the bird is not sunday's but the dreammaster's! either way, sunday is still the most involved with her in the context of my post...)

now, going back to what i really want to talk about in the first place - director sunday. i do think this is more symbolic than anything, and coming from robin's perspective as this is her trailer.

sunday is a perfectionist obsesed with control and robin's public image may not be spared from that. she may feel that sunday is essentially breathing down her neck, whether or not sunday is aware he's making her feel like this. i've always thought that sunday's perfectionism and his obsessiveness have bled into his love for his sister and their relationship as a whole. again, she clearly does not want to let him down specifically, especially when they're supposedly working towards a childhood dream.

it's just! this whole thing about freedom, or the lack of it. robin is a caged bird and that's become explicit in her trailer. who knows wtf sunday's deal is, but he's also clearly under SO much pressure, he's the head of the oak family and ALSO needs to be nothing less than perfect. dude had a whole speech about it. i also imagine they both don't talk about any negative feelings related to this, maybe even wanting to keep up appearances around each other too.

i feel like i dont have anything else to say. i just mainly wanted to talk about some observations and stuff. i am very much looking forward to 2.2 coming out later, im SO excited to dig into sunday because he is the most intriguing and mysterious to me. their relationship is just so so so interesting, im so excited to see it in all of its glory later.

and mandatory note bc i am an anxious person, i do a lot of talking out of my ass and this is just exactly that.

(uh i scrolled up to read this post over and saw i linked back to a morse code post and didn't talk about that at all. well there's SOS morse code in robins trailer! that's fucked up! what else can i say)

#minnie post #i am just soooo so sosososososoososososo in love with sunday he is such. a character #such a character who is just SO the product of his environment #and of course the same goes for robin. im so scared for her i wonder just how dark they'll go with her experiences with fame #penacony is already so dark #i just know itll be heartbreaking #like the marilyn monroe imagery? ok #drops at 11 pm for me i will NOT be sleeping!#inb4 2.2 drops and i have everything completely wrong #sunday hsr #robin hsr #hsr #oh yeah! something else i forgot to add in the og post was how much sunday being the director relates back to him being the conductor!

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xchxsex · 7 months

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Mending Your Pain: Mark Hoffman NSFW

AN: Ive had this written for a while but I’ve never uploaded on here before and tbh i don’t think my work is up to par with other creators. I thought id give it a shot though. I have more of the series posted on my instagram which is the same as my tumblr.

TW: light blood play, degrading, praise, rough sex, oral (m and f receiving)

I wake up to a rustling sound in my living room. I turn to look at my clock. Jeez, its 2 am, what could be going on?

I get up and begin to walk out my bedroom door. I hear a familiar groan in the hallway. “Mark?,” i ask to the darkness in front of me.

I find the light switch and flick it on. He’s standing there, a gash on his forehead, a busted and bleeding nose and a busted lip. Thats just what i can see.

“Hey princess,” he says as i run to him.

He’s holding his side and is clearly in pain. “What happened?”

“A call didn’t go so well. He had some friends i didn’t know about and i didn’t have backup.”

I go to touch his side and he groans.

“Shouldn’t you be at a hospital?”

He’s breathing heavy.

“I probably should, but my princess always makes me feel better.”

I smile. I still think he should go to the doctor but maybe i can help. Ive been trained in some medical stuff which he probably already knows. “Here ill take a look.”

I take him back to my bedroom and sit him in my chair.

“You look good in my shirt baby,” he says.

I forgot i was wearing it. I put it on the night before because i missed him and wanted to feel comforted by him.

I go and get my first aid kit and my sewing kit incase i need it. I come back in and he’s sitting with his legs spread open, slumped down in my chair, smiling at me. I know he’s trying to get me going.

First, i check his nose and make sure it isn’t broken. When i touch it he grunts a little.

“Its not broken but it’ll definitely be bruised,” i tell him.

I take a wipe and wipe the blood from his nose and put a bandage on it. His lip will have to heal on its own but i can at least clean it up.

As i lean over and wipe his lip, he’s looking me deep into my eyes, his hands working their way up my back. He’s making me nervous.

I swallow back my emotions and continue to clean up his lip. Its his head that I’m worried about. I rinse it out with saline solution and dab it with gauze. I don’t think it’ll close up on its own.

“I think you’re gonna need a few stitches, can you handle that?,” i ask.

I look him in his eyes.

“Yeah, i can handle that. I have a high pain tolerance, go ahead,” he says in a certain kind of voice.

I open up my kit and grab a needle and thread. I get it ready and grab my lighter to sterilize it. As I’m about to loop it through the gash, his hand goes and sits on my ass.

“Just looking for something to squeeze if it hurts too bad.”

I roll my eyes at him. He grabs my throat and forces me to look at him.

“You wanna do that again?,” he says with a look in his eyes that he’ll make my eyes roll in a different way if i keep on.

“N-no… sir” i say.

He releases my throat and i can actually do what i need to. I get it looped through the first part and he’s squeezing my ass. I knew he was going to even if it didn’t hurt.

I continue with the stitches until i get most of it closed. When i get to the last stitch, i pull it all together and knot the end. I cut the thread and dab it with more cleaning solution.

“Okay, its all done,” i say.

I move and turn away from him for a second. I hear him stand up.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?,” i hear him say.

I turn back around to face him. I don’t know why he’s making me feel so nervous, like I’m a teenager facing my crush in a school hallway.

He’s taking off his jacket and lays it on the chair. The shirt he’s wearing is tight and conforms to his figure. Bits around his neck and armpits have sweat stains. I swallow again, holding back the throbbing thats begun below. He lifts his shirt up and pulls it off. I notice the giant purple and blue blotch that contains the pain he’s feeling. I notice other things that keep my eye focused on him.

His pants have slightly fallen to where i can see his v line leading to something i want so badly right now. What i would give to trace it with my tongue. His body is glistening with sweat in the path of my light.

“Aren’t you gonna come look at it?,” he says as he walks towards me.

He’s borderline on top of me, his broad frame making him seem bigger.

“S-sure,” i say, still not looking up at him.

I put my hands on his side and press around. He groans, not in enough pain to have an injury; just a giant bruise.

“I think you’re okay,” i say.

Im still admiring his body, the ways his muscles contort under his skin and thickness when he moves. My eyes move to his waist and hips, a perfect place for my legs to be wrapped around.

“Actually, i think i have some cuts on my thighs,” he says as he starts undoing his belt.

My insides and clit are throbbing like the beat to a metal song. He takes off his belt and steps out of his pants. I do notice some minor cuts on his thighs, but what i really notice is hard to look away from.

He’s wearing tight, dark blue underwear that conform to his hips and thighs and… him, greatly. Him. His cock is hard and going down his leg, twitching every now and then, like its begging to be emptied inside me. Im sure my face is flushed and my legs are shaking. He wants me to give in and break, but i wont. Not now.

“You should be fine, they’re just little scratches,” i say.

“Hm, maybe you should check my back then.”

He turns around like he knows he’s breaking me. He is, but he doesn’t have to know that. His back. God, his back. It’s sculpted and firm. The muscles he uses to carry me and throw me around like a rag-doll. My eyes move further down to his ass which is being held nicely in the underwear. Theres maybe one tiny scratch on his back.

“Your back is fine,” i tell him.

He turns around to face me. He’s looking at me, pondering whats going through my mind right now. He puts his hand on the desk beside my leg that hes now backed me up onto.

“Let me guess… you don’t want to give in and say that you were looking at my body and all of the dirty things it does to you. You think that you’re stronger than your urges for me and you want to try to make a point?,” he says while looking in my eyes.

Theres the nervousness again. I don’t have to respond, my face says it all. He takes my hand and puts it to his chest and slowly runs it down his body, my fingers pressing into his warm flesh.

He keeps going slowly until he gets to the band of his underwear. He starts to pull down his underwear using our hands. I don’t know how much longer i can take.

My insides are begging me to give up and let him take me but i want to hold out. He pulls his underwear down past his cock and it springs out. He lets out a breathy moan in my ear. He has a drop of pre cum dripping down his tip, still throbbing in sync with my insides. God i cant speak anymore, all i can do is stand here and let out little whines like a dog begging for food. I need the pleasure only he can give.

“Hmm, I’m impressed princess. But we both know you cant handle the way i touch you.”

He runs his nails gently up my thigh, his hand spreading to cup my thigh at the top. I cant break eye contact with his cock. He tilts my chin up to look at him, I’m biting my tongue.

“I know, its hard to not look at. Its big and makes you feel so good doesn’t it? You like the way I throb while I empty myself inside you?,” he says as he tucks my hair behind my ear.

It feels like I can’t breathe. I can’t- i cant do it anymore. I can’t think about anything but having him inside of me, releasing the tension thats built inside me.

“Please..” I whimper.

I run my hands up and down his body.

“Please what?,” he says, his hand going up my back. He moves closer so that his cock is resting on my thigh.

“I need you to- to take me,” i say, unable to form my words right.

“Hmm, i don’t understand?,” he says as he brushes my hair away and starts kissing my neck. “Do you want me baby?,” he whispers in my ear.

Thats it. I wrap my legs and arms around him, grinding onto his leg. He grabs my throat and squeezes.

“Tell me that you want me, get on your fucking knees and beg for me,” he groans. He backs off of me and i get down on my knees. He rubs his tip on my lip and i taste his salty pre cum.

“I want you inside of me,” i hear myself say,” i want to trace the dips of your muscles with my tongue,” i add on, hoping that he’ll give me something that will stop me from soaking my underwear.

He looks down at me and licks his lip. “Then go right ahead.”

Sometimes the way he looks at me, it tells me he could never say no to me. He loves the feeling of my mouth around his cock. You know what? He deserves to be teased too. I don’t take his cock in my mouth. I pull down his underwear and kiss on his thighs leading up to his stomach. I lick a streak up the contour of his v line. I look up and his jaw is tense. I’m getting somewhere.

His hand goes on the back of my head and presses me closer to him. I need him just as badly as he needs me.

“I suggest you put it in your mouth before i shove it in,” he says.

I give into him. I take him in my hand and put his tip in my mouth. I swirl my tongue around it, but i have a different plan. I know where his sensitive spot is. I move underneath his cock where his tip meets his shaft. I gently suck on that and his hands instantly grab onto my head.

“Fuck,” he groans before he pulls my head away entirely. His cock throbs. Guess he couldn’t handle it.

“You couldn’t handle me sucking your cock?,” i say in a tone that will definitely come back to haunt me later.

“Oh ill teach you a lesson on not being able to handle something.” He pulls me up by the throat and takes me to the bed. “You’ve barely seen what my tongue can do to you. I already can make you break so easily. I will end you this time.”

He lays me down and pulls off my underwear, pulling up my shirt enough to expose my breasts. He puts his mouth to my hole and i cant even describe what he does.

He starts to suck and lick and kiss and bite all at once it feels like. The pleasure is so intense my back arches, i grab onto him and try to push him away. He’s holding onto me tightly. I cant get away from him. I shouldn’t have teased him.

My hips squirm without me even trying to. My legs are shaking as he holds them down. The combination of how sensitive my clit is from being so fucking turned on and what he’s doing with his mouth is so intense. Im flooding his mouth and he doesn’t stop, he’ll never stop. Every time i cum i get more and more sensitive.

“Please,” i beg and whimper over and over again.

He keeps going for what feels like forever. I’ve lost count of the orgasms just from his mouth. My body keeps reacting to the movements of his tongue, but i feel like I’m going to pass out again. My tight grip on his hair has gotten to me just resting my hands on his head. My body is aching for more. The muscles in my thighs can’t tighten around his head anymore.

When i stop begging for mercy, he finally stops. His face slick and glistening with my juices. He crawls on top of me and makes me look him in the eye with a firm grip on my chin.

“Do you understand me?,” he asks.

I make out a breathy “yes”. I just realized we haven’t even had sex yet and I’m already so worn out.

“Don’t worry princess, ill be gentle.”

I still want him inside me, i just don’t know how much i can handle. He slides into me and i let out a whine. He pulls up my legs to rest on his shoulders. He holds my hips as he slowly thrusts into me. His mouth falls slightly open as small moans escape from his lips. He brushes my hair behind my ear out of my face.

“I like fucking you in my shirt, you look so pretty and ruined in it.” His thrusts start to speed up little by little.

Soon he starts doing that final thrust that feels incredible. The way he curls his hips just a bit at the end drives me wild. I don’t even care if i cum again tonight, i just want his cum inside me. I crave it.

He kisses me and i taste the blood on his lips. It sounds gross, but it only makes me want him more. Soon we’re wrapped around each other, kissing, sweating, begging for each other. I bite his busted lip and he groans. His cock throbs in me. Maybe he secretly likes pain a little too.

I taste his fresh blood in my mouth. His hand goes around my throat and breaks the kiss. He stops thrusting. He wipes his lip off with his thumb.

“Open your mouth,” he demands.

I open my mouth and he rubs his blood stained thumb on my tongue. Maybe I’m as fucked up as he is. I suck the rest of his blood off. He smiles down at me.

“God you’re a dirty girl aren’t you?”

“Only for you,” i tell him.

He kisses me harshly and starts thrusting even faster. “Dirty girls make me want to fill their insides with my cum.”

Im moaning for him again. “Please cum inside me,” i beg.

“Yeah? You haven’t had a load inside of you in a little while. Maybe thats why you’re so fucking tight around me. Your body wants my cum that bad?” His thrusts are getting sloppy. His moans are getting louder.

I want him to cum so badly. He’s holding onto me so tightly. “God you’re gonna fucking make me cum,” he accidentally whimpers.

He’s never made such a noise but it makes my insides quiver. The vein in his forehead pops out and his jaw tenses. He’s so close. I think i know how to get him to cum.

“Cum inside me daddy,” I whisper in his ear.

He groans and throbs as he finishes in me. I squeeze his cock tightly and milk him dry. He paints my walls with his warm seed until he’s empty. His hand goes around my neck.

“Call me that one more fucking time and ill make it the last thing you say before you get my cock rammed down your throat.” He knows he secretly likes it when i do it.

He pulls out of me and his cum pours out, gushing down my ass and off the bed. He grabs his clothes and puts them back on, wincing if something hits his side.

I slide off of the bed and stand like a newborn deer. My legs are shaking so badly and his cum is still dripping down my leg.

“I have some work to do. Ill come back and see you when I’m done.”

I walk over to him and he holds me up by my waist. He kisses me and i feel like i know what work he has to do. Whether its with that john guy or his police work, he always kisses me like it could be our last.

“Thank you for taking care of me princess. I have one request,” he says.

“What?” He grabs my underwear and hands them to me.

“You put these on and sleep in the mess i made inside you.” I listen to him and put my underwear back on.

“Good girl. I love you,” he says as he puts me in bed and tucks me in before leaving.

#mark hoffman #mark hoffman edit #costas mandylor #detective mark hoffman #mark hoffman saw #saw fanfic #saw films

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elijahfanfics · 4 months

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mha trio (bkg, todo & deku) x bullied exchange student oc/reader

After ten minutes of trying to name this bitch ive gone with June. Some may dislike this name and I get it its very 2020 but I think it suits them

June is autistic and will show traits that I show because that's what I know best about, these things will be from experiences that ive gone through in the past so I will also include a trigger warning list below

TW: bullying, autistic overload/overstimulation (NON SEXUAL THANK YOU VERY MUCH), physical violence (not a lot just shoves and some kicking), 3v1, destruction of property, use of the R word

June is a 16 year old autistic non binary person and loves their headphones, they always have their headphones on unless in a place where they needs to take them off e.g. in the classroom when the teacher is talking but they do have a pass to wear them when the teacher gives the go ahead. the students speak Japanese but the teachers know English, June knows Japanese and English but to know what language people are speaking in i'll put the Japanese speech in this font and also the three other girls only speak english. You can imagine June to look however you want and also this will be in 1st person :)

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Im walking down a hallway, looking for the class labelled 1A, yet failing miserably.

"okay class 1C, that must mean class 1A is around here right?", I mumble to myself, looking around me at the doors in this stupidly confusing array of hallways. I turn a corner still looking down at the 'map' on my phone, that is even more confusing than these fucking hallways, and suddenly, im on the floor.

I look up and see Grace, Sophie and Jessica. Sophie being the self proclaimed 'leader' spoke up, "ew what the fuck I didn't know you would be here", she says disgustedly and looks at her friends, giggling to each other. I sigh and get up, walking away as they start barking at me (this actually happens too idk why people do this even in public and outside of schools like wtf. and also, furry friendly, its only the assholes who bark at emos n stuff) I am so looking forward to a new school with new people to yell and bark at me. yay.

The girls keep following me as I finally find my class AND THEYRE STILL BARKING AND GIGGLING, of course we're in the same class, why wouldn't we be.

I knock on the door and the girls finally stop barking and theyre just giggling and whispering. "you must be the four exchange students", a very tired looking man with black scruffy hair and a grey scarf says to us in a monotone voice, the girls immediately taking notice of the dishevelled man and quietly giggling to each other more. Aizawa saw this but didn't really care much and he turned into the classroom, waving us in. I start to enter the room but the girls push past me and leave me to close the door after them, I roll my eyes and stand in the corner as the teacher introduces us to the class.

"So as you may already know, four students from England(or America) have been transferred here for a month, the four of them will have separate rooms of the spare rooms. They will follow us around in classes and training but will not part take in any training as we are liable for any injuries they sustain and I would like to avoid a lawsuit, Grace, Sophie and Jessica cannot speak Japanese so teachers will be aiding them in classes, but June does speak Japanese fluently. June is autistic so please keep that in mind when you meet them, do not crowd them or yell around them. I was told to tell you that because again, any physical or emotional damage they sustain can end in a lawsuit and if that happens, you will be expelled. Are there any questions.", the teacher said, not very enthusiastic about there possibly being questions.

One student with green hair raises his hand, "yes Midoriya", the teacher says with a sigh.

"Mr. Aizawa, will they be in the common room much? And also I heard there is a space in this class still, will one of them possibly be transferred here? And can I ask June about their quirk or can we not talk to them at all? Will June be helping us with out English since they knows both languages? An-", the boy rambles on until Mr. Aizawa cuts him off. "Okay Midoriya that's enough questions.", Aizawa sighs before mentally preparing to answer him, "they will be in the common room as much as they want. Yes there is a possibility that one of them may be transferred if chosen. You may talk to June but if they want to be left alone, leave them alone. June can help you with your English work inside or outside of classes if they wish. Now are there any more questions.", he says and towards the end he scowls, as if daring someone to raise their hand.

I watch this interaction carefully, and I also pay attention to the class watching me and the girls too. I come to the conclusion that most of this class probably aren't like the people back home. One girl had purple hair and wires on her ears, and some of the students had on eyeliner too. They actually didn't seem too intimidating, and I didn't mind their curious eyes as appose to judging looks like i'd get in class back home.

"what are they talking about Junie", Grace says to me in a sickly sweet voice, nudging me with her elbow. The other girls turn to me too and I take a small step back, into the corner. "Yeah what are they sayin Junie", Sophie spoke, her words laced with venom as she practically spat the nickname they call me.

"Just that were using spare rooms in their dorm and we'll be sticking with this class for the month", I mumble quietly, while this is all playing out, Mr.Aizawa announces to the class that he's going to take a nap and for the class to work on their English translation worksheets.

"OMG no way are we spending the next month with you in the same dorm!", Jessica says, and they all start to fucking giggle again. Seriously, what is it with the giggling.

Suddenly an outstretched hand comes flying down between us forcefully and I look over to see a blue haired boy with glasses.

"please be quiet otherwise you may wake Mr.Aizawa", the boy says, in a quiet but forceful tone.

"..huh?", Sophie says and the all just look at him.

"he said to be quiet or you might wake the teacher", I translate for them.

"Wake the teacher? The teacher's sleeping?", Jessica says to the boy but he gives no reply and just blinks at them, realising his mistake. He looks towards me and we make eye contact for a brief moment before the girls laughing 'quietly' catches my attention. They are all turned to face Aizawa in hi yellow sleeping bag and I can see the irritation lightly painting his face. Most people couldn't tell but, A; it hasn't been long enough for him to be asleep yet and B; who wouldn't be annoyed.

I sigh and turn to the chalk board, picking up the white chalk. On the board I write 'if anybody needs help with their English, just ask and I can come to help' in Japanese of course. I turn to walk through the classroom to the back of the class where there was an empty row of four seats. Half way down, the three girls push past me and I fall slightly onto the green haired boys desk, apparently called Midoriya, I put my hands down on the edge of the desk to stop myself from falling flat on my face.

I take a step back and bow to him as I apologise to him quickly before carrying on to my seat in the corner, behind a girl with long black hair. I sit down and take my laptop out, about to start playing some stardew valley before I feel a tap on my shoulder. I look over and see a boy with red and white hair standing over me.

"I need some help on my English work please", he says, and I stand up, "yeah of course that's no problem", I smile and I follow him over to his desk.

He sits down and I kneel next to him to look over his work. Behind me I hear the girls whispering to eachother, "damn June getting on their knees for these guys already. fucking whore" "I know right who the fuck could actually like a r***rded ass like them anyways.". I try to ignore the comments but they do get to me and the boy notices.

"what are they saying", he asks in a calm voice. I look up at him, "oh, nothing, theyre just talking to each other about schoolwork and stuff", I say, trying to avoid answering truthfully.

"not true", he says, "they're talking about you, aren't they. You don't like each other. why?".

I stay silent for a moment.

"you said you needed help with the work", I look up at him with a dismissive smile, trying to change the subject.

He obliges and points to one of the sections, "Im having some trouble with "s"s on the ends of sentences. It can be used for "cars" and "car's" so what is the difference?"

I think about my reply for a moment before speaking, "yeah, so an 's' can signify a multiple but can also signify a possession, you can tell the difference from the use of an apostrophe. If the car belongs to someone then "the car's his", the apostrophe is basically a placeholder for an "I", if you can split the word into two and put an "I" before the "s" then its a possession, but if its something like "the cars belong to him", then they are his cars and he has multiple. The best way to understand a word isn't to look at the word its self, especially if you are struggling to understand it, its to look for context around the word.", I look up to him to see if he understood that and I saw it click in his eyes, he looks at me and thanks me before going back to his work and I walk back to my desk.

After classes finished, I made my way down the hall with my headphones on. I reach the dining hall and grab some food before heading off to find the smallest corner I could cram myself into.

I walk around the school for a phew minutes until I decide to sit outside on a brick wall that was about four feet tall. I place my food onto it and jump up to sit on the end of it, behind the school where it was basically deserted, no students to be seen, just how I like it.

I nod along to my music and eat my food in peace, something that has come to be a rare occasion.

I look over to my left and see three figures walking toward me. Great.

I ignore them and carry on eating.

When they get to me they start yelling, my heartbeat rises and I become nervous but I try my best to ignore them and just listen to my music. That is until one of them grabs onto my headphones and throws them as hard as she can onto the wall opposite us.

I just stare at where they lay, broken, on the floor. My eyes fill with tears but I try to hide it, my headphones are the most important thing to me. I need them. I cant afford to buy more.

I bring my knees up to my chest and curl up into a ball, still trying to ignore them.

They keep screaming at me and occasionally kicking me, barking and shoving too. I just stay curled up, feeling like im about to throw up. Hyperventilation starts and im struggling to hold myself together.

I start to hear some other voices too, speaking in Japanese. Just more people to scream at me…

One of the of the voices sound familiar though, from the class I was in, and another, extremely angry voice.

I hear some of what theyre saying, "im gonna fucking kill em" and "Kacchan, you cant kill them, we can get them to leave them alone though".

I hear three sets of footsteps and I look up a bit, it's Midoriya and Todoroki and some other blonde boy who I don't know the name of yet. They all look angry. Like, about to stab someone angry.

I make brief eye contact with Todoroki, his eyes softening slightly as he waves his right hand. Ice shoots from the floor, barricading me from the girls.

"The hell do you think youre doing huh?!", the blonde one yells as he uses explosions coming from his hands to project him onto the wall next to me. "Bakugo, be quieter, you remember what Mr.Aizawa said", Todoroki said in monotone voice, yet still looking pissed, "yeah yeah I know..", Bakugo replies much quieter than before.

The girls look at eachother and Grace speaks up, "what the fuck dude", and Sophie chimes in, "yeah you could've hurt us with that fucking ice". Midoriya looks at me, wanting me to tell them what the girls are saying, but I just put my head down and curl up tighter.

Midoriya tilts his head in confusion, "They've gone non verbal, they wont talk to you until they feel safe, its an autism thing", Bakugo mumbles gruffly.

Todoroki uses the little English he knows and turns towards the girls, taking a step forward, steam coming from the left side of his body. "Go. Away.".

Jessica scoffs, "whateaver.", she says and turns to walk away, the other girls following suit, not without sending me a dirty look or two of course.

The ice disappears as the three of them sit next to me on the wall.

A phew minutes pass by as I calm down and I slowly say, "they broke my headphones.. I cant afford to buy new ones though.." tears trail down my face as all three boys in unison say "i'll buy you new ones"

There's a pause as they look at eachother, Bakugo says in a hardly audible mumble "we'll all buy you things if that makes you happy.." as he looks at me. I sniffle, "you don't have to do that.." I say quietly.

"we will though", Midoriya says happily, smiling at me. "and Kacchan, don't turn this into a competition!", Midoriya practically whined.

"everythings a competition to me, damn nerd." he keeps his voice low, still looking at me, not breaking eye contact.

We spent the rest of break on the wall, talking and laughing about random things, but Bakugo never seemed to take his eyes off me, Midoriya teasing him about it slightly and instantly regretting it.

It was fun and I had a hunch that maybe this month wouldn't be so bad after all.

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I was feeling very Todoroki today idk why but here, three dudes that are willing to buy stuff for you to make you happy, two of em are rich, isn't that everything anyone could ever want :0

This is my first post on tumblr, but if this isnt absolutely terrible please check out my wattpad elijah_fanficss :D

i will probably post all of the stories on here too eventually but just check it out since its where i post everything first, its not long and theres only a phew parts on there at the moment but im working on it T-T

i tend to ramble so just ignore that :p

i am taking ideas so if you wanted me to wright about something drop it in the comments and i can see if its something i would like to do but no promises :)

#my hero academia #bakugo #todoroki #shoto #deku #izuku midoriya #autism #onetoomanyusesofthewordgiggle #mha #anime

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grippingbeskar · 2 years

Text

chapter twenty three - selfish

frank castle x fem! reader

warnings: canon typical violence, graphic description of injuries and general gross stuff, needles?, bobby bein a bit of. a creep again ugh.

a/n: there is so much happening in this chapter. please god make it make sense.

[series masterlist] [previous chapter]

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Wake up.” A hand slaps you across the face, and you squint as your eyes manage to open. “There you go.”

You were still here. It had to of been… hours now. That’s what it feels like. Really, it feels like you’d never left. Everything’s the same, and you feel just as small. Just as alone as you always did. Except for him, leaning over you, observing your every movement. You tried to open your mouth, but your jaw was so stiff it felt wired shut.

“I’ve got a lot more work to get done before you leave me again. You with me now?” He says, grimy hands dragging along the inside of your wrist. It’s only as you look down, feeling the urge to tear that hand from his arm, that you see the IV stuck in your vein. Blood. He was taking your blood. He turns his attention back to a small screen. “Such a beautiful signal you get here. See this? Your father would love to see these numbers.”

“Shut your… fucking…” Exhaustion burns through you, eating at every nerve and cell, screaming at you to drift off into that dark bliss. If you closed your eyes, you could see him. Maybe he’d show up on the water bed again. You don’t know why that memory, of all the ones you had, came to you, but you’d cling to it anyways.

“Shh. Save your energy. Can’t have you dying on me.” He pours something down your throat, and you cough and splutter for a few minutes before anything goes down. You hate that it helps. It’s water. You want to throw it up out of spite, but your body hauls it in before you get the chance.

He’s no longer wearing the gas mask, and the air tastes clean apart from the metallic tang of blood still settled in your mouth. Your feet were bare, and the floor underneath was ice cold. You tried to lift them up, but the metal cuffs around your ankles didn’t let you.

“Never worked for three years, yet you still try it every time. You think I would ever let you go now? Over something as silly as reinforced cuffs?” Bobby hums, pressing his hand into the needle under your skin as his touch grazes over it. You wince, yanking away as much as you can. “I’ve had a lot of time to practise. To perfect keeping someone like you in containment. Keep you hidden.”

“What are you…talking about?” You manage with the water now settling in your stomach. Keep you hidden. How could you ever be more isolated than you were here?

“You may have been my first— and a special one at that, but you were not the first.” He takes the needle out of your skin with faux sensitivity. Like he almost cares if it cuts you now. “It’s a changing world out there. Super Soldiers, Gods raining from the sky… money can buy most things, but it hasn’t been able to buy me enough strength. Until now.”

He stands, walking around and grabbing the back of your chair. He drags you to the left, where you can see down the hallway. The door to the stairs you climbed down was wide open now, and a man was standing at the end of the hall.

“You see, I was investing in the wrong things. Training, guns… you name it. Until your father showed me the error of my ways. Science is where the real strength is.” Bobby crouches behind you, his hands holding your shoulders too tightly. “Of course, it’s been harder to master since your father passed. I haven’t been able to make the change permanent as he did— but I believe Ive found a way to increase its potency. Did you study much science with your father?”

The memory of him makes you want to cry. You wish you just had more time with him— you were going to fade away here and all his memory would go with you. You never even got the chance to tell Sam about him—

“Answer me.” He shoves your head forward, pain shooting up the back of your neck. You grit out a ‘no’ and he sighs. “No matter. Your father perfected the formula for your cell chemicals to shift and heal over. Only, the replenishment of those chemicals in other bodies is a little harder to grasp. Making it specifically for your DNA, and as much as I would love to have a million versions of you to play with, I need it to work for everyone.”

He brings over a bag of your blood, and clicks his fingers. The man at the end of the hallway moves toward you, standing at the entrance of the cell.

“Now, if my theory is correct…” He hooks up the IV again, but instead of attaching a new bag to your arm, he leaves it attached to your blood bag, and then stabs the man in front of you right in the divot of his elbow with the needle. “Even though we want to heal bones and organs, the most important part is the platelets and plasma. Tell me, sunshine, where is it that you find those?”

“Blood.” You spit, feeling some of your own drip down your chin.

“Good. Very good.” You both watch as the blood starts to disappear from the bag, going straight into the man’s veins. “This isn’t so bad, is it? Almost easy, I would say. You just have to listen, and do as your told.”

You recognise him— one of the men who used to stand outside your cell on days you needed to be guarded. Never speaking to you. Kicking your food through the gap in the wall. He looks almost asleep, and you think he might be under the effect of that gas from before— eyes half lidded and his knees weak.

“So, giving someone the proteins from your enhanced blood, theoretically, of course, should aid in the enhanced healing. Mix that with the incredible red and white blood cell counts you show, and you can create a virtually unstoppable force. For however long the shot of blood stays in his system. I had some stored from our previous years, but I have a feeling it’s effects will be more… productive, with a fresh supply.” The bag is half empty when he rips the IV out. The man doesn’t flinch, but now his eyes are wide and his knuckles white with how hard he’s fisting them at his sides. It’s almost like he’s hyped up on adrenaline, pupils dilated and staring at you. He takes a step forward, and you think Bobby is going to let him beat you to death. Instead, he pulls out a gun and shoves it into the man’s direction.

“Take this.” He says, and he does it immediately. “You see, the fresher the protein, the faster the recovery time. The guys downstairs, they have your blood in their system, and boy— does it make them pack a punch. But, their system doesn’t regenerate as easily. Some of that blood is months old—years. They die easier. Today, we’re going to see if your dear old dad was onto something. Getting blood straight from the source. It’s why I need you around. Might even let you test one out yourself like old times… but enough talk; back to our test.”

Bobby stands, walking around from behind you and controls the man’s movements, positioning him however he pleases. The man is obedient, moving without resistance, his eyes stilling on yours.

“Shoot yourself in the head.” He commands, and then the man clicks the safety off the gun and pulls the trigger.

You don’t make a sound, but you feel the hot splash of his blood across your face and arms, and then the dead weight of his body as he falls forward into your lap. A tear falls down your cheek, not in sympathy, but just pure shock.

You do scream now, because the man who’s brains paint the wall behind you stands up, pushing himself off you with ease. He sways slightly, like he’s drunk, and then blinks a couple times before returning to normal. He’s not hazed anymore— and even though his blood was still dripping down your face, still hot… he turns his head to Bobby, and the bullet wound is completely healed. Gasping for air, your head spins to Bobby, who was grinning.

“What the fuck have you done?!”

“I made him perfect! Like you!” He takes the gun from the man’s hands, who was still staring at you. “It worked even faster than I thought. Fresh is better, as they say.”

He hooks you up to another IV before you’ve come back to yourself, not even feeling the prick of the needle as the clear tube near your head turns a dark red. He was taking more…

“You—“ He snaps to the swaying man, who breaks his gaze from you. “Load these syringes and take them down. I want as many of them filled in the next twenty minutes. Don’t worry if she passes out… she’s a resilient one.”

The man moves quickly, opening a briefcase filled with long silver tubes, all ending in sharp points. He empties the rest of the first bag into three of the needles, then waits for the next to be filled. Everything gets fuzzy as he takes the next bag down and attaches another, and your hands go numb. You stare at them, making sure they’re still there. Bobby grabs your jaw, pulling you to face him.

“It’s good to have you back. I have to admit I had missed your… presence. My offer still stands, you know. It doesn’t have to be this way. We can work together. Build our own—“ All you can conjure up is the energy to spit in his face. He growls, grabbing you harder. “Fine. Have it your way. Once I’ve taken care of your little toy downstairs, I’ll be back. And I won’t be so withholding this time.”

More blood leaves your body, and you watch him walk away. You were losing so much so fast, you know you were about to pass out again, and you should be worried about that, but all you can manage to hold on to is the fact that Frank was somewhere here, and you couldn’t get to him.

It has to have been hours. Maybe even days. You have no idea. You hate it. You always lost time down here.

Your heart was as icy as the ground under your toes, and about as cracked and stained as the patch you were sitting over. The man next to you continued to sort through vials and tubes, and you drifted back to that sweet darkness, Franks voice nearly calling you if you dove in to it hard enough.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“That all you got?! Fucking puss—“ He’s cut off by another groan. His own, but he hardly recognises it by how high pitched it is. Another fist flies at his face, and he can feel the bone crack. He tenses, preparing for the next hit.

He needs to stay awake. He needs to stay awake enough to get to you. He saw everything— that whole fucking display, and even if he didn’t get any sound or words, the minute that piece of shit laid a hand on you, Frank snapped out of his haze. Doesn’t matter how much of his blood and guts covered the floor, he would drag his shattered leg behind him if he had to. He’d get to you.

Antagonising these guys in here had been easier than he thought. At first they were in some kind of trance, but when the loud bang of Bobby’s shotgun went off, the bullet just missing him— taunting him, they snapped. Now, it’s been…he’s got no idea how long, but they have to get tired soon. Get a little slower, get distracted, and then Frank will make his move. Maybe he’ll just get numb. He knows he’s cracked ribs, every time he breathes in something sharp stabs his side. He has to keep going.

Breathing in, the men surround him— and even Frank turns his head when there’s a knock at the door.

The guy who walks in is covered in blood, and he’s holding a briefcase. It’s the same one he thinks he saw when he was watching you, but his eyes are so blown up that he could be seeing things.

“Boss wants these distributed.” He says, and the three men hover around him as he unlocks it. They’re whispering something, and seemingly forget about Frank for a second.

Their mistake.

He’s slowly but surely working himself free, knowing he’s going to have to dislocate his thumbs to get out. He’s fought with worse injuries, but with how much blood he’s lost, he needs something. An edge. Something that will just get him out of this room. He knows there’s guns outside, and the slick of his blood makes it easier to slide out. He just needs one damn thing to go his way today…

“Is that really it?” One of the men hold up a needle. It’s bright red, with the biggest point Franks ever seen on the end.

“What’d you expect?”

“Hulk had green blood. Something like that, I guess.” Another man says off handedly, never looking back at him, and fuck— they were asking for it now. Franks right hand tugs at the cuff, and he squeezes his eyes shut, biting down on his lip so hard it bleeds. Not that he’ll be able to tell what’s bleeding anymore. Bone pops as he tugs the rest of the way, in one sharp movement he’s got a free hand.

He doesn’t wait.

Whatever’s in that syringe is important. Important enough that the guy who shot himself in the head got back up and walked down four flights of stairs. It does… well, Frank doesn’t know what the fuck if does, but if it heals a bullet to the head, Franks betting on the fact it’ll be enough to get him out of this room.

He lunges, throwing his body toward the syringe dangling in the man’s hand. The briefcase splatters on the ground and a multitude of curses ring through the room. One breaks, another falls right next to Franks head. He turns, only to see it kicked away. He pops his left hand out of the cuff in the shuffle, hoping they don’t notice it’s free.

“I thought he’d be better. Look at him.” They peer down at him on the floor, still cuffed by his feet, and from their view, still one hand, too. It’s why they don’t realise him reaching behind, grabbing two sharp points and dragging them over.

“Guess he’s past his prime. Clean this up, and don’t finish him off just yet. Boss wants round two.” The men laugh, turning their backs for a final time.

Frank stabs himself in the back with two needles. He feels it instantly— like the time he got shot up with adrenaline. Everything is turned to ten, and he groans and thrashes on the floor. The men turn around to look at him just in time to see his two free hands, but by then it’s too late.

Frank’s broken the chain on his legs, one giant whack of it against the concrete sending the links off in shattered pieces. He rolls, not feeling any pain on his sides. He stands, easily. Way too easily. He should be hunched over, fighting for consciousness.

He’s never felt fucking better.

He lands a punch on the advancing man, the one who broke his ribs. He grabs him by the head, feeling his skull bone crack under his grip.

He doesn’t have time to think about it, because the next ones already coming. He throws himself at him, tackling him to the floor. He beats him— over and over, so hard his hands meet concrete after three blows. He went through him.

One man’s on his back, arm around his throat, and he easily rips him over his head. These guys were fucking nothing now. He felt like he’d been shocked by some kind of electricity, except this was the kind that felt fucking amazing. He belted the man in front of him, then slammed his head into the wall. Blood and brain covered the only clean part of the room, and one man was left.

The man who shot himself.

“Stop! Wait!” The man says, holding the briefcase up. “I can tell you what he’s doing. Where she is!” Frank takes a few breaths, not even feeling winded.

“You work for him?” The man nods. “Where?”

“S-security.” Frank towers over him, and he goes for the handle of the door, but Franks too fast. So fucking fast he doesn’t register that he’s got the guys hand tight in a fist until he hears him scream.

“You know she was down there? All that time, huh?” The man looks up, wide eyed. Frank cracks the bones in his hands.

“Fuck! Yes— yes, we knew but I swear—“ Frank doesn’t care what the rest of the sentence is, because he picks up the briefcase, and uses the end of it to cave his head in.

He keeps hold of the case as he kicks the door down, swiping the shot gun Bobby abandoned. Then he takes a chance, testing his durability, and jumps over the railing of the two story platform.

After the beating he received, he should be struggling to even walk— but he lands it easily. He doesn’t even have that kink in his neck from this morning. Spent so much time staring down at you sleeping next to him. Not even that. No blood coming from anywhere, and he could see for fucking miles in front of him. No swollen eyes.

He was healed. Completely. Strong, too. Stronger than he fucking should be. He doesn’t know how long he’s got, but he knows he’s not wasting another second of not having you safe. He takes the stairs up four at a time, never needing to catch his breath.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Frank’s arm was around you, holding you tighter than you could ever remember. You weren’t shivering anymore, the effects of the ice cold water long forgotten the minute he pulled you to him under the covers.

It was nearly morning, and you were still hazed with sleep. The embarrassment and pain can’t reach you here, not when you are so close to drifting off. Another few hours of sleep would do you good. Just letting your eyes flutter closed. You blame it on this nearly-asleep-half-conscious state that you turn over, seeking more of the warmth his skin offers. He tenses next to you, feeling you shift, before accepting the new position and letting your limbs tangle with his own.

It’s about as safe as you have ever felt. Frank on all sides, something that should make you feel boxed in. He’d let you go with one word, but you can trust him not to. You don’t want him to. Frank’s arms tighten around you as you settle your head just below his, nose brushing against his collarbone.

“You okay?” His voice rumbled through your head, all the way down to your toes. You didn’t answer, wanting to linger in this state a little longer. Your breathing was even, and you all but melted into him with one last, long sigh. “What the hell are you doin’ to me, huh?”

His lips touched your forehead before one hand tangled in your hair. He doesn't brush past this time. This time, it’s purposeful and practically permanent. He scorches your skin, kissing you softly, right on the little scar above your eyebrow.

You feel him tug you closer, your leg nearly on top of him now. You can hear his heartbeat in your ear, racing when your hand slowly brushes up his side, stopping under your head. Then it slows, and he kisses you one last time before you’re asleep again…

You can hear something. Maybe. Theres a beeping sound coming from the monitor, but that’s not what it is. This place echos everything. The walls nearly savour the sounds, sending them back to you so loud, that if you close your eyes you could swear it was happening right next to you. This is different, though.

It’s screaming. Someone screaming.

You force your head up, slowly blinking your eyes. There’s spots in your vision, but you can see people. People, flying around the tight space of the corridor. Flying… you swear they were moving through the air, limbs whacking around in un-natural directions. Something loud cracked, and then a loud, male groan. Almost a scream, but this wasn’t in fear, or pain. Someone was coming, and they weren’t stopping until they got through.

You only knew one person who would fight for you like that, but as much as you tried to fight against it, sleep dragged you down into the dark. This time, Frank was getting further away, and you weren’t so sure you could pull yourself back up.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was pitch black, but all Frank could see was red. Dark, thick red, blood that can only be from deep, hidden parts of the body. Blood gets thicker the further in you go, and Frank was tearing right to the centre.

He found more men on the stairs, using the shotgun and the pulsing strength scorching through his body to take them out. He admitted it felt good— fucking easy, tearing through these guys. They had the higher ground but he had every advantage. He couldn’t help but feel like something was off about it, though. He has no idea what he gave himself, it just had to be enough to get to you.

When he finally makes it up to the door, he’s sprinting. More faces blur past his hands and bullets, but he can only focus on one. You, your head down, eyes closed. He throws someone with one arm as far as he can manage, and he doesn’t see the guy get back up. He’s still looking for Bobby, but all that was on the back burner now. Now, all he could focus on was you.

The bodies stop dropping, and he realises there’s no more coming. No more footsteps as he reaches the door to your cell, no more gun shots. Not even a breath that wasn’t his own.

You weren’t breathing.

He drops the case he’s still managed to hold, ignoring the slow beeping of the monitor. He rips at the handcuffs, but even with all this stuff in his body he can’t manage it.

“Come on. Hey! Come on, wake up…baby, fucking wake up.” He could hear the horse crack of his voice and he was pulling so fucking hard and it wasn’t enough. He’s shaking you by the shoulders, then he looks down, seeing the snapped locks of the briefcase.

There’s still four or five syringes in there. He doesn’t know what it does— he can hardly tell if he’s gonna live when this feeling dies down. He’s still staring at them, though. Reaching for one.

He could do it. It brought him back, healed whatever those assholes did… and your a hell of a lot stronger than he is. He needs it to work. He needs you to open your fucking eyes, but is it worth the risk? Was it worth it if it backfired? Was he that selfish, that he’d take the risk— the risk of you dying because of what he did, just so he wouldn’t have to live without you? He’d take you down with him if he did this— fuck knows what Bobby put in these things. It could be anything. But he couldn’t let you die in this room. Couldn’t let you go.

Frank Castle knows he’s selfish, but it’s like his body has already made up its mind. His hand is fisting on of the vials, hovering over your thigh. The beeping’s getting slower, and you twitch in his hold, the last signs of life fading from you. For a second, he thinks he shouldn’t do it. That he shouldn’t take you down with him any further than he’s already done. But he can’t see you die. He couldn’t.

“Please. Just— need this to work. Please.” He drops his head and plunges the needle into your thigh without another thought. Almost instantly, your eyes crack open and your heaving air back into your deprived lungs. Frank holds you upright, trying to make sure you don’t fall backwards, but he can’t see past the tears forming in his eyes.

He doesn’t remember the last time he cried like this— like a knife was tearing it’s way through his chest, nearing his throat and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it. He didn’t want to stop it because you were fucking here— covered in blood and dirt but breathing. He chose right. Did right by you, for fucking once. Looking around the room terrified, you say a word, and he feels like the luckiest guy in the world because the first thing you think to say is his name.

“Frank!” You scratch out, shoulders still heaving with the effort of taking in air. “Frank— we have… you have to get me… please I can’t be in here anymore—“

“Shh. Shh— you’re okay. I’m gonna get you out, just like I promised, yeah?” You stop spinning your head around and stop your thrashing when your eyes meet his. He feels your hand go to lift up and touch him but you can’t move. “Fucking hell. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“You’re crying.” You say softly, and Frank shakes his head, laughing out of pure exhaustion.

“Yeah, I am.” Your head tilts, and fuck— he can’t help it. He shuffles closer, holding your head in his hands. You look wrong in his hold, like something precious and way too expensive, something he’d never earn the value of in his lifetime. You press into his touch, and he just can’t let you go.

“You came.” Wet tears stream down your face, and he wipes them away with his thumbs. “I thought you were— I thought you might not make it here.”

“I promised.” It’s all he has time for right now. He has a hostage he needs to fuck up. “Where’d he go.”

You flick your head down in the direction of where he came.

“He has the keys. You gotta— once I’m out I can help you.” You blink a few times, and it looks like your seeing his face for the first time. “You… how did you get out?”

“He’s got these guys— strong, like you, nearly beat the shit out of me. Injected myself with that.” He looks over at the briefcase. “Never felt better.”

“You aren’t hurt.” You say, and it should be a good thing, but Frank starts to worry because you look uneasy.

“Not anymore. You know what it is?”

“Yeah.” That fact that you don’t say it right away makes Frank think he doesn’t want to know.

“I gave it to you, too.” You shake your head, and his worries evaporate. A simple move from you, and he’s easy. Fuck— he was glad you were here.

“It’s fine. It won’t kill us. You need to go. Get the keys, get me out. Bring him with you.” Frank nods, taking another second to look at you. Just making sure— your eyes were wide, a little fearful but alive and bright. Open. Skin was warm. You were okay. “I don’t want to be here anymore. Please.”

Something crashes behind Frank, and he turns and leaves before saying another word. He was going to drag that cunt back here kicking and screaming. He had to be alive— but Frank has learned a thousand ways to make a man wish he wasn’t.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Six minutes.

You counted it.

It took Frank six minutes to track down the country’s biggest gang leader, the man who has evaded the FBI and CIA for years, the man who had built an entire, intricate network of tunnels and bunkers to avoid being caught. Without his men, that Frank also took down, it took him six minutes to beat him bloody and drag him back to you.

You used to be so afraid of him. He was the man who haunted your nightmares, a face you’d see every time you closed you eyes. Almost a bogeyman. Seeing him here, on his knees, eyes swollen shut while Frank rips the keys out of his back pocket… it’s surreal almost.

“You w—“ Frank kicks him in the stomach, whatever words he was going to say lost in the burst pain. While he falls to the ground, breathing slow, Frank unlocks the handcuffs and you stand way too fast. Your first steps are the three that gets you out of this fucking room.

Frank sees you bolt outside, back pressed against the opposite wall. Then he turns, punching Bobby in the face before grabbing him by the leg and dragging him out and down the hallway. He’s groaning in pain, trying to say something but Frank just keeps dragging him. You walk behind, a sick enjoyment bubbling through you at the sight of him so… weak.

“How are we getting him up the stairs like this?” You ask once you’ve stopped at the base of the giant staircase. It must of taken you an hour to come down here, and your head was still a little fuzzy from the blood loss. Your own blood doesn’t heal you as well— fucking figures.

Frank doesn’t say anything, just starts dragging him up the stairs like a sack of flour. His head bangs against the first step, and Bobby shouts and wails like a kid. Similar to how you would of screamed for him to stop when he cut you open—

“Frank.” You say, and he stops. You look down at the man, wondering what Frank did to him in those six minutes in the dark that made him look so deformed. His arm was broken, the strange angle it was at made it obvious. One of his eyes was less bruised than the other, and he used it to lookright at you.

Maybe he thought you’d tell Frank to stop. That you’d taken pity on him. That you’d feel sorry for the way he looks. He’s still staring at you when you see a small flash of his teeth, something that could be a smile if he wasn’t missing so many teeth. You let him hold the hope for just a second.

“Make sure he’s still alive when we get to the top.” Frank huffs, like it’s an imposition, and you walk ahead, letting the pained cries of the man behind you bounce off the echoed walls. He deserved to feel what it was like to have hope it would stop, only for it to never end.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When you finally reach the outside of the building, Bobby has passed out from the pain four times. You counted. It won’t be enough. You had twelve years of that shit. This was mild— you had a thousand days like this. It should be therapeutic to see him miserable and begging but all it does is make you angry.

Frank throws him in the back seat of the car, using rope and the seatbelts to tie him down so he can’t move. Then he ties something around his mouth, saying something to him you can’t hear. When you get back in the car, Franks hands are stained with blood.

“I’m hungry. You hungry?” He asks loudly after a moment of silence, his hands so tight on the steering wheel you can see his forearms start to shake. “Fuck. I could sprint a mile right now.”

“You feel okay? Good?” You weren’t a hundred percent sure about the effects your blood could have on him— or, the concentrated version of your blood.

“Fuckin’ fantastic. Don’t know what was in that stuff, but I haven’t run it out yet.” You can tell he feels uneasy about it, but the rush is almost overwhelming, even if he has burnt through some of it.

“It’ll be a while before it’s out of your blood system.”

“Yeah? How you know that?” His head moves a little too fast, and you wonder weather that’s how fast you move. If you look this… creepy, really. It’s fucking creepy.

“Because it’s my blood. It’ll pass through in a while, you just have to wait. He— Bobby said it wasn’t permanent.” At the mention of his name he stirs in the back and Frank reaches around, punching him in the gut while keeping his eyes on the road. “Maybe I should drive.”

“I’m good. Tell me about it— the blood shit. Help me focus.” Hoping to calm him down, you spill every little remnant of information you can remember. It’s technical, trying to explain how the plasma in your blood can be modified to heal bones and gunshot wounds, but he listens. “So why’d it work on you? If it’s your own?”

“It’s more concentrated. Based around the healing parts of my blood. He must of found a way to extract only the parts that make me strong. I lost a shit tonne of blood back there, so maybe the shot kicked my own healing back into gear.” You flick your eyes back to where Bobby is passed out again, his blood staining the seat. “I doubt I’d get it even if he explained it himself, but it’s a version of what they did to me. Only lasts a little while, but it makes you stronger. Faster. Heals you more easily. And apparently makes you jumpy as fuck.”

“I ain’t jumpy.” He grumbles, the sound sounding so much like Frank that you settle back a little, relaxing at it. “When you were in there… I uh— saw what that guy did in front of you. That kind of thing would be… if Madani found out about that, or any of those guys at the CIA. What your blood can do…”

“I know.” They’d want it. It was the edge they have been looking for. Like Bobby said, America had been fighting Gods and Super-humans for years, and they wanted something of their own. You, or your blood, would be it.

“Don’t say anything about it. Far as they know, we were in and out.” Frank looks in the review mirror, gaze hard as he checks Bobby’s positioning.

“He might say something. What if they ask him about it?”

“Can’t talk without a tongue.” You look at him, trying to figure out if he’s joking or not. He looks serious. Very, very serious. “What?”

“You— nothing. I just want to go home.” You breathe heavily, your eyes shutting for a second. Everything hurts, and your body isn’t healing as fast as Franks did with the lack of blood in your system. Now you know why you didn’t heal fast after you were shot. You must of lost too much in the water.

“You mean back to New York, yeah?” When he says it, the words confuse you. Of course you’d be going back to New York. You don’t have anywhere… well, you don’t have anywhere. You don’t have a place, now you think about it. The only house you ever lived in is owned by someone else, but that hasn’t been home for a while.

When you said you wanted to go home, what you really meant was you wanted out of this car. You wanted to go back to somewhere warm, and safe, and somewhere you didn’t have to think about any of this. The only place you’ve ever really been able to do that, have any of that is when you were with Frank.

“Sure.” Is all you managed.

“Sure? What’s that mean?” He turns the car a little too hard, and Bobby whacks against something in the back.

“It means that— well, I don’t exactly have a place there, do I? I mean, I know Matt said we could stay until—“

“We’re not doin’ that again.”

“I didn’t think it was all bad.” You say absently, but Franks eyes catch yours in the mirror and his hands grip the wheel even tighter. “But I don’t have a house.”

“Stay with me.” Even after everything you’d done with him, been through with him, he still managed to catch you by surprise.

“Really? You’d want me to live with you?”

“Why? You got a bunch of cats you need to move in or something? You snore?” You don’t want to smile, not with who’s behind you, but he’s impossible not to smile around. “Course I do.”

“Gotta dump the baggage first.” Frank grumbles something under his breath at your words, then turns the car again, too hard. Even you struggle to stay upright. He’s still fighting off the rush of energy he’s feeling running through his veins. “Maybe we should call someone. Go to a doctor, or call Curtis. You’re still jumpy.”

One of his hand’s dropped from the wheel, and after he checked the rear view mirror one more time, confirming Bobby was passed out, his hand landed on your thigh. He did this a lot while he drove, his hand nearly covering the entirety of your thigh. Fingers absently wandering, like he had all the time in the world to tease you, even if he didn’t mean it. This time, he definitely did. His thumb was drawing circles on your skin, his palm slowly dragging the rest of his fingers up.

“Just got to work it out of my system, yeah?” You swallowed, the simmer of heat in your stomach bursting into flames at the horse growl of his voice. He dipped his hand over further, the sensitive skin of your inner thigh twitching in anticipation. You weren’t sure if it was because he was half high on…you, or what he exactly was planning to do, but as his hand gripped you tighter making you jolt in your seat, you sat a little wider. Giving him access. He swore under his breath.

“Yeah. Maybe you should g-go on that run. Work out or something.” He smirked, and held his hand there while you held your breath. He was toying with you, fucking with you, for sure… was he really going to…here? The tip of his fingers were so close, and you were practically sweating now, heart thumping in your ears.

“I think I got a better idea.” He looked at you quickly, his eyes nearly completely black, pupils blown out. Your eyes squeezed shut, at his mercy completely.

Then, his hand slid down slowly, resting where it usually did when he drove. Much lower, and much further away from where you fucking need him right now. When you open your eyes again he’s still smirking, a smart ass look on his face like he knows how worked up he just got you, even when he’s the one with all the extra energy.

All of a sudden, like Frank often encouraged in you, you forgot about everything else except how long this car ride was. You said you wanted to get home, but the more you thought about it, it was less about a destination and more about him. Home.

[next chapter]

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

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#frank castle #frank castle x reader #the punisher #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x you #marvel tv #the punisher x reader #the punisher x you #marvel #the punisher x y/n

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mochiwrites · 9 months

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hello hello hello! I just finished binging amor lunae and amor solis and I thought I'd pop in to do a quick rant about it because I loved every bit of it so much!!

first of all, im a sucker for god aus. as a guy whose childhood was filled with nothing but Percy Jackson Percy Jackson Percy Jackson, god aus are an absolute weak spot for me. I love them so dearly, and yours was incredible.

beyond that though, I specifically LOVE the trope of the sun and the moon falling in love!! ive not actually seen anything where it actually happens (your fic was the first) but ive always been in love with the concept and your execution of it was absolutely stunning. proteus as the moon and solara as the sun worked so perfectly!

oh gosh I had so much more to say but ive lost my train of thought.

I rarely cry when I read or watch things. I don't know what it is, but I struggle with really feeling what the characters feel, and I could count the number of times a piece of media has made me cry on a hand and a half, but I was on the brink of tears practically the entire time I was reading. I don't know what it was particularly, but something about your writing style made it feel like I was transported to that world. I could feel the majesty of the heavens and the aching of both proteus and solara (and medea, im so sorry buddy) and the overwhelming love they had for one another. their willingness to give up everything just to be with one another was suffocating in the best way possible.

a lot of the time with those types of emotions, I find it unrealistic. I find it too overbearing for me to be able to actually immerse myself in them, but something about your writing made it so easy for me to understand. I felt everything they felt. I understood. of course solara would choose death over forgetting proteus. of course mumbo would give up his celestial status to be with grian. it was meant to be. they were meant to be. the stars and moon and sun all aligned in the precise way they did and the universe was created all for them to be able to love one another and it was perfect.

your playlist!! gods, your playlist was perfect. I love it when fic writers have their own playlists for their fits because it makes the experience so much better, and yours did not disappoint!! I put it on shuffle while I read. "From me, the moon" started playing when mumbo met grian for the first time in amor solis and the lyrics paired with the scene made me cry. nothing could've prepared me for how much aching I'd feel while reading it. 1,672 years and 20,064 months and 610,711 days of loss and longing and I felt it and it hurt but everything fell into place for that one moment and it was worth it.

oh gosh I could keep going forever but this got way too long. I just adore this fic with all my heart and my soul and my being. I feel like it's genuinely done something to me. it feels like something's shifted in the way I see the world, and maybe that's a dramatic thing to feel about a piece of writing about some block people falling in love, but I don't care. im in shambles. I dont know if I'll ever be whole again. im grian, having everything I could possibly want, but knowing something's inexplicably out of place. there's something wrong and no way to know what.

im not the biggest fan of scarian (im much more a grumbo guy), but I may just read your scarian stuff purely because it's your work.

thank you for writing. thank you for sharing. you have a gift, and it is beautiful. never stop creating.

hi I’m ??? sobbing at you ??? so loud ???? 🥹💕 this was such a lovely lil treat to wake up uwahhh.

ueueue thank you sm !!!! this was my first “big” au for this fandom, and seeing the reception of it is so,,, 🥺 it makes me incredibly happy <33

I love the trope of the sun and moon falling in love so much. I think it came from the whole “character who’s the embodiment of the sun is shipped with character who’s the embodiment of the moon” concept, and grumbo fits that Very well.

but I??? 🥹 that’s such a huge compliment I’m so. uwahhh 🥹💕 I’m really glad that my writing made you feel all that <33 it’s always my goal to pull people into the worlds that I create and bring some kind of immersive feeling through my words. so knowing I managed to make you feel all that and it felt realistic is really !!!!!!!

and the playlist !!!! augh !!!! that’s the very first thing that I made for this au. it existed before amor lunae did. fun fact, I put the songs in a vague chronological order, going from when proteus and solara met, to when solara dies. I’ve written most of that au with that playlist going, and omg I could Not imagine reading those fics with the playlist going… you’re the bravest omg.

I love making playlists for my fics though :D every major au that I have has a playlist for it hehe

but 🥹💕 this au definitely holds a very special place in my heart. it’s a work that’s really important and very personal to me. I’m really happy that you enjoyed it <333

though !!!! if you don’t mind a little plug and a recommendation of my other works… I currently have an on going mumscarian au called songbird’s blood. it’s on my ao3 as a series called “night life” if you enjoyed the grumbo in amor lunae and solis, I think you’ll like the grumbo in night life too :D it’s a biiiig fantasy au where mumbo is a vampire and grian is a human who just happens upon his manor. grian is the first human to break through mumbo’s walls and befriend him. they’re very soft <33

thank you for stopping by and leaving this in my inbox 🥹💕 it was really nice to read through and made me really happy. if you read anything else of mine, I hope you enjoy !!! and please feel free to drop by again <33

#mochi speaks #solar eclipse au

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halfusek · 1 year

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Imma be honest with you, before BATDR came out, you literally held this fandom together with bandaids and stick glue. 2019-2022 was basically the dry age of Bendy content

haha thanks i tried my best

i Do enjoy being in a fandom, i've always looked up to the danny phantom phandom a lot cause the vibes there are just fantastic, there's a lot of things going on, people have many interactions with each other, so i wanted to try to introduce that to the batim fandom and i'd like to think that i sorta did

i know that it is a popular opinion to not engage with a large portion of the fandom but instead just grab a few friends and sit in a corner with them but like

engaging with a bigger portion of the fandom every now and then can be SO fun and give people an opportunity to meet other people and idk

fandoms are communities of people just united by liking A Thing so it can be challenging to make a space for many people to get along but i dont recall any super serious only fandom related dramas in batim?? weirdos are in every fandom and you just blast their asses into oblivion with a block button

and there have been cases when i felt kinda bad for blocking someone because that meant i'd exclude them from something i wanted to think of as a fandom-wide event for everyone who would obey it's rules but that's where this outlook on curating your experience into a smaller circle is very much the way to go lol

wait what am i talking about

aha yea 2019-2022 everything fucking DIED here but i was having a blast drawing my comic and also a lot of people who were into the sides of batim i was into mainly (the human characters) stayed around more than everyone else and it was really chill, i've met a lot of people and made many friendships :)

as the fandom was getting smaller there was a noticable drop in the amount of notes batim related posts were getting which is a very big symptom of a fandom dying but i think at some point it sorta stabilized who stayed there after batdr was delayed and delayed

i reblog and tag more than an usual tumblr user (when im active cuz sometimes i can not reblog anything for months because im busy lol) and that didnt start without a reason, it sure is a habit now and i really enjoy doing it, letting people know what i think about their stuff and putting nice things on display for others to see

reblogs are not just crucial for singular artists but also for fandoms as a whole, thats how you keep that train rollin

though here is a sad thing that many many artists dont reblog a lot, or reblog to their sideblogs that arent followed by nearly as many people as their main blogs

and thats like understandable, im the weirdo who puts a whole mess of many posts on my main but i think thats also the most effective way to help other people get traction and i never see this mentioned when people complain that tumblr users dont reblog as much stuff as they like

its even kinda funny to me when people complain about their stuff not getting reblogged when they dont reblog others stuff themselves at all xD though there is a bit of cyanide in that thought heheh

on the other hand reblogging doesnt work on stuff that i could see from other people: the stuff i reblog i get from browsing the bendy and the ink machine tag sorted by new + sometimes when i bored i scroll through my dash and reblog some random things but i follow 2k people so i dont really see any individuals art specifically, just a collection of random posts that i am able to scroll through in a few minutes (and every minute theres a bunch of new posts posted/reblogged by those i follow)

and that can take a long time! if ive been busy for months then scrolling through a few months worth of stuff people around the world made for bendy is so bad even on a beefy computer that it just pushes tumblr to its limits and takes HOURS to reblog and tag for me, and then i might even hit the daily post limit and have to continue tomorrow

but i enjoy doing this, bendy is my fixation after all and i fucking love art and what people can create for this thing that i like i soooooo desire to see it all

and i try to reblog as much as possible, though i dont obviously reblog *everything* from the tag, sometimes i just give a like or i just dont like the thing cuz its not in my liking and thats it

but i did make it a thing that during ink demonth i reblog all entries for the event no matter what my opinion of them is just to give some of that Exposure TM because hey maybe some of my followers Will like it

i dont run a super duper popular blog but there is a bunch of yall there and i think me reblogging something in this fandom at least may give a litol boost to the notes on a post

and its always fun to see peoples reactions that dont expect me to reblog from them but then i do and they freak out a little, i think i love it on the same level as getting comments on my own art :) its super wholesome

man by writing this post im procrastinating on something but fdnjkfdfd

but anyway thank you!! and im glad you think so because i did try to accomplish that :D

#halfask #halfpost #bendy and the ink machine #bendy fandom

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eldritch-spouse · 2 years

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Living Meat Anon here! ah Pinnie that wasn't gross at all! Id honestly love to smash the mimic! He wants to blend in so bad maybe he should learn more about what humans do for *fun*, cue his curious little human roommate teaching him about various sexual positions and kinks, which he insists will help him in the process of attacking his lunch when they're at their most vulnerable, which ofc he'd never actually do cuz these acts are reserved for him and his roommate (tho he'd never tell them) (1)

I also like the idea of him having no concept of space or boundaries. No you cant follow me into the bathroom! No you cant watch me shower! Do you even need to- wtf why are half of my clothes missing!? Sometimes having to be dominate, or keep him on a leash so to speak (oop- is that me projecting my tastes??) The closet scene with the regular mimic in the vid i shared tho did have me sweating haha...I could only imagine how his hypothetical heat would be like! Scary stuff...but still so fun! I also love the Host! I imagine him to be a touchy slut you have to be cautious about cause he has the potential to kill you if youre not careful or get him upset. I could see a human making a deal w/ a host in return for their life where theyd agree to bring him some humans he can infect w/ his spores or eat. Considering there are only a few hosts in the world, i can see him curious enough to try mating with his human accomplice to continue his bloodline even if theres a 0 chance itll work. Im surprised you didn't comment on the monoliths tho! Id smash them too, even tho we don't know much about them yet and they don't really move. They're tall asf and I'd worship the ground they stand on! Side note, I'd keep a Trimming as a pet, they're so ugly it's cute XD Anyways, sorry for the word vomit I just got excited to share my thoughts on this with someone! I haven't gone through everything myself either but ive been enjoying things so far! Love ya! - Living Meat Anon, Monsterfucker

I have to agree on the closet scene, that was fucking beautiful, I'm a sucker for chase scenes. And though it saddens me that we don't get to see clearer shots of them, I understand it's a production choice.

I don't know if you're going to have a lot of luck with leashes, or maybe you will, I bet it mostly depends on their temper.

I also like to think, although this has no scientific basis, that the mimics may enter a heat after they transform into an elder mimic (or the alternative route)- Because that might be their peak physical form, aka the state in which they're likely to attract more mates. And if there aren't any other mimics around, then chances might be high that the elder will snatch his little human up, given there's a lot of visual and behavioral compatibility. It's a good concept, in my eyes.

With all those roots, I have to agree that the Host is probably a touchy one. But you can make this scenario a whole lot more horrifying if you consider how clingy these beings may be. Putting hunting practices aside, I can imagine Hosts get lonely. Bored. And they wouldn't want their pretty human away for too long, right? Because what are you up to then? Moving expends quite a bit of energy, so why won't you just stay still next to him and be good? There's definitely always the threat of spores, which they'll probably use to keep their little bait-human compliant.

I didn't mention the monoliths, not from lack of interest, but mostly because we have so little to work with. Plus, they kind of look like stick men with very undefined bodies. I'm not shitting on the author/artist, they're talented, I just don't have a clear idea of what to do with monoliths yet. Imagine one of them was just ripped, like shredded. Lmao.

Trimmings remind me of hairless cats, I would also like to keep one. You could probably train one to alert you to the presence of mimics or other, more nefarious types of carnis. Plus, they're not that hard to feed. Good pets!

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albertserra · 9 months

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hi! you don't have to answer this if you don't want to, no worries—but i'm curious what you generally like/dislike about living in DC? i just got a job offer there and it's a big move, so i want to ask around first. i like public transit, if that helps.

this is hard since i feel like something like a place to live is so subjective lmao but ill try

likes

public transit is like. mostly good? i can get pretty much anywhere within the heart of the city that i need to go using the metro, just with some walking added on which i dont mind. I don't use the busses but theyre there and thats whats needed to get around outside the major parts of the city. its also clean. dont expect it to be as fast or convenient as nyc. its more sparse and trains dont run as often. its also much more expensive (trips can be up to $6 based on distance). i like it personally but theres definitely a *lot* of room for improvement. theres constant track work that can interfere with commutes and the replacement shuttles suck a lot of the time.

its a city so like there are gay people. i feel mostly comfortable walking around visibly gnc to a point but ive been heckled and shouted at and whispered about and stared at and laughed at. lowkey sexually harassed once. never anything more direct and nothing physical but thats my personal experience. its way less prevalent/common than in nyc in my experience. keep in mind i have my own reservations about presentation that im still trying to work through so im not always super feminine, dont wear dresses etc, even my heels are usually more tame like boots and stuff. so i dont go through what visibly trans women or more outwardly gnc people likely go through. ive done pda in the city and no one cared.

i like some of the theaters (afi even though its a trek, angelika, theres a landmark but it kinda sucks but the programming is ok sometimes). some of the museums sometimes do really interesting film programming

museums can be cool but this is also very subjective. they can also get old quick.

dislikes

theaters are limited. will never compete with nyc or LA. no real film festival on the level of nyff. if you care about this you *will* miss interesting releases that dont go wide enough to hit dc. I was begging on my hands and knees for Memoria for months until it finally came here for a week. restorations are much less likely to screen here.

its the capital. you will brush shoulders with government employees and lots of military soldiers and employees and whatever. the pentagon literally has a metro stop. i still want to shoot someone when i see a bunch of uniformed navy/army/air force people on my train. people you encounter may actively or passively participate in the various crimes of the state and not blink an eye. obviously not everyone is like this, if the palestine protests are anything to go by there are a bunch of dissenters and leftists etc but like be aware that these people are here. in a similar vein, military contractors are also rampant here.

being the capital the tourists are also a different... flavor... than in other cities ive been in/to. ive seen high school tour groups buying and wearing a bunch of maga hats as edgy post-irony jokes. then theres ofc the very serious hardcore nationalists. shit like that. on a related note. oomf has an israeli journalist (for a right wing publication of course) that regularly comes into his place of work.

its expensive. but my main frame of reference city-wise is nyc and its not nearly on that level (yet).

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futurebellyache · 2 years

Text

Who should Digest you?

I think I'm tired of the endless grind of work. Any preds following me interested in giving me someplace soft to rest? I’m all yours.

Aaaand post. You finalize your Facebook message as you lean back in your chair. Work had drained you, and some people at work are just absolutely miserable. Fucking Cathy.

Ending up in some cute or sexy person's gut sounded wonderful. You had a couple of ideas, but you were a tad interested to see who volunteered…

The first comment came in mere minutes after posting.

Stephanie Simmerset

OMG BRO IVE WANTED THIS MY WHOLE LIFE! PLEASE LET ME EAT YOU. IT WOULD MEAN THE WORLD TO ME <3

You aren't at all surprised to see your little sister, Stephanie, jumping at this opportunity.

She had always been your cute little sister, and you'd spoiled her rotten. And perhaps because of that, she'd grown quite affectionate to you. At first it was cute stuff like 'marrying big bro', but eventually, it turned vorish and she'd pestered you about being her 18th birthday present. How wonderful having her brother be her first meal would be.

You thankfully weren't able to attend and had been avoiding her these last few months. But… spoiling her one last time and helping stretch out her gut doesn't sound like a terrible way to go. The idea of replacing the baby fat she’d lost in the last several years makes you feel a bit odd…

Stephanie was a bit of a scatterbrained blonde, forgetful but in a way that made her quite endearing. She’d grown a lot over the years, now reaching you in height. Though her curves were still quite petite. She wasn’t exactly a trained pred, and hadn’t gotten the chance to mold her T&A into the bombshell you expect from predators.

You'd taken it as the desire of a young girl to be like the voracious adults, but now she was old enough where you think she could actually swallow you down. Perhaps you could help her take this important step to adulthood. An untrained pred was barely different from a prey in the eyes of a hungry predator. You’d be keeping her safe by letting her digest you. Plus the slight taboo of your sister appeals to your perverted side…

You hear your phone ding, must be another comment. The second is… you can't help but let out an immense sigh.

Cathy Bingleheart

Hah! Always knew you were a prey slut. If you want a real gut to mess you up, mine would LOVE to put you in your place.

Fucking Cathy.

You'd had to follow her to be friendly since your company was so small. You had grown to despise her. She was a fake blonde with a fairly chubby gut. One you bet she'd just gotten from her shitty diet and lack of exercise. There’s no way she could actually entice somebody inside of her, though physically she didn’t seem weak.

But… she was rather stacked. Her tits were massive, like volleyballs that pushed out farther than her gut. And her ass would definitely smother you. If she ate you, you'd be lost in that sea of fat. Probably with those interns who all 'suddenly quit' last year. Likely trusted her a bit more than they should have.

There's some masochistic desire inside you that's tempted to allow her to have your way for you. No matter how frustrating the idea is.

While you argue with your inner submissive demon, another ding and another comment.

Jennifer Gammy

I see you've finally decided to become a meal. You know I'd always be willing to accommodate you. I'd make sure you went out happy. My belly always has room for somebody like you.

Her words linger on your mind and remind you of back when you'd dated her. This was Jennifer, or Jen as most people called her. She was a very tall, slightly chubby woman with long red hair. She was a tad plump all over, a very soft-looking girl. You can still feel her gentle warmth around you when you close your eyes.

You'd actually been in the same friend circle for a while and gradually drifted closer, until finally dating. And then you learned just how kinky she was. She would tie you up in her lap and idly play games with you in her lap, holding the controller at your crotch, licking your feet, roleplay of her cheating with some dude and eating them to hide them (the dude wasn't aware it was roleplay), even temporarily holding you in her gut. Sometimes even for hours, and in public.

You'd absolutely still be with her if you could, but she'd suddenly realized she could no longer see you as anything but food. And dating food was ridiculous. So you broke up. After everything you'd been through, you'd become a flustered mess just talking to her. So after it all, you'd kind of drifted apart.

But now you could meet again. Though, this time you really would be food… You can't help but wonder how much she meant those words. How exactly would she treat you if you willingly gave yourself to her?

While you reminisce, your phone beeps again. You flip it open and see the face of the cutest boy you know.

Addison JustAddison

If you're just THROWING yourself away. Let me have you. I promise, it'll be as wonderful as that night we spent together. I even have some fun stuff we could try, since dieing doesn't matter ;)

And don't worry, I'll make sure to flush your ass

It was Addison… You couldn’t quite believe it. He was always dressed as a girl, and was a one night thing you'd had years ago. He had absolutely dominated you. He is the only person who has managed to knock you unconscious through sheer pleasure. You can't even remember how many times you'd cum that one night alone. He’d adored making you struggle beneath him, feeling himself inside you. Honestly, you can still feel him cumming inside you, in a way. Or perhaps that’s just your mind playing tricks…

And he hadn't left you anything to find him again. He'd ruined you and left. Until now, almost as if he had been waiting. He must have been keeping tabs on you, perhaps if something like this had happened. The account in question was unfamiliar, perhaps having been modified to reveal his hand. What a mysterious boy…

You remember that feeling of being bound to the bed, the taste of his cock on your lips, and what he said he’d do to you the next day. Idly threats to swallow you hole and add you to him… and you were definitely attracted to him. He was thin, but soft. Specifically in the belly and bum. Just enough tummy fat to show that he’d eaten his fair share of people. His pink, shoulder-length hair bounced around and helped accentuate his strange mannerisms. He was always a bit… extra. One of the incredibly fun things about him.

You ignored any of the other comments. These choices were good enough to pick from, and you didn’t wanna spend too long dwelling on it. Last thing you’d want is to upset them by getting cold feet. But which person deserved to have you? Two of them meant something in your life, but the other two would put you in your place. One was an absolute bitch, and the other just wants your body squirming for them.

You open your phone once more and thumb to a private chat you had with a number of people. All of whom were interested in taking a vorish plunge themselves, but hadn’t for various reasons.

Hey guys, which of these girls (and guy) do you think I should let eat me?

Feel free to comment below who you would to consume you. Highest points will be picked for the continuation. Extra points if you tell why.

#v/ore #vore digestion #vore writing #vore story #fatal vore #choose your predator #vore reader input #willing vore #willing prey

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